Monty shrugged and stroked his mount’s neck. “He seems to be favoring his left a bit, doesn’t he?” He nudged the horse forward, demonstrating as he spoke. The gelding pawed at the air, then moved in a halting, foundered step.
Cole frowned. “Probably picked up a rock.”
“Quite so,” Monty concurred. “Didn’t I see a stable nearby?”
“About a mile back.”
“Fine. I’ll have the smith see to it. It shouldn’t take more than an hour’s time.”
“We’ll go with you, Uncle Monty,” Devon volunteered.
“Nonsense, my girl. No sense in spoiling everybody’s outing. You two go on ahead and I’ll catch up.”
Devon turned back, fighting her unease. “Uncle, are you sure—”
Monty laughed. “Go, my girl. Off with you both. Just see to it that you save me my lunch.”
Monty dismounted and silently watched as Cole and Devon rode away. He crouched down and reached for his mount’s afflicted hoof. A blacksmith wasn’t necessary for what ailed the animal. All Monty had to do was unfasten the slim wire he’d attached around the fetlock earlier that morning. While not painful, the device was irritating to the horse and made it appear lame within a matter of minutes. He reached up and patted the gelding’s smooth nose. “There now, my boy, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
The horse tossed its head and stomped its foot in response. Behind him, Monty heard the soft neigh of another horse. He turned, watching as a rider slowly emerged from within the shadows of the alley. “Nice work, Mr. Teller.”
He glanced at Earl Finch and nodded. “You ready?”
Finch smiled. “Indeed I am.”
The men rode the short distance required to bring them to the Grand Hotel. They dismounted and stepped inside, moving quietly through the crowded lobby. Finch led the way to a private parlor off the main floor. He tapped on the door, then ushered Monty inside.
The small room was richly furnished. A deep red velvet sofa and matching chairs sat in the center of the parlor, surrounded by a clutter of fringed lamps and china bric-a-brac. The walls were papered with a heavy gold and black pattern. Thick wool rugs lined the floor, and dark silk swags hung above the windows. The lush opulence was heavy and oppressive against the tropical island heat.
Monty took it all in at a glance, then his eyes moved to Jonas Sharpe. The man stood at the far end of the room, staring out the window at the activity in the street. He looked exactly as Monty had remembered him. Tall and fit, impeccably dressed in the finest quality suit, as if anything less than perfection would not be tolerated. His dark hair was slicked back, his mustache perfectly groomed. The sweet, cloying scent of cloves emanated from him and drifted through the air.
“My time is limited, Mr. Teller,” Sharpe said, barely glancing over his shoulder. “Mr. Finch told me you insisted on meeting with me before I arrange the transfer of my ship to your captain. Very well, you may speak your piece.” He pulled a pocket watch from within his vest and clicked it open. “You have five minutes.”
Monty stepped from the shadows of the hallway and moved farther into the room. “My good friend,” he said, “I may need a little more time than that.”
Sharpe froze, then slowly turned around. He stared at Monty for a long moment. “Well. This is a surprise.”
Finch looked from one man to the next, his eyes wide with surprise. “You know Mr. Teller already—”
“His name’s not Teller, you idiot,” Sharpe hissed. “It’s Persons, Montgomery Persons. The swindler I met in Liverpool.”
Monty clucked his tongue. “Swindler is such a vulgar term. I prefer the title opportunist, myself. Much more pleasant, is it not?”
“What do you want?”
“Exactly what I told your man Finch I wanted: a brief meeting with you, Mr. Sharpe. I believe you’ll find what I have to say quite fascinating. If not…” He paused, lifting his shoulders in an indolent shrug. “If not, I’ll be on my way, and you’ll have lost no more than five minutes of your valuable time.”
“I see.” Sharpe stared at him for long, cool seconds. “Do have a seat, Mr. Persons,” he said at last, gesturing to the plush velvet sofa.
“I find a touch of brandy always helps the words flow smoother,” Monty said once they were both seated.
Sharpe glanced at Finch. “Two glasses.”
