The Ransom (16 page)

“I called for my surgeon.”

She gazed up at him, her brows dipping. “
Your
surgeon? Oh, I see. Your
pirate
surgeon.”

He crossed arms over his chest, amused by her disdain. “Shall I call him off?”

“Nay, forgive me. You are trying to help, and I’m being rude.” She drew a deep breath. “I’m simply tired and worried, and I don’t see how a pirate butcher can help, but—” She faced him again, a look of contrition on her face. “I’m sure this surgeon of yours is better than nothing.” She sat on the side of the cot and stared at the bloody cloth in her hands. A breeze stirred golden wisps about her neck as candlelight caressed her cheek. Even with the blood splattered about her, she truly did look like an angel dropped into the midst of hell.

“You’ll find him quite capable, milady. He has saved the lives of many of my crew.”

“After your plundering and rapine brought them injury,” she mumbled in disgust.

Lud, the vixen’s tongue!
Alex bristled, unaccustomed to being insulted. “Indeed. ’Tis part of the vocation.”

“Pirating is no vocation, sir.” Her eyes met his, and fear darted across them as if she just realized she was alone with a notorious pirate. She glanced at the closed door, beyond where a harpsichord and fiddle competed with the drunken shouts of men. “Why are you helping me? What is it you truly want, Mr. Pirate?” Rising, she circled the cot, placing it between them and lifted her chin in an attempt to appear unafraid, though her hands trembled as she dipped the cloth in the basin of bloody water.

He longed to tell her the truth, that he’d been watching her for years, that he found her a refreshing enigma among the frivolous women inhabiting the island, that she fascinated him, intrigued him, stirred his dead soul to life.

Instead, he merely gestured toward the injured woman and said, “I will gladly tell you, milady, if you will tell me who this trollop is and why you care so much about her.”

Releasing a ragged sigh, Juliana wrung out the cloth and held it to the wound on her friend’s head. “Her name is Abilene Hastings.” Hesitating, she wiped moisture from her eye. “We met at a soiree at King’s Hall. She and her parents had just arrived in Port Royal. Her father was sent by the king to ensure his interests were being looked after properly. Her mother was famed for her beauty and charity. Good people. Noble and honorable.”

Alex nodded his agreement, then caught himself. The Pirate Earl would not have associated with such highborn people. However, he remembered the Hastings well, though they seemed to go out of their way to avoid Lord Munthrope. Which only reinforced Juliana’s good opinion of them. However, if he remembered, the couple had succumbed to one of the many tropical diseases lurking about the island and died soon after they arrived.

“Abilene was not like the other ladies on the island,” Juliana continued, easing onto the cot beside her friend. “She was humble and kind, not pretentious or shallow. She truly cared about others. We went everywhere together: strolls along Fisher’s Row, horseback riding on the mainland, shopping at the Merchant’s Exchange. She even made attending droll soirees tolerable. When my mother died, she was there to comfort me.”

At this she stopped. Her lips tightened, and she seemed to be trying to control her emotions. Alex wished for nothing more than to take her in his arms.

But then she continued. “Her parents got sick—yellow fever, they said—and within a few months they were both gone.” She withdrew the cloth. “Apparently, unbeknownst to Abilene, her father had amassed an enormous debt, and the creditors devoured what was left of the estate. With no family here or back home, Abilene had nowhere to go. I begged her to come stay with me, but her foolish pride refused any help.”

Alex’s stomach sank. He could guess the rest.

A pistol shot thundered from below. Juliana’s shoulders jerked up as her eyes, brimming with tears, snapped to the door. Alex moved to stand before it in a gesture to reassure her of his protection.

She dropped the cloth in the basin. “She allied herself with a gentleman”—the features of her face grew tight—“or a scoundrel masquerading as a gentleman, who promised her employment as a house maid, when in reality he sold her as a prostitute to visiting emissaries in exchange for a better post in Barbados.”

Alex clenched his fists. “Where is this
gentleman
now?”

