The Price of Indiscretion

by Cathy Maxwell

  Oliver investigated the gash. “It’s not wide but it is deep. It’ll need a stitch.”

  “Do it.”

  While his mate fetched the medicine kit stored in the sea chest, Alex sat on a chair and poured himself another whiskey. Its warmth eased some of his tension, but did nothing to help his temper. He barely noticed as Oliver pushed the needle into his skin and pulled it through.

  His mind was on Miranda.

  “Was she worth it?” Oliver asked.

  “Are any of them ever?”

  “A few.”

  Alex gave a sharp glance to his mate and then lowered his glass. “Was there a woman in your past, my friend?”

  “There’s a woman in every man’s past,” Oliver replied, pulling the third stitch through. “There. It’s a rough job but serviceable.” He knotted the thread and cut it with a knife. “The scar won’t be pretty.”

  “No scars are,” Alex conceded. He had plenty of them to know. The scars on his back seemed to itch in sympathy with this new one. He felt on edge. Miranda did that to him. She’d always done that to him.

  Oliver put the thread and needle back into the kit and took out a swath of cotton for bandages. He started binding the wound.

  Alex watched him a second before saying, “You know what women want, don’t you, Oliver? They want powerful men.” As the Frenchwoman had. She’d chosen his father because of his importance.

  “It would make sense.”

  “Not to me. We don’t chose women because they have power.”

  “Their beauty is their power,” Oliver differed. He knotted the bandage off. “She is very beautiful.”

  “Miranda?” Alex sat back. “Yes,” he agreed. “Her beauty first attracted me…but then it was replaced by deeper feelings.” He shook his head. “I thought I knew her.”

  “How long ago has it been since you’ve seen her?”

  “Ten years.” Alex grinned, aware of how he must sound. “But can a person change who they truly are not in just ten years but ever?”

  Oliver picked up his whiskey glass. “I have. Haven’t you?”

  Alex searched his soul. “Physically, yes. I don’t know if I would have changed at all if she hadn’t rejected me.”

  The light of understanding appeared in the Scot’s eyes. “She gave you the boot, did she?”

  A frown was his answer. “No, we parted ways.”

  “We all do.” Oliver sat in the chair opposite Alex’s, leaning forward with his arms on his knees, the whiskey cradled between his hands. “None of us wants to admit the wrong.”

  “I was wronged.” Alex came to his feet, not liking Oliver’s close scrutiny. And yet, now that they had started, unable to end. “I thought she was different than the others, but you know what she is selling herself for, Oliver?”

  The mate shook his head.

  “A title.” Alex snorted his opinion. The whiskey was deadening the pain from his cuts and bruises; however, it could do nothing for his pride. “A man is never accepted just for who he is. They want to know if he is somebody or has something.”

  “You are somebody, Captain. You are the finest man I’ve ever known.”

  “Savage or not?” Alex taunted himself.

  Oliver rose, setting his empty glass on the table. “I’ve known savages, sir, and they all bore the king’s arms. I think the lass is weak in the brain to turn you down. Does she know how rich you are?”

  “No, and I never want her to know. Let her think whatever she damn well pleases.” He’d be accepted for the man he was or he’d not be accepted at all.

  Alex poured another glass of whiskey. This time he sipped. For a moment, he debated telling Oliver the truth. He wondered how his mate would react if he learned Alex had a wife. His secret wife.

  Not even his closest friend, Michael, knew of her. He’d told only one person, and that had been his mother. She’d nursed him back to health after the beating, and before he went back to claim Miranda, he’d owed her an explanation. She’d wept when she’d heard. She’d said she had made that mistake once and had hoped her son wouldn’t be as foolish. She urged him to choose one of his own kind.

  He’d answered that he didn’t know what his own kind was.

  He still didn’t.

  What twist of fate, what whim of God had made him love Miranda?

  A knock sounded at the door. It was Jon looking for instructions and wondering when they were to get under way.

