Never Trust a Pirate (29 page)

“My neck isn’t like a twig,” she said absently in a dazed voice, clearly trying for composure. “I’m accounted to have a beautiful neck.”

He could agree with that accounting, though he could see the marks from the man’s rough fingers color the pale skin of that beautiful neck, not to mention the beginning bruise on her cheekbone where the man had struck her. If Luca had carried a gun he would have shot the man in the face just… just because. “You would have made a lovely corpse,” he managed to say wryly.

She struggled to her feet, and he didn’t make the mistake of going forward to help her. She was shaky but doing her damnedest to hide it, to hide any sign of weakness from him. Her enemy.

“I gather a friend of yours hired him. Did you have anything to do with it?” she asked, brushing off her ugly dress with careful hands. Damn, he hated those dresses of hers. The sooner he got her out of them the better. And he’d made up his mind. Get her out of them he would.

And then her words sank in. “What friend?” he demanded. “And if I had anything to do with it why would I rescue you? Besides, if I ever decide to kill you I’ll do it myself.”

“Lovely,” she said. She looked up at him. “And if you decide to kill me I’ll stop you by any means I can.”

He didn’t bother to tell her that wasn’t humanly possible. If he wanted to kill someone then they were dead. He recognized the man now—a bullyboy who went by the name of Dorrit the Cleaner, and he’d been responsible for a great number of private executions like the one planned for Maddy. The police, as well as some of the best criminals in the country, had tried to defeat Dorrit and failed. The fact that Luca had succeeded was only one of his sudden pleasures at the way things were unfolding.

“What friend?” he said again, impatient.

“Your Mr. Brown. He told me you were lending me to him to work at his family estate, and I told him I didn’t want to go.”

He gave her a dubious look. “That makes no sense on any level. You’re not my property, to lend to other people. And Rufus Brown is a ridiculous, harmless fribble. On top of that, wouldn’t that be rather an extreme reaction to someone refusing a job?”

“I asked the man who was trying to kill me if Mr. Brown sent him. He said yes.”

He still wasn’t convinced. “He might have been lying to you.”

“Why? He told me he was going to kill me—what difference would it make?” she argued.

“I have no idea. That’s Dorrit the Cleaner, one of our most notorious denizens. He probably never told the truth in his short, misbegotten life.”

Maddy looked down at the corpse and shuddered. “None of it makes any sense. Who would want to kill me?”

“Gwendolyn Haviland, for one, though that would be quite a gesture of friendship for Brown to make, considering they only met.”

Her brow furrowed. Her color seemed to be returning, though she still seemed a little unsteady. “Why in God’s name would your fiancée want me dead?”

He didn’t bother informing her he’d sent a note to inform Gwendolyn that she was no longer his affianced. Unspeakably rude, of course, which would make her view her broken engagement with relief. “When you figure it out, let me know.”

Maddy was strongly considering throwing up. She had a stomach of cast iron, Nanny Gruen had always told her, and every time her sisters contracted some kind of stomach ailment she’d always proved resistant, but there was a knife sticking out of the man’s eye, and
apparently there was another corpse nearby, and Luca looked completely undisturbed.

It was no surprise she was shaken, but Maddy wasn’t about to let that defeat her. “Did you kill the other man as well?”

“I did,” Luca said, apparently unmoved by that fact. “I could have asked him to go away in my nicest voice but he had a knife as well, and I prefer being alive. What’s your real name?”

Damn the man! Why was he doing this to her, now, while she was clearly vulnerable? There weren’t many times when she needed comfort, but right now she wanted nothing more than Nanny Gruen’s arms around her, a warm blanket, and a hot cup of tea.

She’d get none of those things from the captain, and his arms weren’t made for comfort. She really couldn’t stay here any longer—the masquerade was over, whether she was willing to admit it or not.

She should tell him who she was, she thought, trying to keep from swaying slightly as blood began to pool beneath the dead man at her feet. If Mr. Brown had really sent him to kill her it was more likely that he was the villain, not Luca. He’d saved her life. So why couldn’t she melt in gratitude the way she foolishly wanted to? Why couldn’t he put his arms around her, damn it?

But how could she say, “I’m Madeleine Russell,” and not expect that cool, disdainful rage to turn on her? He killed without hesitation, and he was watching her out of unreadable eyes. No, the man wasn’t going to get anything from her. She was going to run, as soon as she could coerce her shaky muscles into obeying.

“My name is Mary Greaves,” she said stubbornly. He had moved closer, but there was a clear enough path to dart around him once she got her strength back.

For a moment he said nothing. “So be it,” he said flatly. “I’m afraid you can’t stay here. I can’t keep fighting off marauders, and whoever sent these men won’t stop. He’ll send more, or come himself.”

She lifted her chin, determined not to show her fear. In truth, she’d come to the same conclusion. “How do you know that?”

“That’s what I would do.”

“Then I’ll leave,” she said promptly.

“And where will you go, Mary Greaves?” The light mockery in his voice when he said her false name was maddening. She’d go to her grave before she told him the truth, damn it. “Back to Lancashire?” He even mocked her on-again, off-again accent.

“Of course,” she said, not even bothering to sound as if she were anyone but Miss Madeleine Russell, toast of the 1868 season. Last year was so long ago.