She wiped a tear away. “He’s long gone. Along with the emissaries.” She caressed Abilene’s hand. “Too ashamed to face anyone, she refused to come home with me. Said she was soiled, ruined, and that no decent home would hire her now. And without a skill, she had but one recourse.”

Juliana glanced at him, her eyes glassy and sharp. “’Tis unfair for a woman, Mr. Pirate. We are completely at the mercy of the men who provide for us. Should that provision be taken away, or should they abuse us or deny us our living, what are we to do? What was Abilene to do?” She raised her friend’s hand and placed a kiss upon it. And Alex wondered if she spoke from personal experience as well as for her friend.

His throat burned at the sight of her devotion to the lady, her willingness to risk her life to care for her.

“I would rather die than subject myself to the life of a trollop,” she said.

Alex longed to approach her, to comfort her and tell her what a saint she was, but he dared not trust himself with this woman. Not alone. And not when she was so vulnerable. “She is fortunate to have you as friend.”

“Is she? I fear there is not much I can do, save bring her trifles now and then and comfort her with empty platitudes.”

“It is enough,” he said. “It is more than most would do.”

She barely nodded, then looked up and searched his eyes intently. “Now it is your turn, Mr. Pirate. Why are you helping me?”

“Milord Pirate, if you please.” Alex rubbed the back of his neck, thinking of a clever response, when the door opened, pushing him aside, and in walked Jonas, medical satchel in hand.

♥♥♥

The butcher surgeon actually appeared somewhat agreeable. And clean. No gaudy mismatched clothing, no rotted teeth, no glimmering baubles. No weapons, save for a cutlass at his side. In fact, his light hair was short cropped, the whiskers lining his jaw neatly trimmed, and an unsoiled white cravat bubbled over his stylish gray doublet. After a quick scan of the room, he nodded to Mr. Pirate, “Good evening, Captain,” then brushed a glance over Juliana before centering on Abilene. Another pirate—one who looked the part—entered behind him and shut the door.

“What happened?” The surgeon knelt before the bed and laid a hand atop Abilene’s forehead.

“She was beaten.” Juliana rose to her feet.

“Jonas, this is Miss Juliana Dutton. Miss Juliana, Jonas Nash, my ship’s surgeon.”

Mr. Pirate’s polite introductions reminded her to ask him how he came to speak so well. Her heart suddenly tightened.
And know her name
!

Shoving aside her alarm, Juliana focused back on Abilene and gestured toward the wound on her head. “I cannot stop the bleeding.”

“Has she woken?” Prying her lids open, Mr. Nash examined her eyes.

“Nay, not since we’ve been here.”

“Very well.” He glanced at the bowl of bloody water. “I’ll need your help removing her bodice and skirts.” He swung to face Mr. Pirate. “Leave or turn your face, Captain, if you please. And you, Maine, go fetch some water and rags.”

The surgeon’s take-command attitude, and the fact that he seemed sober, did much to allay Juliana’s fears.

Maine darted out while Mr. Pirate surprisingly obeyed and faced the wall.

An hour later, after the butcher surgeon poked, prodded, stitched, and mended, Juliana slouched on the bed beside her friend and took her limp hand in hers. Mr. Nash cleaned the blood from his hands as best he could in the dirty water, then stretched his back and moved to the window, no doubt to clear his nostrils of the same metallic stink that had also taken residence in Juliana’s nose.

Mr. Pirate spoke up first from his seat by the door. “What say you, my friend? Will she live?”

The surgeon drew a deep breath and faced them. “Broken ribs, bruised liver from what I can tell, but no other internal injuries of note. I stitched up the gash on her head and the one on her arm, but what worries me is that she hasn’t woken. A concussion, most likely. And she’s lost a lot of blood. If she is allowed rest and receives good fare, she should recover in time.”

“How is she to receive
either
in this place?” Juliana shook her head.

“She must.” Mr. Nash tossed dirty tools into his satchel, then took one last swipe of a cloth on his forehead before facing his captain. “Corson is ill. If you’ll permit me, I should return to him.”

