Buccaneers Series

by Linda Lee Chaikin

His eyes narrowed, and he grabbed her. She struggled, turning her head away as he tried to kiss her.

  Footsteps in the hall sobered him, and his grip loosened enough for Emerald to twist free. Not waiting to see who was coming, she rushed breathlessly through the door and into the hall—colliding with Baret.

  He steadied her and studied her face. He looked toward the drawing room.

  “I—I must talk to you,” she said with a rush. “It’s about Jette.”

  His expression was unrelenting. “Give me a few minutes. I’ve an appointment with Jasper. Wait for me outside.”

  “Yes—of course,” she said with a breath of relief. Holding her hands against the sides of her skirt to quiet them, she turned to walk past him.

  Jasper had come to the doorway, and he stopped when he confronted Baret in the hall.

  A brief side glance at Sir Jasper as Emerald turned to leave showed his face still mottled with temper, but his countenance had swiftly altered at seeing Baret.

  As she walked to the outer door to wait on the veranda, Baret shut the drawing room door.

  She looked back, briefly wondering what interest had prompted him to meet with Sir Jasper. From the blunt inflection of his voice when mentioning him, Baret had not appeared too friendly.

  Emerald looked at her palm, still stinging from the slap. She had surely made an enemy of Sir Jasper now!

  Baret stood in the drawing room, arms folded, and raked Jasper Ridley with a cool look, his mouth turning, deliberately goading him by doing so.

  “I wasn’t expecting you yet, Baret.”

  “So it appeared. She must have walloped you pretty hard. The red mark mocks you, Jasper.”

  He hoped Ridley would become angry and make a mistake. If it was true that the man had information on the whereabouts of his father, he intended to get it from him—one way or another. “Masquerading as a respectable planter does not fit you,” Baret challenged.

  Jasper’s first reaction was a brief look of surprise, but he swiftly recouped his equilibrium, and his black eyes measured Baret as warily as one male tiger sizes up another.

  “I do not know at what you hint, your lordship. I am exactly what I appear to be in Jamaica.”

  “A smuggler? A traitor to England? A spy for Madrid?”

  Baret watched Jasper draw himself up to his full height. In a quelling manner used to put the pretentious in place, Jasper said, “What hideous charges you hurl against me!”

  “Yes,” came Baret’s dry retort.

  “Do you mean to question my honor?”

  Baret smiled slowly. “What honor?”

  A quick flush darkened Jasper’s face, and his jaw tightened. “By the saints! If it is a duel you are begging for, you shall very well have it!”

  Baret’s smile continued to press him. He raised a hand in dismissal. “I do not duel mere commoners. It wastes my reputation.” He flecked off a speck of lint from his exquisite black velvet jacket. “Have you forgotten I am earl after my father? I shall soon be the most powerful landowner in the West Indies, with political authority to eliminate my enemies. Not to mention the assets I possess in London.”

  Jasper stiffened with grudging wariness.

  Having set him off guard by his haughty pretense, Baret added, “After all, I am heir after my father, and Royce is dead, is he not?”

  Baret saw what he was searching for—Jasper’s momentary flinch.

  “It has been so said for several years.”

  “Yes. So said by Felix.” Baret watched his unease grow.

  “Your father’s death was a most regrettable turn of fortune, your lordship. The viscount was an excellent seaman. It is a pity he set sail from Port Royal in the hurricane season.”

  “Most regrettable,” said Baret, his gaze dwelling lazily on Jasper’s right hand, which had begun to flex uneasily by his lacy cuff. He suspected that the man carried a blade within reach. He remembered the dagger thrown at him at the Bailey.

  “You are right. My father was a skilled seaman. Far too seasoned to have recklessly taken his ship into heavy seas during the hurricane season.”

  “You know the facts as well as anyone.”

  “But not as well as you. I mean to have them.”

  “I? And what do I know except what the English authorities announced. Lord Buckington left alone. He attacked the Prince Philip. There were few survivors—and your father was later killed in a duel in Port Royal. I know nothing more and am most grieved you think I might. And I am a respectable landowner, with acreage second to none but Foxemoore.”

