Teresa Medeiros (53 page)

The hall was drafty and chill, yet a trickle of sweat eased from beneath the man’s wig. “Well, ahem … I hesitate to offend you, miss, but the court can only assume the rogue was making sport of you.”

Lucy’s doe-eyed gaze reproached him. “Oh, no, sir. Mr. Claremont showed nothing but the most tender regard for my feelings, protecting me from attack on at least two separate occasions.”

Gerard realized then that something was terribly amiss. The Admiral was unnaturally still, his waxen
features frozen in a sneer he should never have allowed the public to witness.

The flustered prosecutor drew a handkerchief from his robes and mopped his brow. He scowled at Lucy as if she were a dull-witted child, a tactic that elicited a rumble of disapproval from the crowd. “Perhaps he was only trying to gain your trust, Miss Snow. To make it easier to carry you off.”

Lucy looked directly at Gerard then, her big, gray eyes softened with such tenderness that Gerard thought he would die right there and save the Crown the expense of hanging him. Was she truly so vindictive? he wondered wildly. What sort of diabolical punishment was this?

Then with a flash of horror, he realized what she was going to do. He leaped to his feet, straining against his fetters. His guards gave them a vicious tug, binding him in place. “Don’t do it, Lucy! Dammit, I’m not worth it!”

Almost in the same breath, the Admiral barked, “Lucinda! Not another word! Silence yourself this instant!”

A small, secret smile played around her beautiful lips. She drew in a breath, plainly aware that every soul in that courtroom was hanging on her every sigh.

“Mr. Claremont didn’t carry me off,” she lied. “I accompanied him willingly. We were lovers, you see, even when we were living beneath my father’s roof.”

The court erupted in a frenzy of shock. Before the judge could restore any semblance of order, Lucy drew a faded oilcloth package from her reticule and waved it in the air.

Her voice rang with the conviction of truth. “The document is a bit worn from being hidden in the bottom of a gloxinia plant for six years, but I also have in my possession the letter of marque that will prove Mr.
Claremont began his career as an honorable merchant named Richard Montjoy. It was only the greed and villainy of Lucien Snow that forced him into a life of exile as the pirate we’ve all come to know as Captain Doom.”

“You lying little whore!” The Admiral jumped to his feet, drawing something from his sash.

For Gerard, time ceased to exist, each set of impressions blurred, yet distinct enough to be forever imprinted on his memory. The gleaming muzzle of the pistol pointed at the snowy target of Lucy’s breast. The triumphant flush bleaching from her face as she realized what was happening. Tarn’s shout of warning. The prosecutor diving behind the bench for cover. Kevin’s desperate dash for the Admiral.

Kevin wasn’t going to make it. The click of the pistol’s hammer being drawn back cracked like thunder in Gerard’s roaring ears.

The guards weren’t prepared for his supernatural surge of strength. He tore from their grip, ripping both chains and bloody furrows of skin from their palms. Had his hands and feet not been fettered, he might have been able to knock Lucy out of the way. As it was, he could only lunge across the distance separating them, throwing his body across hers as a shield.

Fire exploded in his chest. He staggered, his chains suddenly too heavy to bear. Lucy threw her slight body beneath him to break his fall. Odd, he thought, as they collapsed to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs, that such a ridiculous tumble would finally put him back where he wanted to spend the rest of his life. In Lucy’s arms.

She cradled him across her lap, her gloved hands frantically trying to staunch his bleeding. Scalding tears trickled from her chin to wet his cooling brow. Her soft, moist lips brushed his cheek, his hair, his
mouth, limning his lips with the salty taste of the sea he loved.

“Damn you, Gerard Claremont,” she said savagely, “you are the most stubborn man!”

He was surprised to discover the pain was already fading, retreating into the gray mist that had obscured the rest of the courtroom, obscured everything but Lucy’s beautiful face.

He caught her wrists in his weakening grip, not wanting her to ruin her pretty gloves for the likes of him. He smiled tenderly up at her, wishing for the strength to brush her tears away, to smooth the crumpled lines of pain from her cheeks.

“No lectures, please, Miss Snow,” he whispered hoarsely. “I was just … doing … my … job.”

His trembling fingertips arched toward her face just as a veil of unconsciousness descended between them, mercifully sparing him her piercing wail of agony.

T
HE GULL’S SHRILL CRY PIERCED THE SERENITY of the rocky cove. The bird wheeled against the brilliance of the sky, its graceful wings spread wide to capture the wind, then made for the open sea. Lucy narrowed her eyes against the sting of the salt-laden spume, envying its freedom.

The airy sunshine and azure sky were a stark reminder that spring was coming to Cornwall. Lucy wished she could summon even a small measure of enthusiasm for the fat, fluffy lambs that would soon be frisking over the moors, the lush wildflowers that would sweeten her every breath with their perfume.

The sand felt cool beneath her bare feet as she strolled along the beach. A stiff breeze tugged at her broad-brimmed hat. She secured it with one hand, listening to the melancholy whisper of the surf against the shore. The sea was calm today. As calm as all of her days had been since fleeing to this haven where she had spent her childhood summers. And just as lonely.

She conceded defeat in her battle with the mischievous wind and dragged her hat off, swinging it by its ribbons in lazy rhythm to her stride. Strands of hair
licked at her face. She brushed them away to discover a lone figure had descended from the cliff path at the other end of the beach.

Even hazed by distance, his bearing was so distinct that Lucy’s heart started thundering like a kettledrum. His gait, though stiffer than she remembered, had lost none of its confidence, his broad shoulders none of their casual grace. The wind ruffled his shoulder-length hair while the sun lovingly polished its hints of ginger.

