Siren's Song

by Trish Albright

  Four voices shouted at once with questions. “What? Whose ship? When?”

  “Samuel’s.” Birdie looked at him. “Sorry, boy.”

  Alex breathed in relief while Samuel cursed. “Was it taken?” he asked.

  “That’s the word. A load full of pirates overwhelmed the crew.”

  “How long ago?”

  “At least two hours. Some say they recognized the men. Part of Reginald Paxton’s crew.” Birdie spit in the fireplace when he said the name.

  Samuel swore. “What does that bastard suddenly want with this family?”

  “I’m going after him,” Robert announced. “If it’s a war he wants, it’s a war he will get. Samuel, you’re in charge. Keep everyone together until I return.”

  “I should go with you,” Samuel insisted.

  “I need you to lead, not fight.” Robert laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Do this for me.”

  Samuel reluctantly agreed.

  “Birdie, you’re with Alexandra. Stick to her like glue, would you?”

  “Aye, Captain. A pleasure and a challenge,” Birdie said.

  Robert gave his sons a hug. His daughter stood defiant, feet still in the bucket.

  “Papa, please. It doesn’t feel right. There’s a storm coming, I can smell it. Feel it. Wait one day to think it over.”

  “There’s nothing to think over. When Samuel has a new ship, you can have yours back. That will give you time to think over what you really want.”

  “Yes, sir.” She swallowed hard. “Please return safely and soon.”

  Robert nodded as his daughter’s head drooped. She had her mother’s green eyes. It was hard to deny her anything, but for her protection he would. This madness had to end. He couldn’t risk his children.

  There was a storm coming, and it had his name on it.

  It was unnaturally quiet after her family left. Alex stepped gingerly on a towel to dry her feet, guilt eating at her. “Birdie. I’m sorry. I should have never separated from you. I got distracted and put us both in danger.”

  “Now, don’t you fret. It takes a lot more to kill me.” Birdie patted her shoulder. “Fact is, we all know the dangers,” he tried to comfort. She waved to the food and he helped himself to her unfinished meal. “It will work itself out.”

  “My father will capture Paxton. And when he does, it won’t be a quick death.” Despite her words, a sense of trepidation stayed with her. “Were you able to save it?”

  “It’s under your bed,” Birdie said between bites.

  Alex nearly tumbled to the floor in relief and unfurled the carpet. “Birdie, you are a prince.”

  Her hand brushed reverently over the stunning carpet that was more tapestry than rug. It wasn’t the red-haired woman in the waves that intrigued her but something else, something behind her. The shape of a city or location.

  Alex painfully returned to her feet and went to the small chest at her bedside. She pulled out the astrolabe. It was not complete, having only two pieces—the first disc and the decorative brass cover. Alex swore the maker had his or her maps completely wrong, but she loved it anyway for its beauty. It had been given to her at birth by a great warrior. Kelile. Her namesake. That only made it more special.

  Only now, she was looking for something specific. At the top of the astrolabe, in the decorative area where the instrument connected to the chain, there was a distinct image etched into the brass. Alex laid it on the carpet next to the woman guarding the city. Well, she was either guarding it or destroying it. Regardless, the image was clear. Alex traced the lines. It matched the astrolabe. Perfectly.

  “Did you tell my family about this, Birdie?”

  Birdie shook his head. “I brought it straight here. Whatcha gonna do with it?”

  Alex considered his question a long moment.

  She lifted the astrolabe by its chain and slid it over her head. Then she rolled up the rug tightly. “I’m going to hide it,” she said truthfully. “Somewhere no one can ever find it.”

  Chapter Five

  England, three years later …

  Would Paxton never give up?

  “You’ll never find it,” Alex mumbled, not quite conscious, despite the unrelenting shake continuing to bear down on her shoulder. She smacked the annoyance away, eyes still closed.

  “Alex! Wake up!”

  Alex jumped. “What?”

