As he’d planned, the highly maneuverable Redemption executed a dizzying one hundred and eighty degree spin and charged toward the larger ships. The vessels had powered down and obviously thought the Redemption was theirs for the taking.
“Give her all she’s got!” Beau barked down the tube. The nimble Redemption shot between the vessels and back out the way they’d come.
“Fire!” Rives screeched over his voice trumpet.
Rifle volleys and shells exploded behind them. The Charger’s gunners had been the only ones prepared.
“I’ll see you to the devil!” Rives screamed after them. “This is not over!”
Chapter 24
As the Charger dashed toward Nassau, Commander Jacob Rives shook the empty rum flask over his gaping mouth. Two swigs didn’t even begin to dull the frustration. He dug under his desk and pulled out an even larger bottle, also empty. Slowly rising to his feet, he gripped the bottle’s neck and envisioned it exploding against his cabin wall.
Tollier had slid through his fingers again.
Even though he had the Charger, formerly the Roundabout—Tollier’s speedy little blockade-runner and now the swiftest gunboat in the Union Fleet—Tollier’s new ship was even faster. How did that whoreson always have the fastest ship?
The Redemption had been trapped. If Hargreaves had done his job, Rives would be well on his way to restoring his family’s wealth. The cotton alone represented an enormous fortune. Add to it the price of the ship. Once the prize court divvied up the spoils, he’d be rich.
Every inch of Jake’s back itched with sweat, a familiar response to repressing his rage. He rolled his shoulders, clenched his jaw and concentrated on the glide of his fingers up and down the bottle’s neck.
Glass would already litter the floor had he not learned to properly vent his anger. A resourceful man need not stoop to such pedestrian displays. He set the empty bottle on his desk and smiled at it grimly. He’d more diverting things to ponder, like punishments to be planned and pain to be meted out. Tollier and Calista deserved something special.
The filthy pirate had sunk the Lark and killed his father. Much of his family’s fortune had sunk with it. The loss of both his father and the ship had nearly bankrupted his family.
Tollier might have only been the first mate on the St. Charles, but he was guilty of murder along with everyone else on that commerce raider. None of the others had been so difficult to kill.
Capturing the Roundabout wasn’t enough. Getting him convicted of piracy hadn’t worked. Somehow he’d slid out of that too. Now Tollier had Calista. Was it tit-for-tat? The slippery bastard must have some kind of sick obsession. Always twitting his nose at him.
Since childhood, Calista was supposed to be his. Her inheritance should have been his as well. After all, their fathers had built their fortunes together. Calista’s father shipped cotton and his father had the mills. They were practically family.
Taking the straight-and-narrow approach didn’t work when Tollier flouted the laws and had powerful connections to bail him out.
At the trial, Jake had everything to convict him: painstaking surveillance, verified aliases, and witnesses’ sworn statements placing him at the scenes of his crimes. But the stiff-necked judge would only allow live witnesses to give evidence. Fortunately, Jake had sent Tollier’s crew on their way, claimed they’d escaped and weren’t available to give testimony. He’d brought his own crew to the trial and prepared them. Otherwise, that murdering pirate would have gone completely free.
He fisted a hand and rubbed until his knuckles cracked. It had felt somewhat satisfying to punch and pound on Tollier when he’d seized the Roundabout. Feel bone on bone. See the blood flow and the bruises blossom on his pretty face. He took a frustrated breath and blew it out.
So Calista had strayed from the protection of the earl. Fortunately, her New York scandal and rumors of deranged behavior kept her alienated from England’s society. She might as well have been in a convent. And since she’d spurned him for Sterling that was exactly where she belonged.
Now that the chickadee had left her sanctuary and joined the enemy, she made herself fair game. If she wanted to play in his backyard, the rules hadn’t changed.
He slowly massaged his knuckles and hummed a few tunes until he found one he liked. He sang the words softly, “Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me; Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee.” Yes. That song should do quite nicely.
They’d all soon reach Nassau. Perhaps a reunion was in order. He planted his feet wide and let his loins twitch in anticipation of the deep release of retribution.
