The Pirate and the Puritan (36 page)

“I can’t.” She’d not planned to
tell her father of their shared fate, but she’d not expected his confessed
involvement in Drew’s deeds. “I left Drew only to run into the British. They
used me as bait to lure him into a trap, but I shot one of their soldiers and
Drew escaped. Our trial is set for a week from tomorrow, with the execution
taking place immediately afterward.”

Her father slammed the palm of
his hand against the bars, making her jump. “I feared your strong-headedness
would be the death of you. You should have stayed with Drew. He would have
protected you.”

If she had stayed, Drew would
have absorbed her body and soul. Even now, she craved him. “I can’t trust him,
and I still don’t know how you can.”

“Drew might be a pirate, but he’s
not a heartless killer. I’m not saying men didn’t die in the taking of ships, but
he did not seek to kill. He did what he did to survive.” The guard had inched
his way back to their side of the corridor.

Her father continued in a
whisper. “You’ve been with him? If he has such a flagrant disregard for life,
why didn’t he kill you? You certainly haven’t made things easy for him—on any
count.”

Her lungs seized with the
sensation of stepping out into a frigid Boston morning. She stared at her
father, searching for the truth.

“You haven’t answered me,” she
said. “Who do you think killed Marley?”

Her father slumped, and for the
first time since she’d arrived he looked truly defeated. “I don’t know. Marley
told someone else about Drew perhaps, someone who didn’t mind spilling a little
blood to fatten his pockets.” She recalled the dinner party at the Linleys’
home and searched her memory for a slip by Drew to convince her father of his
guilt, but even as she did so, an uneasy sensation turned in her stomach.

Her confusion must have shown on
her face, because her father spoke again. “Use that sharp mind of yours, and
you’ll find the truth. If Drew killed Marley and Beatrice, why didn’t he kill
me too, and sail away without a trace? He could have, you know.”

The guard hesitantly tapped her
on the shoulder. “Miss Kendall, Admiral Meldrick is waiting to see you. I’m
sorry, but we have to go.”

She remembered the young man from
the tavern in New Providence. He was little more than a boy and always looked
nervous in her presence. She nodded and blinked back tears she didn’t have to
feign. She turned back to her father, pressing her palms flat against the bars.
“I’m sorry, Father. I’ve caused you so much trouble.”

Her father wiped his cheek with
his sleeve and touched her fingertips with his own. “Nay, daughter, I’ve caused
my own trouble, but I can’t bear to see you punished for something you’re not a
part of. If Drew can come for you, he will. Don’t let your pride get the better
of your common sense. Promise me you’ll go with him without a fuss.”

She lowered her head and
whispered, “No, he won’t come. He thinks I betrayed him.” Her gaze snapped up
to meet his. “Besides, I won’t leave without you.”

The young soldier shifted.
“Please, Miss Kendall. You’re going to get me punished.”

Her father leaned against the
bars, as if trying to kiss her cheek. “Do whatever you can to save yourself.
Drew won’t blame you for that. Go, daughter. May God be with you,” he
whispered.

She tore herself away from the
bars and turned to the young man hovering behind her. Blindly, she followed him
from her father’s cell. But before she reached the steps, she turned to look at
him one last time.

Her father smiled and waved, but
she could see the tears on his cheeks shimmering in the single shaft of light
piercing his cell. She turned away and let the tears wrench free from her tight
chest, oblivious to the awkward comforts of the soldier beside her. He gently
guided her up the moss-covered steps with a hand on her elbow.

When she emerged from the
underground prison, the bright tropical sun stung her bleary eyes. Life bustled
in the busy street, contrasting the bleakness in her soul. The smell of sewage
and trash standing too long in the heat caused her to feel even more wretched.

How could she have known so
little about her father? Instead of helping him, she’d been undermining him in
her attempt to destroy Drew.

In a wave, the gnawing feeling of
unease that had begun in the pit of her stomach overtook her. Her knees grew
weak and for the first time in her life she thought she might actually faint.

She stumbled over to some shade
provided by an over-hanging balcony and rested against the two-story building’s
cobalt blue wall. Blaming her condition on the heat, she sent her frantic
escort in search of a fan.

