Bound by the Heart (35 page)

"I have no choice. Furthermore, I'll probably
meet his price; I have no choice in that, either. But not without making him
squirm a little, you can be sure of that."

She kissed the underside of his chin. "Oh, I have
no doubt at all, Captain Privateer. You're very good at making people
squirm."

"I happen to know his superiors in la belle
France are not too happy with monsieur le general's dealings with the British.
They fail to see the humor in his making a fortune selling the English
prisoners of war they send him instead of putting them to work in the
government cane fields as intended. . . . What the hell are you doing,
wench?"

"Squirming. But you just go right ahead and tell
me all about Monsieur de Ville. I'm simply
yearning
to know everything."

Morgan's eyes narrowed. "Yearning, eh?"

His hand slid up beneath the shirt she was wearing. He
filled his palm with the exquisite tautness of her breast, feeling her shiver
and press closer to his shoulder.

"So you are," he murmured, and his arm
scooped under her knees. He stood and carried her to the bed, his mouth moving
hungrily over hers.

"Morgan—" She kept a tight grip on his neck
so that he could not straighten from her for a moment. "—I'm sorry. I'm
sorry about this morning, about what I said. It's just that, well, every time I
turn around, I seem to be facing something I have never had to deal with
before. I don't want to be a burden on you. I don't want to be the cause of you
worrying or . . . or . . ." She stopped when she saw the amusement curving
the corners of his mouth. She loosened her hands, and her eyes took on a
greenish cast. "That is twice I have apologized to you, sir. It would do
irreparable damage to my character were I forced to do it again."

Morgan laughed and kissed the tip of her nose.
"You don't have to apologize to me, Governess. For anything. You just have
to be patient with me. You're not the only one facing things you've never had
to deal with before."

She looked up at him, and her eyes shone. "In
that case," she whispered, "could you please first deal with my name?
Summer . . . Winter, if you prefer . . . Spring . . . anything but"—she
wrinkled her delicate nose—
"Governess.
It was Michael's idea, and I
did not think much of it at the time."

"Summer," he murmured, and his hands parted
her shirt. He kissed each glorious breast; then his lips moved tauntingly up to
the hollow of her throat. "Summer Wade. Aye, it has a certain ring to it,
wouldn't you say."

"Summer . . . Wade? But—"

"No buts," he said against her mouth.
"To my mind you have been my wife since that night on Bounty Key."

Chapter
21

"M
adame
W
ade.
H
ow
can one country declare the open sea her private
domain? How can England dare to blockade the entire Atlantic? How can she
dictate where ships may go, who they may trade with and where they may purchase
their goods?
Non.
The English accuse our emperor of being a fanatic and a despot, while
at the same time your king seeks to control the entire world trade!"

Summer glanced uncomfortably at Morgan Wade, seated
across the wide oak table from her, and earned one of his maddeningly lazy
smiles in return. She looked at the general, a lean, elegant man in his middle
forties, and steeled herself against a rise in temper.

"Monsieur de Ville," she said carefully,
"I might remind you that England is not the only country guilty of seizing
the ships of other nations. The Americans should have just as much cause to
complain against your policy of simply confiscating the cargo you desire and
throwing the crews into French prisons. Your captains do not even have a valid
excuse to do so."

"And British captains do?"

"It is a well-known fact that British deserters
hide out on board American ships."

"So many deserters, madam, would surely leave
your British Navy sorely undermanned. They use the excuse as a convenient
reason to stop and search ships, nothing more. If there are no deserters on
board, they invent them."

"That is an outrageous lie, sir. The Royal Navy
would never stoop to such tactics."

General de Ville smiled wanly and turned to Morgan.
"Captain Wade, we defer to your superior knowledge. You were on board the
Chesapeake,
were you not, in that infamous
case of mistaken identities?"

"There was no mistake," Morgan said.
"The British boarded her ten minutes out of Norfolk and demanded the
arrest of four of our crewmen, claiming they were deserters."

"Claiming?" Summer asked, recalling the
uproar only dimly.

"Three of the men were born and raised in
America. The fourth had not seen England for over a decade. The British had
false papers for their arrests and made sure they stopped the
Chesapeake
when she was unprepared to
fight back
...
a bad habit they have
not lost over the years."

"Why would they invent papers?" Summer
demanded.

"The
Chesapeake
was a heavy frigate," Morgan said evenly.
"They wanted to search her. They also wanted to demonstrate just how far
they were prepared to go if our ships insisted on trading with whomever they
pleased. England was attempting to put us in our place."

"Ahh, and you were serving in the capacity of
lieutenant at the time, were you not?" The general leaned back in his
chair, swirling the contents of his wineglass. "As I remember hearing it,
the incident was the cause of your resigning from the navy?"

