Roarke paused and smiled ruefully as he stared out over the ocean. "To a ten-year-old boy with the croup it was not the most appealing offer he could have made at that moment. At any rate, he left and signed on as a cabin boy aboard a merchant ship in port, and that was the last we heard from him. I recovered from the croup and the flux and the spotted fever, and in due time, when Father died, I strutted about London like the ripe young peacock I had become.
"Father had arranged my marriage some years earlier to a wealthy young heiress, but in true Granville tradition, I fell blissfully in love with a fiery, red-haired actress. I assumed she returned my fervor, but as it turned out, she was merely using me and my money to assist her real lover out of a sticky situation. He was married, you see, and the wife was refusing to let him go. So I was led by the nose to a hotel room one night, where I assumed I would be guided through heaven's gate and back again. Instead, my drinks were doctored, and when I woke up the next morning, I had a head on me three feet wide, blood all over the bed and me...and a dead woman on the floor."
"The wife?" Summer guessed.
"Yes, but I didn't know it at the time. I didn't know anything except that I was found in the room with a dead woman and had no way to prove I hadn't bashed her head in with the candlestick I was clutching in my hand. I couldn't remember anything beyond having my clothes rather pleasantly stripped from my body. Naturally I did what any sensible young man of almost eighteen would do and jumped out the window before they could put shackles on my ankles and wrists. I stowed away on the first ship leaving England."
"You didn't try to find the other woman? The actress?"
Roarke raked a hand repeatedly through the tawny waves of his hair...a nervous habit he shared with his brother, Summer noted.
"I may have been blind, but I wasn't entirely stupid. Besides finding the dead woman, I also discovered that my clothes, my money, my watch and rings were gone. I was meant to be found and I was meant to take the blame for the murder."
"So you left England, you left your family without any kind of an explanation? No one came to your defense?"
Roarke shrugged. "Only one of my sisters was alive for my fifteenth birthday and that same summer, the two of us and Mother took a fever. As ironic as it sounds, I was the only one to survive, so there was no family left to defend me."
"It would seem as though your actress made a careful choice."
Roarke snorted derisively. "Indeed, and it soured me toward women for some time. I landed in Boston with a new name, an invented past, and a firm resolution to have nothing more to do with the softer sex."
"And that was how you found Morgan again?"
"Actually, no. He found me. I spent a few years working my way down through the major coastal ports, figuring that sooner or later I would either hear about him or find him. I was in Virginia trying to convince some shipbuilders in Norfolk to look at my plans for a lightweight keel, when the door to my hotel room burst open and there he was. Larger than life. Looking just the way I pictured he should—except for the brace of pistols he held pointed straight at my heart. He said he'd heard of a Stuart Roarke asking too damned many questions about him and he thought it high time he see for himself if he could provide the answers. That was nine years ago, and speaking for myself, I have never looked back. I scarcely remember who Edmund Granville was, and at times I find it hard to believe he even existed."
"But he did exist," Summer said quietly. "And he still does...and Farley Glasse has the evidence to prove it."
Roarke frowned. "What possible evidence could he have? The estates and title were confiscated by the Crown and I have never used the name since."
Summer explained about the seal with the family crest that Glasse had found on some intercepted documents.
Roarke swore softly. "So that's why he presumes Morgan is Edmund Granville. It was another calculated risk, but we needed a way to identify coded dispatches from routine ones. Morgan rather liked the irony of using Father's seal."
"Then the rest of what Glasse said is true? Morgan is spying for the Americans?"
"Morgan is doing what he can to even out the odds a little. He never did consider himself an Englishman. Father's whole lifestyle was something foreign to him from the very beginning. He is an American, Summer. He was born there, and I expect he will die there, and while he may not fly a naval pennant anymore, the Secretary of War depends on him as if he was still commanding from the bridge of an American ship."
"What if war comes? Will he fly the pennant then?"
