Duke Of Deception (Wentworth Trilogy)

by Stephie Smith

  Derek moved around to face him, and with a thrust and jerk of his hand, split apart the man’s clothing from chest to groin without marking his skin.

  Leaping back in terror, the man, who only moments before had been feared by every person on the slave ship, began to plead for his life. “Not me! It’s not me! I’m only the First Mate!” he cried out, cowering before Derek’s sword. “The captain’s escaped. Gone over the side. I swear it.”

  Derek swung a sharp look toward Morgan, who in turn gave a cursory nod to his men, conveying a silent command to search the water. A dozen of his crew spread out along the starboard rail, and a moment later a man shouted, “There! I see him! There!”

  Derek gestured to two of his men. “Keep this one around,” he told them, pointing to the frightened American. “I’ll want to talk to him again.” Satisfaction sluiced through him as the man paled to a deathly white. As First Mate, the man would have been responsible for carrying out the captain’s orders, and Derek’s gut tightened at the thought of the horrors he’d no doubt ordered against the Africans.

  He hastened starboard, from where he could watch the cowardly captain trying to escape in a small boat less than fifty yards away. The boat was making little progress though Derek could see through the spyglass that the man was sweating with his efforts. Derek snorted. With that rotund belly and heavy jowls, the American captain was obviously unused to physical labor and unequal to the task of rowing against a current, however weak it might be.

  Derek considered his options. He could let the man row until he exhausted himself, since it was obvious he’d get nowhere, but he decided that wasn’t good enough for such scum.

  He turned to Morgan. “Launch a boat and send enough men to bring the captain back safely, once his boat starts to sink. And Morgan”—he gestured toward the normally turquoise water that was dark with the bodies of sharks—“take the biggest boat they’ve got.”

  Morgan shouted out the order, his eyes round with fright at the sight of the dozens of sharks of various shades, shapes, and sizes. “Good God! I’ve never seen so many in one place before, Captain. Whatever are they do—” He blanched. “Sir?” he asked, his voice cracking.

  “I’m afraid so,” Derek replied. “Slavers dump the bodies of the dead throughout the trip, but most of the dead are tossed as the ship approaches land. Sharks have probably followed the ship for days, even weeks, but others patrol just these waters.”

  While a dozen of his crew swiftly rowed toward the fleeing captain, Derek motioned for Morgan’s gun, one of the few that were loaded. He lifted the firearm, took careful aim at the bottom of the captain’s little boat, and fired. At the loud crack of the shot, the drunken captain jumped, then whipped his head around to look at the ship.

  Derek’s lips curved in a satisfied grin as he waved to the American. “I should have told Bimson to let the man sweat a while before they take him aboard.”

  “I expect that’s what he’s doin’ now, Captain,” Morgan said as all eyes watched the American captain wave frantically to the rescue boat’s crew. The tiny boat was already filling with water, and the sharks were circling, impatiently awaiting the delivery of their next meal. The tension built as Bimson’s boat remained just out of reach while every man on the deck of the slave ship stood watching, waiting to see if the little boat would capsize with the captain still in it. If it did, they’d all witness the man’s ghastly death by sharks. From the shouts and jeers of the slaver’s crew, Derek could tell it was an event most of the men hoped to see.

  Derek held his breath. He hadn’t sent the boat out there to tease the man; he wanted the captain to face justice. But the captain’s boat was about to go under, not what he’d intended at all.

  Just then, Bimson’s crew took two long strokes in unison, gliding up beside the smaller boat. Four of his men plucked the terrified captain from what would literally be the jaws of death, as the small boat disappeared under the water turbulent with sharks. Bimson immediately and expertly turned the boat about.

  Derek exhaled as his crew rowed back at a good clip. He turned to Morgan. “It’s time to see to the other business,” he said, steeling himself to face the slaves.

