The Trouble With Misbehaving

by Victoria Hanlen

  “Did you search him?” Rives asked in a too-controlled voice.

  “Yes, commander,” the guards answered in unison.

  “Do it again and remove his shoes.”

  They roughly frisked him, yanked off his boots and shook them. Beau’s knives bounced onto the dock. The burly guard kicked them into the water, grabbed his tied arms and jerked them upward behind his back, lifting him onto his toes.

  “So you have me,” Beau growled through gritted teeth. “Let her go.”

  Rives gently raised C.C.’s head and caressed her face. “Did you know,” he mused, “before Miss Collins left New York she begged me to marry her?”

  Beau gazed into C.C.’s eyes, now two unresponsive orbs. “No,” he rasped in disbelief. He thought the man’s name in her love triangle had been Merinus.

  Rives placed a hand over his heart and raised the other, grinning cheerily. “God’s honest truth. You see why she never married? She couldn’t give me up!” He guffawed.

  “Get on with it,” Beau snapped.

  “Oh, ho, ho!” Rives smirked like he’d made a huge discovery. “This is good, this is very good!” He steepled his fingers to his lips and paced, pensively. Finally, he walked up to Beau and stared about his face like an entomologist gazing at an insect. “Sometimes I’ve wondered if you were put on this earth to be the stick in my craw, Tollier.” Rives spat the ‘T’s into his face.

  “With you, the law doesn’t particularly care if justice is served. The only way to make sure things are done right is to do it myself. My father drowned on the Lark.” He stabbed his finger at Beau. “You were first mate on the ship that sank her. To make things right you should go exactly the way he did.”

  “The Lark’s captain was young and green,” Beau said. “The ship sank when he ripped a hole in its hull. Other courses were open, but he chose one well known for submerged rocks. I’ve also been doing some investigating and—”

  Rives lunged forward and slugged Beau in the jaw. Then danced back and shook his hand in the air. “Your ship,” Rives snarled, “was a commerce raider and forced the Lark into those waters.”

  “Commerce raiders are in it for the money, not to destroy the prize or take lives,” Beau shot back. “You were the Lark’s inexperienced captain. Killing me won’t erase your guilt.”

  A rivulet of perspiration leaked out from under Rives’s slouch hat and dribbled down the side of his face. He clutched his hands behind him, pulling his knee-length navy coat tight across his chest. “Harry, show the captain how we silence insolent prisoners,” he said smoothly.

  Harry moved in front, slid something onto his knuckles and planted his feet. His partner held Beau from behind. Rives stood erect in a solid military stance. “Begin,” he said calmly.

  In rapid succession, Harry pistoned metal knuckles into Beau’s gut. The pounding doubled him over. Struggling for air, he gazed up at the commander, who stood studying him with almost clinical interest.

  “Let her go, Rives,” Beau rasped. “It’s me you want dead.”

  “Such gallantry, Tollier.” He sneered, and then nodded to Harry with an uptick of his chin. “Shut him up.”

  Harry stuffed a filthy, sweat-soaked neckerchief into Beau’s mouth and tied another around his face.

  “Again,” Rives said.

  The guard threw a vicious punch. Then threw another and another. In counterpoint to Beau’s muffled groans, he thought he heard Rives singing in a surprisingly sweet tenor… “Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee.”

  By the time Beau regained his senses, Rives had returned to C.C.’s side. He stood stroking her face, singing, “Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song, list while I woo thee in soft melody—”

  Rives paused and pointed toward the water. “The depth at the end of this dock is approximately twenty feet, Tollier. To make this more satisfying—permit me, my dear—” He raised C.C.’s wide bell skirt and petticoats to display nets of rocks roped tightly about her stockinged ankles.

  C.C. stood as unresponsive as an alabaster statue, her expression frozen without emotion.

  Beau now realized her hands were also tied behind her back. The commander’s intent became chillingly clear.

  “You see what we’ve planned, Tollier? I don’t want you to just die, I want you to first suffer the same range of horror I did when my father drowned. Of course, I’m assuming you care something for Miss Collins.” He caressed her face again and mused. “She does have a few fun qualities, doesn’t she?”

