Gallant Rogue (Reluctant Heroes Book 3)

by Lily Silver

  He remembered to call her by her formal name in front of his men. Progress.

  “I likes the breast.” Roberts piped up unbidden, and received a hard punch in the shoulder from the first mate for his pains.

  “Thank you, Mr. Jenkins,” Jack murmured with as much grace as he could muster, considering he wished to rise up in his chair and eject the man from his cabin forcibly. “Roberts, you may be excused. I’m certain you have duties to attend to out on deck.”

  “But, sir?” The idiot stared at his captain for a moment of incomprehension.

  “Aye, Captain,” Jinx agreed. “I think Roberts did offer to do the midnight watch, up in the crow’s nest, if I recall correctly.”

  “I did not—”

  Roberts, that unfortunate cur, was as dense as an oak between the ears. He was shushed once again by Lt. Morgan, at his right, as that one must have kicked the man beneath the table. “Omphf, oh,—Mrs. O’Donovan, forgive me. I must attend my duties on deck.” Roberts rose. His skin was flushed and mottled as he realized, too late, his ill manners had brought him to this point. He bowed to them and left the room.

  “Well, then.” Morgan, a fine young man with good breeding rubbed his hands together and grinned at the gathering. “More roasted chicken for the rest of us, now, isn’t there?”

  The men laughed. Chloe remained quiet as she surveyed the men and the empty chair.

  “Mrs. O’Donovan,” Jack continued, picking up the conversation where it had dropped anchor. “What is your favorite part of the chicken? As our guest, you get first choice.”

  “I would prefer the tender meat, over the heart.” The seductive timbre in her voice sizzled beneath Jack’s collar as she spoke in that exotic whisper.

  He cleared his throat and obliged her by slicing a chunk of white meat and placing it on her plate. The men were quiet for several moments, all obviously trying to think of what to talk about with a woman present.

  It was Lt. Morgan who saved them from listing into the doldrums. He began to talk about his sister, who married a merchant and moved to Portugal two years past. His story seemed to interest their guest as Chloe asked polite questions about Morgan’s sister’s progress.

  “How did she find the change?” Chloe asked demurely. “And is she happy in Lisbon?”

  “Oh, of a certainty. My sis is a far cry busier though, as you can well imagine. She now has four boys to manage,” Lt. Morgan informed the woman. “A boisterous bunch if ever there was one, so she writes to me. One is her own lad, Eddie. He’s just shy of two now. The other three were from her husband’s first marriage. She inherited a brood, so she tells me. Took to mothering fairly quick. I suppose one does, in that situation.”

  Jack wanted to swear aloud. He saw Chloe’s mouth tighten at the lieutenant’s words. Was she remembering her own little son, buried in the family cemetery at Ravencrest?

  “And what of you, Morgan? Have you a sweetheart waiting for you in Basseterre? Or do you have a darling tucked away at an English port?” Jack knew the man was engaged to a girl in Bristol, England. He hoped to steer the conversation away from the subject of children for Chloe’s sake.

  “Charlotte lives in Bristol, sir.” Morgan moved on without further prompting. “She’s agreed to become Mrs. Morgan and live with me in St. Kitts this autumn. I wonder … sir?” Morgan paused, looking sheepish as he held his fork in mid-air. “If her ladyship the countess might sponsor Abigail when she comes to the Indies? She’ll be lonely there while I’m at sea and, well, I don’t rightly know any women in the region, aside from the count’s wife. Could you ask her ladyship for me, sir, being you are in her circle of friends?”

  Chloe’s countenance lightened at the mention of her longtime friend. “The countess is a kind woman. I’m sure she would be pleased to sponsor your lady. I could write to ask her on your behalf. In fact, she may be looking for another female companion to reside at Ravencrest. Your wife may be in a position to help her ladyship, if you don’t mind my suggesting the position. It would be beneficial to both women, Lieutenant.”

  “I could suggest it to Lady Beaumont when I return as well.” Jack agreed, “I’m certain she will do her best to help your new bride acclimate to life in the Indies. She came from England as a new bride herself, many years ago.”