"There were several reasons why I resigned,"
Wade countered. "The court-martial of an innocent man only brought them to
a head."

"Commodore Baron, yes, a true gentleman. Cited
for taking an unready ship out to sea. The first American ship to strike her
colors—to surrender—was she not?"

"The commodore had no choice. The decks were
laden with cargo; the crew was not yet settled to its duties. The British fired
three broadsides into us before we could even signal our intentions. Had the
colors not been struck, there would have been a needless waste of human
life."

"All the same, it was gallant of you to stand
behind your commanding officer. A shame for the American Navy, though. You
would have been a credit to them now, instead of a mere pawn to anger their
enemies."

Morgan's expression did not change except for the
slightest darkening of his eyes. De Ville looked disappointed that his bait was
refused and glanced at Summer.

"Madame Wade, you are a refreshing change from
most Englishwomen I have met. I am pleased to see the captain has the same
luck in his women as he does in his business dealings. But surely all of this
talk of war and politics must bore you? My own wife refuses to listen to any
conversation that does not concern itself with scandals or gossip. She also
flatly refuses to leave Paris for the heat of the tropics. Héloïse,
ma chère"
—de Ville smiled toward his
mistress—"perhaps you and Madame Wade would care to freshen up before we
adjourn to the game room? The captain and I have some business details to
settle, and then we shall join you directly."

"Of course." The woman nodded and a servant
instantly appeared behind her chair. Héloïse
Marchant was tall and
gracefully slim; every movement seemed calculated to give pleasure to the
beholder.

The gentlemen stood while Summer and Héloïse took
their leave. Immediately cigars were produced, the brandy was poured, and the
conversation changed from light banter to the more weighty matters of finance.

"You have no doubt heard of the convoy sent out
of Jamaica by the English not two weeks ago?" de Ville asked.

"The one hundred merchant ships?" Wade
nodded. "Aye, we knew about it."

"And it did not pique your interest?"

"One hundred armed vessels and two first-rated
ships of the line? I cannot say it made me want to rush out after them."

De Ville grinned. "A pity. Together we could have
captured some of the profits from their fine sugarcane harvest this year. They
were also transporting most of their illegal gains home to England, were they
not? The prize cargoes belonging to our respective nations?"

"The Marlowe brothers tell me the warehouses on
the islands have indeed been stripped to the timbers."

"Perhaps they are anticipating a warm
summer?" de Ville suggested. "Their King George is feeling the sting
of Napoleon's victories. . . . Perhaps a quick victory of their own is planned
to bolster their spirits."

"Against the United States? A war now would not
be a quick one, General, and both sides know it."

"Then you have reason to doubt the rumors that
your Congress is on the verge of declaring?"

"The war hawks have been eager to declare war for
two years now. Each time the vote is put to Congress, it is either defeated or
ridiculed off the floor."

"And of course you are hoping there are enough
cool heads in Washington to keep it that way?"

Stuart Roarke cleared his throat and shifted
uncomfortably on
his seat. Morgan ignored him, however, and met de Ville's probing hazel
eyes.

"It is no secret, General, that I would welcome
the opportunity to buck heads against the British."

De Ville laughed suddenly, smoothly. "And to that
end you play your dangerous games with Commodore Winfield? The man is unstable.
You are the only quarry who continually eludes him . . . continually and
flamboyantly, I might add. This latest taunt will undoubtably strip his superiors
of whatever control they had over him. It could well provoke him into a fatal
error in judgment."

"One can only hope, General," Wade murmured.

De Ville laughed again.
"Bon.
To business, then," he
said and raised his brandy snifter in a toast.

"One-fifth was the amount I believe we agreed
on," Wade said easily. "Mr. Roarke has brought the facts and figures
with him if you would care to inspect."

"I would be most interested indeed," nodded
de Ville, "and the amount agreed on was one-third."

"Mr. Roarke has advised me that one-third is
impossible. A loss of that amount would make our profits negligible, and I am
sure you understand profits, General. If I cannot turn a profit this trip, I
cannot hope to meet"—Wade's teeth flashed in a quick smile—"certain
other commitments I have made."

"Commitments,
monsieur?
What commitments could be more
important to you than the protection of your two valuable ships?"

Wade's grin broadened. "Perhaps a shipment of
iron, already cast and assembled. Approximately eight hundred tons in
all."

"Cannon?" de Ville was startled. "Did
you say eight hundred tons?"

"I did. Five merchantmen in all. They are slated
to arrive on the fifteenth of July."

"But eight hundred tons . . . that would
be—"

"Three hundred cannon," Wade supplied dryly.
"Of course, the numbers that come directly into my hands will depend on
the numbers I can afford to purchase."

