by Eva Devon
“Denigrates?” she repeated, scoffing. “I think, considering what you have done, he was rather charitable.”
“What I have done?” Captain Adams growled with surprising restraint. Likely, he did not wish to draw attention by raising his voice. “Girl, you know nothing of life at sea. How can you judge me?”
She straightened, doing her best to maintain her stoic calm. “I can judge you, in that you are cruel,” she replied. She lifted her chin, defiant. “And I can tell from your very demeanor, you’re also a liar and someone who uses false representation to make introduction to a young lady.”
“I won’t deny it,” he said with a shrug. “But I am shoved into a particularly difficult corner, and I am going to make the Duke of Grey pay for it.”
From the wild glint in his eye and the way his muscles now strained under his cravat, there was only one thing to surmise.
Captain Adams was clearly unhinged, and she was in a very dangerous position.
It was tempting to scream for help, but she wasn’t certain that was a wise idea. From the tension humming through him and the fury he’d expressed when spitting out Grey’s name, he looked like he might cross the room in a few short strides, grab her, and throttle her to within an inch of her life.
She didn’t like the idea of having her neck broken in an instant, so she held her tongue, at least for the moment. Oh so carefully, she crossed farther into the room, speaking to him with care, delicately. There was but one avenue for a young lady as herself with a man like Adams. Now? She would have to massage his male ego, something she was accustomed to doing.
For she had had to do it many times with her father.
Men of power did need to be maneuvered because, sometimes, when they did not get their way, they would strike out and not care whom they hurt.
She knew full well from experience, and so she was particularly prepared to deal with a man like Adams.
“I am sorry you have been through so much,” she said, pulling back from her accusatory tone. She tilted her head to the side, doing her best to look as if she was truly considering his position. “I understand you have a disagreement with the Duke of Grey and you feel as if he has maligned your reputation.”
“Feel,” Adams echoed. “I do not feel; I know it. That man does not have the stamina nor the strength to be captain of a vessel.”
Adam’s eyes narrowed with disdain. “Look at him: wounded, and then running back to England. He’s physically capable. He could have come back to the command of my ship, but because he’s a duke, he does not have to be under my domain any longer, and now he thinks he is above and better than me.”
She did not reply that as one of the sons of the greatest families in the land, all England thought Grey better than him and higher than him and more important than him.
Such a comment would no doubt only drive the man farther down his path of rabid madness. How did people go down such paths, she wondered, with such delusions of importance? And how did they decide to wield that power like a cudgel against those less important? It was beyond her, and yet she had been exposed to it more than once.
Slowly, she approached the desk across from the fireplace. She trailed her fingers along the mahogany wood until she spotted what she was hoping to see.
The letter opener.
The most useful thing about men like Adams and her father? They’d never, ever see a young lady as a threat or capable of outthinking them.
She prayed she could hold herself steady and continue to fool him.
The engraved silver letter opener was as good as a knife in a trice, and though she did not like the idea of having to physically defend herself, she had seen the way a man like Adams could lose his wits.
Her father had never caused her or her sisters physical harm, but there had been moments when she was certain he would, and she’d never been one to want to have to flinch before a man.
Even now, the idea of flinching before Adams was too much to bear. She wouldn’t make herself small for men like him any more.
Yet, she knew she had to perform for him that she was flinching, so she could trick him.
He turned towards the windows. Impatient. Something was driving him.
His head darted as he seemed to be looking for any sign of the duke’s return.
Quickly, she leaned over the desk, placing her hands on the blotter until her fingers touched the handle of the letter opener.
“Tell me more,” she urged as her fingers met cool metal. “Perhaps I can help you. Perhaps you can help me understand the situation of it.”
“Girl, I do not care if you understand,” he rasped without looking back at her. “I do not need your good opinion. All I need is revenge upon Grey for making my life so difficult.”
She swallowed, desperate to keep him distracted from her actions. “Tell me, then, how I can possibly be a part of that revenge?”
A soft laugh rippled from him. His folded hands behind his back readjusted as if he was relishing what he was about to say. “Do you think I didn’t know what was happening between you?”
Her blood chilled. “I beg your pardon?”
She let her fingers slip slightly around the letter opener, and carefully, she dragged it back. Captain Adams was still turned to the window, looking out as if he was searching for Grey. Quietly, she slipped the letter opener between the folds of her skirts, her fingers holding it lightly so he would not notice what she was about.
Just as she tucked it into the folds, he whipped back to her.
“Oh, please,” he drawled, disgusted, his eyes dark. “Silly little girls and foolish young men. I was the captain of my ship, and I knew everything transpired. Do you think I did not know what was in those letters he read so voraciously? The moment I realized he was a snake aboard my ship, I became particularly careful and I learned as much information about him as I could. Any wise captain knows the weaknesses of their men.”
To be called a weakness was extremely irritating. She really loathed men who found women to be weaknesses to men. They were a vital part of men’s lives.
