When a Rogue Falls

by Caroline Linden

  Every pore in his body protested what he was about to do, but he forced the words out anyway. “I want to marry you, Chloe, but I cannot.”

  “What do you mean, you cannot?” Walsingham stomped toward him, craning his face in front of Markwick. He leaned close so only Markwick could hear him. “Do not make me disgrace you in front of your men.”

  He took a deep breath. How to explain without using Blackmoor’s name . . . “There are things you do not know. Things I am not at liberty to discuss.”

  “Do not tell me what can and cannot be done!” Walsingham’s face reddened as he struggled to find the right words.

  “Cap’n, if I may,” Quinn said, coming to stand beside him.

  “Yes?” Both Walsingham and Markwick answered, then stared at each other when they realized what they’d done.

  Two captains on board one ship was never a good thing.

  Quinn shrugged his large shoulders. He pointed at Markwick. “You need to wed the lady and—”

  “Someone must captain the Fury.” Chloe squeezed Markwick’s arm. “If it cannot be you, then . . .” She smiled sweetly, slanting her gaze toward her brother.

  Markwick followed her stare. Walsingham? The Regent?

  Preposterous!

  The man hunted pirates and smugglers alike. He’d . . .

  The longer Markwick thought about it, the more right it felt. He’d never been a captain, not in the real sense. He’d been a man pretending to be a captain, a man trying to fulfill a promise as a way of prolonging the inevitability of facing his rightful place as the Marquess of Underwood. While mention of the title unnerved him, it was expected that he’d ascend to his duties eventually. And what better way to do it than with a respectable lady on his arm, not to mention warming his bed?

  His gaze strayed to Quinn, who gave him a reassuring nod.

  Markwick smiled slyly and motioned Walsingham closer. “Have you ever considered piracy, my friend?”

  Walsingham’s brow shot up. He straightened his shoulders, gazed across the deck, then met Markwick’s grin with a doubtful frown. “I’m a revenue man. I punish pirates for a living.”

  Markwick quirked a brow. “Then who better to champion the Black Regent than a man like you, eh? One who smuggles to rid the coast of injustice at the hands of men like Carnage. Think of it.”

  Chloe pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Of course, Lady O would mention your prowess at social events and report your activities to the Flying Post.” She turned to Markwick. “But perhaps that isn’t something my brother would relish at all.”

  Walsingham’s brow rose as he turned to the men gathered around them. “What say you, men? Would you follow me, knowing who I am? Or was?”

  “Aye, sir!” the crew shouted, pumping their arms skyward.

  Pye hobbled over to Markwick, his peg leg creating a staccato rhythm on the deck. “Don’t take offense, sir, but we’d much rather sail with a man who knows what he’s doin’.”

  Laughter erupted, Walsingham’s boisterous voice the loudest of them all. Markwick smiled as the majority cheered, restoring Walsingham’s dignity. He’d lost a ship and nearly his entire crew because of Carnage. Now he’d been given a captaincy, a challenge that fed his pride, and the means to go after Carnage without having to adhere to the law.

  “Mr. Pickering!” Walsingham guffawed, his zest for life restored. “Are you ready to perform the nuptials?”

  “Yes.” Pickering’s bespectacled eyes danced on the crowd. “I mean, aye, sir.”

  Another round of laughter burst forth.

  “You’re making the right decision, my lord. Captain Walsingham will make a perfect Regent.” Seaton patted Markwick’s sleeve. “You’ll see.”

  Chloe harrumphed. “Don’t I have anything to say about this?”

  Walsingham took both Chloe’s hands in his. “I’m afraid you do not.”

  “Then promise me one thing, Captain,” she said, speaking to him the way he’d always requested her to.

  “As long as you marry Markwick,” he said, “and he agrees to keep you out of trouble . . . anything.”

  “Do not let Carnage hurt her,” Chloe said.

  Confusion swept across Walsingham’s face. “Who?”

  “Oriana Thorpe. Promise me you will find a way to watch over her and keep her safe.”