Mr. Pirate nodded. “Thank you, Jonas.”

“Miss Dutton. A pleasure.” He bowed toward her.

“I don’t know how to thank you, Mr. Nash. You saved her life.”

To that, he merely smiled, plopped his castor atop his head, and left, closing the door behind him. Leaving her alone again with the notorious Pirate Earl. Though the notoriety of his carnal exploits she could hardly imagine, his behavior toward her had been monkish thus far. Unless he was the type to lure a lady into his trap with kindness. If the raw masculinity of his presence and the intensity of those piercing eyes weren’t enough to send a feminine heart aflutter, surely saving the life of a good friend would send a weaker woman swooning in his arms.

She was not a weaker woman.

He was a pirate—a thief and liar by nature. And she’d had her fill of untrustworthy men. Tearing her gaze from him, she studied Abilene, bruised and swollen but bandaged and sleeping peacefully now. “I cannot leave her here. Who will look out after her?”

“Do not fear, milady,” He approached, each thump of his Cordovan boots increasing the beat of her heart. “I will arrange for her care. Several of the ladies here are in my debt.”

“I can well imagine they are, milord.” She spat out with disgust, glad for the reminder of his character.

He stopped within a foot of her, unruffled by her insinuation. Forsooth, did anything ruffle this man? The air heated between them. He lifted his hand. To do what, she did not stay in place to discover. Stepping aside, she busied herself with collecting bloody rags. “But surely the owner of this place will demand payment.” A price she’d be willing to pay, of course—if she had any extra funds. Mayhap she should just bring Abilene home. The woman was in no condition to argue at the moment.

“Have no care, the room will be paid for, and I will send word to you of her progress.” The depth of his voice rumbled through the chamber, a trumpet of assurance and comfort.

She gathered the rest of the rags, then dropped them in the basin, searching her mind for an explanation for his charity. He wanted something from her. But what? She had no wealth, no land, no real position. And if he’d wanted her purity, he’d have stolen it already. Hearing him approach once again, she spun to face him. “Why would you do this? What sort of pirate are you?”

“A successful one, it would seem.” He gave a rakish grin.

“At thievery, I’ll not gainsay it. But what of the raping and murdering your reputation expounds?” She slammed her mouth shut.
Fool!
Why remind the man?

“I have my moments.” He closed the distance between them, running a forefinger and thumb down the sides of his mouth as his grin remained. A spark of familiarity shot an image of Munthrope into her mind, but she shook it off.

Heart thumping against her chest, she inched to the side, hoping to skirt around him. “Men fear you. Entire throngs of pirates obey you with one word. And yet you care for an unknown prostitute.”

With one move, he blocked her path, trapping her against the dresser. “Nay, milady.” Before she could stop him, he ran the back of his fingers over her cheek. They felt rough and strong and smelled of smoke and Madeira wine. “I care that
you
care for her,” he whispered in her ear.

His gentle touch left her breathless, and she hated herself for it. Imprisoned by the sheer strength and size of him, she was at his mercy. He could do whatever he wished with her. In this place, no one would hear her scream or care if they did. She should be frightened. Why wasn’t she? She closed her eyes.

The heat and strength of him enveloped her. Warm, spicy breath drifted over her cheek … onto her lips.

She snapped her eyes open. His mouth was but inches from hers. She jerked from him. The wooden knobs on the chest of drawers stabbed her back. “How dare you! I am betrothed.” She attempted to get past him, but he took her by the wrist.

“Indeed?” His right brow rose, lifting a scar on his forehead. “Then why does your fiancé allow you to wander the streets at night?”

“He doesn’t know where I am.” She struggled against his grip.

“Hmm.” He caressed her check once more. “’Twould seem a man who can’t take care of such a precious treasure hardly deserves to keep it.” He released her.

She found no mocking within his deep blue eyes—eyes that lured her into their depths with the promise of protection and comfort. Nay. She tore her gaze away. ’Twas the spell of a demon or warlock, that was all.