Never Trust a Pirate (35 page)

Though there were times when she thought neither did she. After all, she had given her body to the man she thought, until recently, as her worst enemy; she’d held nothing back. He’d taken her, given her the kind of scary pleasure she’d never imagined existed, and then left her, leaving Billy to do his dirty work. And now she sat huddled in the corner, feeling bereft.

“I won’t cause him any harm,” she said wearily.

“Nor make any untoward demands?”

“Like what? Marry me and save my reputation? That’s already in tatters.”

“Marriage to a gypsy would hardly save your reputation and you know it,” he scoffed, eyeing her. “You’d be shunned worse than you are already.”

So he knew who she was. Of course he did—he was Luca’s oldest friend. Luca probably told him everything, including how pathetic she was. He’d taken her, stripped her down emotionally, and even if she tried to put a wall of words up between them afterwards he knew
women well enough. He knew she was hopelessly besotted, and he was sending his best friend to end it rather than deal with it himself.

She wasn’t going to dignify that with an answer. “So why are you here if you’re not going to fling me overboard?”

“We’ll be heading into a blow, and the cap’n told me to make sure you’re settled before it hits. Since your ladyship has never bothered to set foot on your father’s own ships before, you probably don’t know this one has a bathing room. I’ll take you there, then down to the galley for some food, and then you’ll stay in your cabin, out of the captain’s way, for the rest of the voyage.”

She would have liked to tell him to go to hell, but for the sake of a bath she’d sell her soul to the devil. “And just how long is the rest of the voyage? Where are we going?”

“That’ll be up to the captain. The first place we can safely dump you, if I know him. He said you were in too much danger in Devonport, though it seems to me you brought that on yourself with your snooping. I would have left you behind.”

She gave him a wintry smile. “So where are we headed?”

He shrugged his massive shoulders, watching her beneath shaggy eyebrows. “Maybe London. Maybe the continent. You can find your way home, wherever that may be, from there.”

With no money, no clothes—she didn’t even know where her shoes were. When she’d woken up in the bed, trussed and gagged, they’d been gone. She glanced at the floor of the cabin. There was no sign of her discarded dress or the shift and pantalets she’d willingly pulled off. “And is there any plan for me to wear something, or am I spending the rest of the voyage wrapped in a blanket? Are you going to give me my clothes back?”

“There are clothes,” he said briefly. “Do you want a bath or not?”

Keeping the blanket wrapped securely around her, she slid off the berth. It was higher up than she’d realized it, and her legs felt rubbery, and Quarrells caught her as she started to pitch forward,
his big rough hands surprisingly gentle. “Haven’t got your sea legs yet,” he grumbled. “Why that man bothers with women is beyond me. You’re nothing but trouble.”

“So drown me,” she muttered, trying to regain her equilibrium.

“Don’t tempt me.”

But she was no longer afraid of him. For all his bluster, Billy Quarrells wouldn’t do a thing to hurt her. He was like a great shaggy dog—all bark and no bite, just wanting to protect his best friend. Angry as she was, she couldn’t fault him for that.

The bathing room wasn’t far—just a few doors down the narrow passageway, and to her surprise a bath had already been drawn. She glanced up at Billy, but his face was impassive, so impassive she knew he’d done this for her. “Thank you,” she said as he released his supportive arm.

He shrugged. “There’s clothes in the cupboard there, and the necessary behind the screen. I’ll give you one bell and no more.”

“One bell?”

He made an exasperated sound. “And you the daughter of a shipping magnate! Ought to be ashamed of yourself. One bell is half an hour.”

“Then why didn’t you say so?” she shot back.

“Because we’re on board ship.”

She rolled her eyes. All the nautical rules and terms were coming back to her, but she derived a perverse pleasure in playing ignorant. “Are you going to stay and watch me?” she said after a long moment, when he made no attempt at leaving.

He snorted. “Not my area of interest, dolly-mop. I just want to make sure you’re not going to fall flat on your face or drown in the bathtub before I leave.”

She ignored the insult. She wasn’t quite sure what a dolly-mop was, but she knew it wasn’t complimentary. “Wouldn’t that solve a lot of problems?”

He appeared to consider it. “I hadn’t thought of that. I don’t think the captain would mind.”

He was saying it to goad her, she knew it, but it still stabbed her to the heart. “Then go away.”

Billy’s eyes had narrowed. “Did he give you that bruise on your face?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Did he?”

“No. That was the man who was trying to kill me. He gave me this one.” She lifted her chin. She hadn’t looked in a mirror since she’d left her room yesterday morning, but her chin was tender and she had to assume he’d left a mark.

Billy peered at her. “Don’t see nothing. He always did have a light hand.”

“You mean it doesn’t tend to show when he beats women?”

“You’re a sassy one, aren’t you? No wonder he…”

“No wonder he what?”

“No wonder he thinks I ought to drown you. Wait for me and I’ll be back.” He was already gone before she could come up with an answer, and she heard the lock in the door. What had he said? A storm was coming? If the ship foundered and she was locked in a cabin she would drown with Mr. Quarrells’s help.

She dropped the blanket and took care of things, refusing to even look down at her betraying body as she slid into the steaming water. It wasn’t until she put her hands in that she let out an involuntary shriek of pain, and she drew them up, out of the stinging heat. She’d forgotten what she’d done to her wrists in the struggle against the ropes. They were red, raw bracelets of pain, and she forced herself to put them back into the water. She could hardly wash herself without using her hands, and the water would start the healing. Funny, now that she remembered they hurt like hell. Last night she hadn’t even noticed. Last night in his arms.

