"Joc and my Uncle Edward are the only parents I have ever known, Captain Stoughton. I don’t know my,” she swallowed and looked distressed, “father very well. In fact, I’ve only seen him a handful of times during my life. As I'm sure you are aware, Marcus Hennessey was a second son. And as such, he was obligated to make his own way in life, so he chose a career with the Foreign Office," her chin jutted out in defiance, "as a diplomat."
Luc nodded. Harris had included Marcus Hennessey’s history in his briefing.
"He supposedly met my mother while serving in France and married her," she continued unabated. "I was born eight months later. Three days after my birth, my mother passed away from complications. Or so I was told. As my father was too busy with his bourgeoning career to raise a new born child, I was sent to live with my uncle Edward, the third Earl of Kiterman. Jocquelin, Mr. Malveaux, was my father’s valet at the time and was given the duty of taking me to his brother. He remained on as my uncle’s valet, and the two of them raised me. So I have always been close to both of them and have often referred to both men as my papas."
She seemed to be defiantly waiting for him to make some derogatory comment. He had no intentions of doing so. In the army he had heard of a number of similar cases of men sending wanted, and unwanted, children to live with and be raised by relatives. His own family history was not a glowing recommendation on what a good father should be. His father had been a monster.
"So, you are not afraid of . . . your guardian. Just my ineptitude getting us killed," he asked for clarification.
"Frankly, Captain, I don't give a bloody damn if you get yourself killed on this mission or not. But I'll not allow you to endanger me or my crew. Is that understood?"
Chapter 14
Luc wasn't sure what was real, and what were lies. There were obvious holes in the lady's story. More importantly, his instincts were telling him there was more to the lady than she was letting on. And not just the fact that she and her crew had a slightly different mission than he did.
He had just begun to go over the facts he did know when she once again distracted him. This time with a slightly more modest show that he found more alluring than the full-frontal nudity she had gifted him with earlier. But just barely more modest.
After she lit two of the lanterns hanging from the ceiling, he watched her gather up a pair of officer’s pantaloons and a loose-fitting sailor's top in coral blue silk. Once armed with her clothes, she walked to the middle of the room, set her clothes on the top of the table, and turned her back to him. She then looked over her shoulder and fixed him with a seductive look before dropping her blanket.
The surprise of her once again presenting herself naked unsettled him. His eyes trekked the blanket as it slithered down her body. Then he became fixated on her hands as she reached for her pants and slowly covered her sexy bottom. No smalls or underclothes was his ludicrous thought.
Then his second distraction hit him like a ton of bricks. Across her lower back were a number of faded scars. Angry scars from a whip. He knew them well, because he carried similar ones. Hers might or might not be as old as his; he couldn't tell from the glance he was given. But he knew their origin nonetheless.
He started to demand the name of the man who had hurt her, but knew it was none of his business. So he clamped his jaw tight and continued to watch the show she put on for him. And there was no doubt in his mind that she was intentionally trying to distract him.
And it was working. He almost missed the final distraction because of her scars and her long blond hair concealing it at first. On her right shoulder blade, she had a large tattoo. From the looks of it, a Persian winged creature. A Peri, if he wasn’t mistaken. A mythological creature known to be a mischievous being, denied entry into paradise until it atoned for its misdeeds.
The tattoo was of a dark-haired fairy with large breasts and a face that looked suspiciously like the lady who wore it. His eyes were riveted to the tattoo until she pulled her loose-fitting shirt over her head, ending his gawking like a curtain at the theatre coming down at the end of a performance.
And like a well-trained actress, she turned and bowed to him before flouncing out the door. Of course, she issued a strong suggestion before departing.
"I wouldn't go out this door, Captain. Not until I've had a chance to calm my papa down a bit."
It sounded like a damn good idea. So once she left the cabin, Luc quickly dropped the heavy bolt back into place. He didn't figure it would stop an enraged guardian or a determined pirate, but he hoped it would give him time to find a weapon and ready himself for his impending death.