  On the main deck, scores of Africans crouched, each shackled to several fellow prisoners. None stood; Derek doubted that they were able to, so tightly packed had they been. Some were in such bad shape they were unable to do more than lie on the deck. All had clenched their eyes shut against the rising sun. All were filthy and naked, and many were covered in a mixture of blood, mucus, feces, and God knew what else.

  “Get them each a drink of fresh water first and then get a hose going to wash them down,” he told Morgan, knowing the Africans would try to drink the sea water coming from the hose if they weren’t given fresh water first. It would be a natural instinct and they’d have no idea it would make their condition worse. “Oh, and Morgan, find the keys to those shackles and strike them off.”

  “But, sir,” Morgan answered in an undertone, “what if they mutiny? There’s a lot more of them than there is of us.”

  Derek looked at the near silent men, women, and children who’d been beaten, raped, starved, tortured and made to lie in body waste for weeks. None of them appeared strong enough to lead a revolt, and where would they go? If they were able to seize a boat and make it to shore, they’d be recaptured as the American captain’s property.

  “I don’t think we need to worry about that, but find one who speaks English and explain our intention. There are plenty of other things we do need to worry about, though, like food and water, taking on sailmakers. Then there’s that little business of seeing our cargo unloaded. And those blasted weapons.”

  Taking care of these people was priority, but to really take care of them, he needed food and water, and in order for the Siren to take on all that extra food and water, even if only for a few days, he’d have to unload.

  And, when he delivered his cargo, he would have some explaining to do, for the merchants were expecting five hundred cases of whiskey, three hundred of brandy and two hundred of wheat, not a third that much, if that’s what they ended up with after the goods were repacked minus the weapons. He didn’t know how he would explain the loss of cargo. He couldn’t tell the truth, even if the merchants had been in on the deal. He clenched his jaw in frustration. He must take one thing at a time and do what must be done.

  Two hours later, after sending most of his supplies over to the slaver, Derek stood on the deck of the Siren again, directing his men as they removed the weapons from the crates and repacked the cargo. He hoped he’d be able to find a British captain ashore, one who wouldn’t mind escorting the slaver to Sierra Leone for the prize money. Just maybe he could turn over the weapons to him too. His crew wouldn’t mind; he’d pay each of them twice the prize money as a bonus.

  As exhausted mentally as he was physically, he couldn’t keep his thoughts from wandering to Lucy as he finally gave orders to sail into the near coastal waters. It was ironic that for the past year his mind had been consumed by this smuggling business and now that he was embroiled in it, all he could think of was the day it would be over and he could settle down with Lucy. Unfortunately, that couldn’t happen until he told her the truth of his identity and the reason he’d been masquerading as another man.

  The thought of revealing his identity as a duke rather than a privateer no longer brought pleasure to him. After what happened between them that last night, she probably didn’t care who he was, and though she’d agreed to put his inexcusable behavior behind her so they could begin again, it would be natural for her to harbor thoughts of his shameful conduct. Could he blame her? If any man, husband or not, treated his sister in such a manner, he’d call him out.

  When he returned, things would be different. He would be different. He’d meant everything he said to Lucy and the things he’d said to himself as well. Lucy was a spirited, wonderful young lady who hadn’t had an easy life, and he’d be damned if he would make it even mor
e difficult because of his jealousy.

  All he needed was the chance to prove he could be kind and fair, that they could have a good life together, but he couldn’t tell her the truth. Not yet. He’d have to woo her first and gain her respect, for if she learned that everything he’d told her was a lie before he had a chance to make it all up to her, he would never get the chance to make it right.

  He closed his eyes and leaned against the railing, remembering the sweet passion of her kiss on the day of the picnic, the heady feeling of her arms wrapped around him as she pulled him to her as though she couldn’t get enough of him, and a fierce longing washed over him.

  He wanted her and he wanted to be honest with her, but he must wait. Wait until she forgot about that last night, until she came to him willingly as his wife, until he was certain she would forgive him.