  “Aye, and wasn’t that a harrowing adventure?” Jinx, who usually kept his tongue better, exhaled with sobering regret. “Kidnapped, from this very ship, she was. Struck on the head, left for dead. But his lordship, didn’t he hunt the bla’guards down and take her back now!”

  “They say ‘hell hath no fury,’—but I say a woman’s fury is nothing compared that of our dark and terrible count,” another seaman put in with pride.

  “How romantic.” Chloe was quick to pick up on the story where Jack would have let the clumsy thing sail on without further notice. “Did he kill the men who took her?”

  “Aye.” Jinx glanced at Jack to gauge his response. “He killed each one of them, ma’am. And the last bloke, the captain … oh.” Jinx shuddered and said no more.

  The men looked at each other. Jinx was right to shiver and go silent.

  The sight of a man gone mad, determined to torture the one responsible his beloved’s suffering, well, it was a grisly business.

  “What did my lord do to the leader?” Morgan asked, unwilling to let the silence stand. Morgan was too young to be in the count’s service when it happened. He didn’t know the details, so naturally, he was fascinated to hear them now that the subject had been unearthed. “Tell us. We’ve heard rumors—I know I have.” His eyes darted to Chloe anxiously. “As a family member, ma’am, I’m sure you’ve heard things that make you wonder, too.”

  Chloe sat perfectly still. She looked a little scared. She should be. Jack was about to suggest they forget the subject, when she leaned forward, her voice low and throaty. “His lordship told me once he sliced up the body of the captain and fed it to the sharks. Is it true?”

  “Holy Mother!” Morgan swore. “He wouldn’t. It’s savage. The heathen tribes might do that, but not a nobleman like Count Rochembeau. I won’t believe it.” Morgan continued in a tone that contradicted his claim, a tone fraught with ghoulish delight at such a horrible tale. “He’d have to be mad to slaughter a man in such a manner, wouldn’t he, Captain?”

  “Aye.” Jinx said, relishing the lad’s morbid curiosity as he reached for his drink. “He was touched at the time, weren’t he, Captain?”

  “His bride was severely injured,” Jack put in, anxious to exonerate his friend lest they all think ill of the man. “Near death. He expected he’d be forced to bury his darling at sea in the coming days. Any man would be full of rage.”

  “She was pretty bad off.” Jinx frowned and continued in that grave-digger tone he was good at parroting when spinning a dramatic yarn. “I helped carry her out of the hold, poor lady.”

  “Yes, her memory loss was brought on by that frightful experience. The count told me his lady was unconscious and near death for six days,” Chloe added. “She still cannot remember anything from the time she was sixteen years old until she woke up in the count’s bed two years later. Imagine, having your world turned upside down so?”

  “Frightening.” Morgan agreed. “It would set any man off, seeing his bride so abused.”

  “Did he truly do that?” Chloe turned to Jack for verification of the story. “Did he really cut the leader to pieces and toss his parts over the railing?”

  Jack looked down at his plate. He gave an exasperated sigh and turned his attention to the men gathered, looking at each one slowly before finally settling upon Jinx, his first mate, the same man who brought up the grisly topic.

  As he looked into his first mate’s face, Jack knew Jinx, too, would never forget that man’s tormented screams as Count Rochembeau gelded him and tossed his manly parts into the sea.

  “Bloody Hell,” Morgan murmured, realizing that in their silence, they were admitting that it was true.

  “
Bloody, yes,” Jinx commented, and drank his claret in one long pull. With unsteady fingers, he reached for the bottle and refilled his glass. He lifted it to the gathering, signaling he’d say no more on the subject.

  “I don’t believe the man was actually alive when he did it.” Jack lied—in a matter of fact tone to save the lady in their midst the true horror they shared.

  “Oh, to be so loved by a man,” Chloe’s face became dreamy and distant.

  Jack nearly choked on his claret. He gave her a peculiar look. “Indeed? You would wish for a man to dismember the body of another man to prove his affections for you?”

  “Do not be silly, Captain,” she said, as if suddenly coming to herself. “It’s the idea of a man loving a woman so deeply that when she was harmed he would be so overcome with the anguish and a burning need to avenge his beloved.”

