Taste of the Devil (3 page)

He supposed such refined ideas was what came of being a mite too tasty to the ladies and, bloody hell, the Panther was sure enough that. Every port they had sailed into, the wenches stood in line to offer themselves up. God’s truth, they did. On many an occasion, when the pirate entered a room, Creaze had seen their lovely mouths part with longing, as if he were some fancy prince instead of a lawless marauder.

Yet, the Panther rarely paid them any mind; he just went about his business, quiet and lethal-like.

‘Twas perplexing.

The wenches never gave Willy (nor any other man in the vicinity) a second look when the captain was around.

Willy resented that. Especially since the Panther had once threatened to emasculate him when he had caught him about to have his way with one of the young captives they briefly had aboard. The Panther had rules about harming passengers. ‘Only interested in the cargo’, he said. ‘Leave other trouble behind.’ That was the law on his vessel.

Creaze recalled that it was at the very next port the Panther had put his ol’ bosun off the ship.

But, Willy didn’t hold a grudge for that.

The Panther was captain and ‘twas his command.

Another might have keelhauled him before hanging him for disobeying his orders. Willy knew he would kill any man for the same.

Not Panther. He had simply discarded him like something he had no more use for. Like dockside trash.

Soon after, Willy was able to commandeer his own ship. A right profitable illegal business followed. If his new crew wondered what had befallen their old captain, well, the dead don’t talk much; especially when swimming with the fish in the deep blue sea.

No, he didn’t hold a grudge on the Panther for that; he had made a lot of gold sailing with him and that was all that Creaze really cared about. Gold was his God. And no one came betwixt him and his religion.

Cross that line and he’d kill you quick enough.

That was his code.

The Panther leaned back in his chair, stretching his long, muscular legs. The casual pose did not fool Creaze one bit. The tall man could strike him dead with his cutlass before Creaze’s pistol would even clear the band of his knickers. God’s truth, he was the best swordsmen Willy had ever seen.

“So, Creaze, what is this vital information you claim to have on the Lion?”

“I heard tell that he’s lookin’ to collect a certain package and that it would be worth a king’s ransom to him to retrieve it before it falls into, shall we say, wrong hands.”

Not an eyelash flickered to give away the Panther’s reaction to such a salty morsel. He simply stared at Creaze with those frosty eyes. After what seemed like hours, but in reality was only a few minutes, he finally responded.

“Where did you hear this rumor?”

“I got my sources, Capt’n.”

“Well, no doubt. So what do you want with me, Creaze?”

“My rootstock also tells me that the Lion specifically asked you to retrieve that package for him.”

The pirate captain took a long draft of grog before speaking again. “Fanciful tale. Assuming I might know what you’re taking about... So what?”

“So, we could ‘keep’ the package until Lion paid up plenty for it. I can stow it away on my ship, and he’ll ne’er be the wiser. They say the Lion is as rich as Croesus hisself with all the plundering he’s done. He won’t miss a bit of gold.”

The Panther grinned slowly, showing teeth. “Creaze, are you actually proposing a collaboration between the two of us?”

“Aye, Capt'n, I am. You might need me and my ship at your back. Cornwall is a rough coast; you could get into trouble there, especially with the patrol boats and that elaborate price on yer head.”

The Panther stopped grinning. His eyes instantly narrowed. “And just who would tip them off, Creaze,” He paused, spacing his next words, “And. Think. They.

Would. Live.”

Creaze shifted in the wooden chair and cleared his throat. “Now Capt'n, I ain’t sayin that would happen–only it could.”

As quick as that, the Panther shot forward; his fist grabbing the front of Creaze’s heavily stained shirt.

“You little worm. Do you really think I’d betray the Lion for the likes of you?”

Creaze’s eyes bulged. Beads of sweat broke out across his oily forehead. Dangerous ground, this was.

“Heed me and heed me well. If you think to interfere with any plans Lion has made– whether they include me or not– you’d best rethink your options.

For if I discover any misdirections with trails that lead back to you, I will personally slice your sorry carcass from stem to stern. And take great pleasure in the task, I might add. Do I make myself clear?”

“Aye, you do, Panther, you do.”

The Panther released him. Willy made a ridiculous attempt at brushing his filthy shirt of wrinkles. “No need to get yourself in an uproar.”