  Alex made a move toward the door, but Oliver said, “I’ll take this, Cap’n.” He left with Jon. That was fine with Alex. He wanted to be alone.

  The cut on his arm throbbed, reminding him he could have been murdered this evening. He set aside his drink and began pacing the length of the room, telling himself he must let her go.

  Of course, the maddening thing was that she seemed able to walk away from him. She would marry her duke or earl or baron. She had the face and body to capture any man she wanted, including that ass Jeffords—

  The idea of Jeffords making love to Miranda brought Alex to an abrupt halt. The muzziness inspired by the liquor turned to white-hot anger.

  Miranda was his. She’d promised herself to him.

  And she’d left Esteves’s party without even so much as a backward glance. He knew because he’d watched her leave…and now she was gone.

  He could follow her to London. Chase her there. Hope she would come to her senses.

  His pride rejected the idea. He’d been honest with Oliver. In spite of his money, he demanded the world accept him for who he was. Nothing more; nothing less.

  The thing of it was, he should have taken Miranda while he’d had the chance. He should have claimed her years ago when she’d been so willing and ready instead of insisting on doing the honorable thing and speaking to her father.

  He should have taken her tonight. He could have. He could have plowed right into her, and she would have liked it.

  Of course, who was the fool here? Did she not know what it cost him as a man to protect her from her own desire?

  Alex picked up the whiskey glass. The weight of the glass felt good in his hands, but he didn’t want anything to drink. He’d had enough drink. Instead he threw it with enough force to shatter it in the corner of his cabin.

  Beneath his feet, the ship moved. The mooring lines were being taken in.

  But Alex was not ready to leave. He had unfinished business with Miranda.

  She could marry her lord, but first she would honor her promise to him. He wanted his night with her. If he didn’t have her, he knew he would go mad. He was already close to it, and there was only one way to get a woman out of a man’s blood.

  Once the idea took hold, it grew with a life of its own. After all, how many times had he been called a “savage” this day?

  He walked over to the door and shouted to Oliver, who manned the helm, “Oliver, send Flat Nose here. And stay my order to sail.”

  “We’re not leaving, Cap’n?”

  “Oh, we’ll leave tonight, but there is something I must do first.”

  By the time Flat Nose reported to his cabin, Alex felt calm and sober. He’d already braided his hair and was wiping blacking off the inside of the lanterns to be smeared on their faces.

  “My friend,” he said to the Mohawk, “prepare yourself. We are going on a raiding party.”

  Miranda couldn’t sleep. Dressed in her nightgown, her hair down around her shoulders, she sat on the floor next to her bunk. She’d pulled the precious chest of money Charlotte and Constance had entrusted to her from its hiding place and, with the lid open, let what coins were left run through her fingers. Their dull, metallic sound as they hit one another deadened all other noises of the ship.

  Not that she would have noticed. Her mind was on Alex and what had passed between them that evening.

  Years ago, he’d come back for her. She’d said no and had lived with the regret of that decision for every day since.

  And then tonight, she saw him again and what did
she do but make matters even worse?

  He hated her.

  She hated him…or at least, she should.

  Once he’d ruined her life. Loving him had caused her more sorrow than happiness. She’d often wished she had fallen in love with a man like Charlotte had—a respected one. A white one.

  If that had happened, instead of sitting on this ship with its damp smells and cramped quarters, instead of fearing for her future and praying she didn’t disappoint her sisters again, she would be before her own hearth, surrounded by her children. She would be happy, or so she told herself.

  Was this the way life was? Wanting and wishing and never, ever finding what one desired?

  From the moment Alex had stepped out of the forest into her path that day, there had been an inexplicable bond between them. It had been what it was—a simple, deep connection between two souls that knew no boundaries, no rules, no social order.

  And tonight, in his arms, her body knew what her head refused to accept—she loved Alex.

  The truth of it was a stabbing pain to her heart. They could never be. Those closest to her would not let them. And if, in the future, they saw each other again, she would be another man’s wife.

