The Duke's Fallen Angel (Devilish Dukes, #1)

by Amy Jarecki

  Bria reached for a slice of bread and picked up a knife. Rather than helping herself to the butter, she closed her eyes and pictured those fleeting moments for the thousandth time. Laying in the dirt, his eyes had been closed. When the LeClairs had died, their eyes were open, haunting and staring at nothing. As she looked toward the windows, her heart leaped. Heaven help her, Drake was alive. She felt it in her very bones.

  Oh, God please let it be so.

  “You seem contemplative.”

  She blinked and set to buttering the bread. “Just thinking about the events that brought me to this end.”

  The man rested his hand on her wrist. “I’ve been wondering about that myself. How does a ballerina from Paris, playing the starring role at one of London’s grandest theaters end up being accused of stealing a necklace from an English duke whom she professes to be her grandfather?”

  Trying not to cringe, Bria snapped her arm away. “When you put it that way, it does seem a bit convoluted.”

  A sailor entered with a tray. After weeks of eating broth and bread, the scent made her salivate. He presented her with a pair of tongs. “Chicken and cabbage, miss?”

  She gave the captain a wary glance. No, she didn’t want to dine with him, but she wouldn’t turn down a chance to regain her strength and take a few morsels for Johnny. “Thank you.”

  The captain sat back while the sailor filled his plate and didn’t say a word until the tar left. “When you boarded my ship, you said the duke’s daughter gave you the necklace when you were born.”

  “She did.”

  “Why, may I ask?”

  “So that I would remember her.”

  “Is that how you ended up in France?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m beginning to see.”

  “Are you? Because I have no intention of dragging my mother’s good reputation through the mire.”

  “Mayhap that isn’t your intent, but I’m guessing the Duke of Beaufort does not see it that way.”

  She shoved a bite of chicken into her mouth and almost moaned aloud. “Most likely not. He’s never had a kind word to say about me.”

  “And now you find yourself on a voyage that will take you to hell. I read the Gazette. One moment you were the darling of London premiering in a Paris ballet, and now you have been reduced to the lowliest, most reprehensible of humanity.”

  She gulped down a swallow of wine. “It appears so.”

  “But I can help you.”

  “You would do that?” She wasn’t exactly sure she wanted to hear more.

  “If you agree to help me.”

  Bria could only imagine the captain’s terms. And he had no idea how much she needed to return to London. Where was Drake now? How grave were his wounds? “I’m listening.”

  “When we arrive in Botany Bay, I have a great many contacts. I can ensure you are placed well.”

  She opened her napkin and placed a slice of bread on it for Johnny. “I have no intention of staying in Australia.”

  “Perhaps not, but first you must survive this voyage, and then survive Australia. I can help you with both of those things.”

  Nipping a leg of chicken, she set it atop the bread. “And what do you expect in return for your generosity?”

  Sitting back, Sands smoothed his hands up and down his doublet. “You see, a man grows lonely during a three-month stint at sea.” He paused, his tongue nervously sliding across his lower lip while his words hung in the air like a death knoll.

  While her stomach turned sour, she’d expected his indecency. The clothes, the soap and water, the blanket, dining with the captain—it was all meant to show her how nice things might be for her on this voyage. Furthermore, he’d tried to trick her into thinking he was kind by providing kindnesses for Johnny as well.

  But at what cost?

  When Drake had been left bleeding somewhere between London and Portsmouth?

  She set her fork aside. “And if I refuse?”

  “You’ll receive the standard convict fare.” He picked at his teeth with his fingernail. “If you survive the crossing, you won’t see the light of day again until we arrive at Botany Bay. And I imagine a woman as lovely as you won’t last long among the ruffians there. ’Tis a different world in Australia. A man’s world.”

  Bria took another drink of wine to wash down her revulsion. What would become of her once they reached Botany Bay? “What about Johnny? Would you see him well settled once we arrive?”

  Sands pulled something ungodly from his mouth and wiped his finger on the tablecloth. “The child is a foundling.”

  “So was I, at least I thought myself to be at one time.”

