Gabe smirked. “You still have a wanton effect on women.”
“I’m fitting a ship.” Ignoring his friend, Stephen made his purpose clear.
“What do you need?” Gabe leaned forward, his arm rested on the table.
“I need men of a certain caliber.”
“A ship docked yesterday, badly damaged. Don’t know the particulars. Story’s a bit shady. From what I hear, her crew will be stuck here for a while.” Gabe tossed his head in a direction over his shoulder. “They might be lookin’ for work.”
“Thanks, Gabe.”
“Whatever you’re up to, take care, my friend.” Gabe knew better than to ask any more questions.
Stephen lifted his mug and took a hefty swallow, then swiped the foam from his lip with the back of his hand. He stretched his legs out, crossed one boot over the other and laced his fingers over his belt buckle.
Guilt assailed him. He should be with the crew of Serpent’s Ghost. Lying in the ground beside them. He lived for the day when he would rip the guts out of the evil monster—make him suffer as he had made Stephen’s crew suffer. He would afflict such pain and torment the bastard would prefer hell instead of being at his mercy.
He had other ships. Loyal men who followed his instructions. Did he want to take them to their deaths? Or should he hire a bunch of cutthroats unknown to him? Let them take their chances. Men with no families, no ties, no one to care if they never returned.
He grabbed the ale and downed every drop. With a grunt, he slammed the empty mug on the table and motioned for another.
“Word is you might be lookin’ fer a crew.”
Stephen raised his steely gaze to the man in front of him. Tall enough. Filled out his coat. He didn’t cower. That was a good sign.
“I sail for rough waters. There’ll be a fight. The job pays well.”
“What if we get killed? How are we going to collect?” The bloke standing beside him spoke up.
“If you don’t want risk, don’t sign up,” Stephen barked. His anger stemmed from guilt.
“I’m no coward.”
“The notorious Captain Radbourn.” A sinister voice resounded and a sizeable form stepped forward. He crossed his arms over his chest. Never taking his glare from Stephen, he spoke to the man he’d interrupted. “You best curb your tongue. This captain will eat boys like you for breakfast.”
Clancy.
Figuring this was something they ought best avoid, the two sailors stepped back allowing plenty of room.
“Why, Captain. I barely recognize you.” Clancy said with a contemptible sneer. “Heard you met with some trouble? Pirating?”
“Gossip is dangerous business,” Stephen said in a deadly tone.
“Is it gossip that Serpent’s Ghost has sailed to a watery grave?”
With everything he had in him, he controlled his reaction. No secret about his ship. No need to divulge other gory details.
“So you’re lookin’ for men.” Clancy drew himself up with all the righteousness of a man wronged. Cold eyes stared down at him.
“Not interested,” Stephen said.
“You’ve got it wrong, Captain. I’m not looking for a post. I don’t intend to lose my chance at your comeuppance.”
“Didn’t learn your lesson the last time you crossed me?”
“Tis true, old friend.” Clancy smiled through blackened teeth. “I merely meant to increase my fortune.”
Old friend. Once a member of his crew who mutinied. Stephen had allowed the whoreson to live.
“So you’re looking for a fortune?”
“It’s not money I want. Tarred and feathered maybe. You took everything away from me. Forty lashes. It took a year to regrow enough skin to cover my back.”
Clancy was an unprincipled devil. Brash and ungoverned. The light in his eyes skirted insanity.
Every nerve in Stephen’s body sharpened.
“Maybe you should know how it feels, to have the skin peeled off your back.”
The bastard had no idea how close his words were to the truth.
“Some said you sailed to your death.”
“Wishful thinking,” Stephen asked. “Since I am sitting before you, it should be obvious I am not in Hell’s pit.”
Clancy drew his pistol. “I can send you there.”
Stephen’s muscles tightened. “I suppose it was only a matter of time.”
Fervor sharpened Clancy’s features. The gleam in his eyes burned brighter. “I should have killed you then.”
Stephen calculated the amount of time it would take for him to relieve Clancy of his gun before he could pull the trigger. “Make sure you kill me now. For you will never get another chance.”
The distinct sound of a hammer clicked on a flintlock.
From the corner of his eye, Stephen saw a man with a pistol aimed at Clancy’s head. By sheer strength of will he managed to control any sign of surprise.
“I’d really hate to shoot a man I do not know,” the stranger said.
“Then, I suggest you mind your own business,” Clancy barked back.
“But, you see, I cannot help myself. I am a man of non-violence.” The stranger spoke with a nonchalance suitable of any rouge partaking in a jest.
“Cocking a pistol is not a demonstration of non-violence.” Clancy spoke with his gun still leveled on Stephen.
The man shrugged. “My father suggested I carry it. For peaceful measures, you understand.”
Stephen inwardly smiled. “His finger is on the trigger, Clancy.”