  “Of course.” Walsingham leaned forward and kissed Chloe’s forehead. “I promise.”

  Momentarily speechless, Markwick turned to Chloe. He brought both her hands to his lips. “Now all you have to do is say ‘I do,’ my love.”

  “As long as it’s formally documented, eh, Vicar?” Walsingham’s laughter sounded vibrant and full of life as he guided them toward Mr. Pickering.

  Markwick couldn’t take his eyes off Chloe, however. Even bruised, the morning sunlight reflecting off her beautiful yet disheveled hair, she was the most exceptional woman he’d ever known. He gazed into her upturned eyes, an explosive current raging through him. Since the first time he’d kissed her, she’d gotten under his skin, imbued him with a drug that made him crave more and more.

  Pickering began his litany of a woman’s attributes.

  “Skip to the important part, Pickering,” Walsingham complained, impatiently crossing his arms over his chest.

  The vicar handed off his book of Fordyce’s Sermons to Seaton, then opened the good book. “We are gathered here in the presence of . . .”

  Tears of joy escaped from Chloe’s violet eyes. She didn’t check them but clung to him, the strands of love between them tightening like tallowed rope, the anchored chords set deep inside their hearts joining them together. It all seemed so right—this ending, this new beginning. There were only two words he wanted to hear Chloe say . . .

  She smiled up at him, their lives melding together in the space of an instant. “I do.”

  Chapter 19

  CARNAGE last seen ANCHORED between RAME HEAD and PENLEE POINT! His Grace, D of B, and Lady O have joined forces to assure these offices that the Black Regent’s FURY and the BOARD OF EXCISE’s preventative sloop HIND will continue to protect CORNWALL and DEVON.

  ~ Trewman’s Exeter Flying Post, 10 August 1809

  Chloe glanced down at the ring on her finger as it glimmered in the afternoon sun. It had been a gift from Keane Seaton. How it was that he’d had a ring on his person was curious to her, but she’d had no time to ask. Seaton and the vicar had disembarked and rowed back to Abbydon Cove shortly after Chloe and Markwick had spoken their vows before her brother and the entire crew.

  Since that time, Jane had nursed a terrible megrim, most probably caused by Carnage’s abuse. After promising Chloe he’d take care of her, Quinn had helped Jane belowdecks where she could rest. Markwick had taken Pierce to his cabin to discuss the Regent’s life—who he reported to and so forth—information she’d been told must be kept between Regents and only passed on to her brother.

  From her position at the Fury’s stern, she glanced at the coastline receding before her. The sea frothed in a celebrated wake, fanning outward and flowing after the ship, carrying her defenses and her past away with the current. Lady Chloe Philberta Walsingham was now the Countess of Markwick or the Marchioness of Underwood, depending on Markwick and whether or not he accepted his nobility and began the process of making people forget his father.

  Prior to Markwick’s going belowdecks, their surprise wedding had ended without much fanfare, though they’d all shared a dram of rum and a toast, thanks to the ample barrels of alcohol they’d taken from beneath the Roost. It hadn’t seemed right to her to bask in Carnage’s plunder, but Pierce had assured them the cache would never be missed since he meant to complete the Regent’s work by ensuring the goods went on to those in need.

  Awestruck by her brother’s generosity, Chloe smiled now. Though Pierce had only recently taken on the role of the Regent, exchanging uniforms to get a feel for it, she couldn’t get Oriana out of her mind and prayed her brother would be able to protect her.

&nb
sp; Oh, how incredibly far she’d come! For the past few years, it had been painstakingly difficult for Chloe to watch Markwick court Pru. Loving both her friend and the earl, she’d suffered in silence, burying her emotions in books. She’d always been told that love meant letting go, meant allowing somebody else happiness even at the detriment of your own.

  Yet here she was, standing on the Black Regent’s ship, married to the former Regent, sister to the current Regent.

  It felt wrong, however, to bask in her circumstances when so many men had lost their lives.

  Captain Teague. The thirty-six men who’d died on the Mohegan. Fiske. Kelly. Owens. Far too many souls lost to name them all.