"No." Roarke shook his head. "He's worn the uniform once and the experience left a bitter taste in his mouth. Besides, he knows he can accomplish far more without being shackled by rules and codes of conduct. He will keep right on doing what he is doing now: running the blockades, stirring up distractions to keep the British noses pointed in the wrong directions, and, if he's lucky, capture a few Union Jacks along the way. He is a man who likes to make things happen; a man who hasn't the patience to wait around to be caught up in events instigated by someone else. It just wouldn't be any fun."
He glanced at Summer, trying to read her reaction to everything he had told her. "It is the kind of man he is. He drives himself hard and expects nothing less from the people around him. I honestly do not think he could live any other way; he would not know how to accept anything less out of life."
"I understand what you are trying to tell me," she said with a soft smile. "And no, I don't suppose he would settle for anything less. Frankly, that is what intrigues me...and what terrifies me half to death. I simply don't know if I can keep up with him."
The twinkle returned to Stuart's eyes. "Well, if it helps you any to know, I suspect he feels the same way...about you."
"Me?" She flushed. "There is nothing special about me."
"He obviously thinks there is, otherwise he has gone to a great deal of trouble for nothing special. He has broken a lot of his own rules in bringing you along, not to mention the chance he took going to the Governor's Ball with nothing but the delightful Mrs. Teague on his arm for protection." Roarke laughed. "And speaking of chances, I'll have you know my own neck was in grave danger when he received that note. Finding out you were Sir Lionel's daughter was hard enough on his vanity, but when I had to tell him about your marriage to Winfield"— he whistled and rolled his eyes skyward "—we had to practically strap him down to keep him from storming the house and making a widow out of you there and then. As it was, my Bett came close to losing a husband."
Summer was grateful she had a squirming bundle in her arms to afford her the excuse not to meet Roarke's eyes. "How are your wife and son?" she asked, changing the subject.
"Thriving," Roarke declared. "Alexander is just past his first birthday and if I didn't know better, I would say there is a little of Morgan in him. Mind you, he also has Bull Treloggan for a grandfather so I should not expect him to grow up an angel."
Summer laughed. "Are you still having father-in-law problems?"
"Still? They will be with me forever, I fear. Lately he has taken to staring at me for long periods of time, flexing his hands like so—" He demonstrated as if he had a throat to throttle. "It has taken all of Bett's charm and most of Morgan's considerable powers of persuasion to get the old bastard to be even that congenial."
Summer was laughing so hard, Roarke took Sarah onto his own knee.
"Ahh, you're a little beauty," he crooned. "Just like your mama. I think I should act on my son's behalf and seal a marriage pact now before any other bucks lay an eye on you. What do you say, Princess? Shall we scratch a pledge in the mainmast?"
Sarah gurgled and jammed her thumb in her mouth, snuggling her cheek against his chest.
"I shall take that as a yes," Roarke grinned.
"Well, now. Isn't this a cozy scene?" Morgan's voice startled them both into turning around. He was leaning casually against the bulkhead, his muscular arms folded across his chest. "I leave you alone for half an hour, and you win my daughter o
ver and have my woman laughing like a jaybird."
Roarke shrugged. "Aye, and half an hour more I'd have your ship and your crew as well."
Sarah's head lifted abruptly and the suction was released from around her thumb with a wet smile. She had heard and seen Wade as well.
Roarke crooked an eyebrow. "I do believe I am being tossed over for a prettier face. Come along then, Papa." He rose and passed Sarah over into Wade's hands, which were given no choice but to accept the wriggling bundle. "Hold your daughter if she's so determined. I've a course to plot."
"Ahh...hold up there a moment." Morgan stood, with the baby hanging awkwardly from his big hands. Roarke winked at Summer, who tried to hide another laugh as she watched father and daughter stare at one another, eye to eye.
"Mind you don't drop her," Stuart said as he climbed the ladderway to the forecastle. "She might break."
"Hey—"
Summer laughed and held out her hands. "Here, give her back to me."