He was very surprised and extremely suspicious of the amount of weaponry he found scattered about the room. His own cutlass, brand-new and still in need of a good sharpening, the exceedingly sharp and lethal dagger the lady had held to his throat, and a very expensive set of cutlery.
After arming himself, he turned to face the door. He suddenly swayed in a way that had nothing to do with the movement of the ship. Clearly, he wasn't completely over the damn seasickness yet. But the intensity of the last half hour had distracted him from it. Hopefully, it wouldn’t return. Not when he was expecting an enraged papa any moment.
A loud shout interrupted his musings. A shout that was more like an enraged bull. Death was on its way. He was sure of it. Luc readied himself for the attack he knew would be coming. Thirty minutes later he was still ready, but becoming weary of waiting for it. He had placed as many of the moveable objects in the room in front of the cabin's door as he could. He had no illusions that they, or the door's lock, would stop the enraged guardian, or father, or whatever he was. He just hoped it slowed them down enough that he could take one or two of them with him.
A soft thud behind him startled Luc, and he whirled around to find Lady Margaret standing there, grinning sardonically. She moved to the side just as a set of huge black, knee-high boots came through an opening in the ceiling. A moment later the French first mate landed beside the lady.
"Oh look, ma fille chérie, your marionnette has rearranged your cabin for you."
Luc was relieved to see that their swords were sheathed, and they had identical looks of amusement on their faces. The lady's grin grew, and her eyes lifted skyward to an open hatch in the cabin's roof.
"Ventilation," she explained as her smile grew more sarcastic. "And an escape route in an emergency."
Glancing up at the gaping hole in the roof, he felt three inches tall. Luc knew he was new to sailing, but he should have seen the hatch earlier. He'd like to chalk it up to being seasick, but knew he couldn't. So he allowed his eyes to drop to the woman smugly smiling at him and laid the blame where it belonged, his infatuation with the lass.
He was exceedingly grateful that the fog that had been clouding his brain had finally begun to lift because guardian and ward decided to debate whether or not he would live or die in front of him. And in French. Luc knew the lady knew that he spoke French, but wondered if the guardian knew as well.
"I still say, he eez not necessary to get your father away from Chevalier," the man insisted.
His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. He tried to hide his reaction and turned to her.
"Maybe not,” she conceded, causing Luc to slowly ease the cutlass up an inch. “But it will make it easier to do so if Chevalier believes we are following Guerrant’s instruction.”
Luc's heart thudded once and seemed to stop again when the Frenchman's glare went from her to him.
“He works for that English dog. We should kill him and be done with it,” the first mate snarled, causing Luc to slip the cutlass up another inch.
The lady whirled and angrily confronted her guardian. Brave girl, Luc conceded.
"That is not why you want him dead," she accused.
A second of silence that stretched an eternity followed.
"He eez a distraction, Peggy, and you know it. One we cannot afford."
"And what of Chevalier’s insistence that Ca
ptain Peri be present at the exchange, or he will not tell us where he has hidden my father?" she asked.
"I have told you over and over that Chevalier will not be a problem. He eez a greedy bastard. Once he sees the gold, he will tell us where your father eez. And if not, I will make him. All we need is to get close to Chevalier, and the gold in our hold will do that for us."
"Stop acting like my papa, Jocquelin!" the lady yelled defiantly. "You think I will lose my head to him as I did to Gustav.” She flicked her hand toward Luc, causing him to flinch. “But I will not. Our-" she glanced at Luc then back at the first mate “-mission is too important.” She turned and fixed Luc with a hard look as her eyes cataloged his face. “He is not handsome like Gustav. Nor is this one as charming as my fiancé. So I will not be swayed by him.”
Well, hell, that hurt. Luc had seduced a number of women during the war. And they all thought he was charming and handsome. Of course, that was before his cousin had tried to have him killed and left him with a scar across his face.
"I cannot help acting like your papa, ma fille bien aimé. It eez what I have been since zee moment you came into this world."