  Beau’s anger and fear for C.C. came out in a futile lunge and muffled roar. The guards jerked his arms even more painfully up his back.

  “So you do have more than a passing regard for her.” The commander smiled with self-satisfaction. “I thought so. This should be even more satisfying.” He turned her face toward Beau. “Because of what you did, she must die. I want you to experience the entire spectrum of grief: helplessness, guilt, remorse, anger, despair.” He bared his teeth. “Then you can follow her.” Patting his holstered revolver, he tapped his temple. “Remember my promise, Tollier?”

  Beau struggled against the guards, only to suffer another brutal yank on his arms.

  “Harry, stand Tollier in front of Miss Collins so they can see each other…and me.”

  C.C. stood with her back to the end of the dock. Harry maneuvered Beau in front to face her. Rives stood to the side of the dock between them.

  “Such a momentous day for us all,” Rives announced like a minister performing a ceremony. “The song’s words put it so eloquently.” He sang in his sweet tenor, “E’en as the morn on the streamlet and sea; Then will all clouds of sorrow depar—”

  With the note still warbling in his throat, C.C. lunged sideways onto Rives, knocked him backwards off the dock, and fell on top of him into the water.

  Beau’s heart slammed into his ribs. Even in twilight, the lantern lit the clear Caribbean enough to see Rives struggling in the water beneath her. Beau jerked free of the startled guard and jumped feet first after them.

  He pulled his tied hands under his feet so he could use them in front. Then he yanked the gag and kerchief off his mouth while he kicked down to C.C. and Rives. Salt water stung his eyes as he peered at the struggling figures.

  C.C. had managed to lock her rock-weighted ankles around Rives’s hips, in a very indelicate position. With her arms tied behind her, she’d moored her upper body to his by grasping one of his brass coat buttons between her teeth.

  Rives’s frantic kicks only managed to tangle his feet in her voluminous skirts and petticoats. His arms flailed out at his sides, alternately grabbing at water and pounding on her torso.

  She did not relent under the beating. Instead, she clung to him like a squid on a shark. Apparently, she’d decided to take Rives with her into death.

  Beau had to do something quick or they’d soon drown. He swam behind Rives and grabbed him by the hair. The commander went into a frenzy, thrashing wildly, alternately yanking and clawing at Beau’s hands and beating on C.C.

  They were all in a terrible predicament, but Beau’s fear and anger gave him strength. He jerked the commander’s head and kicked hard, tugging him and C.C. toward the dock pilings.

  Making use of the current and the downward pull of her ankle weights, Beau managed to ram the commander’s head into a large metal bolt on a crossbar. After doing it twice more, the commander went limp.

  By now Beau’s lungs were on fire. C.C. still doggedly clung to Rives’s body. He grabbed her by the back of her gown. It tore in his hands. Part of her skirt swirled over the crossbar. That gave him an idea. Swimming in from her side, he grasped her about the waist, heaved and kicked against Rives. After several yanks she finally turned the commander loose.

  Beau saw the quickest way to bring her to the surface was over his shoulder. Stay with me, he mouthed. Fighting the pull of her weights, swirling gown and his bound hands, he finally pulled her into position. With his last bit of strength he got his feet onto the
crossbar and pushed them both up the side of the piling.

  Stars began to flash in his eyes. If he didn’t get air soon, he’d pass out. He managed to drape her over the crossbar and kick to the surface. After several deep breaths he dove down again. When he reached her, he barely felt a pulse.

  Panic set in.

  Don’t give up C.C., he cried inside. Pulling her over his shoulder, he struggled to drag her up the next three crossbars. By the time he broke the surface, his body screamed for air and every muscle trembled uncontrollably.

  None of it mattered. C.C. lay still as death.

  Chapter 25

  Sunlight filtered through the windows as C.C. groggily awoke in her Royal Victoria Hotel suite. Her lungs burned, and her mouth felt like she’d been chewing sand. Pillows were adjusted behind her. A cool glass of water was set to her lips.

  “Everyone has been very worried about you, miss,” a woman said in her lilting dialect.

  C.C. took a sip, her senses slowly returning. “Captain Tollier! Is he all right?”

