She stopped waltzing. “If you will excuse me, Sir Jasper, I’ve suddenly developed a headache.”
She turned quickly, lifting her skirts, and in her haste collided with a large-bellied nobleman wearing a meticulously curled black wig and a heavily jeweled monocle in his left eye.
“Saints preserve me, madam!”
“Oh,” she said. “Oh, your lordship! I beg your pardon—”
“My monocle! It’s on the floor! Great scot, you little hussy, if it’s stepped on I shall lose a thousand pounds! Henry!” he called. “Henry!”
Henry the butler, dressed in severe black, flew toward them and began to flutter about, staring at the polished floor as the big man stood pointing.
“I’ll find it, sir,” said Emerald and knelt to peer on the floor, hoping the diamonds would glitter in the chandelier light.
Dear God, she prayed, her face flushed, this is the most horrid moment of my life.
A small group of guests had come up by now, and Emerald was so embarrassed at being on her hands and knees that she couldn’t bring herself to look up even when a resonant voice stated clearly, “Looking for this trinket, Lord Humphrey?”
“Trinket! Why, I’ll have you know …” His voice trailed off as though his mood had suddenly been altered. “Why … er … yes, my lord. Thank you, indeed.”
“Good,” came the easy tone. “Then may the celebration continue?”
Humphrey gave an uncomfortable chuckle. “By all means, your lordship.”
“Strike the music! Play His Majesty’s favorite waltz.”
As the guests began to move away and a soothing refrain filled the ballroom, Emerald was about to stand when a strong hand wearing a glittering sapphire ring reached for hers.
“Permit me.”
That voice—Captain Baret Foxworth?
He lifted her, and Emerald, bent on immediate flight, murmured, “If you will excuse me, m’lord, I must go up-stairs,” but his hand did not release her, and she turned to look into a handsome face half hidden behind a dark leather, gold-trimmed mask.
The man she had seen earlier while waltzing with Grayford had been Baret.
19
BUCCANEER OR VISCOUNT?
“Not afraid of a pack of blue bloods, are you?” came Baret’s smooth challenge. “Most of them could trace their ancestry back to Gin Lane if they’d admit the truth.”
Gin Lane, she knew, was considered the worst district in London. She was startled that a viscount would speak so lightly of nobility, even if he did own a second identity as the captain of the Regale. It was clear that here, at least, he was known only as the full-blooded grandson of the earl, his birth line extending back to the Earl of Essex.
As she glanced at him, her unease only grew. He looked to be anyone but a reckless buccaneer, and she wasn’t at all certain which man she felt more comfortable with. A magnificently garbed viscount was as intimidating as the sardonic pirate she had met in the ship’s Great Cabin.
“I suspect our pompous Mr. Humphrey may have discovered his diamond monocle in a collection of booty confiscated from a rum-soaked pirate,” he commented.
Emerald couldn’t imagine the large-bellied Mr. Humphrey rummaging through pirate treasure, and she smothered a laugh. “He might call you out to defend his honor if he heard you,” she said.
“I tremble at the thought.”
Emerald scanned the features that were bronzed by the warm rays of the Caribbean sun, half hidden behind the masculine eye mask.
“I hardly recognized you in a periwig,” she said. “What would the nobility in London do if they saw you in the role of infamous pirate?”
He mocked a wince. “Ah … you must not breathe a word about Captain Foxworth.”
“I admit, sir, you are presently fit for royal company, but do not forget—I have seen you as you truly are.”
“Then it appears we both have a dark secret to guard.” His eyes glinted behind the mask, but he wore a smile.
She remembered her calico drawers.
“And I would be most disappointed to see you turn and flee like a timid mouse from a passel of snobs. Somehow your daring venture aboard my ship convinces me you have a rare spirit.”
His challenge put steel in her spine. “I was not about to flee like a frightened mouse.”
“Then you have the blood of a Harwick after all.”
After all? She tensed a little. “I’m surprised a full-blooded Buckington would find anything in a Harwick to commend,” she said defensively.
His dark brow lifted. “If my memory serves me, the Buckingtons and the Harwicks have intermarried through the years. As for good blood, I cannot imagine a seahawk like Harwick surrendering at the first shot. Nor would his daughter.”
She contemplated the difference in his manner. Were his compliments sincere, or was his behavior merely suited to the moment?
He studied her. “We are standing in the midst of the ballroom while music plays, Lady Harwick. Guests swirl about us, staring. I think it best if you honor me with this dance.” He offered his hand.
She looked away from the potent dark eyes that gazed back at her through the slits in his mask. She felt challenged, then gave a curtsy. “As you wish, your lordship.”
She was aware of guarded glances as they waltzed, and for the moment she felt herself a countess.
“I expected Grayford to come to your rescue. I don’t see him about. He must have escaped to let Felix know of my unwanted presence.”
She said nothing, concentrating on her steps.
“As for my intervention,” he said lightly, “I couldn’t endure seeing you cast into the emperor’s arena with the lions coming in—or perhaps I should liken you to an innocent lamb surrounded by English hounds?”