  Baret’s eyes mocked him. “So I am told. Second to Foxemoore, yes, but respectably acquired? I beg to differ. I find myself interested in the means by which you attained the wealth to buy.”

  Jasper’s false humility was shed as he snapped, “Viscount or not, I owe you no explanation. By marriage to Geneva Harwick, your uncle Lord Felix now has more authority on Jamaica than you. Your uncle is satisfied with the fact that I own my land.”

  “We won’t quibble about that. My uncle has few scruples. In that he is like you—he knows an advantageous situation when he sees one. So he married Geneva Harwick. You, of course, have ready plans for my cousin, no doubt secretly agreed upon by Felix, but I must disappoint you again.”

  Jasper’s mouth twisted. “Emerald is not your cousin. Perhaps it is you who have designs?”

  “It was not Sir Karlton’s daughter I had in mind but Lavender. But it is neither the wedding of Geneva nor concerns for Lavender I’ve come about. It is the illegal trade by which you acquired money to buy out two lesser planters. Now that, Jasper, interests me much.”

  “Have you come to me to harp about African slaves?” he scoffed. “How hypocritical, when Foxemoore has more than its share! If I’m involved in slave trading, what is that to you? Have you emerged from your religious studies at Cambridge to go on crusade? Hundreds of upstanding gentlemen in England are involved in slaving. Where do you think they got their money? Why worry yourself about my profit?”

  “For the moment let us forget the African slaves. I have a particular concern on my mind. It is the white serving class I speak of—farmers, servants, tradesman—all of them illegally abducted by your pirate traders working out of Saint Vincent. These poor miserable men are then sold by you as convicts to Spanish planters. Then there are the silver mines in Peru. Suppose you tell me about those mines.”

  Jasper paled under his sun-darkened face. Even so, he was too seasoned in the art of deceit to be mastered for long, even when cornered by fear of discovery, and Baret knew it. Still, he hoped by open accusation to discover something.

  “Lies,” snapped Jasper. “I have nothing to do with crimes on the high sea.”

  Baret folded his arms and goaded him further.

  “Where’s the sword and pistol you bravely flaunt aboard your ship of convicts? Where do you sell those miserable wretches you’ve abducted? To Porto Bello? Havana?”

  Jasper was now as wary as a stalking cat. “You have no proof.”

  “I could come up with enough evidence to see your neck in a noose where it belongs.”

  For a moment all the fight went out of him. “Felix will never permit you to go to the authorities.”

  “And I know why. So do you, Jasper. I want the truth.”

  Jasper looked worried now. “I’ve not engaged in the business for three years. I swear it’s true! It is land I wanted, and I have it now. I’ve a chance for respectability, for marriage into the family dynasty. Why plague me? If it is fear of losing Lavender to me, you need not. Not even Felix could deliver her to me. There is talk she’ll be given to your cousin Grayford Thaxton.”

  “It is information I want.”

  Jasper’s black eyes fixed on him. “What information?”

  “You’ve sold convicts to Spanish smugglers. To what island? To what Spanish don? I suggest my father was among those prisoners.”

  For the first time fear showed on the man’s face. “Impossible. Such talk
is madness. Sell the earl’s son as a convict? I should as soon take a knife to my throat! Do you think I do not know that you—that others in the family—would hunt me down?”

  “The others? Perhaps not. Not Felix. Shall I refresh your memory? Those smugglers you did business with sold their convict slaves to whoever would buy them in the West Indies. They found a ready market with the Spanish dons. I suggest some of those smugglers came across my father and some of his crew, still alive but trapped aboard his ship that was in the process of sinking. I suggest they took them prisoners, and you bought them and sold them as slaves to Spanish smugglers.”

  Sir Jasper stood still, nothing moving.

  “I suggest you found out the mistake only after it was too late. In fear, you rushed to Lord Felix with the dark news, promising to try to get my father back if only he would say nothing to the governor-general. But to your surprise my uncle did not threaten you with the noose your neck deserves. Instead he made it easy for you to forget my father was sold into slavery. In fact, Felix paid you a handsome sum to remain silent. You took that sum and bought out several lesser planters on Jamaica.”