Lucy wanted to feel surprise, but somehow she had never stopped believing he would come. She’d never met a man who hated unfinished business as much as Gerard Claremont.

He finally stood before her, his eyes somber and his face devoid of any expression she could interpret. Her toes curled in the sand. She was beset by a terrible shyness.

“Your beard is gone,” she blurted out, as if he’d misplaced it somewhere on the journey.

He ruefully rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. “I have you to thank for that. Smythe shaved it off while I was sleeping. I suppose it was your idea to run off and leave me in your butler’s fastidious care? Why didn’t you just check me into the Admiral’s cell at Bedlam to convalesce? If I’d have known you were going to be so vindictive, I would have never called you a spoiled little bitch.”

“Smythe wanted to take care of you. To make up for …” She trailed off.

“Oh, I know what he did. He confessed all while he was spooning mutton broth down my throat.”

Lucy dug a line in the sand with her toe, reluctant to meet his eyes. “And you didn’t shoot him?”

“How could I after he’d explained his motives? How did he put it so gracefully? ‘I did it’ ”—Gerard
flattened a hand over his heart—“ ‘all for the love of Lucy.’ ”

Lucy shot him a suspicious look from beneath her lashes. It was impossible to tell if he was mocking her.

His hand dropped. “What about
your
motives?” he asked, his speech clipped. “Would you care to explain why you abandoned me as soon as the doctors gave you the unfortunate news that I might live?”

Lucy turned to gaze out at the sea. How could she explain how she had felt that grim dawn when they had finally told her that his strength of will was such that not even a pistol ball to the chest could kill him? Her mingled relief and guilt had been so acute that she had thought she might be the one to die from it.

“I was ashamed, I suppose. I was so furious at you for surrendering yourself. I was determined to prove that I could make my own decisions, could exert some control over my own fate.” Her fingers knotted nervously in the ribbon of her hat. “But my childish stunt to publicly discredit the Admiral almost cost you your life. I thought you might not want to see me again. That I wouldn’t be anything to you but a reminder of past unpleasantness.”

“Then why don’t we forget the past and begin again?”

Lucy drew in a shaky breath, afraid to hope. “Very well.” She turned and offered him her hand, keeping her voice light to belie the risk she was taking. “How do you do, sir? I’m Lucinda Snow. My friends call me Lucy, but you may call me Mrs. Claremont if you like.”

He rocked back on his heels and cocked one eyebrow. “Why, Miss Snow, is that a proposal? Shockingly forward of you, isn’t it? I should hate to cause a scandal.”

Lucy withdrew her hand. It was one thing to publicly confess to being the mistress of a pirate, quite
another to actually assume the role. Fighting the repressions of a lifetime, she whispered, “If you’d prefer an indecent proposal …?”

He sobered. His warm fingers found her chin, tilting it upward. He gazed deep into her eyes. “I fear I have only one mistress.” He nodded toward the sea. “She’s a jealous witch, but I adore her.”

The ribbons slipped from Lucy’s fingers. Her hat went limp against the sand. She turned her back on both him and the sea, no longer able to bear their beauty. “I read of your pardon,” she said stiffly.

“It seems His Majesty decided that the five years I’d already served was punishment enough.” Wry amusement threaded his voice. “The Admiralty is eager to help right the wrong done to me by one of their own. They’ve even offered me a commission. Not a captaincy, of course, but an opportunity to take the lieutenancy exam and a berth aboard one of their finest flagships.”

Swallowing her selfish pain, Lucy dashed a tear away and forced a smile into her voice. “How very wonderful for you. Congratulations.”

His hands came to rest gently on her shoulders. She trembled with the effort it took not to shrug them away. His pity was intolerable.

His warm breath stirred her hair. “I happen to know a certain Claremont who would benefit from a healthy dose of structure and discipline. Kevin will make a wonderful officer, don’t you think? If he can stand all those months at sea with nary a petticoat in sight.”

Lucy frowned. “Kevin? What about you?”

His hands caressed her shoulders. “Oh, I had to turn them down.” His voice softened, its smoky tenderness sending a shiver down her spine. “After all, there’s no place for a wife on board a military ship.”

Snatching up her hat, Lucy spun around, her eyes widening. At that moment, a ship rounded the jagged edge of the cliff, slicing through the swells with all the majesty and grace at its command, its billowing sails bleached whiter than snow. Except for the laughing man at her side, it was the most beautiful sight Lucy had ever seen. The crisp sails captured the wind in a breathtaking promise of freedom.

A new name had been carved on the ship’s bow—a name that embodied all of Lucy’s hopes and dreams for the future.

Redemption
.

Her misty gaze shifted to Gerard as she realized with breathless wonder that never again would the two of them be forced to brave uncharted waters alone.

“I have to warn you,” he said solemnly, “that being the wife of a common merchant master may not be nearly as thrilling as being the mistress of a pirate.”

She threw her arms around his neck and smothered his clean-shaven face with kisses. “Why, Mr. Claremont, you’re the most uncommon man I know!”

Gerard swept her into his arms, twirling her in a wide circle. A roar of approval went up from the ship. Lucy’s heart surged as she spotted Tarn’s bright copper head in the lookout nest, Pudge’s scarlet kerchief fluttering from the rigging, Apollo’s glistening brow. Leaning against the port rail was another man. A man who should have seemed curiously out of place among a crew of recently reformed pirates, yet who rode the swells as if he’d been born to seek adventure on the high seas. As warm tears fogged her vision, he relaxed his rigid butler’s posture, tore off his starched cravat, and cast it into the wind in wordless tribute.

Lucy’s hat went sailing in reply as she and Gerard fell laughing and kissing into the waves, eager to embark upon the greatest voyage of their lives.