  Suddenly the stale air of her cabin closed on her. Miranda couldn’t breathe, let alone think. She closed the lid to the chest with a slam and slid the chest into its hiding place under her bunk. She must have fresh air or she would suffocate.

  Miranda threw her day dress over her nightgown, laced it quickly, and tossed a shawl over her shoulder. Slipping her feet into her slippers, she went out into the tight, narrow passage, and climbed the ladder to the deck.

  The moon was hidden by clouds. Water gently lapped the sides of the ship, and from the direction of the prow, Miranda could hear the soft snoring of the watch Captain Lewis had set. All else was quiet.

  Cool air filled her lungs, and she did not mind that it carried the scent of the docks. Her head cleared. Her fears subsided just a little. Before she realized what she was doing, she walked over to the railing to the point where she could see Alex’s ship.

  All was darkness. There wasn’t even a lantern to mark its bow. She wondered if he had trouble sleeping. Did he think of her?

  Her mind went blank when she realized it wasn’t just the darkness that hid his ship from her—the Warrior was gone.

  She blinked, thinking her eyes deceived her. They didn’t. There was nothing but empty water where his ship had been.

  He’d left.

  The melancholy that she had been indulging in evaporated. He’d left her—again.

  Lady Overstreet had been right. She’d said that a man could put a woman out of his mind in a snap, and, behold, Alex had done so. He’d sailed away. No note. No farewell. Not even a longing look.

  Their paths had better not cross in the future, because she didn’t know what she’d do.

  To think he had taken such advantage of her that evening, that she had let him kiss her the way he had, and touch her so intimately—

  Miranda could have shrieked in rage. She was most furious with herself. She had allowed him indecent liberties.

  She wished he were here. She wouldn’t even speak to him. She’d just double her fists and pop him so hard in his handsome face, she’d break his nose. That would give her satisfaction.

  Miranda turned away, determined not to waste another moment thinking of Alex. He was gone from her mind. Poof. No more. She’d return to her bed and sleep like a baby. No more moping, regrets, or sniffles—

  The sound of something hitting the ship’s railing interrupted her thoughts. All was shadows and moonlight. Miranda glanced at the watch. His snoring was uninterrupted.

  She relaxed—until she noticed a dark shape rising over the railing. It held still a moment and then moved right for her.

  She shook her head, uncertain if her imagination was playing tricks.

  It wasn’t. In a heartbeat, it stood in front of her.

  “Alex?”

  Only this wasn’t Alex but a devil version of him, bare-chested and wearing nothing more than breeches and moccasins. His gray eyes glared out of a black face.

  She opened her mouth to scream, and he stuffed a gag into it.

  Nine

  Alex moved swiftly. It had helped to find Miranda on the deck of the ship. He threw a black cloth sack over her head and tied a piece of rope around her arms, not bothering to be too gentle with any of it. Speed was of the essence. Miranda was still so shocked, she hadn’t gotten her wits about her to struggle.

  He settled her over his shoulder and grabbed the rope he’d used to scale the side of the ship. The guard snoozing at the bow didn’t even wake.

  The exhilaration of whiskey and adventure rushed through Alex. She weighed little more than a sack of grain to him as he shinnied down the rope to where Flat Nose waited with the small boat.

  The moment he laid her on the bottom of the boat, Miranda came to her senses. She started to struggle, kicking out with one foot. Flat Nose caught her ankles and tied a rope around them.

  Her struggles ceased.

  Alex started to climb back up to retrieve his rope. He didn’t want any sign of his presence left behind. He would easily scale down the side of the ship without Miranda over his shoulder. Let Jeffords and pesky Lady Overstreet wonder where she’d gone off.

  Within minutes he returned to the boat. Flat Nose put his muscle to the oars, and they were gliding away. The Warrior waited for them right outside the harbor beyond the British warship. Alex had wanted his men safely out of the range of Jeffords’s guns should something go wrong.