Morgan passed Sarah down gingerly, then stood at the rail admiring mother and child.
"Did you and Roarke have a pleasant chat? Do I have any secrets left?"
"Your brother is a fine gentleman," she said. "A fine friend too. He does not deserve your sarcasm."
"He has only my respect," Wade said truthfully. "I suppose he also told you that we will be making port by this evening. You will be able to go ashore and buy whatever you need for yourself and the child."
"Tonight?"
"Aye. I have some business to tend to at Fort-de-France. How long we stay depends on how soon my business is completed."
"Or on when the Gyrfalcon arrives?"
Wade frowned. "Roarke's tongue was extremely loose, I see."
"What will you do if the Gyrfalcon fails to show?"
"She will show."
"How can you be so sure? The Caledonia could block her in the harbor indefinitely. What if they choose not to honor the amnesty? What if they decide to impound the ship and place the crew under arrest?"
"On what grounds? The Gyrfalcon has committed no infractions. All of her charts and logs carry her own imprint. Her crew has been orderly and broken no laws. Bull will let anyone on board who cares to go. He will let them search her bow to stern if they so desire, and when they find nothing, they will have no choice but to honor the safe conduct pass. It is certainly no fault of his if the naval incompetents on shore mistook his ship for another. Not even Farley Glasse could find a justifiable reason to hold her."
"I don't think Glasse needs justification for anything he does, Morgan. If he wants to impound the Gyrfalcon, he will."
"In which case, he will be dealing with Bull Treloggan's temper, something which even I avoid at all costs." He reached down and tucked a finger under Summer's chin, forcing her to lift her eyes to his. "The Gyrfalcon will come. She will meet us at Fort-de-France as planned, mark my words."
"You took an awful chance with the ship and crew," she said softly.
"We all take chances. It keeps the blood flowing." He rubbed his thumb across her lips gently, then lowered his hand. "And besides, my business in Fort-de-France was determined long before we sailed to Bridgetown. While you may have become my prime concern, you were not the sole reason for the need of a decoy this trip."
"I thought there might be more to it," she murmured.
"Did you now," he mused with a grin.
"I am not entirely addle-brained. You had to have been in the islands already for Father to send you the invitation to the Ball, and for Glasse to send you the fake note from me asking for your help. Should I even ask what you have down in the hold at this very moment?"
"No." His grin widened. "And I never once thought you were addle-brained."
"Not even when I tried to swim away from your ship at the Sirens?"
"Well..." he pursed his lips in thought. "Perhaps that one time."
"Women are capable of being just as cunning and underhanded as any man I know...some even more so. Some even feel the need to have their blood set to flowing faster at times. Anne Bonney, for example, or Mary Read. They operated one of the most successful pirating ventures in the Caribbean."
"Aye, and they were also hung for their efforts. Is this your way of telling me you plan to take up the life of a buccaneer now? This from the same woman who protested so ardently that her reputation would be ruined should she be forced to stay on board my ship?"
"Mock me if you like, Sir, but now that I am here, and now that I am to be a part of your life, Morgan Wade, it will not be the part that stays behind waving dutifully as you sail off toward the edge of the horizon. If that is what you expect of me, then you had best let me off at the first opportunity."
"Or what?" He folded his arms across his chest again and regarded her without the least effort to conceal the amusement in his eyes. "There is a war brewing, madam. When it comes, these islands will be strategic supply depots for both sides. What would you have me do? Let you stand at the bowsprit, a cutlass in each hand, a babe fastened to your teat while you fend off boarders?"
Summer's cheeks stung as she stood. "I would expect you to treat me as if I meant more to you than a mere convenience in your bed. If there is a war, then I am just as much a part of it as you are. And if I wanted to bury my head in the sand, I could have done so quite comfortably with Bennett."
She spun on her heel and in her haste to leave the deck, ran headlong into Thorny. He steadied her and touched a bony finger to his brow.