  He swallowed the last of his wine. It stuck and almost didn’t go past the painful lump in his throat. He remembered feeling that same anguish she was romanticizing. He remembered acting upon that anguish. It might seem poetic, to a woman reading polite euphemisms about such acts in a story book. Actually witnessing a man descending into a violent rage and behaving like a primitive beast was neither romantic nor poetic. It was the stuff of nightmares.

  Jack had killed for the sake of a woman. He couldn’t get to the men responsible for Amelia’s death, so he took to attacking any Arab ship he came across. He killed without conscience. He had been mad with grief and from heavy use of opium. He became a monster.

  And one day, he met a monster more frightening than himself: Donovan Beaumont, aka The Raven. They met on the Indian Ocean as rival pirates and formed an alliance. Donovan helped Jack by weaning him off his opium addiction. Still, it was a case of the jungle tiger training a barn cat to go after bigger prey. Together, they terrorized merchant ships in the East Indies and made a fortune by releasing their fury upon an unjust and uncaring world.

  Women. They always wanted to pretty up a grim reality and dress it in lace and ribbons.

  Jinx stared at the center of the table, his revulsion of the incident evident.

  The silence was unmistakable, as each man grew grim at the potent reminder of The Raven’s, maniacal tendencies.

  “Did I say something to offend you?” Chloe glanced about the table at the five men.

  “No, ma’am.” Three of the men spoke at once, eager to assure the dark-haired beauty that her presence at table could only be considered a great boon. Most of the voyages to and from England were tedious at best. Having a woman to dine with, a woman who wasn’t accompanied by a brooding husband, was a rare occurrence, and his men would savor each moment, even if it meant briefly reliving the disturbing memory of their employer’s bloody retribution.

  “The count’s past is dark.” Jinx was the one to speak for the men. “He was extremely… enthusiastic… regarding his scientific studies, mainly in the quest for suitable specimens.” The man actually flinched as he said the words. “It upsets the crew to remember such days. The count is happy now, married to a lovely woman with whom he has sired several children. We like to remember our benefactor and employer in that more positive mien, ma’am.”

  Jack nodded. How diplomatic. Well put, without a hint of censure directed at their guest for her morbid fascination with the count’s dark side. Mr. Jenkins, aka Jinx, was a former schoolmaster. Jack couldn’t have explained the situation better himself.

  “I have been summoned to his laboratory more than once during my time at Ravencrest.” Chloe leaned close, as if to disclose a horrible secret. The men leaned in to hear her words.

  “I’ve seen his lordship’s collection of preserved organs. We should be relieved the count has found his happiness and has set aside his ‘anatomy studies’ at his wife’s request. Not everyone finds the missing half of their soul.”

  Chapter Ten

  It was a dreary end to what was supposed to be a special evening.

  After Chloe’s comment, the party broke up. His guests left the cabin, except Jinx.

  As if sensing Jack’s quick descent into the morose, his first mate lingered and sipped his drink in silence with his captain.

  Mrs. O’Donovan spoke the truth. Few men suffered as the count had and so, it seemed, few could hope to find such a glorious and all consuming love.

  “I take it her late husband wasn’t her prince charming,” Jinx commented in an attempt to relieve the heavy gloom that had settled over the room.

  “I believe they were happy, Mr. and Mrs. Gareth O’Donovan.”

  “Aye, sir.” Jinx frowned. “If you say so. He was a darkie, weren’t he? A bastard son.”

  “He was a noble and learned man.” Jack retorted, incensed to hear Gareth O’Donovan disparaged by his first mate. “I liked him, and that is all you need recall.”

  Jinx slumped back in the chair, a slight pout on his lip at the reprimand.

  “Immoral men abuse the women they hold in slavery. The children of such unions should not be blamed for circumstances they have no control over. It is a deplorable situation, but let us not despise the victims for the sins of the perpetrators.”

  “True.” Jinx fingered the rim of his empty glass and gave Jack a mournful glance. “It’s just…I can’t help it, sir. I can’t help my feelings. She is a lovely, charming white woman. Why did she marry him? It weren’t doing her any favors. In society’s terms, she was marrying down.”