  Her heart ached. This was real despair, unconscionable horror. There were wives, children, brothers, sisters, parents, and grandparents—not to mention friends—who would never see their loved ones again.

  Who was she to glory in wedded bliss?

  She looked down at her hands, in which she held Otranto, and opened the book that was imbedded so tightly in her heart and soul. Otranto had kept her hopes alive when all had seemed lost. But gone was its magic luster. The characters’ suffering had never been easy to read, but now she’d tasted true suffering. She’d witnessed the colorful spectrum of terror beyond imagining.

  “I reveled in your mystery and pretense,” she said aloud, opening the pages, allowing them to flutter in the wind. “Alfonso’s legacy, Manfred’s lust, Theodore’s heroism, Isabella’s quest for freedom, Bianca’s dedication, and Matilda’s sacrifice.” Tears filled her eyes. “No more.”

  She tore out the first page.

  * * *

  Manfred, Prince of Otranto, had one son and one daughter.

  The latter, a most beautiful virgin, aged eighteen, was called Matilda.

  * * *

  Chloe threw the parchment into the ocean and watched it fall victim to the surf. She clawed at the rest, pausing only briefly to read a few lines:

  * * *

  The stranger obeyed, and beneath appeared some stone steps descending into a vault totally dark. “We must go down there,” said Isabella. “Follow me. Dark and dismal as it is, we cannot miss our way . . .”

  * * *

  Angrily, she crumpled the page and threw it into the sea. “Why would you go into the darkness, Isabella? There is nothing but danger waiting for you there.”

  She tore out more pages, determined not to leave a single one left in the binding as tears rolled unchecked down her cheeks.

  “What are you doing?” Markwick suddenly appeared beside her, making her jump as he snatched the dismantled book from her hands.

  She turned away, hiding her face, swiping at her eyes. “I—”

  “Why are you destroying the book you’ve risked your life—and Jane’s—to protect?” He touched her arm, pulling gently to turn her around to face him.

  The truth was too close for comfort. Chloe couldn’t stop the tears flowing down her face. She’d been so selfish, naive, and desperate to find him that she’d put everything and everyone in jeopardy.

  He lifted her chin, and when she gazed into his face, she saw that his mask was gone. “Look at me, my love.”

  She blinked back her anguish, fearing he’d find her behavior childish and disgusting. A bride crying on her wedding day did not give a man confidence. What she’d done, believing in fairy tales, had endangered Jane’s life, her life, countless lives. Would Fiske, Kelly, and Owens be alive today if it weren’t for her? She would carry that question with her for the rest of her days.

  Smuggling, wrecking, the butchering of innocents—these were things that could not be undone.

  “What has gotten into you?” he asked with a degree of warmth and concern, stroking her cheek and drying the tears on her face.

  A salty spray rose up like a mist about them as the Fury cut through the rolling sea in her eagerness to be rid of her cache and the troublesome females in her midst.

  Chloe’s unbound hair whipped about her head as the ship thumped into a swell. She clasped onto Markwick, fearing her legs would give way, that she was dreaming and none of this was real.

  “Oh, Markwick. I am incredibly happy, but I feel guilty for experiencing that joy. I’m accountable, you see. Responsible for everything that has happened, and I cannot—I will not—forget it.”

  “What nonsense is this?” His silver-blue eyes searched hers in a soft caress. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “But that isn’t entirely true, is it?” She pointed to Otranto. “If I’d never read books like these, I’d still be home waiting on you to return to Exeter. I’d still be with Pru, pining for you to love me instead of following some crazy notion to find you and convince you to love me.” She released a heavy sigh, unsettled by another weighty truth. “And if I’d done those things, I wouldn’t be here now, standing before you as your wife.” She raised a trembling hand to her mouth. “Oh dear.”

  “But you did read the books. And my crew thanks you for it. Those tales enthralled my men. I saw them belowdecks, listening to your every word, questioning where the story would go, eager to hear more. You touched their hearts, my love. And you’ve touched mine in ways I will strive to define until the day I die. I love you, Chloe. I could not keep myself from falling in love with you if I tried.”