  Both men ducked low in the boat. If the watch caught sight of them, he might think they were nothing more than an empty boat that had gotten loose of its moorings.

  They also had luck on their side. As they reached Jeffords’s ship, clouds covered the moon and they slid by without the alarm being sounded. The water grew rougher as they neared the open sea. Both he and Flat Nose manned the oars. The small boat cut through the water. They followed the shoreline for close to an hour to an inlet not far from the harbor where the Warrior waited.

  Flat Nose lighted a lantern and held it high. An answering light appeared on the ship, letting them know where she was located. They put their backs to their oars and were soon pulling alongside.

  He’d done it. He’d stolen Miranda. His honor had been avenged. But now, with victory in his grasp and the whiskey haze wearing off, Alex was struck with a new thought.

  What was going to do with her?

  He knew what he wanted to do.

  With an effort, he forced the savage in his nature back.

  A rope ladder was thrown over the side of the ship for them. Flat Nose braced his weight to keep the boat steady. He looked expectantly at Alex, waiting for him to climb up. Oliver and Jon peered over the railing above. They, too, waited.

  Alex looked down at the tumble of skirts and sack that was Miranda. He was completely sober now…and there wasn’t much else he could do, but take her up that ladder. Later, when they were alone, he’d explain. If anyone understood his losing his temper and acting on impulse, Miranda would.

  Then again, he had a right to be angry. For the second time in his life, he’d been attacked over her.

  That thought gave him the spur he needed to move forward. Regardless of what happened next, he was glad he’d stolen her. Jeffords wouldn’t place a hand on her now…and he’d figure out a way later to make it up to her.

  “One more trip to make, Miranda, and then I’ll set you free,” he told her. She didn’t say anything, but lay quiet.

  He stood, rolling with the movement of the small boat, reached down, and lifted her up, not anticipating any trouble at this juncture. He was wrong.

  Alex was about to settle her on his shoulder when she struck out, hitting him in the head with the force of her shoulders and upper body. The small boat rocked dangerously. He struggled to hold on to her, afraid she would fall into the boat and hurt herself. Sh
e arched away from him, bringing up both her knees to slam into his already bruised ribs.

  The blow cost him his balance.

  Both he and Miranda went tumbling into the ocean. Alex tried to keep hold of her but couldn’t. Tied up as she was, she wouldn’t have a chance of survival without his help. He could feel the swirl of water as she sank.

  Not even resurfacing for a quick breath of air, Alex dived after her, his arms stretched out, his fingers searching for her in the black sea water. He reached farther and felt the sack and the top of her head.

  His lungs felt ready to burst but he pushed himself deeper, just barely able to grab a handful of the sack. Praying that he had tied it tight enough around her, he turned toward surface and kicked, swimming for both their lives.

  Her weight dragged them down with every stroke. He wouldn’t give up. His blood pounded in his ears. His lungs threatened to explode. Just when he thought he couldn’t go any farther, they broke the surface.

  Flat Nose reached down and grabbed Miranda, pulling her out for Alex, who belly crawled into the boat while taking great, heaving breaths of precious air. Miranda didn’t move. Alex didn’t waste any more time. He tossed her on his shoulder and scrambled up the ladder to the firmness of the deck and the light of lanterns.

  Oliver and Jon helped pull him on board. He laid Miranda on the ground. The ropes tied around her were wet, making them impossible to untie. Oliver cut her free with his knife, and Alex pulled the bag from her head and grabbed the wet gag.

  She was soaked to the bone. Her eyes were closed, her face pale. She didn’t move. For a heart-wrenching second, Alex feared she was dead, and then she proved she wasn’t by bringing up one of those bony knees of hers and catching him hard just to the side of his groin.

  Her eyes came open, ablaze with fury. Her hands now free, she used her nails as claws to attack him and would have drawn blood if he hadn’t leaned back in time.

  The she-devil. She’d almost drowned them both with her foolishness.