  A large, warm hand took hers. “I’m here.” The captain’s smooth baritone flowed over her like warm honey. She turned her head to see him standing at the other side of her bed, gazing down at her. Dark circles rimmed his red, puffy eyes. Welts covered one side of his face. A little worse for wear, but his familiar, vital presence assured her he was very much alive.

  “Nate and Jesse?” she rasped.

  He stroked his thumb over the top of her hand. “They’re fine. Ethan is with them.” Anguish shined in his eyes as he gazed about her face. “You’ve been insensible for hours.”

  She licked her dry lips. “Did you get your questions answered this time?”

  He frowned. “My questions?”

  “You told me I’m quite chatty when I’m unconscious.”

  He smiled crookedly. “This time you weren’t much for conversation.” He enclosed her hand in both of his. His palms’ brine-roughened skin sent little electric charges up her arm.

  “After the doctor cautioned me to prepare for the worst…again…he told me if you survived this time he wanted to examine you further to determine if you were part cat.”

  Her laugh triggered a bout of coughing. Aches began to awaken all over her body. Her thighs cramped where she’d locked them around Jake. Her head, shoulders and torso throbbed where he’d pounded his fists to break free.

  “Jake? Is he—”

  The captain raised a finger and looked over his shoulder. “Sylvie? Would you be so good as to help Ethan with the boys?” After she’d left the room and closed the door, he carefully eased onto the side of C.C.’s bed and gently pulled her against him. “You’d stopped breathing. I thought I’d lost—” He hugged her closer and kissed the top of her head. “You almost ruined my new year.”

  She could hear the rapid pounding of his heart and gloried in the warmth radiating from his body. “I don’t remember much after we went into the water.” It didn’t seem appropriate to mention she’d never expected to draw another breath. “Where is Jake?” she asked again. He’d grilled her about Captain Tollier and bragged the war had taught him ‘fun’ new games to play with them.

  Ten years had taught her lessons too. Dealing with a strong-willed man like the captain had toughened her already rugged resolve. Every day he’d challenged her, forced her to rally everything in her to press forward toward her goal.

  When Jake boasted he’d use her to kill Captain Tollier, her determination galvanized. She scraped her teeth over her lower lip. “Did I—”

  The captain held her closer, kissed the top of her head and murmured solemnly, “We both did.” After a quick glance toward the door, he whispered in her ear, “He is no more.”

  “Oh,” she gasped. It was one thing to wish him dead but quite another to know she’d killed him. After years of being wrongly labeled a ‘murderess’, she’d finally made it true. Was the odd feeling of malaise, remorse?

  She leaned back to gaze about the captain’s face. A purple-green bruise swelled his jaw under his honey colored stubble. “Does it hurt?”

  “It’ll heal. I’ve had worse.”

  Seeing his injury pained her more than all of her own. “How did we get here?”

  “Something must have frightened his guards. By the time I got you onto the dock, they’d fled in the Roundabout’s rowboat and left the mule and cart.”

  So the captain saved her again. Before now only her cousin and aunt had given her succor. Her parents sent her away, a major metropolis turned against her. The scandal forced her into exile and a strange purgatory. Her wealth made her a target. Her inner scars kept her isolated, eschewing attachments, locking her in a glass cage to watch others live life.

  Today, those bonds fell away. For the first time she felt truly free and alive.

  C.C. raised his shirtsleeves to examine the bruised, abraded skin where the ropes had sliced into his wrists. The guards had brutalized him. His muffled groans had filled her with agony.

  “I can’t believe he’s gone, but I’m glad for it,” she confessed. “Are you sure he didn’t swim off somewhere to hide?”

  “I’m sure,” a bleak note entered his voice.

  “Do you think his men will retaliate?”

  “I doubt it. They were thugs following his orders and ran as soon as he was gone.”

  She pinched her eyes closed. “Dead. It doesn’t seem possible. I can still hear him singing. I used to like that song. Now he’s ruined it. Whenever I hear it, I’ll think of last night.”