“I appreciate your concern for my safety among lions and hounds, but I shall not allow myself to be trapped by either. Nor by buccaneers masquerading as viscounts or lords.”
He laughed quietly. “You are very much the daughter of Harwick. But you could easily pass for Morgan’s brat.”
She stiffened. “How dare you!”
“That was a compliment. I happen to think well of Morgan. I suppose you know why?”
She struggled to keep her poise. “No, should I?”
“I’d have expected my honorable cousin Grayford to tell you.”
Under his gaze she became uncomfortable. “If you’re asking if he suggested that you might soon be wanted as a pirate, yes, but with regret for your fallen ways.”
“Only suggested?” he mocked. “How generous he’s become. I suspect that his being awarded my inheritance has mellowed him.”
“And his receiving what would have been your command of His Majesty’s ship might also have helped.”
He winced. “He told you that too.”
“And that you graduated from the Royal Naval Academy. I must say I was impressed.”
“Did you think I was raised on a pirate schooner?” he asked, amused.
“Under the present circumstances, my lord Buckington, no. And I see you also have the manners of nobility.”
“But now I’m a buccaneer. As you said, I may hang at Execution Dock.”
“It’s your own fault.”
“A lecture from you? I’d prefer anything else.”
She was curious about his past and said casually, “He said you sank a Spanish galleon without authorization. Did you?”
He perused her for a moment as if deciding the seriousness of her question.
“Yes. I felt it was my duty since its captain had just opened fire on an English merchant ship whose captain was an old friend.”
“And that gave you the right to attack?”
He smiled. “Quite. I believe you know the captain.”
“Me?” said Emerald dubiously.
He looked satisfied. “His name is Captain Karlton Harwick.”
She reacted with a startled breath.
“I thought that might alter your viewpoint,” he said dryly. �
�Am I forgiven?”
“Did you truly—”
“Yes. And speaking of ships, I’m reminded, Lady Harwick, that you have much to explain about your clandestine purpose for coming aboard the Regale. Shall we begin?”
Oh, no, now it was coming.
She cast a nervous glance around the ballroom and, noticing Lavender, said too casually, “I’m afraid such explanations must still wait. Lavender has entered the ballroom and will naturally wish your attentions.”
He looked at her wryly. “And I’m afraid those attentions must wait. We may not have another waltz together. What I need to know, I must learn now while I’ve the opportunity.”
“You’re leaving Port Royal?” she asked with a tinge of hope.
His mouth turned briefly. “As a matter of fact, I am. But you needn’t sound so relieved, Miss Harwick. You must admit I’ve been more than fair with you. I might have disclosed your masquerade to your father.”
A little smile touched her lips. “And have you forgotten I share your guarded secret of being Captain Foxworth?”
“Then you do think I’m a pirate?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Her eyes swerved to his with a hint of surprise and found them glinting with malicious humor.
“I am a pirate—if you agree with men like my uncle that attacking Spain’s ships and denying Madrid treasure to supply their armies in Europe is a crime. I see it differently.”
“England is not at war with Spain,” she corrected. No sooner had she spoken than she saw her words provoked emotions that were anything but casual.
The laughter died in his eyes, and he said abruptly, “No? Spain is at war with the world. At this very moment Madrid’s soldiers are committing atrocities against Protestants in the Netherlands who oppose their lordship over Holland. And if Spain, which serves the will of Rome, should have its way, all Europe will be subjugated to its political and religious control.”
His fingers tightened about her waist. “To resist means torture. A cruel, inhumane death. And I shall fight them to the last in the Caribbean. It is here, rather than in Europe, we have opportunity to bring them to their knees in financial defeat. I’ll do so with my life, even if it leads to Execution Dock.”
Emerald was taken by the change in him, the rigid set of his jaw. She felt his gaze regarding her and found herself thinking, against her will, how out of place he appeared in the handsome wig and garments of a homebound aristocrat.
He was far too … too … she searched for the correct description and was surprised when she thought of the word dangerous. And yet she believed it true. There was something about him that reminded her of her father’s secret friends in Port Royal, all of them buccaneers, and she was never certain whether she could trust them or not. They were all restless, untamed, possibly unworthy of confidence.
Presently he said slowly, a touch of surprise in his voice, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said all that to you.”
He released her. The music had ceased, and he looked away from her and across the room to the veranda.
“Would you like a breath of air?—no, don’t refuse,” he said, his mouth twisting lopsidedly. “I need it.” And taking her arm, he steered her politely through the watching guests out onto the veranda and down the flight of steep stone steps.
Holding her skirts to keep from tripping, Emerald cast a frantic glance ahead into the fragrant shadows. “I can’t disappear with you into the garden! I know what they’ll say.”
“You’re quite safe, madam.”
“From you or from gossipy tongues?”
“I’m sorry, but I need answers and intend to have them without distraction. If we stay in the ballroom, Lavender will interrupt.”
“She saw us leave! What will she say?”
“I’ll explain.”
He steered her ahead through sickeningly sweet trumpet flowers, ducking under straggling vines as they hurried. He continued to propel her onward, keeping to the shadow of the wall, until they came to a gate.
