The Pirate and the Puritan (7 page)

Drew extended his hand. Ben
ignored it, opting to hug him instead. With little choice, Drew accepted the
embrace, not really minding at all.

As they walked back to the black
coach perched atop red wheels, Ben hung his head and sighed. The man did a poor
job of hiding his emotions. Drew never should have suggested he involve himself
in this illicit profession. The irony was, at the time Drew thought he was
doing Ben a favor, neatly paying off a debt.

Drew stopped his friend before he
opened the carriage door. Through the window, in the confines of the dark
interior, Felicity’s pale face glowed like the moon. The way she stared
straight ahead, ignoring their approach, warned she’d been straining to hear
their conversation. He’d been a fool to think her taking his arm and allowing
him to guide her down the Linleys’ front steps had been some sort of truce. No
doubt she’d considered the fact that dew had gathered on the marble, and she’d
needed something to cushion her fall if she slipped.

Drew, leaning on the window’s
edge, saw a secret smile play on the young woman’s full lips. If Ben hadn’t
been hovering nearby, he might risk stealing a kiss good-bye. The resounding
slap he’d no doubt earn for his efforts would surely be worth it.

“Miss Kendall, I’ll bid you
goodnight. It’s always a pleasure,” he said.

She turned to him, her gaze
smoldering with satisfaction. He’d love to see that look on her face for
reasons other than his imminent departure.

“I’m glad you’re so easily
amused,” she said. “Personally, I find talk of murderous pirates anything but pleasant.
But I suppose therein lies our difference.”

Drew straightened. Lord, but her
thorns were sharp. She’d surely make a man bleed before he reached her soft
petals. “As always, you’re absolutely right. What would I do without your
guidance?”

“Burn in hell, which I’m sure
you’ll do with or without my assistance.”

Drew cleared his throat. His
usually thick charm evaporated on his tongue. The truth of her words—something
he’d always known and sometimes prided himself on—suddenly raised a chill on
his hot skin. He turned away. Perhaps Felicity was a challenge he’d not be able
to overcome. He hoped it wasn’t a sign that there’d soon be others.

“Keep an eye on that daughter of
yours,” he said to Ben. “You have enough to worry about with her underfoot.”

His friend nodded, then slipped
into the carriage. He settled across from Felicity, and Drew tried not to
notice the grooves that marred the man’s face. Ben had aged ten years since
Marley’s death. Drew feared his own demise might add another ten. But better that
than Ben dying himself.

The carriage slipped off into the
night and Drew said a silent farewell. He’d keep his vow to destroy
El
Diablo
, and he’d never see Ben or his daughter again.

***

With great effort, Felicity
pretended she hadn’t overheard the whispered voices carried on the heated
breeze like the thick smell of tropical flowers. She studied the coach’s
fleurs-de-lis-embossed walls and red leather seats, only slightly curious how
her father had come by such a monstrosity. She was sure Drew arranged the
purchase—as he’d no doubt hired the musket-toting driver who’d worried her on
the ride to the Linleys’—but at the moment, her sole interest lay in her
father’s conversation with Drew.

An oppressive silence settled
around her and her father, the only noise between them the carriage’s rattle
and the rhythm of the horses’ hooves. She drew a breath with the intention of
casually interrogating him, then swallowed her words. His usually plump cheeks
drooped with the weight that bent his shoulders.

“Father, are you ill?” Her
concern momentarily replaced her excitement in discovering Drew planned to
leave Barbados.

“It’s nothing, daughter. Talk of
the murders has upset me all over again.”

Her father’s distress at the
brutal deaths was genuine, but she sensed his grieving went deeper. Drew’s
impending departure upset him. If she only had proof of the rogue’s misdeeds,
her father would be grateful instead of suffering unjustified sorrow.

She patted his knee. “It was a
senseless act carried out by brutal men with no apparent conscience, so please
stop blaming yourself. It isn’t good for you.”

“I am far more responsible than I
have the courage to admit.”