A bit of the lady's anger also melted. Her face clouded over and Luc saw real love for the aggravating man. But she remained steadfast in her determination.
She laid her hand on the Frenchman's arm and gentled her voice, a little. "Jocquelin, I am not an innocent girl any longer. I was nearly a wife and know the ways of men. I will not be taken in by this English."
The Frenchman's eyes flickered to him, and Luc felt his chest tighten with the hate and pain in the man's eyes.
"I failed you once, little one, I will not do so again," the man stubbornly insisted.
The lady allowed a small smile to play on her lips, and her stance seemed to relax a little too. "You could not have stopped what happened, Jocquelin. And you know it. Gustav was everything I had wanted in a man, and I gave my heart to him freely. That he was not the man I thought he was is not your fault."
The man's eyes turned back to the girl, the anguish in his face plain to see. "If I had known what zee dog had wanted to do, then I would have stopped Gustav before he compromised you. And Marcus would not have had zee opportunity to kill him, because I would have.”
Luc’s head jerked up. Did the first mate just say that Marcus Hennessey had killed the girl’s fiancé?
The man continued, “It was a bad thing. And it should have never happened." The man seemed to fold in on himself in defeat. "I was careless; I should have protected you better."
For some unaccountable reason, Luc was suddenly angry at the man for failing in his duties for the girl.
"No, Papa," she quickly replied. Her voice cracked and Luc knew there was more here than was being said. "I was in love with him, and I freely gave myself to him."
"And Marcus?" the Frenchman asked.
Luc was shocked and disturbed by the sudden change that came over the girl.
"He is responsible for what he did to Gustav and to. . ." She squeezed the man's arm and Luc heard a stutter in her voice and wondered at what she had been about to say.
After several long seconds he wondered if his fate had been decided in the cryptic conversation or not. Then the Frenchman abruptly pulled away and fixed his eyes on his ward.
"And the. . ."
Luc knew he was the "and" in the unfinished question.
"He is my responsibility," the lady confirmed without looking in his direction.
The Frenchman drew in a deep breath. Luc held his.
"And if he hurts you?"
"Then I will take care of it," she insisted firmly.
Once again silence raged in the cabin that seemed to be growing smaller by the moment. Finally, the man nodded and Luc exhaled.
"Fine. But I get what eez left of him when you are through cutting him up for fish bait."
The last was said in English and accompanied by a parental sneer. Guardian and ward then turned to him as one and gifted him, once again, with equally derisive looks of amusement. Luc’s stomach clenched and he wondered if the levity boded ill or good for his immediate survival.
By morning’s light, Luc would discover the answer to that question.
Chapter 15
"Papa, what the devil do you think you are doing?" Peggy demanded.
Joc shrugged his shoulders. "Just following orders, Captain."
"Like bloody hell!" She snorted. "I told you to train Captain Stoughton."
"I am," Joc replied.
Peggy squinted at the man in question. "By having him scrub the decks and do every lowly task you can think of?"
"Of course. It is where all sailors start," he said.
Peggy gritted her teeth. "We don't have time for this." She turned to him. "And he does not need to know how to be a sailor, he only needs to look like one long enough to get Chevalier to tell us where he is holding my father."
Joc’s right eyebrow rose in what she knew was amusement or defiance. And the muscles in his arms flexed as if he was preparing for battle. But Peggy had known Joc her entire life and knew the gleam in his eyes was a sure sign of the mischief he had been up to.
Before he could reply she addressed her other concern. "You need to put a stop to the harassment, Joc."
"I have given the order, Captain. It is not my fault that zee men continue to pester zee Englishmon."
Peggy's own eyebrow did a little climbing of its own, and she knew full well that there was no amusement lurking in her eyes. "Are you telling me you can no longer control the crew?"
Joc's eyes gleamed with amusement, but otherwise he remained stoic and unperturbed by her accusation, causing Peggy’s stomach to churn. Whether from annoyance or anger at his blatant lie, or due to her own perverse pleasure in seeing the Englishman harangued, she didn't know. But with the Strait of Gibraltar only days away, they needed to turn the landlubber into a sea captain. At least a believable illusion of one before they ran into Chevalier or his men.