Clancy’s sneer grew larger, but his eyes filled with uncertainty.
“Now. If you behave yourself, I will let you live.”
Clancy warred with indecision. Finally he relaxed his arm. “All right. No sudden moves. I’m putting away my gun.” Clancy slowly slid his pistol into his overcoat.
Another click sounded revealing the man behind Clancy released the hammer on his own flintlock. He too, lowered his weapon.
In a flash, Clancy bent down, grabbed a blade from his boot and swung toward the man. Expecting such a move, Stephen lurched from his chair. He grabbed Clancy’s arm and twisted sending the blade into his gut.
“Damn you,” Clancy cried, just before he slumped to the floor in a pool of blood.
Where only moments before the inn held deadly silence, rumbling voices and scuffling sounds echoed. Seafarers slapped the backs of their mates.
“Well now. Seems I owe you my life.”
Stephen glanced to the man who’d come close to meeting his maker. “Seems we’re even.”
He held out a hand. “Jack. Jack Gordy.”
“Much obliged, Jack. Stephen Radbourn.”
“Captain Radbourn?”
Stephen’s awareness sharpened. “That’s right.”
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Shame about your friend here.”
“He was no friend of mine.”
“All right. Show’s over,” Gabe shouted. “John. Flint. Get this scum out of here.”
Several men came forward and carried Clancy’s body outside. Before the tavern door closed, the room returned to the active beehive it had been upon his arrival. Sailors resumed their card games, sea dogs shouted for more ale, laughter resonated as though the incident had never happened.
Lord help him. He’d ignored the carnage that once had been his way of life. He longed for better.
“Blasted fool.” Jack gazed down at Clancy’s blood staining the floor. “Why couldn’t he have swallowed his pride and lived?”
“You don’t know him. He would have lain in wait and killed you when you left the tavern.”
Jack whistled threw his teeth. “Then I’m grateful. In my book when a man has a loaded weapon ai
med at his chest, he’s headed for coked up toes. Nice to still be breathin’.”
Gabe placed two mugs of ale on the table. “Drinks on the house.”
Jack pulled back a chair. “Much obliged.” He nodded to Gabe.
“My thanks.” Stephen lifted his mug toward Jack.
“A life for a life. We’re even.”
Stephen smiled. “Non-violence, huh?”
“A bit over the top? Can’t help myself sometimes.” He took a swallow of his ale. “I hear you’re looking for men.” He gestured across the room to a few men seated in the corner. “Others of the same ilk, same ideals. They would be willing to work for you. Sign their allegiance.”
Stephen studied the man before him. Seemed a good enough sort. Just risked his neck for a man he didn’t know. Said a lot about the man’s caliber.
Could he ask the chap to risk his life again?
Chapter 29
For three days Stephen had not slept. He’d spent every available moment getting a ship prepared with a new crew. Provisions were loaded, the first mate knew his orders—his mind spun with any last minute groundwork. His aunt and uncle noted his absence. And Kat pestered him like a hound ran a fox to the ground. If he managed to avoid any more distractions, he would more than likely sail within a fortnight.
Hopefully everyone else remained in their beds. He merely needed to slip across the corridor and down the staircase.
“Stephen.”
God’s Truth.
He slowly turned to see his sister with her hands braced on her hips and an accusing glint in her eyes. He felt like a youth unfairly caught with his head under a girl’s skirts.
His temper flared.
“Are you on another hair-brained notion rising before dawn streaks the sky?”
“And what about you,” Kat accused. “What’s your reason for sneaking off at this hour of the morning?”
“A man of my size does not sneak.”
“Thank God. You were a shell of your former self when you came home to us.”
Ignoring her, he turned to the staircase.
“Wait. You are not running away from me. And if you take another step, I shall yell the walls down so Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Albert will find us quarreling?”
He leaned forward. Mere inches separated his nose from hers. “You would be in more trouble than me, Kitten.”
A pout formed on her upturned lips. “Come on.” She led, expecting him to follow. He loped down the stairs, through the foyer, and down the corridor to the drawing room.
He stood before her expecting . . . God knew what he expected. The top of her head barely came to his shoulder, yet her glare threatened to reduce him to half his size.
“That won’t work, Kitten.”
Her bravado crumpled.
“Tears neither. If you want something, just ask. I’m familiar with your stratagem and I’m sure your cunning has only sharpened while I’ve been gone.”
“Um, that’s what I want to talk to you about. You’ve been home for weeks and you’ve avoided my questions at every turn. I’ve missed you so. I’ve worried about you . . .”
“Leave it be,” he said more harsh than he’d intended.
“You were gone so long.” Her soulful expression mirrored in her eyes.
“I didn’t have much choice.”
“Please. I know something happened. I’m your sister. You can tell me.”