  “This is preposterous, your lordship! Would I knowingly sell the Earl of Buckington if I knew who he was?”

  “No, you are a coward. Like a shark smelling blood, you only feed on those poor farmers and laborers who are too weak to defend themselves.” Baret straightened from the doorway. “I believed my uncle for a time while I was a lad in Cambridge, Sir Jasper. I am no longer the trusting student. I have returned to refresh your memory. And you will tell me exactly to what colony in the West Indies my father was sold.”

  “I swear I do not know!”

  “You lie.”

  “No. I can only tell you the slaves were sold to one of the Spanish colonies.”

  “Havana?”

  “I don’t know, I tell you. It might have been, or one of the others. The smugglers sell up and down the Main. I make it a practice not to know. I am not in that part of the business.”

  “The name of the man who ran your smuggling. What was it?”

  Sir Jasper’s lips went white. “Say nothing to Lord Felix of this?”

  “I’ve no reason to at the moment. He would seek to hire assassins to kill my father.”

  “And me.”

  “The man’s name. I want it!”

  “Charlie Maynerd.”

  Baret stared at him for a long moment. Finally his breath released. “He’s been hanged. You know that.”

  “Still, he was the man. He drifted away soon afterward. Went to Barbados and took up piracy.”

  Had that been another reason that his uncle had eliminated him?

  “If you are lying, I will find out sooner or later. I will call you out, Jasper. And I will see you dead.”

  “I speak the truth that I know. There is no more to tell.”

  Baret faced him evenly, then reaching behind him to open the door, he went out, closing it.

  He frowned. And scooping up his wide-brimmed hat from the hall table, he left the house, going down the porch steps.

  In the distance on the green he saw that supper was well under way. He noticed Harwick’s daughter sitting on an ottoman with her skirts spread about her, a plate on her lap, and he thought of the scene he had walked in on minutes earlier.

  Obviously Lavender was not the woman Jasper wanted.

  Although Baret appeared to be unperceiving when it came to Sir Karlton’s desire to somehow involve him with his daughter, he was well aware of the man’s hopes.

  He saw her look in his direction and remembered she had mentioned Jette. As he left the steps to join her, she stood and, picking up her skirts, walked briskly toward him across the grass.

  What must he think, my appearing so bold as to have sought him in the Great House? Emerald thought uneasily. Did he know that Sir Jasper had accosted her again? Had he heard the awful slap?

  He was waiting when she came up. Emerald glanced about, looking over her shoulder. She was beginning to feel conspicuous, for she saw Cousin Lavender watching and no doubt wondering what business Emerald had with the viscount.

  He walked along beside her, and for a minute they said nothing.

  “You mentioned Jette,” he said.

  “He has the notion he’s going with you aboard your ship. I know the risk in searching for your father and—”

  She was startled to feel his hand close tightly about her arm. His eyes searched hers.

  “Who told you about my father? Karlton?”

  “Yes, but there’s no cause for alarm.”

  “Have you mentioned it to anyone else?”

  “I’m wiser than that. You’re holding my arm too tightly.”

  “I’m sorry.” He dropped his hand. “You must say nothing of this to anyone in the family.”

  “I am aware of the need for secrecy, sir, and I do not nurture the habit of gossip.”

  “Let us hope so. Most young girls find nothing more pleasurable than to engage in mindless chatter.”

  Of all the arrogance … “Your secret, Viscount, is quite safe with me. It is Jette I worry about.”

  “What about Jette?”

  She wanted to cringe beneath his gaze. She had just told him secret information was safe with her, yet she must now tell him about the biggest mistake of all—that of Jette’s overhearing the conversation between herself and her father in his office.

  “I’m afraid he overheard my father and me talking,” she said lamely.

  As he understood what she was saying, his eyes took on a hard glitter. She saw his jaw tense.

