Captain Rose's Redemption (Harlequin Historical)

by Georgie Lee

  Tears filled her eyes. ‘I never stopped loving you, Richard, not in London, not when you sailed away from the Winter Gale, not now.’

  He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and cupped her cheek with his palm, his eyes turning as stormy as the night. ‘I fear the man you loved is gone.’

  ‘No, he’s still here.’ She pressed a kiss to his lips, silencing further protests. He hadn’t needed to speak the word for her to understand he still loved her as much as she did him. It offered a sense of hope she hadn’t experienced since before England, and before Yorktown, the kind which had marked every evening in the barn when they’d lain together planning their future. The loneliness marring her life for so long was loosening its tight grip. Together, she and Richard would find a way to overcome his troubles and hers. She wouldn’t allow him to push her away or to make her believe it wasn’t possible for them to be together. It was, she only needed to find a way and she would. As his hands gripped her buttocks, the passion rising between them again, her confidence in their future increased. If the threat of Mr Fitzwilliam was what kept Richard a brigand, then she’d do all she could to make sure they were free of the odious man. If evidence was what Richard needed to ruin Vincent and pursue a pardon, then she would make sure he had it. He would stay here with her and they’d be happy. She wouldn’t accept anything else.

  * * *

  The plink of rain slowed until the water dripping off the eaves of the porch was all that remained of the storm. Richard stared up at the rough timber ceiling, cradling Cas, who slept soundly beside him, her breath steady and light against his naked chest.

  Her hand rested on his stomach, and he covered it with his, the solid metal of her wedding band beneath his fingertips a harsh reminder of everything he’d forgotten in her arms. It would be morning soon and she’d be forced to leave him for the world that governed her during the day, the one that no longer held any sway over him.

  He stared at the rough wood of the ceiling timbers so much like those of his cabin aboard ship. She’d asked him to surrender to the bonds of civilisation, to give up his outlaw life aboard the Devil’s Rose and walk with his head held high along the streets of Williamsburg, master of Belle View and a proper gentleman. It would mean meeting Vincent’s smug smile and not putting a bullet between his eyes without risking the hangman’s noose.

  I’m already facing it. He’d sailed for years in search of his revenge and gained nothing for his efforts except more bitterness and the deaths of good men. Vincent still held his place in society while Richard remained a brigand. He’d thought this truth all there was left to him, until Cas had revealed another path tonight, one he’d never considered before.

  Richard stroked the silken skin on Cas’s thigh, the temptation of her as powerful as his desire for Vincent’s downfall. The pardon would change everything, but it wasn’t strong enough to change his past and who he’d become. He slid out from beside Cas, careful not to wake her, and trod quietly over the floor and stepped outside.

  Rain dripped from the branches and a breeze rustled through the trees beyond the clearing. The flutter of the leaves and the croak of frogs reminded him of the hot nights when he used to lie awake at Sutherland Place trying to envision his future. It’d all seemed so clear then, but he struggled to see it tonight. He could return and his ill-gotten wealth might be enough to make most people overlook his former deeds, but there’d be some who would never forget. He knew a good measure of their pasts was no more sparkling than his, but Cas would care. She would flinch when he insulted men like Mr Baker and Mr Chilton or their wives, either by accident or by necessity. There might come a day when she wished she’d left him to the sea and married a more respectable and honest man, assuming they both survived long enough to develop any more regrets.

  No, she will stay beside me. Their time apart hadn’t wrecked her love for him and neither would the snide remarks of society, but Captain Rose might. The man gripped him as strongly as the peace Richard had experienced in Cas’s arms, and he doubted if he could ever truly be free of him.

  Richard stared up at the dark Virginia sky. The stars between the breaks in the cloud reminded him of the many difficult nights when he’d struggled to navigate at sea. Tonight, the struggle inside him smacked of the tense weeks five years ago when Richard Davenport had wrestled with the decision to become Captain Rose. He hadn’t realised how murky a path his decision to become a pirate would drag him down, and he wondered how dark the road back might be. If he returned to Virginia, there would be no crew to support him this time, no men to rally to his cause or the nicety of manners and the law to ignore. It would only be him and Cas against the ruin inside him, the one he must find a way to conquer.

  He leaned hard on the rough-hewn railing of the porch, the prospect of admitting the failure of his decision five years ago to Cas and his crew daunting. However, in humbling himself, he would leave behind the terrified widows at sea, the damaged ships and sailors, and any reason for Cas to live in fear of his presence. He could finally free his men from the danger haunting them and make this fight against Vincent what it truly was—a quarrel between old friends, one he’d win on land as he never had at sea.

  Richard gripped the rough railing tight, looking forward to the fight. He was no longer the naive son of a planter, but a man who’d killed to achieve his goals and with a stash of money to rival Lord Spotswood’s wealth. If Vincent could buy power, government officials and influence, then so could he. He’d seek out Lord Spotswood and obtain a pardon for himself and his crew and re-establish himself in Virginia. He’d use the law and the darkness he rued to wreck Vincent and secure his future with Cas. Then, when it was all over, with Cas’s help, he’d find his way back to being Richard Davenport and lay Captain Rose to rest for good.