She clutched her midsection,
willing her turbulent thoughts to calm. Everything she knew about Drew pointed
to the man her father claimed him to be. Too, nothing he’d ever done hinted
that he would kill Marley and his wife in cold blood. Believing Drew hadn’t
been responsible for the Marleys’ deaths salved her sense of being betrayed. At
the same instant, his innocence brought home the consequences of her mistake.

Her eagerness to accept the worst
in Drew had almost cost him his life and still could. He had never shown her
anything but gentleness, yet it had been easier for her to believe McCulla’s
lies than her own heart.

Drew must hate her. Would he have
told her the truth if she’d stayed?

She’d never know the answer to
that, but it didn’t change what she had to do now. Fear of letting herself be
vulnerable to Drew had caused her to destroy the only chance at love she would
ever have. Rectifying the havoc she had wreaked was all she could give him. To
do that, she had only one resource available to her: the truth. She wiped the
tears from her face and stepped from the shade.

The young soldier caught up with
her before she moved too far down the street. She refused to accept the
embroidered fan and fringed umbrella he tried to shove into her hands.

“I’m fine. I need to see the Duke
of Foxmoor. Do you know where he is?”

“You need to rest, mistress. You
looked pale as a ghost back there.” The soldier ignored her protests. He opened
the umbrella and held it over her head.

“Just take me to the duke. I’ve
remembered something about
El Diablo
I think he’ll be anxious to hear.”

The soldier sighed. “I’m glad to
hear that. I didn’t want to be a part of hanging a woman, but I have to follow
orders.”

She stopped, realizing she didn’t
know where she was going. “Do you know where he is, then? I’ll only speak with
the Duke of Foxmoor.”

The soldier relaxed visibly for
the first time since he’d escorted her from the
HMS Warwick
to the
prison. “His Lordship is staying at the Linley plantation. That’s where we’re
to meet Admiral Meldrick”

She took the umbrella from the
soldier and stepped out of the way so he could lead her to the plantation.
Admiral Meldrick had expected her visit with her father to break her will.
Bringing her directly to the duke after her ordeal at the prison was Meldrick’s
plan to still play the hero. He’d be in for a surprise he wouldn’t like, but
she was gambling with her life that the duke would feel differently.

Drew ripped the broadsheet from
the stone wall and crumpled it in his fist. With the westerly winds at his
back, the voyage from St. Lucia to Barbados would take no more than three days.
His instinct to inch his way closer to Barbados and Felicity had proven
correct. At the time, he’d hoped to find a clue as to the Marleys’ killer.
Instead, he’d meet his death. It might have been the course he’d been traveling
all along.

In the pocket of his long velvet
coat, he stuffed the handbill announcing the trial of
El Diablo’s
accomplices. The coat’s lining of pistols and daggers were useless against the
weapons the British held. Watching Ben hang would have been difficult. Drew had
seen friends die before, and Ben had freely chosen the wrong side of the law.
With Felicity, he could make no such justification.

Up until he spotted the
announcement of the trial, Drew believed he might still save Ben. The British
had imprisoned him for the real purpose of bringing back
El Diablo
. If
they hanged their bait, what good would he be? But now they had something that
would bring their prize in on his knees. He’d never allow Felicity to be
hanged. Somehow they must have discovered that. The bastards had hardly given
him enough time to deliver himself to them. This time, Solomon wouldn’t be able
to persuade him to be patient. The hourglass had already been overturned, and
too many grains of sand had accumulated on the wrong side.

He signaled to the group of men
he led on this search of St. Lucia’s taverns. They’d visited only a few, but
there was no need to continue. Both the British and his father would receive
exactly what they wanted. He sent a crewman to alert Solomon and the others of
their imminent departure, while he went to ready the ship.

He shifted the brim of his
tricorn to cover his face. The unbearable heat of midafternoon left the
cobblestoned streets virtually deserted. Even so, he couldn’t afford to be
noticed. Getting captured before he could barter with his life would ruin any
hope of saving Felicity and Ben. In all his years as a pirate, his life had
never seemed more valuable.