  The ship groaned and shuddered a bit, shifting Sand’s attention for a moment, but not long enough. His gaze returned and meandered to her breasts, thankfully concealed beneath her cloak. “You have little ground on which to negotiate.”

  Bria crossed one arm over her chest. From what she understood, she was the only female aboard ship—which gave her a great deal more room to negotiate than he’d insinuated—though the thought of using her body to purchase protection was abhorrent. So, Sands’ kindness didn’t come without a price. The problem was she’d rather jump overboard than submit.

  “Must you have my answer now?”

  “If not now, by morning.”

  She hadn’t yet played her final card. Though Bria preferred not to use it at this juncture, not knowing when she’d see Drake again, if ever. Not knowing how grave his injuries were. Not knowing if he survived them, she didn’t have many options. Somehow, she had to find a way back to England. Was the price worth her dignity? Was it worth putting her relationship with Drake in jeopardy? Worth the risk of conceiving a child? Could she live with herself if she gave in to the captain’s demands?

  “You’re a player,” he said as if he knew what she was thinking. “Everyone knows women who join the theater are borne of easy virtue.”

  “Not everyone.” Bria took one more piece of chicken and wrapped up the serviette. “Are you familiar with the Duke of Ravenscar?”

  “Any Englishman knows of him. Not only is he in line to the throne, he’s the man who footed the bill for Chadwick Theater.”

  “He is.” She tied the ends and slipped the food in her pocket for Johnny.

  The man leaned back in his chair with a sly grin. “Ah, so you’ve sampled the hospitality of a duke?”

  “He is my greatest patron. If you help me gain passage back to England, there will be a reward in it. A sizeable reward.”

  Sands stood and moved behind her, running his thick fingers along the curve of her neck. “My, my, how you’ve been misled. I’d be more likely to believe Ravenscar colluded with Beaufort to send you to Australia.” He chuckled. “You had a bit of a tête-à-tête with His Grace, and now you’ve been sent away, cast aside, so to speak.”

  Bria’s skin burned hot. How dare he insinuate the love between she and Drake was sordid? “As a matter of fact, he attempted to rescue me...until Gibbs shot him.”

  “Shot? You story grows more preposterous by the moment.” Removing his hands, the captain moved toward the windows and gazed into the darkness. “Is Ravenscar still breathing?”

  “He is, and I have no doubt he will be coming after me. As soon...as soon as he is able.”

  “Where was he shot? It’s not uncommon for a man to succumb to a lead ball lodged in his flesh.”

  “Does it matter?” she hedged. “I’m telling you there will be a reward for anyone who helps me return to England and I’m asking for your help.”

  “You’re trying to sidetrack me.”

  The ship lurched, making the glasses teeter.

  “Captain!” The lieutenant burst through the door. “A warship is in sight and gaining.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  THANK GOD FOR THE YOUNG spotter in the crow’s nest. Buggie spent every daylight hour up the mast with his spyglass, so high in the air Drake had no idea how the lad managed to maintain his
relentless vigil without suffering vertigo.

  But once the boy spotted the heavy barque, it took no time to set a course directly for the Lloyds and flag her with an order heave to. Spun tighter than a noose’s knot, Drake paced the deck while both ships underwent the process of being tied together with a plank spanning the gap between them.

  He followed Captain Schiffer across. Waves slapped the hulls while the two vessels rocked, making the footing precarious at best. Drake glanced down once, his stomach flying to his throat. One misstep and he’d be at the mercy of the eddies below.

  Once across, he took note of the convict ship’s crew while the two captains exchanged pleasantries. The bedraggled men looked as if they all belonged in irons. This lot of miscreants has Britannia locked away? Behind his back, he cracked his knuckles and leveled his stare at the miserable welcoming party just as Schiffer gestured Drake’s way.

  “Allow me to introduce His Grace the Duke of Ravenscar.”

  Captain Sands’ eyes widened for a moment. The look contained more than respectful regard for Drake’s rank. The man knew something, harbored something. Sands bowed. “What would bring a duke out to the middle of the Atlantic, chasing a ship laden with convicts?”