She stopped, breathless, and looked at him with alarm. He ushered her through and down a cobbled path toward a garden slope overlooking the glittering Caribbean.
She was not acquainted with this area of the Great House. Ahead lay a small cobblestoned square, dominated by wrought-iron benches and tables, all ornately carved. English lions sat under the soft black sky, seeming ready to growl at her.
Panting from the rush, Emerald at last pulled free from his grasp and walked unsteadily to one of the lions, leaning her hand against it to rest. She was aware that she still clutched her parrot fan. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears.
Baret impatiently removed his mask and tossed it aside, along with the periwig.
Emerald turned on him, her eyes blazing in the moonlight. “Oh!” She ripped the mask from her face.
He looked at her, undisturbed by her anger.
“They’re right. You are a blackguard!”
He folded his arms. “Is that all?”
“Is the tarnished reputation of my mother not enough, Captain Foxworth? Do you know the agony I’ve had to face all these years, growing up with a cloud over my head, enduring the scornful glances from the family—including Lavender!”
“Your mother’s reputation means nothing to me.”
“But it means a great deal to the mean-tongued ladies at the ball.”
“Then I suggest you ignore them.”
“That’s easy for you to say!”
“Is it? My reputation is not exactly gallant, madam. But there are matters of great concern to me at the moment. You can begin by explaining your relationship to Captain Levasseur.”
Emerald whirled with dismay, her hands forming fists. “My first appearance at a respectable ball,” she gritted, “and now you’ve positively ruined it.”
“Cheer up,” he said indifferently. “In London you’ll attend so many of these boring spectacles you’ll soon wish to cancel your itinerary.”
“Nay, never, and I’m not going to London, and—”
“Tell me about your relationship with Levasseur.”
She held to the lion by its roaring mouth, trying to regain control of her emotions. After a moment she spoke. “I already told you. He’s a cousin from Tortuga,” she admitted grudgingly. She looked at him. “And I once thought him the worst knave I ever encountered until I had the misfortune of meeting you.”
“What was his purpose in sending you to board my ship?”
“He did not. I went of my own accord, though mistakenly.”
He stood across from her on the square, but she could still see his expression. He looked at her long and intently.
“I want the truth, madam.”
“But it is the truth,” she protested. “When I came aboard the Regale, I thought it was his ship.”
“I see. And if you dislike this knave, why did you enter his cabin?”
“He … um … owed me something.”
“What,” he asked flatly, “did he owe you?”
She hesitated. “My dowry.” She could see her answer took him by surprise.
“Your dowry?” he repeated quietly.
“Yes. A silver box from my mother’s family in Paris, containing family jewels. There was a brooch, I remember, and a ring too. My mother was quite proud of them,” she said wistfully, remembering. “She said her mother wore them to Court.”
He was silent for so long that she thought he had either not heard her or did not intend to reply. At last he walked across the square to her and spoke. “Your grandmother attended King Henry’s court in Paris?”
She stirred uneasily, for the thought was impossible to grasp. “So my mother explained when I was a child.”
“What else did she tell you about France?”
“Not much—her family was imprisoned.”
“Huguenots?”
“I think so. The cross my father wears came from my mother also. It’s quite different from the Latin cross.”
“What was your mother’s name?”
She hesitated. “Madeleine Levasseur. She left me the silver box, and my cousin Rafael stole it. I would have forgotten about it these years, for I prefer to keep my distance from him, but—”
“Do you have any other reason for wishing to avoid him?”
She looked away. “He wishes to marry me.”
“And you find that odious?”
“I find it quite impossible. There’s someone—” She caught herself from disclosing Jamie, but he noticed.
“Yes? Someone else?”
She avoided an answer. “It was necessary I retrieve my dowry, and so I waited until I thought it safe. Zeddie assured me Levasseur was in a gambling house—and by the way, where is Zeddie?” she asked, only now remembering him. A twinge of guilt shot through her. “The man you seized.”
He smiled. “He’s quite safe and by now dining on a sumptuous meal with a friend of mine, Sir Cecil Chaderton. But go on. Why did you risk so much? There must be a better reason.”
She smiled ruefully. “Does that mean, Captain, you no longer believe me to be a notorious thief prowling the wharves and sneaking aboard ships?”
“Let’s simply say that I believe you to be in a dire situation or you wouldn’t have tried it. I’ve been wondering if it might have something to do with your father.”
“And if I said it didn’t?”
“Then I would like to know what it was. Suppose you explain?”
Emerald hesitated. “I … needed the jewels to buy friends out of unjust imprisonment in Brideswell.”
“Brideswell!”
“A slave,” she said. “But he’s more than that to me. His name is Ty. He …”
He searched her face. “Yes?”
She opened and shut her fan. “Ty is a cousin.”
A moment of silence followed. “I see.”
She wondered if he did, and turned away.
“You’ve African blood?” he asked.
She met his gaze evenly. “No. An uncle on my mother’s side bore two children on Tortuga—Ty and Minette. My father brought them with me when we came to Foxemoore. I was about seven at the time.”
Buccaneers Series Page 22