Finch jumped at the clipped command, rushing across the room to a tall cabinet. He removed a bottle from the shelf, splashed the amber liquid into thick tumblers, then set the drinks on a table between the two men.
Monty reached for his glass and took a deep swallow. “Privacy is also nice,” he said.
Sharpe looked at Finch once more. “Get out.”
Finch scurried to obey, rattling the door shut behind him.
“Quite an impressive economy with words you have there, Mr. Sharpe.”
“What do you want?”
Monty smiled. “I believe you and I have some unfinished business to attend to. You remember my lovely niece, do you not?”
“Of course. According to my man Ogglesby, she found herself in a bit of trouble down in Charleston. Such a shame, really. She and Ogglesby would have been a good match.” He paused to take a sip of his drink. “Certainly you realize that I had nothing to do with what happened.”
“Of course, of course. How could I blame you? You weren’t even in the country when it happened.”
Sharpe’s eyes narrowed. “That’s quite magnanimous of you, Persons.”
“Grudges are inappropriate in my line of business. Particularly when there are more important matters to settle.”
“Such as?”
“As fate would have it, my niece was able to escape from her captors. She ended up marrying the captain of the blockade runner that Finch told you about.” Monty paused, a slight frown on his face. “Unfortunately it’s not a marriage that I approve of as I can’t say that I truly like the man. Call me sentimental, but I’ve always had greater aspirations for the girl. I rather fancy Devon with an earl, or possibly even a duke. Someone who could give her lands and a title. Quite coincidentally, that would set me up as well. With the right amount of money, I believe an alliance of that sort would not be out of reach.”
“Your niece and a duke,” Sharpe sneered. “An alliance of that sort would take a prodigious amount of money,”
Monty ignored the insult. “Yes, it will.”
Jonas Sharpe rose to his feet. “As you promised, this has all been fascinating.” He removed his watch and glanced at it once again. “You’ll excuse me now if I have more important matters to attend to.”
“You’re the one who’s going to give me the money.”
Thick silence filled the space between them. Jonas Sharpe’s face flushed with anger. “Why in hell would I give you a bloody cent?”
“Because I have information you need, sir. Information you desperately need. And I promise you it won’t come cheap.”
“I’m not interested.”
“What a shame. Though I understand completely, of course. I suppose you’re too busy preparing to hand that frigate over to my darling niece’s husband, are you not?” He shook his head. “By the way, your man Finch—remarkably ineffective as an agent.”
Sharpe glared at him. “If you have a point, Persons, I suggest you make it.”
Monty leaned back against the sofa. He took a deep sip of brandy, then set the glass down, smiling broadly. “My good friend,” he said, “let’s talk about Captain Cole McRae.”
CHAPTER 19
Devon ran her hands over Cole’s shoulders as she helped him into his shirt. She frowned as she lightly traced the folds of the crisp white fabric. “Are you sure you’ve thought of everything?” she asked for the fifth time in as many minutes.
Cole caught her hands in his. “Sweetheart, there’s nothing to worry about. Sharpe wants me to come aboard and give the frigate a test run, just to make sure I can handle her.”
She nodded and glanced dow
n at his hands, noting the thick ring he wore. “I’ve never seen that before,” she murmured absently.
He glanced at the gold band and shrugged. “For luck,” he replied, then resumed the task of buttoning his shirt.
They’d returned from their picnic a short while ago to find Sharpe’s note waiting for them. The picnic, Devon admitted, had not been a sterling success. Monty had caught up with them, his horse no longer limping, but by then the outing seemed to have gone flat. The day had proved too warm to enjoy riding, and they were all too preoccupied with their own thoughts to truly enjoy the beauty of the island. The food Elize had packed for them went untouched.
Finally Devon suggested they return to the house. Monty and Cole both gratefully acquiesced, making it all too clear that they’d gone on the excursion just to please her. Devon shook her head. Had she known there would be a note from Sharpe waiting for them upon their return, she would have tried to delay them forever.
“But why now?” she pressed, fighting back her fear. “Why not tomorrow, or the next day? Why does he have to see you now?”
“I imagine he’s anxious to have her leave port. According to Finch, the ship’s been docked here in Nassau for over a week.”