They were vital on their own, thank you very much.
“I see,” she said, prompting him to continue to speak so she might gather herself to act. “So, you know he and I wrote each other.”
“Yes.” He scowled. “The drivel you two exchanged about the niceties of life? You clearly know nothing about the brutality of this world, girl.”
She did not bother to correct him, for if he knew the contents of the letter, he also knew her father was a bounder.
No doubt, her father, the Earl of Harrowton, and Captain Adams would have gotten along very well, if her father would have deigned to have any sort of company with the captain of a naval ship.
Which of course, he would not. Her father was a terrible snob.
“Where is the man?” Adams demanded.
“I do not know,” she said honestly, licking her lips as she sensed his growing impatience.
“Please,” he scoffed. “He must be close. But he is not in the house. It is how I knew I could gain admittance. I saw him storm off.”
“Have you been spying upon us?” she asked, stunned. “That’s not very gentlemanly.”
“I am beyond such things,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Grey has made it so I cannot behave a gentleman anymore. I must skulk about in the shadows until I can prove my honor again.”
Honor, she thought to herself. The man knew nothing of it. He was willing to use a young lady to get his revenge. Honor was not a word Adams understood at all.
Again, Adams turned to the window, growing agitated. “It is time to depart.”
“Depart? I am still not entirely certain how you will use me in your path of revenge,” she said, hoping to keep him speaking.
Perhaps Grey would be made aware, or Merrill perhaps, that something was amiss.
Though, she had a strong feeling that Merrill may have already left the estate, and she did not know if Grey would return fr
om his long walk anytime soon.
Truth to be told, she did not know exactly what to do.
Clara might be a possibility of help, but she hated the idea of her friend being put in jeopardy as well. So, she hoped the young lady stayed far away from her precarious situation.
Phillipa might have to take care of this herself.
The idea was terrifying. She had never had to come to blows with anyone before.
Slowly, she came out from behind the desk, and she stood there, staring at Adams’ back.
Could she run across the room and stab him? Or would he turn about, hearing her, and grab her. No doubt he’d then throttle her, as she feared. Any attempts at stopping him would be done, and she’d likely be crushed in the attempt.
She didn’t have delusions about her own strength as he so clearly did.
Instead, Phillipa decided to wait.
She hated waiting.
But in this particular instance, fast action would likely get her killed. Adams seemed on edge, as if he might be willing to do anything, as if he had no sense of reason left.
He whipped back to her, a new resolve etching his hard features. “He has spread the worst gossip about me throughout all society. Until they think I am all but a child murderer. It is foul,” he hissed.
“Are you?” she asked softly, her breath shallow with growing fear and knowledge that her life was in danger.
“What?” he asked, blinking.
“A child murderer,” she clarified, the words nearly choking in her throat.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed before he narrowed his gaze. “I discipline children because they need it.”
She swallowed, her mouth going dry.
It was all but an admission to her.
Had he beaten some poor child to death?
She thought of Joe. . .
God, she prayed not.
The brutality of men like him! It was not to be borne. She would be doing a service to this world if she drove the letter opener into his heart, if she could find that organ.
“Now, girl, you’re going to come with me,” he all but ordered, taking a step towards her. “We will quietly exit this house, and you will follow me without complaint.”
A slow, anticipatory smile tilted his lips. “And then Grey shall come to me. On my terms.”
“Why do you think I will go with you?” she whispered, barely able to speak.
“Because,” he said quite simply. . . And then he slipped the pistol from the waistband of his breeches under his dark coat. “I will kill you if you do not.”
She stared at the pistol.
The first thing that struck her was how sleek and beautifully made it was.
As he took his hand and pulled back the hammer, cocking it, terror coursed through her and a second thought slithered through her mind.
She was going to die in this room, bleeding her life out of a horrific wound, if she was not very careful with him.
“You made your case most eloquently, sir,” she managed to reply, never taking her gaze from the mouth of her potential death.
“I agree,” he replied coolly. “So, no more prevaricating. Off, we go.” He gestured with his free hand to the door. “Now, my girl, don’t make a peep, or I shall have to bloody His Grace’s carpet.”
She sucked in a breath, transfixed by the cocked pistol. “Would you truly be willing to kill someone innocent?”
“To restore my honor?” he queried as if she were the one that was mad. “Of course.” He raked her with a ruthless stare. “Besides, you are not innocent. You are his whore, are you not? No doubt you are staying here, making the beast with two backs with him at night.”
The words coated her with his disgusting meaning. His sheer contempt for her and all females, who he no doubt saw as mere vehicles for men’s lust or bodies to carry their heirs.
It was tempting to gasp, but she would not give him the satisfaction of her horror at his words. He truly was a duplicitous, horrible piece of humanity.
Her heart began to pound against her ribs.
There was no indication that Grey or Merrill or Clara were going to save her.