“Do you so soon forget he saved your sorry arse from a hangman’s noose on Isabella Island?”

‘Twas true. The Lion had saved them all that day.

They had been drugged in the tavern and taken for the prize money on their savage heads.

“Is this how you repay him?” A muscle in the Panther’s jaw ticked.

Willy shrugged. “Business is business, Capt’n.”

The Panther moved towards him. Creaze put up his hands. “As I said, I understand you perfectly. You don’t want nothing to do with it.”

A jeweled dagger found its way to Creaze’s throat in the blink of an eye. Creaze remembered when the Capt’n had ‘liberated’ that dagger years ago in a raid.

He had favored it since; keeping it well hidden in his waist band. Now he was using it to punctuate his previous statement. Hopefully not with a period that would end Creaze’s life.

“Understand me, Willy,” the menacing pirate commanded softly.

Creaze’s spit dried in his mouth. He swallowed.

“Aye, I do, Panther, you have nothing to worry about from your old friend Willy Creaze!”

The blade was gone from his beating vein and the Panther halfway to the door before Creaze took his next shaky breath.

“Creaze.” The Panther addressed him over his shoulder even as he continued walking out, his highcuffed boots clinking sharply on the old wooden floor.

“Aye?”

“The same might not be said for me, old friend.”

With that ominous warning the Panther was gone.

As a threat, it worked rather well in finding its mark.

Creaze’s hands shook as he placed them in his pockets.

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For my part, I was enamored of this marvelous idea I had; and before you judge me too swiftly, I beg you to remember that I was a young and innocent girl. Do not be mistaken. I was not simple or foolish– good lord, no, never that– I simply wanted to experience a lark and approached life as if it were an adventure onto itself...

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Chapter Three

Tareton Court

“Yer going to do wot?”

Ginny faced the intrepid Mabel across the expanse of her bedroom. Occasional lady’s maid, occasional housekeeper, Mabel had come to Tareton Court shortly after the death of Ginny’s parents. Uncle Jediah, in his true penny-pinching fashion had fired most of the servants in the house replacing all of them with one Mabel Dooley.

Mabel hailed from Cheapside and was probably the last person suitable as a lady’s maid for an impressionable young girl. Uncle Jediah could not have foreseen that Mabel– having recently lost her own daughter– would take one look at Ginny in braids and tears and be forever lost. On that day, she hugged the poor little waif to her ample bosom and a bond was formed which far exceeded the normal relationship of servant to her lady.

Placing hands on hips, Ginny reiterated her intentions.

“You heard me; I’m going to be a fop.”

“Smashing idea!”

Both heads turned to the bedroom door.

Lord Henry greeted them with a huge grin on his face.

“I wondered why you asked me to bring an assortment of my clothes, Ginny. What has that devious little mind of yours concocted? Are we about to engage in some fun? Fancy that– Ginny as a fop!”

Ginny eyed Henley’s clothing as well as the overstuffed portmanteau he carried. The flamboyant lord was bedecked in fuchsia and yellow satin. His wig and face were both powdered; his cheeks and lips rouged. The cloying scent of french perfume always announced his imminent presence– several steps ahead of his actual arrival.

Henley had often referred to his cologne as a calling card, claiming it stirred the room’s senses so that his entrance could be anticipated with great expectation.

“Ah, but it is you, Sir Henry who is the fop’s fop.”

Henley preened at the compliment and struck a proud pose. “Right as rain, you are. I am so good that one day critics shall consider me a mere caricature of meself.”

Ginny laughed at his bon mot. “Henry, the rest of the world may one day see us that way but we know we are so much more.”

Releasing the portmanteau to the floor, the fop perched on the edge of her favorite wing chair. “Tell me more, please do,” he leaned forward in rapt concentration.

“Well, it’s really quite simple. You, of all people know how tired I am of not being able to go freely about and amuse myself among the ton. I need to be able to observe them close at hand to continue my writings. So, I have decided to put an end to a state which is not of my choosing. I have decided to enter society anew as Reggie Moore, nephew to Jediah Moore. To wit: I shall become an uproarious fop.”

“What a lark!” Henley clapped his hands. “’Tis marvelous.”