Helpless to stop her father’s
self-imposed guilt, she settled against the padded seat in a squeak of rich
leather. He blamed himself when responsibility for the murders belonged to
Drew. In the snippets of conversation she’d overheard, Drew had admitted it. If
she had to guess, she’d say he had some unscrupulous dealings involving
pirates. After they’d been swindled, they probably wanted their due, and Marley
and his wife had paid with their lives.

In a way, Drew had seduced her
father just as he had intended to seduce her. The realization conjured a surge
of anger for her own weakness as much as Drew’s actions. She couldn’t deny the
unwanted desires he had spawned any more than she could deny her relief that he
would soon be gone.

With each plodding step of the
horses, their slick black carriage was carried farther from the docks. Her
opportunity to change her father’s mind about visiting the Hare and the Hound
and finding out more about
El Diablo
faded with the distant lights of
Bridgetown. Guilt at playing on her father’s remorse held her silent.

Drew and his abrupt change of
plans were the principal culprits in her father’s dour mood. She stared at the
passing scenery. Murky green shadows tangled in a tunnel of foliage. The
contradictions in Drew’s behavior disturbed her. He was leaving Barbados, but
he had told her earlier that evening the seas were not safe for him. Had Drew
become strange after McCulla confirmed
El Diablo’s
responsibility for
the murders, or had he realized, during their conversation on the terrace, that
Felicity knew too much?

She sat up abruptly. Perhaps his
departure would hurt her father in the end. One glance at his frowning features
and she knew his troubles with that aristocratic fraud were far from over. If
Drew fled to allow her father to take the blame for his misdeeds, his betrayal
would compound the man’s current misery. Felicity had personal experience with
abandonment. She’d not let her father be duped as she had been.

On the long ride home, Felicity
furiously devised a plan. A plan that would be carried out tonight.

On the deck above, the pattering
of rain increased to a steady roar, dashing Drew Crawford’s hope that the storm
had passed. If he hadn’t discovered the lock to the hatch had been tampered
with, he might have waited the storm out. That nothing was stolen worried him
more than if the ship had been looted. The
Sea Mistress
’s ownership was
common knowledge. Drew feared someone was looking for information and it was
only a matter of time until they found it. With a mumbled curse, he returned
his attention to the charts he’d spread out across the cherry wood dining
table.

The bloody tropical storm had
blown the
Sea Mistress
dangerously off course. He couldn’t depend on the
noonday sun to struggle through the gray, boiling sky to verify his longitude.
His best guess placed them a day and a half sail to the safety of his island
refuge. He consulted his compass and navigation ruler, hoping that the break in
the clouds didn’t find them anywhere near the Spanish Main. The scars from his
last unscheduled visit to Spanish territory had faded from his skin but not his
memory.

As the deluge pounded his ship
like a kettledrum, Drew counted the one blessing in his favor. The downpour had
washed his hair and face clean of the sticky white powder he wore in the
persona of Lord Christian. He ran his fingers across his scalp and through his
wet hair. Thanks to Marley’s murderer, he would never have to bother with the
ridiculous disguise again. He might have even been grateful if the culprit’s
plan had not included murdering a defenseless man and an innocent woman.

Not that the pirate had
single-handedly ruined his formerly carefree lifestyle. Felicity Kendall also
wanted a pound of his flesh. But it was his willingness to oblige her with more
than that which created the true problem. Leaving Barbados provided the only
solution to both dilemmas. His strange attraction to the little Puritan left
him exposed.

He noticed the drops spreading
across his map and shook his head over the overpriced carpet instead, creating
a shower of water. The last thing he needed was a misguided woman clouding his
thoughts with morality.

A hard thud sounded above the
drumming rain. Startled, Drew juggled the compass he’d just picked up to
prevent it from tumbling to the deck. An angry lurch of the ship conspired to
toss him from his chair along with the delicate instrument.

God, but he was jumpy. Too long a
time in civilization frayed his nerves, as it must have his crew. He would have
thought securing the mainmast and working the pumps on the pitching deck would
have drained their stores of energy. A second thud resounded against his cabin
and stretched the limits of his patience.

“Save your bloody fighting for
the bastard who murdered Beatrice and Marley,” he yelled.