***
Beau walked to the middle of the packed Royal Victoria Hotel’s saloon and waited for the applause to die down. He looked over the sea of faces and raised his voice. “Now I know you all didn’t come to listen to speeches.”
Cheers and guffaws erupted around the room.
“The way news travels here you probably already know more about our run than I do.” More laughter. “I’d like to thank you for helping us celebrate and offer my best wishes for your new year. I hope you find as much success. So let’s not waist any more time and get this party underway!”
Cheers and whistles rose while the band launched into a rollicking island tune.
C.C. stood off to the side in a pale yellow gown, smiling and clapping.
He couldn’t meet her gaze. If she saw what was in his, no telling how she’d react. Nothing could be done about it anyway. He’d made a pact with himself to suppress his sentiments. She deserved a better man, someone she could count on to be there, and not merely for the good times.
Thankfully, other responsibilities demanded his attention. As captain and host of this shindig, customs had to be observed. A certain amount of decorum was expected.
Partiers stepped forward, wrung Beau’s hand and congratulated him as he made his way to the bar. He’d probably already shaken a hundred hands. By the looks of the room he had at least a hundred more to go.
This wasn’t the kind of celebrating he craved, however. More than two sleepless days at sea with only a short nap in Nassau left his muscles stiff and a dull throb thumping in his head. As usual, contrary to his body’s need for rest, the run’s danger and high excitement had him heated to a randy boil. And when he’d no place to release it, he tended to get downright ornery.
Nell floated into the saloon wearing red satin and a cloud of sweet gardenia perfume. Men gaped and gallantly stepped aside to let her pass. Some eyed her like a hungry dog does a juicy steak.
The crowd folded in behind and Nell pressed against him. She reached up and lightly drew a fingertip around a sensitive part of his chest. “So your voyage was exciting, cher?” she asked in her dark-butter lilt. Nell knew what he needed and knew how to coax out the business. She was a professional, after all.
In a smooth, practiced move, she undulated her body against his most sensitive parts and angled her head for a kiss.
Beau’s breath caught at the sensation. He quickly stepped back. He liked Nell and he liked her kisses. They’d been friends since before Millie. But somewhere over the past month C.C.’s lips had become the only ones he wanted under his.
“Did those nasty Ol’ Yankees pester you?”
The comment roused some of Beau’s old swagger, and he worked up half a grin. “It wouldn’t be any fun if they didn’t.”
She leaned up for another try at a kiss.
This time he shifted to the side.
Nell quirked an eyebrow. “So, you’re saving your kisses for another?” Slowly glancing around the saloon, she let her expression ease to soft seduction. “If you need the warmth and comfort of a friend, you know where to find me, cher.” She stepped away from him and sidled up to another well-dressed man.
Beau had no idea who the man was, didn’t know half the people in the room. That was the way of it with these victory celebrations. He’d every right to be happy, joyous even. Not only had he triumphed over his nemesis, Uni
on Commander Rives, he’d brought back over a quarter million dollars in cotton as well. Yet he couldn’t even work up to festive.
He took a glass of rum from the tray and leaned on the polished bar, slowly rolling the glass between his palms. Rives’s last words haunted him. “This is not over!”
The way Rives drooled over C.C. had been disturbing. Clearly she didn’t like the commander, but she’d always dodged explaining why. With a twisted bastard like Rives, Beau didn’t even want to guess.
A boisterous reveler knocked him in the shoulder and quickly apologized as he grabbed for a glass on the tray. Four of Beau’s crewmembers stood arm in arm at the end of the bar, practically holding each other up as they howled an off-color ditty.
Beau grimaced at the rum’s bite and set down his glass. Something inside him had changed. He used to enjoy these parties. They were the frosting on the sweet taste of victory. He gazed at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. In the dim light a glum, hollow-eyed man stared back.
Come to think of it, something about the saloon had changed too, but he couldn’t decide what. It was like looking at a memory of the way life had been. When he’d first arrived weeks before, he’d wished the blockade run were over. Now, with it behind him, his wishes were more complicated.