"We're ten, maybe eleven days, out of Tangier. One of Chevalier's ships may cross our path at any time. And we need them to report back to their captain that Captain Peri is indeed on board the Coral Sea."
Her gaze swung down to the gun deck were Captain Stoughton was kicking one of the much-cursed prayer books, the stones used to clean the deck of a ship, through the open gun portal and into the open sea. Her heart lurched and her stomach roiled as her emotions once again threatened to overwhelm her. Something that had been extremely difficult since Eddie’s and Gustav’s murders. And now she was troubled with her growing attraction to Lucien Stoughton. Tapping the emotions down, she continued the now tiring debate with her first mate.
"And at the moment, Joc, no one is going to believe that," she nodded her head towards the man at the railing below, "is an experienced sailor, much less the renowned Captain Peri."
Joc stepped up beside her and shifted his attention from her to the Englishman glaring out at the open sea. The thunderous expression on the man's face bespoke of the turmoil she was sure he fought. Peggy could sympathize; she faced her own personal turbulent seas within.
It was why she had allowed the harassment to continue for the last week. She had hoped that seeing the Englishman reduced to such manual labor would help her overcome her inopportune infatuation with him.
Unfortunately, all that had happened so far was her admiration for the man had grown. So had her sexual attraction to him. Something that could not, and would not be borne. Too much of their mission hinged on Captain Stoughton performing his part flawlessly.
Her first mate stirred beside her before he spoke. "I've told you from zee outset that this English eez not necessary to remove Marcus from Chevalier."
Peggy’s heart hitched and a pit in her stomach formed at the thought of what they were planning to do. But it couldn't be helped, nor stopped at this point. They had made a deal with the devil and now had no choice but to go through with the bargain.
"We made a deal,
Jocquelin. Fifty thousand pounds in gold and the life of Captain Peri for the life of the Earl of Kiterman." She looked up at Joc and felt a growing sense of dread and doom. Because she had no doubt that the demand that Peri be there meant that either Chevalier or Guerrant wanted Peri dead. "I would think you would be thrilled by the prospect of getting the Englishman killed."
"Oh, I do. I would just rather do it myself." His eyes swung down to her with a burning anger. "Before he causes more problems than he already has."
She didn't need to ask what problems he was referring to. Peggy had never been able to hide her true feelings from this particular parent. And she wasn't even going to try.
“He will not cause a problem. I will not allow it. And his presences makes gettin’ to my father easier.”
Joc glared at her defiantly for several seconds until his unspoken condemnation could not be borne any longer. "Then train him, Jocquelin. Now! And put an end to the harassment immediately. Chevalier must believe that Captain Stoughton is Captain Peri. And Captain Peri is reputed to be so beloved by his men." She waved her hand at the men taunting the Englishman. “Does that look like a captain loved by his men?”
Spinning around, she faced him and they glared at each other for several heartbeats until she finally saw a softening to Joc’s face. He would follow her orders. That she was sure of. He wouldn't like it but he would see the task done.
Taking a step past him, she grasped his forearm briefly and squeezed reassuringly. Now if she could only control her own riotous emotions.
As Peggy descended the stairs and headed towards her cabin, she heard Joc calling the name of one of their long-time compatriots. The man was English and had already made his censure of his fellow Englishman's treatment known. He would be a good tutor for the man. If anyone could turn the landlubber into a seaman and a faux sea captain, then Edgar Morton would be able to do it.
A soft, mellow blue sky hung overhead. Cloudless. Serene. Even the seas seemed calm in comparison to the torrential storm raging inside of Luc. And it wasn't the treatment he had received since coming on board the Coral Sea. No, that he was used to. Hell, it wasn’t even as bad as the ribbing he had endured from his classmates when he had gone to school.
To Save a Fallen Angel (The Fallen Angels series Book 2) Page 10