She glanced outside the window. “It’s going to be dark soon.”
“Not for a few hours. All Sharpe wants is for me to bring the ship out, execute a few maneuvers, then bring her back in. Besides, Monty’s going with me. Nothing could possibly go wrong.”
She watched as he checked his gun, then tucked it into the back of his boot. The steel grip of the pistol was barely visible between the edge of his boot and the deep gray of his pants leg. “Then what do you need that for?” she asked.
Cole straightened and sent her a lopsided grin. “In case something goes wrong.”
Devon stared at him grimly. Cole sighed and pulled her into his arms. “Sharpe won’t even be aboard,” he said. “According to the note, he’ll be watching the maneuvers from somewhere onshore. I couldn’t get near the man right now even if I wanted to. It’s just another test, Devon. One more hoop he wants me to jump through before he’ll hand over his ship.”
Cole brushed his lips lightly over hers. He pulled back and weaved his hand through her hair, staring at her intently. He shook his head and let out a deep sigh. “I’ve been meaning to tell you how much I love you, Devon. Will you forgive me for waiting until now to say it?”
Shock and disbelief coursed through her body. She felt her mouth drop open as she stared at him, certain she’d heard him incorrectly. “You…”
“I love you.”
“Oh, Cole…” Given that her heart was swelling to three times its normal size, taking up all the room in her chest and robbing her lungs of air, it was no wonder that her voice came out as little more than a breathy whisper. “When…”
“When did I finally realize it?” he completed for her, his grin broadening. “I think it all started that night I got you drunk on brandy. There was no turning back from there.”
“And you waited until now to tell me?”
He shrugged. “You know what dreadful timing I have.”
“The worst,” she agreed vehemently, fighting back the tears that suddenly stung her eyes. “Not only that, you’re stubborn, logical, opinionated, and I love you so much, Cole—” Her voice broke, and he gathered her into his arms. Devon squeezed him as hard as she could, willing every ounce of love and passion she possessed for him into the embrace. “Please don’t go, Cole. Please don’t go.”
He pulled back and smiled softly. “I promise I’ll be home in time for supper. Will you wait for me?”
Forever. Longer than that if I have to. Just come back to me, Cole. Come back to me. Devon nodded, not trusting her voice to speak. Rationally she knew that he was right, there was nothing to worry about. But it took every ounce of willpower she possessed to keep from grabbing him by the shirttail and begging him not to go. Something was wrong. She knew it in her heart, but was powerless to stop it.
She followed Cole downstairs. Monty was waiting in the kitchen. He sat at the table, sipping a cup of tea as he chatted with Elize, who stood at the stove stirring a pot of soup. Like Cole, Monty had changed his attire after their picnic. He looked fresh and ready to go, dressed in one of his newly laundered plaid suits.
“Well, Captain,” he said brightly, “the show is on. Are you ready?”
Cole nodded. “Ready.”
“Wait!” Devon cried. “Maybe I should come with you—”
“No,” Cole and Monty answered in unison.
“But—”
“Devon,” Cole said, placing his hands lightly on her upper arms, “everything’s going to be fine. Just promise me you’ll wait here until we return.”
She shook her head. “This doesn’t make any sense. Why are you taking this kind of risk? If Sharpe has set a trap, don’t you see you’ll be walking right into it? He’s the one who needs a captain, let him come to you. You can meet him in town or here at the house. Anywhere would be safer than aboard his ship, surrounded by his men.” She rattled off a list of possible scenarios and less risky courses for them to take. “Uncle Monty, surely you can see—”
“Now, now, my girl, no sense wasting any more time.”
“But—”
“Promise the you’ll wait here,” Cole repeated.
Devon balled her fists against the fabric of her skirt. She looked from her uncle to her husband, feeling helpless and angry and worried all at once. She took a deep breath and reluctantly nodded. “I promise.”
Cole smiled. “Love you,” he whispered softly. “I’ll be back soon to show you how much.” He gave her a quick kiss, then walked out the door.
“Trust me, my girl,” Monty said as he followed. “I’ve never let you down yet, have I?”