  Was he toying with her? Speaking things he thought she wanted—no, needed—to hear on her wedding day? “No. You are just telling me what I want to hear. Saying this to ease my upset.”

  He moved closer, so close his lips were merely inches away from hers, hovering across a chasm that felt much too far to bridge. “You are a theatrical female, aren’t you?”

  She heaved an affronted sigh as a quiver worked its way down her spine. “I’ll have you know I am a woman who knows her own mind. And I am quite aware how far off course that has led me.”

  “That path led you to me. You are where you belong, my love.”

  She swallowed the sob threatening to escape. His love! Could it be true? She buried her face against his throat.

  “No more disguises, lies, or distance between us, Chloe.”

  “No.” She raised her face, nodded, and forced a stiff smile. She glanced up at the ratlines, receiving a wave from Arnold in the crosstrees.

  She waved back.

  “No more secrets.” Markwick’s words drew her back to his face.

  “I have kept no secrets from you, Markwick.”

  “Basil.”

  She stared at him lovingly, her heart pounding an erratic beat. How she’d longed to call him by his given name, but she hadn’t dared, except when she was alone.

  He smiled, mistaking her delayed response. “My name . . . It is Basil.”

  “Yes, I know,” Chloe said, drinking in his nearness. “Basil.” Her insides clamored with an excitement that tingled all the way to her toes as his name left her lips.

  He crooked his brow. “It isn’t unusual for a wife to call her husband by his given name.”

  “Would you think me wanton for secretly preferring the pirate, the mask, the secrets that I kept here?” She pointed to her heart, the action drawing his attention to her full breasts as they pressed against the fastenings of her pelisse.

  “You cannot know how long I’ve followed the Regent’s adventures in Trewman’s Exeter Flying Post. He— I mean, you have been my hero.”

  “I want to be your hero in every way, Chloe. If there are to be no more lies between us, there are things about the Regent that you must know. I am not the first, and I will not be the last.”

  “You are not—”

  “No. But this I vow: I will earn the right to be your hero, and you shall have to admire the Regent from afar from now on. My days as the Regent are over.”

  She caught sight of Pierce then, moving freely on the quarterdeck near the forecastle. He was dressed in black and now wore the Regent’s mask.

  “The Captain looks so much like you,” she said, her voice shaking. “I cannot tell the difference f
rom here.”

  “Yes, he does.” Markwick followed her gaze. “That aids our plan. Your brother is cunning, courageous, and he knows how to hunt like Blackmoor’s hounds. He’ll do. Yes. He’ll do nicely.”

  “But what if—”

  “Pierce will handle Carnage when the time comes. He’s had more training than I have.” His eyes raked boldly over her. “No more hiding. I’m done running. I’m ready to become the new marquess and prove to our sons and daughters what the power of love can do.”

  “Love?” Chloe relaxed, sinking into his embrace. “I want to hear more about what you love.”

  He touched her face tenderly, his touch firm and inviting. “We’ll experience it together, you and I.” He kissed her lips. His were moist, full, masculine, and she was breathtakingly desperate for more until he pulled abruptly away. “I love you, Chloe. And I cannot live without you.”

  Chloe’s emotions exploded with awareness. She wrapped her arms around Basil, her pulse throbbing foolishly out of control, fresh tears cascading down her cheeks. “Oh, Basil! Those are the three words I will never grow tired of hearing.”

  “And you shall hear them until my dying day.” He pulled her closer, burying his face in her hair, and then pulled back and kissed her, urgently, bringing forth a fire inside Chloe she’d only experienced once before in his arms.

  “Are you going to defrock my sister in public on your wedding day, Markwick? If so, I suggest you two go below.”

  Laughter commenced around them, a hearty sound that filled Chloe with a vibrancy she’d forgotten in so short a time.

  Life went on, didn’t it? People joked. They worked, keeping their memories clasped to their hearts like she’d protected Otranto when all had seemed lost.