De Ville stroked his pencil-thin moustache. "You
said merchantmen. Are they not intended for the naval base?"

"Originally they were, aye."

De Ville leaned back in his chair. It was a constant
threat, being so close to British strongholds. One day he would waken to find
his island ringed by British warships. So far the war on the European continent
had commanded too much money and manpower to spare anything on a handful of
islands four thousand miles away, yet the members of Napoléon's government
expected de Ville and his fellow commandants to hold their own against
increasing threats from the English and the Spanish. Three hundred cannon, or
some percentage thereof, would ensure de Ville's health for some time.

"You understand that terms of credit are
impossible," Wade said. "My . . . friends . . . are insisting on
payment on delivery. In gold."

"Mon Dieu,
yes, of course. And three
hundred cannon at roughly—?"

"Enough," Roarke interjected, cutting off
any mention of a price.

De Ville shot him a look of annoyance. "Already
cast and assembled, you say?"

That too was a well-known safeguard. With piracy
rampant and ships of all nations prowling the Atlantic and the Caribbean,
cannon were often shipped to their destinations in parts. If a ship was
captured carrying only breech caps and trunnions, the weapon would be useless
to the captor. In the same way, if the ship was lost to a natural disaster, the
cost of replacing only sections of the guns would be considerably less.

"Fine English cannon?" de Ville glanced up
sharply.

"The best her foundries have turned out,"
Wade nodded. "They measure in at twenty calibers, and they'll fire a
twelve-pound shot fifteen hundred yards accurately."

De Ville drew on his cigar, glancing from Wade to
Stuart Roarke. "Such a weapon exists in quantity? And the Marlowe brothers
are able to sell them to you?"

"The Marlowe brothers?" Wade's handsome face
assumed a look of innocence. "Did I say the shipment was arranged through
the Marlowe brothers?"

Roarke raised his brandy glass, lingering over the
taste of the liquor to conceal his frown.

"If it was the Marlowe brothers," Wade
continued blithely, "I would have less difficulty. But I am dealing cash,
I am dealing quantity, and I am dealing on reputation alone— mine."

"On the other hand," Roarke murmured,
straightening, "we can hardly allow such a sweet deal to slip through our
fingers. Our American compatriots will pay handsomely to have something like
this dropped at their doorstep. Even Lafitte has made us an admirable
offer."

“The pirate?" de Ville's brows shot up. "You
would form an alliance with a pirate rather than come to me out of respect for
our past friendship? But I am crushed."

"Don't be," Wade said dryly. "Lafitte's
offer was not to my liking."

"Offer?"

"We will naturally need protection shipping the
guns after we have picked them up. Lafitte has offered us two ships."

"I have three at my disposal this instant,"
de Ville said hastily. "For a percentage of the merchandise, I could
smooth the way for you gentlemen and assure you a safe passage as far as the
Florida coastline."

"And your idea of a fair percentage?"

De Ville forced his excitement under control. It could
be an elaborate bluff
...
or it could
represent staggering profits. "One-third, gentlemen. Just the sum we have
agreed upon today."

Wade looked away. "Impossible. Lafitte's offer
was for a fourth. And I hoped you would reconsider and allow us to wait for
Captain Treloggan on sheer goodwill."

De Ville smiled. "One arrangement has nothing to
do with the other, my friend. I shall match Lafitte's offer of one-fourth,
however, and add that you may have the hospitality of my harbor on that
occasion to store the guns if need be."

Wade's laughter rumbled from his chest. "Not
likely,
monsieur.
My
final offer is one-sixth of what we carry today and one-fifth of the cannon.
That is the very best I can do, and at that, I am drawing heavily on past
friendship."

De Ville's tapered fingers rapped lightly on the
tabletop. He could sense from the discomfort showing on Stuart Roarke's face
that Wade was trading a good deal more away than he had intended. At the same
time, he could see that the captain was through with dickering. To push him any
more would be to lose everything.

"Vraiment,"
de Ville smiled and raised his
glass. "We have a deal. A pact you will not regret, gentlemen. Marcel—our
best cognac! Ah . . . when might I expect to have my services called upon,
Captain?"

"I am on my way now to dispose of my cargo and
return with the required payment for the first shipment. Three weeks, more or
less."

"Bien, bien.
I shall alert my
captains." He set his hands on the table and pushed to his feet.
"That concludes our business then?
Oui, bon.
Let us rejoin the ladies before they grow weary of
waiting. You and your lovely wife will of course remain for the night, Captain?
The accommodations are quite modest, I am sorry to say, but she should find it
a pleasant relief from a ship's berth."

Wade bowed slightly. "She will be delighted, I'm
sure."