“You aren’t going anywhere except with me. And don’t even try to run. It’ll be a waste of time and it’s growing dark.” He turned his back to look up at the night sky.

Arrogant bastard
, she thought fiercely, the anger bringing strength back to her limbs.
He was so wrong about that!
“I don’t think so,” she said sweetly, and before she could think twice she darted to the side, leapt over the corpse with every intention of running down the pathway.

And she would have, if he hadn’t suddenly whirled around and caught her midair, so that she landed hard against his body with an “oomph,” his hands closing around her arms, and she was trapped once more.

Her feet were off the ground, and he was holding her against him, his dark, gypsy eyes level with hers. “You really are too easy. What’s your name?”

“Mary Greaves,” she said between clenched teeth. “Put me down.”

To her surprise he did, slowly, letting her body slide down his, and some weak, inner creature wanted to moan. She glared at him—right now impassivity was beyond her.

He didn’t release his hold on her. “Let go of me,” she said. “I think I’ve had quite enough of being manhandled for one day.”

“At least I have no plans to kill you. I think the smartest thing I can do right now is to take you away from here until the police find out what’s going on.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said affably. “But don’t worry—I won’t linger. I’ll be heading to the coaching inn or the train station.”

He laughed. “You don’t have any money, my sweet liar. I haven’t paid you, and it would be a rare maidservant indeed who had enough to move on.”

“I’m a very rare female,” she shot back, squirming. She could bring up her knee when he didn’t expect it, but she really, really didn’t want to do that. Not to him. “Now let me go.”

“Let go of such a treasure?” he mocked her. “Not likely. You’re coming with me.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, I’m not going to be abducted twice in one day!” she burst out, knowing Nanny Gruen would do more than wash her mouth out for the uncontrolled blasphemy.

Luca laughed, damn him. “I’m afraid you are. I’m taking you on board my new ship and we’ll get away from everything for a while. You’ll like her—she’s the prettiest little clipper ship that ever sailed the oceans.”

She had frozen. “No,” she said in a choked voice.

“Yes.”

“I… I can’t get on a boat.”

“Ship,” he corrected.

“I don’t give a bloody damn what you call it, I won’t get on one. You can’t make me.”

“You have the most atrocious language for a maidservant, did you know that? And I’m afraid I most certainly can. I’m much bigger and stronger than you, and if I leave you behind someone will kill you. I can’t in good conscience allow that to happen.”

“You don’t have a conscience, good or not,” she said wildly. “And you can’t make me. I’ll scream, I’ll tell people you’re kidnapping me, I’ll do anything I can to stop you.”

“I was afraid of that, sweetheart,” he said, and he loosened his grip on one arm. “I’m so sorry.”

“About what?” she said, just moments before everything went black.

Luca caught her deftly before she landed on top of the big man’s corpse. He realized with distant shock that he’d never hit a woman before. He hoisted her up and moved away, cradling her against him. He felt guilty. That was very odd—he wasn’t used to remorse. He did what he had to do. Life handed you choices and you made them and you didn’t waste your time worrying about it.

He’d had no choice but to clip Maddy Russell across the jaw, or she would have raised enough fuss to get half the people of Devonport down on him. He was tolerated in the dockside community because of his sailing skills and his wealth, but no one really liked a half-gypsy living in a house next to theirs.

He knew how to clock a man, to put them on the deck with a solid hit to the chin. He had to tone it down for a female, even one with as stubborn a jaw as Maddy had, and when she dropped bonelessly he even knew a moment’s fear that he had hit her too hard.

But she was breathing easily, her pulse felt strong, and a woman like Maddy Russell could withstand more than a very gentle knockout punch. Besides, he was saving her life, wasn’t he?

In the name of expediency he shifted her, tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of grain, and headed back down the walkway. It was almost full dark now, the streetlamps were being lit, and he paused long enough by the body of the first man to borrow his ropes and gag. He had no idea how long Maddy would be out—for the sake of his
supposedly nonexistent conscience he hoped not for long—and he needed to get her trussed up enough so that he could get her aboard her namesake without her making a fuss. He needed to sail by the next tide, and he couldn’t afford to waste time subduing her.

He took the waiting carriage, simply because it was there, dumping her in the back before he jumped into the driver’s seat. There was nothing to tell him who had sent the men—it was a simple coach for hire. The notion that it might be Rufus Brown was absurd, but just to be on the safe side he’d send a note to the police before they set sail, informing them of the dead bodies and suggesting they might question Gwendolyn’s “dearest friend.” Stranger things had happened.

He drove through the streets of Devonport at a maddeningly slow pace. He was easily recognizable by most of the citizens, both for his height and his clear ancestry, but no one could see how tall he was in the driver’s seat of a brougham, and he kept his head down. Besides, he never drove anywhere in the city—no one would expect to see him there.

It was teatime, and the docks were deserted. Maddy was still and silent in the back as he pulled the carriage into the narrow lane near the dockside office of what had once been Russell Shipping.

Carrying her aboard ship was a risk, but he took it, not wanting to wait any longer. People down at the docks knew to mind their own business, particularly the few who were around at this time of day, and he bounded up the walkway with his precious parcel over his shoulder, looking neither right nor left.

Billy was still on deck, watching the stowing of gear, and he didn’t even raise an eyebrow at his unexpected return or the bundle over his shoulder. “I take it we’re setting sail again?” he said evenly enough.