Instead of being followed by
immediate compliance, Drew’s command provoked a frantic onslaught of pounding.
When he realized the racket came from the armoire, he shot to his feet.

If the storm had not thrown them
off course, requiring him to find a dry place to unfurl his charts, the doxy
one his men had stuffed in the oversized piece of furniture would have remained
undiscovered. The man responsible for spiriting away his favorite whore would
rue the day he went against his captain’s orders of strict discretion. Now more
than ever Drew couldn’t afford to have his true identity or the location of his
island sanctuary revealed.

Before violently yanking open the
ornate door, Drew caught himself and paused with his hand tightly gripped
around the brass handle. He’d not unleash his frustration on the innocent woman
trapped inside.

As he eased open the door, the
tangle of black skirts and wild curls that slid from the interior forced him to
reconsider. He’d imagined the storm bad luck? The roguish smile he’d hoped to
use to charm his stowaway slipped into a frown. What had he done to deserve
this?

Felicity Kendall lifted her head
from the puddle of black wool she’d formed on the carpet. Her face shone a
translucent white through a waterfall of caramel-colored hair. For the first
time in their acquaintance, her glazed expression lacked hostility…or even recognition.
Drew couldn’t conjure a witty remark, much less form a coherent thought. Once
again Felicity had got the best of him, and she’d yet to utter a word. He just
stood there, stunned and speechless.

She struggled to lift herself off
the floor. Once she braced herself on hands and knees, she paused to pant like
a wounded pup.

“Take me back to shore,” she
commanded the Persian rug.

Unbelievable. Drew recovered
enough to know that, in this case, he did indeed have the upper hand with Miss
Kendall. Not only that, she was aboard his ship, subject to his domain. At
least he now knew who tampered with the lock. She no doubt thought to find
something to discredit him. Instead, she’d landed herself completely at his
mercy. He’d be the one giving orders, not the other way around.

“Sorry I can’t oblige your
request. Seems we’re in the grips of a nasty...”

She emptied the contents of her
stomach onto the plush carpet, splattering his boots in the process, and Drew
forgot what else he’d intended to say.

As if to remind them of the
tempest, the ship lurched to its side, then just as abruptly righted itself,
banging the armoire doors closed. Drew absorbed the motion by balancing his
weight on his splayed legs. Felicity was thrown to her side, where she remained
unmoving. In fact, she lay so still, her eyes glazed and unfocused, he feared
her dead. He bent down and lifted a clump of hair from her face. At his touch,
she curled into a ball, her hands clutched to her stomach.

“Maybe some fresh air wouldn’t be
such a bad idea after all.” He crouched, waiting for her reaction.

If her unusual silence wasn’t
hint enough, the perspiration that beaded her upper lip along with her chalky
pallor warned she’d soon be retching again. He scooped her into his arms. “Come
on, sweeting. You’ll feel better with a little water splashed on your face.” Or
a lot, as the case might be.

Drew carried his bundle through
the narrow passageway, marveling at her meekness. Her cheek nestled against his
damp shirt, and the contact seared him all the way to his thudding heart.
Having Felicity on board his ship was enough to fray his nerves—having her
cradled in his arms sped his pulse to the rhythm of the constant rain. Dread
and forbidden lust formed a heady aphrodisiac.

Two faces squeezed between the galley’s
entrance gaped at his progress. Drew turned Felicity’s face into his chest.
“Avery, clean up the mess in the great cabin.”

“Aye, Captain.” Avery Sneed only
blinked once before he followed Drew’s orders. Red, the other crewman, slunk
back into the galley—probably to save himself from helping Avery.

Turning his back on the men, Drew
ascended the stairs that led to the main deck. Let them think what they would
as long as they didn’t recognize Felicity. He doubted they’d appreciate having
an unscheduled passenger who could identify them. Avery had been Ben’s driver,
Red his cook.

When Drew stepped into the
hissing storm with his limp bundle, the deck careened with what seemed like
malicious intent to knock him to his knees. The rolling waves sounded like an
army of furious tigers trapped in a hollow cave. He almost changed his mind
about bringing Felicity on deck, but the ship righted itself and the rain
slowed to a tolerable shower instead of a pelting fury.