  So, the dastardly captain opted to play his cards close to his chest? Drake eyed him. “I’m guessing you already know the answer.”

  The man licked his lips while a trickle of sweat bled from his brow.

  “But to allay all doubt, a ballerina named Britannia LeClair was kidnapped from my theater on the night of August 17th. Acting swiftly, I made inquiries and traced her to a remote inn just south of Guildford. There, I attempted to stage a rescue when her kidnapper, a Mr. Walter Gibbs, shot me, grazing my temple.” Drake removed his hat and turned his head, showing the newly-formed scar.

  The captain leaned in with a squint. “Good Lord, ’tis a miracle you survived.”

  “The shot rendered me unconscious for a time. When I came to, I rode straight for Portsmouth, but the Lloyds had already sailed.”

  “And Admiral Cockburn assigned my ship, the fastest in the fleet to hasten after you.” Clearing his throat, Schiffer unrolled the missive with the orders scribed by the admiral. “By order of His Majesty the King, you are herby required to release the prisoner, Britannia LeClair, into the custody of the Duke of Ravenscar.”

  Drake entrusted his hat into the hands of one of the officers from the Hastings. “Please lead me to the lady’s berth at once.”

  “Below decks is no place for a man of your station, Your Grace.” Sands gestured to the quarterdeck stairs. “I bid you remain at the helm with me whilst my man fetches the lass for you.”

  “I will not be mollycoddled. And Miss LeClair had best be in good health.”

  “I assure you she is fine. In fact, she dined with me this very eve.”

  “Do you make it a habit to take the evening meal with convicted criminals?” asked Schiffer.

  “N-n-no. But Miss LeClair seemed an unusual case. When her jailor—ah Mr. Gibbs—brought her aboard, she insisted she had received no proper trial.”

  Drake’s fingernails bit into his clenched fists. “Good God. It took you a fortnight to ask her what had happened?”

  “I—”

  “Enough. Lead the way, sir, and pray I do not find anything amiss.”

  The stench of excrement and filth wafted from below as they approached the stairs. Drake swallowed his gag reflex and ignored the urge to cover his face with a kerchief. If Britannia was suffering these conditions, he would not allow her to see him repulsed.

  On the second level, they stopped outside a door. Something scurried on the other side.

  “Mr. Baldy, unlock the door,” commanded Sands.

  A man with a full head of hair and a pock-scarred face sauntered forward with a fist full of clanking keys and held up a lantern as the door swung open.

  Britannia stood in the center of a tiny room, shielding a child who was peering from behind her cloak. Chin held high, she threw her shoulders back as if she were the last defense between her and a crowned prince. “You told me you would allow me until the morrow to make a decision!”

  Sands took a cowering step back.

  After giving the captain a scowl, Drake moved into the light. “Britannia.”

  “Drake?” She drew her hands over her mouth, stepped forward, then back again, her eyes brimming with tears. “Your Grace. I-I...you’re alive!”

  Drake turned to the others. “Leave us. I require a moment alone with Miss LeClair.”

  Tears streamed down her face as they waited for the men to go up top. And then he opened his arms. “My love, I cannot believe we found you.”

  “I am astounded to see you here. They accused me of stealing my miniature—that was my crime—thieving a picture that has belonged to me since my birth.”

  “I know, my darling. But I’m here to take you home now.”

  “At the inn—I was terrified. There was so much blood, and then Mr. Gibbs refused to let me see to your wounds. A-a-a-and I thought you might be deaaaaaad.”

  Britannia’s body shook as she sobbed into his shoulder. Drake, too, couldn’t help the tears welling in his eyes as he clutched her tight to his body. At long last, he could protect his ballerina from harm for the rest of his days. “I’m never letting you go. I love you. I’ve loved you since the first time I laid eyes on you when you were but a silhouette performing in your traveling clothes.”

  “I-I-I.” So overcome with emotion, the dear woman couldn’t manage to utter a comprehensible word. But she needn’t say anything. Drake’s soul brimmed with love, enough for the both of them.