Clara shouldn’t; she hadn’t the skills, and Phillipa didn’t like the idea of one of the servants being shot by Adams either, in coming to her rescue.
So, she was in a particularly difficult situation. She thought of her father and how brutal he could be, how cruel, how manipulative.
She wondered if she could actually stand up to Adams, just as she had stood up to her father. Only, her father had never threatened her with a pistol.
This was an entirely different affair than any she’d faced, even when her father had been in his cups.
But, she did know one thing: Adams was not going to leave any of them alone unless something was done.
No, He was not going to leave Grey alone, and thus, anyone he cared about, until the ultimate damage had been inflicted.
A man like Adams would never take responsibility for his actions. He needed to hate Grey, to blame Grey, and to harm Grey to preserve his own good opinion of himself.
Still, she couldn’t outright confront Captain Adams.
She wasn’t strong enough, nor capable enough in regards to arms.
She didn’t know enough about the art of combat.
The only thing she could do at present was to go along with him, to assuage him, to allow him to think he was winning.
Even if he was winning at this moment, she knew the tables could turn in an instant.
She nodded at him and forced herself to modulate her tone into one of acquiescence and obedience. “Of course, I shall do as you say.” She nodded towards the pistol. “As you point out, you do hold the upper hand.”
“Good,” he said, pleased, though from his stance, he was growing more tense. More wary that they were going to be interfered with.
“I’m glad you have some sense,” he stated. “Now walk ahead but stay close because I do not wish anyone to see what we are about. Do not think of running.”
She nodded, even as her insides roiled and her brain rioted.
Could she be brave? Could she risk it? Did she dare?
She walked slowly, allowing Adams to come up behind her as he wished.
Much to her shock, he pressed the mouth of the pistol into her back.
The feel of that cold, hard barrel against her lower back made her shudder. But instead of just terror, it filled her with rage. Rage that he should make her such a pawn in this game of life. That he thought so little of her. That her life mattered so little to him. That she was so entirely insignificant but as a means to hurt Anthony.
She wouldn’t have it.
“Walk forward,” he instructed, “and open the door.”
She did as he wished, her entire body starting to shake as she made her way to the door. She drew in a deep breath to keep herself calm, and suddenly, she knew exactly what she had to do.
She knew pistols of this day were not particularly perfect things. She knew it was not easy to fire one. She knew they weren’t terribly accurate and were sometimes given to difficulties.
With him so very close to her, she might actually have an advantage.
Willing herself to draw on every bit of strength and resolve she had, she took a few more steps forward, put her hand on the doorknob, and turned it.
She couldn’t go with him. . . If she did, the variables would be too hard to control.
As she opened the panel, she angled her body to slip through the opening.
He grumbled, having to shove the door open. “Do not go so fast-”
With that, she spun around, grabbed his wrist, and pushed it to the side. With her other hand, she whipped her letter opener from her skirts and drove it upward.
Chapter 16
Captain Adams’s pistol fired.
Sparks leaped in the air.
The sound rang through her ears, and the splintering of wood burst through the room.
Phillipa jum
ped but did not let go of her blade, which only caused Captain Adams’s eyes to bulge further with his astonished horror.
His mouth opened like a fish, shocked at what she had done to him. Wide-eyed, he gazed down at her hand, unable to comprehend that a lady, a young lady, the lady he thought was in his power, had stabbed him.
And stabbed him, she had.
Her blow had struck home.
And his shot was wasted.
He had not known she had such strength, power, or accuracy in her. Instinct had driven her to bring the knife from downward rather than up above. She had not tried to swing her arm over her head, but rather, because of her position, she had turned, twisted, and shoved upward.
Which meant the knife had had exceptional force and found a solid mark.
Now she stood, shaking.
Blood slid over her hand, and Adams staggered back.
She let go, and he tripped backwards, falling to the ground with a crunching thud.
She let out a cry, hating the fact that she did so, but unable to stop herself.
Her body began to quake with the enormity of the moment.
She leaned down over him, her gaze darting over his abdomen. She yanked the knife from his stomach.
She then grabbed onto a bit of her skirts and ripped it, so that it tore free. Frantic, she pressed it to his wound, desperate to save his life. Needing to at least do what she deemed honorable.
After all, she had not wished to kill him, but she certainly was not going to allow herself to be killed or hurt to protect him.
No, she would not give up her life over a man like him. She’d have been a fool to trust he would not harm her or Grey, if she hadn’t confronted him.
Though she loathed what she had had to do, she was not going to allow herself to be a sheep, bullied and maneuvered and forced about, at some man’s will because his ego had been hurt. Because his reputation had been tarnished.
Because he had done truly horrible things.
Her heart hammered in her chest so harshly it hurt, and she could not draw breath.
Even so, she tasted the acrid powder of the gunpowder in the air. She blinked the tears from her eyes and smelled the sharp smoke surrounding them.