  “She married a witty, intelligent man. She loved him, plain and simple. A beautiful blind princess might fall in love with you one day; should I tell her she’s marrying down if she wants your sorry, sun-bleached hide, Mr. Obadiah Jenkins, blacksmith’s son and first mate on the Pegasus?”

  “Please, no.” The man’s eyes widened, as did his grin. “Let me have my dream, won’t you Cap’n? Let her think I’m Prince Charming, if that’s her wish.”

  Jack picked up the opened bottle of whiskey between them and reached across the table to fill his first mate’s glass. “Gareth always had a certain look about him, as I recall. A sadness, as if he felt he didn’t belong in either world, his mother’s or his father’s. Even so, he was a brilliant wit, and could have danced circles around any philosopher or statesmen. A pity his life was cut short, being thrown by a damned horse.” After splashing a generous portion into his own glass, Jack set the empty bottle aside.

  “A tragedy for Mrs. O’Donovan, being tossed so young into widowhood. So, she’s startin’ a new life in a new land, with distant relatives she’s never met before.” Jinx snuffled and rubbed his nose as the whiskey he’d soaked up made it tingle. “There’s no such thing as a warm welcome for a relation from afar who’s not richer than those he comes to abide with.”

  “She’ll find a wealthy don to make her his lady wife.”

  Again, Jinx scrunched up his face, as if trying to figure out an answer to a riddle that puzzled him. “She’s about thirty, I’ll wager. A man with land to pass on likes a tender bit for a wife to give him an heir. Unless …?” He rolled his lips and tossed his head back to study the beams above him. “Unless she charms some old fellow who already has an heir.”

  “She’s still an attractive woman.” Jack found himself saying before he even realized he’s spoken. And damn if he didn’t say it with more passion than he should have. “She was always vivacious. She’s beautiful, graceful as any ship of the line. I’ve admired her for years.”

  “You don’t’ say?” Jinx gave Jack a hard stare.

  “Damn you, Mr. Jenkins, mind your own affairs!” Jack’s cheeks were burning.

  “Aye, sir.” The wily man grinned. “As your first mate, it is my job to mark your moods, anticipate your desires, and help you carry out your intentions, as you’ve reminded me often in our long association. I’d be remiss at my duties if I did not bring this apparent fascination to your attention, sir.”

  “Good night, Mr. Jenkins.” Jack stood, and so did his personal devil. The man gave him a quick salute and was out the door witho
ut needing further instruction to flee.

  *

  The screams coming from the cabin next door brought Jack up from his bunk at a rush.

  He grabbed the pistols he kept at the ready, a habit from his pirating days, shoved them into the waist of his trousers and reached for his sword.

  He was out the door and across the hall in a trice.

  Three other officers joined him there, all in similar states of undress. Jinks, Lt. Morgan, and Mr. Harris. They looked to him to take the lead and breach the portal.

  He hesitated. The shrieking had stopped.

  Did she have a bad dream? He really didn’t want to go plowing in there and startle the poor woman with his sword raised and his men following—not in the middle of the night.

  “Go on then.” Jinx prompted behind him. “You are the captain, after all.”

  Jack grimaced and bit his tongue to contain a raw retort. When had the proper and respectful Mr. Jinx acquired such cheek? Jack raised his fist to the door, determined to at least announce his presence to the poor woman before leading the charge of men into her private suite.

  But that nerve—shredding shrieking started again, combined with a steady thumping sound as if someone were being chased and beaten with a stick.

  Jack burst through the door, expecting darkness and a sizable intruder to greet him. Instead, he was met with bright lights as all the lanterns in the cabin seemed to have been set ablaze. Chloe was in the corner with her back to the door. She didn’t seem to notice the men filing in. Her arm was raised. She appeared to be in the midst of bludgeoning something.

  “Mrs. O’Donovan?” he said in a light tone, trying to get her attention. Her hair was flowing in a gleaming, obsidian waterfall down her back, reaching nearly to her round bottom. Jack cleared his throat and tried again when she didn’t respond to his gentle speech. “Mrs. O’Donovan,” he repeated in his strict captain’s tone. “Is there a problem with your lodgings?”