C.C. was that complication. He rubbed at his throbbing temple. When had he realized the real woman inside was nothing like the one she allowed the world to see?
Weeks had passed before she let down her guard. Maybe it had been during the wagon ride to her family’s plantation. She’d stuffed her hair under that ridiculous straw hat. Her face had been covered with dirt, and she’d mumbled to herself something about the need to instruct her man of business on an investment. He still remembered the shiver that climbed his spine when he grasped the formidable depth of understanding her words revealed.
Afterwards, he began to listen more closely. Never had he known a woman who could be exciting just sitting, quietly thinking. Her analytical forethought and planning boggled the mind. The woman hid her most exceptional gifts like a clam hides its pearl.
At some point he’d seen through her crazy, shifting outer layer to her brave and generous inner core. Her ability to forgive devastating scars showed a love and loyalty stronger than steel. Seeing all she went through now tore at his heart.
He’d not gone to such lengths for people who’d loved him gently and unconditionally. Millie, Freddie—he almost groaned. A knot formed in his throat. At some point C.C. had begun to claim real estate in his heart. Not Millie and Freddie’s portion, but a large tract all her own. He couldn’t hope for much more time with C.C. With the delivery of a full load of cotton to Nassau, their agreement was now definitely complete.
He felt like a starving urchin with his nose pressed up against a bakery window. He didn’t deserve C.C., but he craved the soul-deep connection that granted him her love.
***
C.C. watched Captain Tollier lean against the bar, his back to the party. His victory speech sounded rather spare and preoccupied. She’d seen him give speeches before and wondered why he wasn’t more jolly or effusive. If anything, the profit on his own cargo of cotton should have put a cheery note in his voice.
“Your yellow gown is lovely.” A woman’s sultry voice murmured close by.
Sweet gardenia perfume folded around C.C. Every muscle in her tensed. She turned to the woman in the red silk gown. Even though they both appeared about the same age, the woman’s tone indicated she thought herself smarter and wiser.
“The captain has a lot on his mind, no? I have never seen him so distracted, especially when he has accomplished such a feat.” The woman slowly waved her red-ribbon fan, wafting her cloying perfume about. “Not many captains can boast such a run. Of course, his legend precedes him. You see all the people packing this saloon?” She gazed around the room. “They know the stories and have come to see the famous Captain Tollier.”
“Yes, he is exceptional,” C.C. managed through tight lips. She didn’t want to talk to this woman who’d tried to kiss the captain tonight…twice. The same woman she’d seen sprawled across his lap when he first arrived in Nassau weeks before.
“As famous as Captain Tollier is,” the woman said softly, “a certain gentleman has more interest in someone else.” She paused. When C.C. didn’t take the bait, she leaned in. “The gentleman has more interest in you.”
“Me?” The woman irritated her immensely. She’d a proprietary quality. An intensity C.C. had observed in certain women when they felt others were encroaching on their territory. Still, she couldn’t help asking, “What man?”
The woman lazily waved her fan. “A well-dressed gentleman with dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard.”
“That could describe many in this room. Which one is he?”
The woman scanned the crowd and gave her an enigmatic smile. “I do not see him. It is quieter and more pleasant on the patio. Perhaps he joined the party out there.” Her expression turned flirtatious as she smiled at someone behind C.C. “Enjoy your evening,” she said politely and strolled away, her hips swaying seductively.
Anger welled up in C.C. Had the woman been toying with her or was there really such a man? Did he think C.C. was a harlot too? She looked down at her lovely pastel yellow gown. Men ogled her when she wore prim, sedate gowns with stiff fabrics and rigid corsets. Their attention was nothing new. Still, she suddenly felt self-conscious.
She gazed about the saloon. Decent women and the wives of the crew wore pale, flowing island gowns. Captain Tollier wore a white suit. Light colors were the islands’ style.