“Don’t ye go encouraging her, yer lordship. She’s bound to get into a fix wit’ this scheme o’ hers.” Mabel crossed her arms over her stout chest. “Wot if they find her out? I won’t have it. ‘Tis too dangerous.”

“Egads, Mabel,” Henley and Ginny wailed in unison.

“I means it this time. Last time y’ nearly turned me hair grey with that scheme ye both had to fleece Lord Sprocket at yer uncle’s card table.”

Ginny and Henley looked at each other and grinned.

Henley had taught Ginny everything he knew about gaming. With Ginny’s natural quickness of mind, she had taken to gamboling like a fish to water.

Between the two of them, they had concocted a way to relieve the pompous Lord Sprocket of a hefty sum.

The scheme had worked like a dream.

Lord Sprocket had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker, never once suspecting that the innocent Ginny–

standing over his left shoulder– was busily giving signals to Lord Henry. It would never have dawned on the inflated earl that a mere woman could not only play cards but could also figure out numerical odds in the blink of an eye.

With Mabel protesting so firmly, Henley decided to take matters into his own hands. He stood up, placing a satin and laced arm around the maid’s stalwart shoulders. “Now, Mabel, my dearest heart, you are not going to stop all our fun, are you?”

Mabel remained adamant. “If the nob ever found out ‘bout it, me head would roll. I’d be outta here on me arse before you could say jack rabbit. Then who’d take care of me little pearl?” She glanced lovingly over at Ginny, her droopy eyes moist. “Like me own daughter, she is! I’ll not leave her to fend for herself wit the likes o' Jediah Moore.”

Ginny hugged the older woman. “Oh, Mabel, it wouldn’t come to that; you’ll see. I... I just want a chance to enjoy my life. Besides, I would never let the Toad toss you out.”

“And how would ye stop him, I ask ye?”

Ginny looked beseechingly at Henley who cleared his throat.

“Mabel, I would never let anything happen to you, either.”

“Hmph! Well and good I say, milord, but wot about me little girl? She could get into a lot o’ trouble iffen she’s found out. Ruined in polite society. Wot then?”

“But I won’t be found out!” Ginny beseeched Mabel.

“You’ll see I won’t. You, yourself, have always said I could make my living on stage.”

“I said that when ye was misbehaving and not comin’ clean about it. I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

Ginny, sensing Mabel weakening, pressed her advantage.

“But you still meant it. Besides, I won’t be alone.

Lord Henry will look after me.”

“That’s supposed to comfort me? I’ll be begging ye pardon m’lord; ye knows I likes ye fondly but everyone knows ye weren’t born with a lick o’ sense.”

One could not deny truth when it slapped you in the face. “But I love Ginny, too.” Henley said, earnestly. “I won’t let any harm come to her.”

“I don’t know... “

Ginny and Henley’s eyes met. Mabel was hesitating:

she was already theirs.

Ginny rushed over to the portmanteau and began pulling clothes out.

Charles, the cat, padded into the room.

His enormous bulk swayed to and fro with each of his guarded steps. Like all cats, he had an innate sense when something interesting might be happening.

Leaping onto the wing chair, the enormous white, orange, and black patch cat settled in for the show.

Ginny held up a purple brocade coat along with dark rose satin breeches. “Henley, this is perfect!”

“Of course it’s perfect; after all, it is my wardrobe.”

“I’ve got to try these on!” She dashed behind her dressing screen.

“Here, you’ll need these as well.” Henry slung a silk shirt, gold waistcoat, and white stockings over the top of the panels.

In no time Ginny emerged from behind the screen–

only to confront two faces with identical, horrified expressions.

“They’re a bit roomy, aren’t they?” Although Henley was by no means a large man, his clothes were still way too big for her smaller frame.

“Well, let’s not give up the battle yet. Mabel, how are you with needle and thread?” Henley slowly strolled around her, examining her with his lorgnette like the sternest Parisian modiste.

“I’m no seamstress, but I can manage. Let me see...”

She walked over to Ginny. Mabel was now completely caught up in the scheme. “Hmm... A tuck here, a pull there. Won’t be permanent like, but t’would hold...

Aye, I think I could do it. But yer boobies are stickin’ out ta kingdom come.”