  Not yet awake, she reached out in confusion as her body fell unceremoniously sideways onto the cold, highly polished, and slippery wood floor. Realization flickered quickly. England. Stonewood Manor. Emma’s party. She’d fallen asleep. Good lord! A social abomination if ever there was one.

  “Damnation, Stephen! Must you yell?”

  Her brother grinned down at her with distinct humor as she tried to right herself while wearing a dress that weighed more than she did.

  “You wouldn’t wake up,” Stephen insisted.

  She ignored him, trying to find her balance. “Damn, this dress has enough material to make an entire ship’s sails.”

  “I thought you liked it.”

  “That was before I had to wear it for an entire evening. I’m ready to sink.”

  “You can’t abandon ship yet. The party isn’t half over.”

  “I never abandon ship. And I was up early! These damned affairs go on forever.”

  “Don’t let Emma hear that,” Stephen warned. “You’ll hurt her feelings.”

  “Oh, I know.” Alex fixed her dress, already feeling remorse. Emma was her one true friend. Actually, her first true friend, aside from family and her crew. But her family didn’t have a choice and her crew was paid, so Emma’s strange loyalty to her could only mean she liked her, right? God alone knew why. But Alex was learning friendship meant you did things for someone you wouldn’t otherwise consider unless under the influence of a loaded barrel. Attending parties was one of them.

  She sighed, exhausted. She was a shipping maven, not a social maven. Why wouldn’t people accept that? The very question made her grumpy again.

  If only she could get one night’s sleep. It had been months since the last attack, and she was still rattled. That was not normal. Not for her. She’d dealt with worse. Perhaps it was the waiting and wondering for the next strike. Despite the reprieve, she had a sense of something closing in on her.

  Stephen frowned, then immediately made work of circling his sister to make sure her skirts were in place. Not that he was an expert, but he didn’t want Alex to see his worry. She was worried enough for them both these days, and it showed. He didn’t know how to help, and likely if he did Alex wouldn’t accept it anyway. She just wanted him to be happy. For now, he could only watch her back at social gatherings. Of course, that was no easy task.

  He froze. There had been a glint of something suspicious at her wrist before she adjusted the sleeve. “Alex, you’re not—”

  “What are you two up to? Not hiding from my guests are you?”

  Lady Emma Preston interrupted the siblings, gliding into their presence and completing the intimate circle of three they had become over the last months.

  Alex welcomed her friend with a genuine smile and tried not to laugh at her brother’s besotted adoration. His thoughts were easily distracted, much to her relief. She tapped her wrist to make sure everything was secure.

  “I had to wake Stephen. He was dozing in the corner here. Very rude, I was saying. You must introduce him around some more. Perhaps the dance floor will keep him alert.”

  Stephen’s mouth dropped in horror.

  “Stephen,” Emma cried, wounded, “you’re not having fun?”

  “Uh, I didn’t say that. It was more like, umm … I was having so much fun, I needed a respite. Yes! And my dear, dear sister caught me unawares.” Stephen locked eyes with Alex, promising revenge. Alex merely grinned broadly until her friend narrowed in on her.

  “Alexandra, I haven’t seen you dancing yet either.”

  “Ah. Yes, well. I am avoiding the dance floor for fear of
embarrassing you, not to mention myself. I have a keen sense of survival if you haven’t already discovered.” Alex had mastered the complicated dance moves in the privacy of her sitting room, but had yet to put them to the test.

  “Hummph.” Emma seemed far from satisfied.

  “I’m just going to have a quick breath of air, and then I will be back to converse intelligently with your many guests,” Alex said. “I promise.”

  “All right, but don’t be long. And stay within sight, please. I don’t want a scandal at your first real ball.” Emma knew she would be lucky if Alex listened, but she had to try. “And while you’re out there, practice your gracious smile.” Emma gestured in a mocking manner, her hand sweeping out to demonstrate how the smile should flow from within. “You looked quite pained earlier. Gracious smile,” she added again, teasing.

  Alex grimaced. The thought of practicing any more niceties was enough to make her run. Sighing helplessly, Emma gave one last warning, then draped her hand lightly over the arm Stephen offered.