He strode back to the docks,
sweltering under the weight of his coat. A tickle of fear fluttered his
insides, but his determination to make things right was stronger. Ironically,
he’d spent a lifetime struggling to survive only to give up without a fight.
Despite everything, he still loved Felicity. He had no qualms about sacrificing
himself for her safety. The choice was simple: There wasn’t any choice. Time
was running out and he had only one card left to play.

***

Felicity paused in the shadows of
the Linleys’ cool marble foyer in desperate need to calm herself. An unexpected
surge of anger shook her at the idea of coming face-to-face with Drew’s father.
This was the man who’d badly mistreated Drew and had caused her own father to
be thrown in jail. She must be humble, play on the man’s sympathies, if he had
any. Surely he didn’t realize the man who called himself Lord Christian by day
and
El Diablo
by night truly was his son—the one he’d abandoned all
those years ago. If so, they were all doomed.

With what she hoped was a tight
grip on her emotions, she entered the crimson and gold drawing room of Linley
Hall. Philip Linley and Admiral Meldrick fawned over a man equal in flamboyance
to the decor. The vermilion satin of his trousers stood out like a bloodstain
on the cream brocade chair on which he sat. When he rose, surely his breeches
would leave a permanent mark. All three men eyed her as if they’d been
delivered their main course.

She stood straight in her plain
brown dress, despite feeling like a smudge on the gilded wall covering. The
splendor that had once awed her left her with a sense of isolation and doom.
Perhaps the Duke of Foxmoor had retired from the afternoon heat, and the man
staring at her behind a powdered mask of malice was only a traveling companion.
He exuded status but was much too young to be Drew’s father.

Admiral Meldrick stood, greeting
her with a warm smile. He acted as if she were the guest of honor instead of a
prisoner summoned for interrogation. She had no intention of being put on the
defensive even if they did succeed in intimidating her.

She ignored the grinning admiral
and directed her request to the hostile stranger. “I’ll speak only to the Duke
of Foxmoor.”

The white-faced man leaned back
in his chair. He curved his lips in a ghoulish imitation of a smile. His makeup
cracked at the corners of his mouth and around his eyes. He was not as young as
Felicity had first thought. A tall white wig and the red bow painted on his
lips made him look like the exaggerated sketches of aristocrats in the Boston
Gazette. He didn’t wear a coat and his silk vest embroidered with tiny purple
flowers accentuated his thin frame.

Though he carried himself with
the bearing of someone who had possessed the title king all his life, he
appeared to be only a little younger than Drew. The man opened his Cupid’s
mouth, confirming Felicity’s worst fears.

“How convenient. I’ve been
wanting to speak with you as well. Miss Kendall, is it? Jarrod Andrews, the
Duke of Foxmoor, at your service.”

Admiral Meldrick walked toward
her. “Did you enjoy your visit with your father, Miss Kendall?”

He touched her lower back, giving
her a gentle nudge. She stepped away from him, marching into the room of her
own accord. “No, I didn’t.”

Jarrod Andrews relaxed in the
overstuffed chair as if it were a throne. Philip Linley had pulled a stiff
wooden-backed seat up to the duke’s. Linley sat on its edge, appearing to
follow the duke’s movements with every nerve in his body.

She stopped in front of Jarrod
Andrews, directly meeting his gaze. “I expected someone older.”

Linley’s posture stiffened. “Miss
Kendall, though I know you were born in the colonies I expected you would have
been taught how to address your betters. His lordship inherited the title from
his father a few years ago and should be addressed as ‘Your Grace.’ ”

His thorough reprimand assured
her Master Linley would not be an ally. Neither man hovering near the duke
would likely sing any praises for Andrew Crawford. So, the duke was Drew’s
brother, not his father. This could be to her advantage. The legitimate son
might not know about his illegitimate brother.

But the permanent sneer on the
duke’s face warned that he did know and would like nothing more than to wipe
his brother’s existence from the face of the earth. The prospect of Drew’s body
hanged from a gibbet in the center of Bridgetown no doubt pleased Philip Linley
just as much. Unfortunately, Felicity’s only hope lay with the duke, and that
prospect seemed bleak at best.