  The captain stroked her hair. “That was part of his vile genius. He specialized in planting cues to eat at your mind like a worm ruining an apple. The song was a souvenir for him and his victim. I’m sure hearing it afterwards gave him pleasure. He could secretly relive the moment. If his victims survived, he knew the song would probably send them back into the nightmare. Even with him nowhere around, he still controlled them.”

  Tears of gratitude welled in her eyes. The captain understood Jake’s evil.

  All through her childhood and youth, Jake had abused her every chance he got, doing it in such a way her parents and everyone else thought she’d made it up. She looped her arms around the captain’s neck and wanted to caress him from head to toe.

  Gently pulling her closer, he pressed kisses to the most delicate spots around her face and neck. “Ah, C.C.,” he said in a strained voice, “you are going to be the death of me.”

  ***

  Beau hunched out of C.C.’s room. For once his mind and most of his body agreed. Half of him was in no condition for what the other half wanted to do. The guard’s beating had left his torso an angry patchwork of contusions. His rock hard erection pulled painfully at the deep bruising in his groin.

  Much as his heart craved further intimacies, such a step was reserved for her husband. And it could never be him. Thankfully, his tempted body was in no shape to follow his heart.

  Though C.C. had finally awakened, he still feared for her. She needed rest and quiet. It wasn’t uncommon for drowning victims to develop a lung condition.

  Other worries intruded. His first mate had discovered the men held for sabotaging the Redemption had been hired by a man resembling Hargreaves.

  Apparently he and Rives had been in cahoots. Having already proved his ruthless determination, Hargreaves would likely make an appearance in Nassau.

  A ship was scheduled to leave for London in two days. Whatever it took, Beau, C.C. and the boys would be on it.

  Chapter 26

  “So they think they got away with it,” Rives muttered. He stared at himself in the cracked mirror and gently fingered the lumps on the back of his head. “I’ll get you yet, Tollier!”

  Filthy swine didn’t know he could hold his breath longer than anyone aboard his ship. Boring blockade duty and frequent dives on underwater wrecks had finally paid off.

  He raised his knife, seized a lock of hair, hacked it off and let it fall to the floor. Slowly gazing down at what he’d done
, his face contorted in horror. His glorious lock of hair now lay on the filthy floor like a dead rodent. “Aurg!” He sank to his knees and puked up more of the stinking Caribbean.

  Bitter juices coated his mouth. Drowning would not be his end. Nor would he allow his nightmares to come true—he would not die in some squalid mill workers’ slum, a penniless derelict. The only way he’d depart this world would be the same way he’d come into it, wealthy and privileged.

  He swiped his shirtsleeve across his mouth and grimaced. Gritty sand and salt water had dried into the cloth and now combined with the sour smell of vomit.

  He dragged himself to his feet, poured water into the basin and stripped naked.

  While washing himself, he glanced at his precision-tailored commander’s uniform.

  Pity. The thing had looked splendid on him. Now it lay in a soggy heap like a cast-off skin.

  He stepped in front of the mirror and pulled down his lower lid to gaze into a bloodshot eye. His stinking cowards-for-guards had left him to fend for himself. They didn’t even try to retrieve his body. Probably already declared him dead. At least now he wouldn’t need permission to leave the Navy.

  Lovingly, he combed his fingers through his luxuriant dark hair, and stared a long moment into the mirror. It had to be done. He grit his teeth, twisted his blistered lips and snarled, “Vengeance is mine and I will repay!” Gripping a fistful of hair, he sawed viciously.

  “Fool me once, Calista,” he seethed. “You’re not the only thespian.” The hank of hair came off in his hand. He grasped another and another, sawing faster and with more fury. Clumps of hair soon surrounded his feet. When he’d shorn off all his beautiful, shining locks, he studied his reflection. Bald spots and uneven fringe now circled his head.

  Panting, he stroked his meticulous beard, the envy of manliness. The color and fullness had matched his thick, raven hair, which he’d shaped precisely to flatter his handsome features.

  It would have to go too.

  With one hand he pulled his face taut up to his ear. Setting his jaw, he lined up the knife and began scraping. When he’d finished, only a thin strip of beard circled his lips and chin. He gazed into the mirror again and grimaced at the assault to his good looks. The short hair made him look humble, common.