  Alex watched them go, giving a little wave when Emma peeked back over her shoulder as if to check on her. Then she slipped out onto the expansive terrace, grateful for the cool breeze on any part of her skin not covered in silk.

  Once in the safety of shadows, she looked back at the people within. Some she quite liked, but most, she thought, were a bit odd. She grinned as Stephen was not so gently shoved off to the dance floor with a young girl suffering from nervous eye flutters.

  Her heart swelled with pride as she watched him give ‘the gracious smile’ to the girl. He had become such a gentleman. This part of their visit had been worth it. She wished her parents could see him now. It had been a priceless moment getting him to wear the proper attire, but it suited him surprisingly well. His shoulders were expanding into the shape of all the Stafford men and he was nearly as tall as the rest of her brothers now.

  She leaned against a wall, thinking she actually missed her rude, pushy, domineering brothers. She wondered if being around women so much lately had made her unusually sentimental. She was never this way on the ship.

  Alex scanned the crowd, smiling when she found her Aunt Maggie dancing with a handsome, older man. He looked somewhat besotted too. She nodded, thoughtful. Maggie deserved the attention. Her eyes continued to roam, stopped at the entrance of the grand room, then narrowed. With irritation. Lord Pillington. He wasn’t on the guest list. She scowled more deeply, studying his companions and recognizing a prominent painter who had been to Aunt Maggie’s when Alex first arrived in London. Her respect for the painter diminished immediately. Pillington must have persuaded him to gain an invitation. She watched the overbearing aristocrat with growing annoyance. Pillington searched the room, his smug look impossible to miss.

  “Blast!” She watched as he was intercepted by Emma, who greeted him graciously while looking about quickly, no doubt to see if Alex was in sight. Alex stepped back from the window lest she be discovered by the potbellied, dandified lord. Emma was one of the few who knew of the nuisance Lord Pillington had become in his quest to wed Alex. Not that he cared for her at all. He simply needed to marry a rich heiress soon or be carted off to debtors’ prison. It was apparently enough to make any Englishman desperate. She had advised him to seek employment.

  A cool breeze ruffled the tendrils of hair at the back of her neck. She ventured to the remotest end of the veranda. She could probably hide here for sometime without being missed.

  The idea held promise and gave her a moment to think back to the dream Stephen had so rudely interrupted.

  Paxton had disappeared for awhile after her capture and subsequent escape in Morocco, but eventually he resurfaced. Unlike her father. She would never know if it was the storm or Paxton that became her father’s ultimate doom. She tried not to think about either. Except when Paxton forced her to. Lately, that was a regular event. He was coming after her with renewed efforts and had gained a measure of wealth and power.

  Pushing worry aside, Alex turned to enjoy the moon when something else caught her attention. A shadow moved along the back wall of Stonewood Manor. Her guard immediately up, she leaned her entire body over the side of the low marble wall to get a better look. The figure agilely scaled the manor and disappeared through a window. Who could it be? Had she been tracked to the countryside, or was this a random lothario escaping from an unwanted suitor … or husband? Alex flexed her wrist in preparation, grateful for the cold metal she always tucked away. If he was an intruder, he’d made a big mistake.

  Joshua Leigh, Duke of Worthington and Marcus Hampton, Earl of Stonewood were grinning over the earl’s twenty-year-old Scotch. Locked safely within the doors of the earl’s library, they toasted their stealthy avoidance of the country ball going on outside.

  “Damned good idea that was, Joshua. I couldn’t face several hours of polite conversation after the ride from London.”

  “Nor I, though a hot bath would be pleasant enough.” The duke had just lifted his friend, a good-sized man, through the library window and then climbed through himself. As a result he had mud on his hands and an inordinate amount of dust on his clothes. He tossed his riding coat on the floor before he got anything else dirty, and plopped comfortably in a large chair. The earl tossed him a small cloth next to the decanter to wipe his hands.

  “I had forgotten all about this birthday celebration for Lady Margaret. She’s been a helpful companion and kind neighbor to Emma since my mother died,” Marcus explained. “I shall enjoy having her for a neighbor again.”