“I think I am the best judge of that.” He stepped to the windows, turning his back to her.
She gave an unladylike curse.
“Curb your tongue. Such language for a lady. Brat.”
She stuck her tongue out at him.
“You’re not too old I can still take you across my knee,” he smirked.
“Humph. You have never done so and you will not do so now.”
“Impudent chit.”
“Must I continue to worry? The sooner you tell me . . .”
“For the last time, I will not speak of it. Not to you. Not to anyone.” He marched across the room.
“Wait! I’ll . . .”
He stared her into silence.
“Very well. Keep your secrets,” she said in frustration.
“My first order of business is to get back to managing my ships. Then I plan to go back to sea.”
“For heaven’s sake. You just got home. Even if you do not tell me what occurred, you cannot leave me again.”
“Did you forget you are about to be married? You will have a husband to keep you company.”
“But,” she lifted her chin in defiance.
“Hush, now. Trust me, minx.”
“I will. If you will answer another question for me.”
“Good God. Do you never stop?” His outburst stemmed more from mirth than irritation.
“Who is the woman?”
He raised a brow, and masked his expression. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Are you going to tell me there is no woman? You’ve never lied to me.”
“And I’ll not start now. But my private life is my own.”
“A woman disembarked from the ship with you. You escorted her home.”
Jaw clenched, he glared at his sister. Where the hell did she get her information? Ignoring his sister had only wetted her appetite.
“Wherever did you find her? You simply must tell me.”
He gave a brash laugh. “Must I? Imp?”
She stomped her foot.
“Why, soon-to-be Lady Whetherford. Did you just stomp your foot?”
Younger days came swiftly to mind. An image of a little girl, stomping her foot, thrusting her lower lip into a perturbed pout, demanding her due. She may have grown, but her childish temper remained.
“Your husband needs to take a strong hand with you.”
“He is not my husband, yet. And do not change the subject. Did you have . . . um . . . a relationship with this woman? You were on a ship a long time.”
“My God, Kitten. You cannot say things like that to a man. Especially your own brother.”
“Oh for goodness sakes, Stephen. She’s a woman. You’re a man. I know the desires of men.”
“How the bloody hell would you know of such things anyway.”
“I’m about to be married.”
“You’re not married, yet,” he snarled, repeating her own words. “Do I need to defend your honor? What has that bloody Whetherford done?”
“No . . . nothing,” she stammered. “He’s done nothing. We’re not talking about me, anyway.”
“I am not bloody well talking about a man’s desire with you. You’re my little sister, for God’s sake.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do we have to go through that again?”
“Well, you are.” He paced back to the window, shoving his hands through his hair.
“Stephen, will you please sit down. I’m getting a crimp in my neck.”
“You are a spoiled brat.”
“And who made me that way?” The imp stood there with a grin plastered from one ear to the other.
The corner of his mouth lifted and he laughed out loud.
“See, you cannot stay mad at me.” She plopped onto the couch and smoothed her skirts. “Come sit with me. We are both adults now. Please tell me about her. Do you care for her? What is her name?”
Unfortunately, she would not let the matter go. Had he ever been able to deny her? Truth of the matter, he could use a female’s opinion. But his sister? He shoved a hand through his mop of hair and took his place beside her.
“If you restrain yourself, I suppose I could tell you her name. Jennifer. But, it is her story to tell. I will not supply fodder for the gossip mill.”
�
��Stephen, you wound me.”
“A slip of the tongue, the gossip mongers would feast on any tidbit you give them.”
She lifted her fingers to her lips and twisted. “I will not tell a soul. I promise.”
He studied her face for several moments.
“This whole business is new to me. I haven’t figured it out for myself. What I feel for her goes beyond physical . . . um . . . desire.” He lunged from the sofa. “Good God, Kat. I cannot discuss my personal . . .”
“Let me see your hands.”
“What?” He glanced at his hands as if he’d grown more fingers.
“Come here.” She patted the upholstered sofa.
Once again he sat beside her.
“Now. Give me your hands.”
With a raised brow, he took her delicate fingers within his own. Her eyes searched and melted his soul. A talent she’d accomplished since birth.
“Stephen. I think you have feelings for this woman. Won’t you tell me about her?”
He opened his mouth . . . closed it . . . and considered his words.
Kat squeezed his hands, encouraging him.
“I don’t know where to begin. She’s important to me. I care for her far more than I should. She’s the only woman who has ever compelled me to think of marriage. I feel more for her than she could ever reciprocate.”
“Maybe she cares more for you than you know. Maybe she secretly yearns for you.”
What did the minx know about yearning?
A possibility he’d rather not dwell on.
“Even so, a life with her is out of the question.”
“How can that be?”
“She is a Marquess’s daughter.”
The True One (One and Only Series Book 2) Page 23