  “I did everything I could to dissuade him,” she said quickly. “I’ve told him your search is only a hope, that he must say nothing—”

  “Where is he?”

  “His governess says he’s not been seen since the family returned from the wedding ceremony. I suspect he’s playing with the twins and hound. But he doesn’t care for Lord Felix, and I wanted you to know about his dreams of sailing with you.”

  “I’m glad you told me. I think I know where I can find him.”

  She looked at him curiously, for she thought she knew Jette’s hiding places far better than anyone else. “You’ve seen him then?”

  “We had a good visit this morning before the wedding.”

  “He’s not in the Great House,” she suggested.

  He smiled. “Don’t worry. He’s showed me his secret hideaway. He and the twins have a hideout in the cane field.”

  She smiled too, relieved. “I was afraid he might have tried to sneak away to the harbor and stow away on the Regale.”

  “He knows he’s leaving for England with his grandfather. He’s pleased about that. They’ve gotten along well. But I’ll have a guard keep a lookout just the same.”

  “The Earl of Buckington! He’s here on Foxemoore?” she asked, surprised, a little awed by the thought.

  “Yes, you’ll meet him tonight at the ball.”

  They turned as a serving man came up and handed Baret a small folded piece of paper.

  Emerald saw a flicker of subdued impatience as he read it, then a glance toward Lavender, who watched them. Evidently the terse note had come from her.

  Emerald felt embarrassed. She had the idea he was in the mood to insist she join him and Lavender, and she wished for not the slightest hint of gossip.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” she breathed quickly, “I think I shall make up a plate of barbecue for Great-uncle Mathias and have one of the servants bring it to him. He’s not been well recently.”

  Before he could reply, she hastened across the soft lawn in the direction of the tables.

  She smiled wryly. If Lavender knew what the viscount thinks of me, she wouldn’t worry. Imagine! Lavender jealous of me!

  18

  THE BALL

  The ball was about to begin. Emerald glanced about, and her senses were beset on every side by the lavish display of thick scarlet velvet drapes arrayed over all doors opening into the dra
wing rooms, where the guests congregated about cool refreshments.

  A staircase led up to guest chambers used to hold wraps and bags and for giving finishing touches to wigs that were sometimes brought in boxes and carried up by personal maids.

  As Emerald stood near the stairs, she heard a demanding voice call to her, and she turned. The sight dazzled her. The most jewel-bedecked woman she had ever laid eyes on swept across the room with hand extended, sparkling with emeralds and gold. Her billowing skirts of brocaded blue satin shimmered in the light of the chandeliers. She wore a wig of pronounced white curls glinting with gold dust.

  “Ah, m’dear Catherine, how delightsome you’ve joined us tonight.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Emerald with a smile. “You’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

  “Indeed!” The older woman scrutinized her up and down. “Aren’t you the earl’s granddaughter visiting with him from England?” She studied Emerald’s elegant gown with a direct stare.

  “No.” She hesitated to say who she was. “I’m Emerald,” she said simply.

  The name passed over the woman like water off a duck’s back, and Emerald let out a silent sigh of relief.

  “I am Isabeau,” she said, as if Emerald should already know. The woman took Emerald’s arm, and the two proceeded up the stairs.

  “It’s the war, of course,” said Isabeau. “I suppose Felix will join his brother-in-law Avery in galvanizing the island against an onslaught from the Dutch and French?”

  “I believe,” said Emerald, playing her part, “that Lord Felix has been appointed sole commissioner to the governor in defense of Jamaica.”

  “He’ll be a strong commissioner, don’t you think? But I must say—” and she leaned toward Emerald and whispered “—I am horribly shocked that His Majesty gave a Royal Navy command to Felix’s stepson Grayford instead of to the earl’s blood grandson, Baret.”

  Emerald was alert now. “Why so?”

  “My dear! Don’t you know anything? You must admit Grayford is less qualified than his cousin. Baret did attend the Academy, you know, and graduated. More’s the pity, he then suddenly disappeared from London. And of course, Baret so wanted the Royal Navy command.”