More revelers crowded through the saloon’s doors, crushing everyone closer. Their voices compounded the uncomfortable din. Spilt liquor, smoke and body odor lay thick on the air. She’d much rather be in her room. Nate and Jesse had taken to young Ethan; he’d become their nurse, of sorts. Perhaps she should relieve him.
Behind her, a man’s drunken laughter nearly pierced her ear. Another at her side jostled her, apologized and then leered.
She had to get out of here.
***
Beau looked around at the stragglers left in the saloon. A moment of nostalgia hit him. This was his last blockade victory party. Even if Fort Fisher and Wilmington held, he’d now earned enough to comfortably retire.
A messenger entered the saloon and handed Beau a note. Palming him a coin, Beau unfolded the paper. Tiny precise writing said: If you want to see Miss Collins alive, come alone to the Redemption at two a.m.
Beau quickly looked up for the messenger. He’d already disappeared. A sick surge rose in his throat. All evening he’d dodged C.C.’s gaze with such success he’d no idea when she might have left. He ran out onto the patio and searched all the secluded spots. No C.C. He took the stairs, two at a time, to her suite and pounded on the door.
Ethan pulled it open. “Captain?”
“Where’s C— I mean Miss Collins?”
“She hasn’t returned from the celebration,” Ethan slurred sleepily.
“Did she mention going anywhere else besides the party?”
Ethan rubbed his face. “Nooo.”
Beau sprinted down to the front desk and pounded on the call bell.
A clerk finally stumbled out from the back, pulling on his jacket.
“I’m looking for Miss Collins,” Beau panted. “She’s not in her rooms. I received a disturbing note and need to talk to the messenger who delivered it.”
“Our messenger went home at midnight.” The clerk yawned. “If you received a note afterward, it would have been delivered by someone not connected with the hotel.”
Blood thumped in Beau’s ears. “Did anyone ask for her earlier? Did you or anyone else see her leave?”
The clerk gave his head a slow shake, yawning again. “My apologies, Captain. I came on at midnight. I’ve not seen her. No one has asked for her while I’ve been on duty.”
Beau reached across the desk and grabbed the clerk by his shirt colla
r. “This is not an idle question, man! Miss Collins may be in danger. I need answers!”
The man’s eyes bulged and he swallowed audibly. “I’m sorry, Captain. Hotel security would be better qualified to help. Would you like me to send for their assistance?”
Beau shoved him back and dashed into the saloon.
“Felix!” Beau barked.
The bartender quickly came over to his side of the bar. “Something the matter, Captain?”
“Did you recognize the messenger who brought me the note a few minutes ago?”
“Never saw him a’fore now, Captain.”
Beau glanced at the clock above the door. Ten until two. He had ten minutes to get to the ship. Ice slithered through his veins. Someone had taken C.C, yet they’d not demanded a ransom. That made it personal. He sprinted back through the lobby and up to his room. After quickly loading his gun, he stuffed it into his belt and put extra bullets into one coat pocket, a knife in the other and one in each boot.
Darkness shrouded the lush gardens lining the hotel’s drive as he ran. He’d almost made it to the street when something hit him from behind and sent him sprawling. Stunned, he vaguely felt hands stripping off his jacket and roping his wrists together. Another set of hands searched him. “A knife and a gun,” one of the men grunted.
Of all the perverse luck, he was being robbed and now he couldn’t get to C.C. “Help!” Another knock to the head plunged him into darkness.
The next sound he heard was water lapping against piers.
Coarse hands dragged him from the back of a mule cart. In front of him stretched a narrow dock out into the sea, the kind used for pleasure craft.
Someone shoved him forward. As he staggered down the weathered planks, he saw the Roundabout’s rowboat moored to one side. Trees and a few tumbledown shacks surrounded the small, secluded harbor.
At the end of the dock a lantern glowed down from a tall post. C.C. stood in her lovely yellow gown with Rives at her side. As Beau stumbled closer, he saw she appeared unharmed, but her shoulders slumped forward and her head hung to the side as if she were in a stupor.
The Trouble With Misbehaving Page 24