  “Excuse me, sir,” said a tiny voice, accompanied by a tug on Drake’s overcoat.

  Trying to catch her breath, Bria wiped her face on her sleeve and turned toward the child. “J-Johnny. This is the D-duke of Ravenscar, you call him Your Grace, not sir.”

  The boy’s bottom lip quivered. “Are you taking Bria away from me, Your Grace?”

  “No!” She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around the child. “You must come with us. I will take care of you, I promise.”

  Drake looked between the two. “Britannia?”

  She stood, taking the boy by the hand. “This is Johnny. He is a foundling and he was sentenced to fourteen years transportation for stealing a loaf of bread merely because he was hungry.”

  “Christ.”

  “Please. I cannot leave him behind.”

  “Of course not.” Drake looked at the lad’s eyes. Hell, his damned heart twisted. Who could resist eyes of the innocent and angelic? “Perhaps Mr. Schiffer can find him a position on the HMS Hastings.”

  Bria pursed her lips and gave a nod, clearly not in favor of the cabin boy idea. “As long as we can take him off the ship, you and I can discuss his future after.”

  “Can I discuss it, too?” asked Johnny. “I reckon I might be interested in my future.”

  The boy had gumption for a tike no higher than Drake’s waist. “Come. I’ll have the crew aboard the Hastings draw baths for you both.”

  “Must I have a bath?”

  “Yes.” Britannia took the boy’s hand and followed Drake to the main deck.

  “There was nothing in the order that mentioned the boy,” said Captain Sands.

  It didn’t surprise Drake to come up against resistance. “Do you often ferry small children to penal colonies?”

  “If their crimes warrant it. I’m no judge, I merely provide transport.”

  “Merely is a good descriptor, though I might have chosen barely.”

  Sands jowls shook with his snort. “Nonetheless, I am duty bound to see that boy is delivered to Botany Bay.”

  “What if he were to die en route?” asked Drake.

  “Then I’m out ten quid.”

  “Merely ten pounds? For a human being?”

  “For transporting a criminal over the high seas and delivering them to the governor in Australia.”

  “I’ll
pay the boy’s fee.”

  “But what will I tell the governor?”

  “I’ll double Johnny’s bounty and you can tell the governor what you like.” Drake signaled to Captain Schiffer. “Shall we sail home to England, sir? We need passage clear to Robin Hood’s Bay, mind you. The detour shouldn’t be a bother. After all, you’re no longer facing the challenge of sailing to Australia and back.”

  ON THE Hastings, Bria enjoyed the freedom of a small cabin with a narrow bed, a table and a chair, a chest and a mirror on the wall. The captain’s valet had brought in a wooden tub for her bath though it was only filled with a few inches of water—a precious commodity on a ship. She didn’t mind. The valet had also given her a bar of soap scented with lemongrass.

  Though a tad cramped in the tub, Bria was in heaven. She drew the soap to her nose and inhaled, clearing the stench from the Lloyds from her nostrils. The past weeks of terror melted away as she relaxed. No, she wouldn’t soon forget her ordeal, but the shock of her abduction and the horrors that followed paled in comparison to the thrill of seeing Drake alive and in her arms. He’d wielded his power and took command of a navy ship and sailed to her rescue. She still couldn’t believe he’d found the Lloyds in the middle of the sea.

  Britannia loved Ravenscar—the duke—Drake—the man. He came for her. He fought for her. He loved her. If only they could spend the rest of their days together. But doing so would only bring them more misfortune and Bria could never burden the man she loved with Beaufort’s threats or with the scandal of her birth. Too much adversity prevented her from remaining in England. Yes, they were sailing to Peak Castle, but she wouldn’t stay—doing so would be inordinately selfish and she couldn’t risk putting Drake in danger any longer. For the love of God, he’d been shot—nearly killed.

  How could she let such a thing happen again? Her only option was to take Johnny back to France. They’d be safe there. And the boy was young enough to earn a place at the Paris Opera Ballet School.

  But until she had to go, Bria intended to savor every moment with His Grace.