  Then he would tell her the truth.

  Chapter 27

  Lucy’s heart was full as she stood at her bedchamber window looking out at Stonecrest land. Her tenants’ freshly whitewashed cottages with their brightly painted doors stood in cheerful array against the verdant hills. Wagons loaded with long straw lined the lane in preparation for the thatching that would soon begin. Children jumped up and down in anticipation of the wide swings that were at that very moment being hung from the trees. But it was the dark furrows of soil that ran the length of the fields to the east that increased her gratitude a thousandfold. If the weather remained fair, the men would lay irrigation pipes in those trenches, and in another two weeks, water would flow to all her fields. It was the project her father had most often spoke of; Lucy rejoiced in her ability to carry out his dream.

  How she wished Derek could see the progress, she thought as she smiled over the amount of labor that her bodyguard—Kirkpatrick—had contributed to her projects. Though the dry-humored Scotsman would participate in the work only while Lucy remained in his line of sight, he’d been able to get two and three times as much done as any of the others. The restoration was going so well that she’d turned more and more of the supervision over to her new estate manager, Mr. Dyson, leaving her extra time to rest and think about the baby.

  The baby.

  She placed her hand on her belly and let the wonder of the miracle strike her anew, as it did each time she thought of it. She couldn’t believe she had ever questioned wanting the baby. She’d even talked herself into believing that Derek would come back to live at Stonecrest with her, though she wouldn’t tell him about the baby until she knew his plans, for she still feared he might force her to go to America with him. She was little more than two months along, and the doctor said she might not even show until the sixth. By then, if Derek planned to leave, he would be gone.

  She wouldn’t think about that today. There was no point in worrying over what might happen. For now, she was just blessedly happy to be carrying his baby and to know she could provide for her child whether Derek stayed or not.

  She turned at a sound from the hallway and her bedchamber door flew open. Bridget bounded into the room, her face glowing with excitement. “Lady Sara’s come to visit!”

  Sara! Without another thought, Lucy flew out of the room, down the hall and staircase to greet her friend, overjoyed at the unexpected visit.

  “Lucy!” Sara squealed, her blond curls bouncing around her bonnet as she rushed forward. “Oh, you cannot know how much I have missed you!”

  “I’m quite certain I have missed you every bit as much!”

  The two girls hugged, their eyes brimming with tears of happiness, then stepped back, each taking the measure of the other as though they had been separated for three years rather than three months.

  Sara took Lucy’s hands. “I hope you can forgive me my absence. You know I would have come to you sooner if I could have, but my brothers watch my every move.” A slight flush of color was the only indication that Sara was uncomfortable with her confession. “I am so very sorry I couldn’t attend your wedding. My mother has been terrified that a breath of scandal will… Well, you know.”

  Lucy nodded and gave her friend’s hands a reassuring squeeze, unable to reply until she reined in her emotions. “You needn’t be afraid of saying the wrong thing. We have been good friends far too long for you to worry about that. Besides, we knew this would happen.” She forced herself to brighten her voice. “I can’t believe you were able to slip away for this brief visit. However did you manage it?”

  Sara giggled. “I must confess I pulled one of your tricks. I escaped down the tree outside my window, but I don’t have quite your skill,” she admitted sheepishly as she lifted her skirt to reveal a torn and soiled petticoat. “I also broke one of the roundels when I tried to catch hold of it as I started to slip, and then, when I kicked away the hem of my skirt, I put my foot right through a windowpane! I’ll be thoroughly punished for that when I return.”

  Lucy laughed with delight at the thought of her friend’s misadventures. Sara, who had always insisted she had a special aptitude for clumsiness, had been unwilling to even climb a tree when they were younger, so certain she was that she would immediately tumble out of it. And to climb out of her window and down to the ground! Lucy chuckled at the vision in her mind.