She slid all the way under the water, soaking her hair. She’d washed it just a few days ago, in the large copper tub on Water Street, but she couldn’t resist, and she held her breath, letting the water cover her, closing her eyes as she felt her hair drift around her. Maybe drowning wouldn’t be that bad a way to die.

But she could only hold her breath for so long, and she surfaced with a gasp, dragging in the fresh air. All right, drowning wasn’t the answer. And in fact it was just as well her night with Luca had been a singular event, one he had no interest in repeating. One night had almost demolished her will and her common sense—a second one would end her completely, and she’d be pathetic, begging for even a scrap of his attention. No, that would never happen. No matter how much in love with him she was, she would never…

She ducked under the water again. Bad thoughts, dangerous thoughts. She had to concentrate on what she could do. She had to make plans.

She should be happy. Finally she had proof that someone had been out to hurt her father, and now her. No one would have any reason to hurt her, and to have a hired killer show up and almost finish her off meant someone wanted her silenced. It would have made perfect sense if it were Luca.

The memory of Mr. Brown’s limpid gaze came back to her. Luca didn’t believe he was the one who’d hired the killer, but Luca hadn’t looked into Mr. Brown’s flat brown eyes.

Who the hell was he?

She knew she’d never met the man before, and her father had certainly never mentioned him. Then again, if his name was really Brown then she was Queen Victoria.

She needed to get back to London. She could insist on being paid for the days she’d toiled in the captain’s household—she’d certainly earned it under Mrs. Crozier’s direction. She could go to the police and make them listen. If she only knew of some way to get
in touch with Bryony, she could ask her if she knew anything about the mystery man.

With enough money she could get back to Somerset and Renwick and figure out what to do next. Nanny Gruen was levelheaded and very wise—between the two of them they could come up with a plan. Even her airheaded younger sister might be able to help.

She climbed out of the tub, reaching for the length of thick Turkish toweling that had been laid out for her use. She was fine, she was perfectly fine. The best cure for a broken heart was to throw yourself into work. Not that she had a broken heart—that was clearly absurd. No, she’d had a setback, there was no denying that. But once away from Luca she would stop thinking about him. It was only natural that her body felt sensitized, attuned to his, that she could close her eyes and still feel him within her, moving, and her breasts would tighten and everything would cramp inside with longing.

She’d be over it in a trice.

The clothes were ridiculous. She stared at them in disbelief. Her petticoats were there, and to her astonishment they had been laundered, as well as her shift. There was no sign of her pantalets, and the only other article of clothing was an oversized white shirt that would doubtless reach to her knees. She shook it out, staring at it, and then brought it to her face. It was clean as well, smelling of soap and a sea breeze. And Luca.

She hadn’t realized he was so much bigger than she was. His lean grace belied his actual size—the shirt was almost as long as her shift.

She dropped it, looking around the small cabin for anything, anything she could wear instead. Nothing. She had no choice. She pulled it over her head and let it drop down, ignoring the way it seemed to caress her body. At least she was decently covered, though the sleeves hung down below her hands. She started to roll them up, then stopped. To do so would expose her wrists, and that was the last thing she wanted.

What she wanted, needed, was to get off this blasted ship and get back to her original goal. So Luca wasn’t guilty of sabotage—he’d merely taken advantage of the carrion left behind. She shouldn’t be surprised—the man had been a pirate.

She heard the knock on the door—Billy must have returned. “I’m ready,” she called out. The doorknob rattled but didn’t open, and she sighed. “You locked it, remember? Don’t you have the key?”

There was no answer. Just the quiet tread of someone moving away. Maybe not Billy—whoever had been at the door was too light, though not as silent as Luca. He had a faint hitch to his step as well—was it perhaps a peg-legged pirate? No, he’d probably clump along the deck. It had to have been Billy. “Can you let me out?” she called through the door, but whoever had been there had vanished.

It was probably close to ten minutes before the door opened, an impassive Billy Quarrells returning. “Why didn’t you just leave the key in the door?” she demanded.

He frowned. “How do you know I didn’t?”

“Because you tried to get in earlier, of course,” she said impatiently.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Well, someone was rattling the doorknob. Was someone else planning a bath?”

“The bath is for the captain and any guests he might have, not for the able seamen,” Billy said. “And both the captain and I were on deck. I told him you were ready to go.”

That only hurt a little bit, she thought in relief. After all, it was only the truth, and she needed to accept it and move on. “Then who wanted to get in here?”

“Aye, that’s the question. Come along, Miss Russell. Back to your prison.”

For a moment she was afraid he really was going to put her in some kind of jail cell, and then she remembered they called it the
brig on board a ship. Another one of those ridiculous terms, when the real words would do well enough.

Back to the captain’s cabin, the wooden deck cool beneath her bare feet, and when she went inside it looked as if someone had cleaned the room. The berth was freshly made—no signs of what they’d done in it would remain. She turned to look at Billy. “I need to talk to Luca,” she said abruptly.

“Anything you need to say to him you can say to me,” Billy said. “He doesn’t have time for you right now.”

She could have clung to the “right now” if she were weak and addled. But she wasn’t, she was a fighter. “Tell him I want to go home.”

“You’ll go where he takes you. Trust me, he wants to get rid of you as much as you want to be gone, and that’s the Lord’s truth.”

There was an odd note in his voice, and she narrowed her gaze, staring at him. Did he look a little less disapproving, a little less grim? His next words confirmed it. “He’s not for the likes of you, lass, and you know it. He’s part gypsy, and he goes where he wants, when he wants.”

“I’ll have you know I’m planning to marry Lord Eastham. I have absolutely no interest in a pirate,” she said stiffly. It wasn’t a lie. She was planning to marry the old man. She just hadn’t informed him of the fact yet.

“Privateer,” Billy corrected. “And that’s a good thing, then, for the both of you.”