  The duke smiled, remembering Lady Margaret. She was a kind, down-to-earth woman who had been good to him and his mother when he was very young. Her husband passed away from a heart ailment shortly after he left for school, and she had gone abroad to visit with family. Joshua had left England as well, after the dean at Eton informed him his father was no longer paying for his education. After that, he had only stopped in London for business and to visit the few friends he had made in his youth. Marcus was one of those friends.

  “Who else remains from the old set that I might remember?”

  “Colin has yet to marry, but—” Marcus halted when the doorknob to the library rattled. They looked at each other, then in silence at the door, waiting for the person to move on. A scrape against metal and the sliding sound of the lock turning warned they were about to be found. Stealthily, Joshua reached for his jacket and Marcus made the signal to hide.

  Alex heard the lock click and opened the door with extreme satisfaction. It had taken three hairpins. She bent them back into shape and slid them onto the cuff of her sleeve. Gently, she closed the door behind her and surveyed the room before venturing forward.

  The window to her right was open, a breeze ruffling the curtains. This was definitely where the man had entered. There looked to be a bit of dirt near the carpet. She followed the path to the desk and spotted a crystal decanter. There were two clean glasses near it. On a small side table sat another glass. Even from the distance, she knew it had been recently used. Relief spread through her. Kidnappers and murderers didn’t stop to have a drink. But where was the fourth glass? There were never just three. She laid her gloves and silk bag on the table near the door and quickly bent to the strap above her left ankle. If she was outnumbered, it paid to be prepared.

  Alex had taken only a couple steps forward when the door swished behind her and the aristocrat she’d been avoiding entered. She covertly tucked her hands into the folds of her dress.

  “Lord Pillington,” she greeted disinterestedly, not bothering to mask her displeasure.

  “Miss Stafford! What a charming coincidence. I’ve been looking for you. You left London without a word to anyone. Shame on you. Imagine how thrilled I was to hear you had turned up here. In Kent.”

  “I was just leaving.” Her voice cool, she made for the door. “Enjoy your eve—” Alex stopped as Pillington blocked her exit, and the lock snapped loudly in place. With a silent curse on her lips, Alex retreated, unable to p
revent a huff of exasperation.

  Joshua tensed as the charming American accent cut off abruptly, followed by a husky sigh of irritation. He guessed the woman was too innocent to know the extent of her peril.

  “I plan to enjoy my evening very much, Miss Stafford. Very much,” Pillington repeated with a nefarious leer.

  “Lord Pillington, if you will please step away from the door, I will leave you to relax alone. My brother will no doubt be wondering where I am.”

  “Not to bother, my dear. My companions are most accommodating. They will make sure no one finds you … quite yet,” he threatened.

  “Sir, I have no interest in parlor games, nor do I intend to marry you or anyone else in the near future. Please do not take it personally.”

  Joshua pressed flat against a wall, covered by thick drapes. He watched the figures in the room through the reflection of the window’s glass on his left. Despite the confidence in her voice, the woman stepped backward slowly, circling a table defensively for distance. She was slim and gently curved. He calculated how long it would take him to reach the man’s throat should it become necessary. He thought it would be a pleasure. At the same time, he was curious as to how and why this woman had come into the library in the first place. She was definitely not above suspicion. He listened further. The Pillington chap was confident of his success, and the girl, so far smart enough not to underestimate him.

  “My lovely Miss Stafford. How foolish and naïve you are. You will marry me.” He began as if patiently instructing a young child. “Let me set the scene for you. You are missing from the party, someone comments, ‘Lo, how strange. Lord Pillington is missing as well!’ A search party is formed and you are found alone, in a dimly lit room, with me, your lover, in a very compromising situation. The guests will pretend to be shocked, and some might be. Your aunt will be humiliated and scandalized. Your friends, what few you may have, will insist you do the right thing. I, of course, will save you—by announcing our engagement.”

  “Save me?” Her tone was derisive.