Devon watched in dismay as they mounted and took off at a full gallop, disregarding every one of her more sensible suggestions. She turned to Elize. “Why wouldn’t they listen to me? Can’t they see how foolhardy this is?”
Elize shook her head. She let out a heartfelt sigh and wiped her hands on her apron. “Men smart. Women smarter.”
Devon forced a tight smile. “I’ll be upstairs.”
She left the kitchen and took the steps slowly, her thoughts in jumbled turmoil. She could understand why Cole was so anxious to capture Jonas Sharpe. His own personal vendetta, combined with his sense of duty and honor, were making him race forward. Clouding his thoughts to the point where cool reason could no longer penetrate. But that was a dangerous way to operate.
Uncle Monty had taught her that. He constantly stressed the need for cool thought and analytical reasoning. Normally he had an elaborate plan, one with every contingency covered. Yet her uncle himself was rushing into this, with nothing but vague assurances that everything would be all right. It was not like him at all.
She stood in Cole’s room, randomly picking up items, then setting them down. Something’s wrong, something’s wrong—the thought pounded away at her brain, making her head ache and twisting her stomach into knots. The dream she’d had the first night they’d docked in Wilmington loomed over her like a dark specter. But the more she tried to pinpoint what was wrong, the more hazy everything became. A desperate sense of urgency swept through her. She should move, take action, but she didn’t know what to do.
She left the room and walked down the hall, hesitating outside Uncle Monty’s room. Fighting back feelings of disloyalty, she pushed open the door and glanced inside, unsure for what she was looking. Nothing was amiss. Devon sighed with regret for having invaded his privacy. The room was a little sloppy perhaps, but that was all. Monty had changed and tossed the suit he’d been wearing haphazardly across his bed. She went automatically to pick it up and hang it in the wardrobe for him.
She lifted the jacket and smoothed it out, trying to ease away the wrinkles, when she felt something sharp sting her palm. Frowning, she reached inside the pocket and removed a long, slim wire. Devon st
ared at it in uneasy bewilderment, then suddenly remembered a trick Monty had shown her years ago: when fastened around a horse’s fetlock, it made the animal appear lame. Sick dread gathered in the pit of her stomach. He’d left them that afternoon on purpose, but why? As she pondered the question, a familiar scent drifted up to her from the jacket she held. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. Sweet, heavy, cloying… cloves.
Jonas Sharpe.
Devon let the jacket slip from her hands and fall to the floor. She closed her eyes, absorbing the shock and pain. “Oh, Uncle Monty,” she whispered hoarsely, “what have you done? What have you done?”
Can I trust Monty? Cole had asked her only that morning. Her reply had been unequivocal, recklessly certain. I trust him with my life. But it wasn’t her life that was at stake now. It was Cole’s.
Devon tore downstairs and raced into the kitchen, her promise to wait for him at the house instantly abandoned. “Elize, I have to get to Cole, I have to warn him—”
“What is it, mistress?”
Her voice came out choked and hoarse. “I don’t have time to explain. Cole’s in trouble. I have to warn him, stop him before it’s too late.”
Elize straightened, her face creased with worry. “You know where—”
“Yes, yes I saw the note! Someplace called Green Turtle Quay. How do I get there?”
“John will take you.”
The two women raced into the yard, shouting for Elize’s husband. Fortunately they caught him just before he left for town. Though they moved with speed and efficiency as they saddled the horses, to Devon’s strained nerves it seemed to take forever. Nor did John ride as well as she did. She found herself holding back to keep from speeding ahead of him.
As they crested the top of a hill, she saw a glittering teal bay spread out beneath her. The small cove was banked by a treacherous reef on two sides, with a narrow channel that opened out to sea. The remote bay was the perfect hiding spot for the frigate, as the warship would not be seen by anyone approaching from sea. Devon’s gaze focused on the party of five men who set off from the beach, pushing a small boat through the waves. She recognized Cole and her uncle immediately. “Cole!” she screamed, “Cole, don’t!” The wind carried her words away and the men set off, rowing toward the frigate.
Captured Page 33