  “I should think you’ll be equally punished for the roundel, since I doubt they shall ever find another to match the set exactly,” Lucy replied, remembering the Baroque-style ornaments set between the windows of the Wharton country home.

  “Pooh. I shall just tell Mama she should thank me. She’s wanted to get rid of those and put up something stylish for ever so long, and now she can. Anyway, whatever the punishment may be, the look on Harrison’s face as I passed by the drawing room window on my way down was worth it. I do believe that in ten years, it is the only time I have ever seen the man flummoxed.”

  Both girls burst into laughter at the image of the butler’s icy veneer cracking as he stood witness to Sara’s undignified escape.

  Sara sobered first. “You’ll never guess what’s been happening. In truth, I hardly know myself. My parents are furious with me. Papa runs in the opposite direction every time he sees me, and Mama is taking me away to Scotland, she says, until next Season begins!”

  “Whatever happened to cause all this?”

  “That’s just the problem. I have no idea. I thought perhaps… ” Sara’s gaze wavered for a moment. “Oh, confound it, Lucy, I shall simply say it. I thought perhaps it was because they feared for my reputation because of… well…”

  “Because of your friendship with me?” Lucy supplied gently.

  “Well, yes,” Sara admitted. “But that wasn’t it at all, or at least I don’t think so since their odd behavior started only a week or two ago. Then last week Lord Fitzgerald offered for me after one short introduction and Papa bade me to accept. Can you imagine? Well, we had the most awful row. I refuse to see myself betrothed to that man. He’s three times my age and at least four times my size! Then Mama began to cry because she feels quite the same as I do about Lord Fitzgerald, and then Papa began to shout. You will never believe what Papa said next.”

  “What? What? Don’t keep me in suspense.”

  “He said I could just forget about marrying Lord Aster and if he so much as heard that name whispered in our house, h—”

  “Lord Aster? Had you mentioned your feelings?”

  “Well, not exactly.” Sara took off her bonnet and flung it to the sofa, then swiped a lock of hair away from her face. “He’s only come to call twice, though I did let him kiss me the second time.”

  “Sara!”

  “Oh, but Lucy, you would have let him kiss you too, if you had seen him. He looked so handsome, and my new maid—Kitty—agreed to look the other way for a few minutes, even though she was quite unhappy about it, and—”

  “Sara,” Lucy choked out between giggles, “I’m beginning to understand why your parents are so upset.”

  “Well, I think Kitty must have told someone. That’s all I can imagine because I seem to be under th
e watchful eye of one of my brothers at every moment except when I’m on the chamber pot.”

  “Sara!” Lucy burst into laughter again.

  “It’s true. Just today Kitty told me the entire household is agog with the gossip that I might elope.”

  “And would you?”

  “Would I what?”

  “Elope with Lord Aster?”

  “I probably would if he asked, but it’s quite obvious he isn’t going to. Kitty says Papa told him he could not call again, and Lord Aster hasn’t pressed his suit.”

  Sara plopped down on the sofa and ran her fingers through her curls. “Oh, dear, and all because of a silly kiss. I’m quite certain I’m in love with him and”—her lower lip began to quiver—“if I can’t have him, I don’t know what I shall do.”

  Lucy fought back another urge to giggle as she remembered a day not three years earlier when Sara sat beside her saying exactly the same thing with exactly the same expression and exactly the same gestures. Only that time she had kissed a different boy. Lucy had been shocked and a bit envious too.

  She smiled at Sara, swallowing her giggle. “Do you remember having a similar conversation three years ago?” she asked.

  Sara frowned, but then her eyes widened. “About Charlie?” She sat up and began dabbing at her eyes. “I was just a child then. I certainly didn’t know what love was.”

  Lucy nodded. “That’s true. But you weren’t nearly as much of a child as you were two years before that when we had the same conversation about Petey Michaels. And please don’t tell me you kissed him too. Do you know what I think? I think you are confusing love with attraction.”