"I jest come ter tell ye, I cut a ripe fine crib owt'n an odd crate we 'ad lyin' about. The wee lass should fit in it snug-like, better 'n a heap o' canvas on the floor an'...eh?" He stood gaping after her as she brushed past, then glanced at Wade. "Did she jest say what I t'ought I 'eard 'er say?"
Morgan strode past with an oath of his own, leaving Thorny scratching his head and staring after the pair of them.
Summer went directly to the cabin. She was still fuming and wanted to destroy something, but she knew if she let her temper get the best of her, it would only reinforce Morgan's opinion of her capabilities. Of course she did not want to go into battle with him, but neither did she expect him to treat her like some silly miss without the intellect of a pea.
She saw the crib Thorny had fashioned and blushed deeply at the thought of the expletive that had some so easily to her lips. It was proof, if nothing else, that she could adapt to life away from a formal drawing room.
She was settling Sarah into the cradle when she heard the door swing open behind her. She whirled around, expecting to see Morgan, but it was Stuart Roarke.
"Oh. Sorry, Summer. I should have knocked. But I thought you were still topside. I just, ah—" He indicated the desk with a clumsy gesture, his words trailing off when he saw her expression and the grim set to her jaw. "I'll only be a moment."
"Take as long as you like," she snapped. "Or just pretend I am a decoration on the wall. I gather from your captain I should familiarize myself with the feeling."
Roarke smiled weakly and adjusted his spectacles. He crossed over to the desk and shuffled through the papers on top until he found the chart he sought. Summer glared at him throughout, and he kept glancing at her as one might glance warily at a pane of glass about to shatter. A dull red crept up under his tan, darkening him to a ruddy hue by the time he was hastening for the door.
"I have a notion you and my father-in-law are going to get along remarkably well," he muttered, pulling the door shut behind him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Chimera glided past several heavy cannon emplacements as she sailed into the French port of Fort-de-France. Morgan Wade had an understanding with the commandant: sanctuary if the need arose, in exchange for a share of whatever cargo he was running at the time. He did not often make use of their generosity. He considered the French boorish and greedy, their islands nothing more than penal colonies, their governing officials corrupt and greedy, not to be trusted past the blink of an eye.
Summer had remained in
the cabin all afternoon and evening, emerging only when she heard the anchor cables running out. It was near midnight and Morgan had come below only twice in all that time; once to scribble hasty notations in his log book, once to change for going ashore.
"Are you expecting trouble?" she asked, seeing him tuck two long-snouted pistols into his belt.
"The French are fickle in handing out their favors," he answered, donning a dark frockcoat and snatching up a tricorne. He paused by the cradle and glanced down at the sleeping child before he strode to the door.
"Morgan?"
He stopped, his hand on the latch, and half-turned.
"Be careful."
A brief smile flicked across his face, then he was gone. Summer heard his boots on the ladderway then above, on the deck. She wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and followed, staying in the shadows as she walked to the rail and looked down over the side of the ship. Morgan was already in the jolly boat being rowed ashore. Lights twinkled along the broad swath of the bay, glowing brighter where the inns and taverns were concentrated. The sky overhead was a mass of stars, casting enough light for her to track the course of the boat as it was rowed across the bay.
Not surprisingly, the Chimera was anchored well out in the center of the bay with clear sight lines on all sides to forestall any surprise visitors. Her gun ports were closed, and the appearance was of an easy watch, but she could hear the scrapes and murmurs below and guessed that Wade's crewmen were not far from their posts.
Moored within four hundred yards or so was a French frigate, her sails reefed, her masts swaying like skeleton bones against the night sky. Her gun ports were closed as well, but she could see the tiny red glow from many pipes, suggesting her crew was just as alert and wary.
"Ye should stay below, lass." Thorny's voice rasped out from the darkness beside her. "The dampness'll work a rot in yer lungs if'n ye don't take a care."
"How long will the captain be ashore?"
"Eh? Not my ne'er no mind. Depends on what the devil wants in trade."
"The devil?"
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