  * * *

  Mr Adams stepped into the dark and smoky Raleigh Tavern. He inhaled the stench of dirty men and stale beer, his past exploits coming back to him in the thick miasma. Raucous laughter carried in from the adjoining game room, punctuated by the knock of thrown dice and the cheers of winning men. It brought a rare smile to his pockmarked face. Give him a common thief over a gentleman any day. They were more honest, but not as lucrative. Mr Fitzwilliam had financial difficulties, but he never failed to pay him. The pompous burgess would regret it if he ever did.

  Across the room, a thick man with his stomach straining his ink-stained waistcoat sat hunched over his tankard, doing his best to stay in the shadow of the lantern overhead. At a table near him sat a thinner man whose pointed chin and the continual dart of his attention around the room gave him the look of a weasel. He fixed on Mr Adams, swallowing hard before he dove back into his tankard.

  Mr Adams ignored the weasel and strode over to join the rotund man.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Ross.’ Mr Adams laid his walking stick on the table in front of him, then he sat down across from the printer. ‘Do you have it?’

  ‘I do.’ Mr Ross drew a piece of folded paper out of his coat pocket and laid it on the table. ‘One forged deed to property, in Mr Fitzwilliam’s name, done as well as I did those shipping passes.’

  Mr Adams examined the deed. ‘Very fine work. My employer will be most satisfied.’ He withdrew a sack of money and tossed it on the table between them.

  ‘I have something else of interest to your employer. See the skinny man there?’ He cocked one finger at the weasel. ‘Name’s Mr Barlow. Came in here blathering about being cooper on the Devil’s Rose and how what he knows might be of use to someone. I quieted him down with a couple of tankards and told him I’d send you to him once we were done. Can’t have him mucking things up, now can we?’

  ‘No, we can’t. Thank you, Mr Ross, for being so conscientious where our employer’s interests are concerned.’ Mr Adams tucked the forged deed in the inner pocket of his coat, took up his walking stick and made for the weasel.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Barlow. Mr Ross say
s you have information that might be of interest to me.’ Mr Adams sat down across from the man, determined to pin him down before he scurried off and caused trouble.

  ‘And who are you I should be tellin’ it to?’ the weasel hissed, drawing his tankard closer as though the flimsy pewter would protect him.

  ‘The servant of a man who’ll pay for good information about Captain Rose.’ He slipped two sovereigns from his coat pocket and held them up. This was the first crew member from the Devil’s Rose that Mr Adams had ever met who’d turned on his Captain. Captain Rose was a man who inspired a great deal of loyalty, much to Mr Adams’s consternation.

  Mr Barlow snatched the coins away from him, smiling at the way they clinked together in his hand. ‘The bastard. Thinks he’s too high and mighty to share prizes like a captain should. Wears a mask so you can’t see his face, but I saw him without it once.’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘Tall with dark hair and blue eyes, and a scar on his left cheek, near his eye, one I hadn’t seen before because it was hidden by the mask.’

  Mr Adams leaned back in his chair and wrapped his hand around the head of his walking stick. ‘I understand Captain Rose was injured recently. Do you know if he’s alive or dead?’

  ‘Can’t say nothin’ about that. Left the ship in Nassau, but I once heard the first mate tell the boatswain the owner of the Virginia Trading Company would hang if they ever found the right papers on one of his ships. He being here in Williamsburg, and such an upstanding gentleman, I thought he might like to know what’s being said against him.’

  ‘You were smart to come here. My carriage is just outside. I’d like to convey you to my solicitor’s office to get a sworn statement about Captain Rose’s piracy and his identity.’

  ‘And find myself dangling from the end of a rope? No, thank you.’

  ‘My employer is a man of great influence who’ll see to it you receive a pardon in exchange for your testimony. I assure you, it is quite safe and lucrative.’ He held up another shiny sovereign. Mr Barlow reached for it, but Mr Adams yanked it back. ‘You must come with me to reap the benefits of assisting us.’

  Despite the greed illuminating the weasel’s eyes, he lowered his thin brows in suspicion. Then, deciding to take the risk, he finished his tankard with a belch. ‘All right.’

  Mr Adams took up his walking stick and led Mr Barlow outside into the wet and humid night. They walked around to the back of the tavern, away from the faint glow of the blacksmith’s forge to an empty field dotted with trees a short distance away. Mr Adams’s black carriage stood beneath the gnarled branches of a spreading oak. Two men leaned against the black lacquered sides, tricorns pulled down low over their faces. They pushed up straight when Mr Adams approached with his companion.

  ‘Have you told anyone else what you’ve told me?’ Mr Adams swung his walking stick between them in time to his gait.

  ‘No.’ Mr Barlow danced around a large puddle. ‘Didn’t want anyone profiting from what I knows.’

  ‘Good.’ Mr Adams swung his walking stick and brought it down on Mr Barlow’s head with a crack. The weasel slumped into the mud. The two men rushed over and caught him under the arms and dragged him into the carriage. Mr Adams stepped in behind them, closed the door and the carriage sped away, leaving not a shred of evidence in the still night.

  Chapter Eight

  Cassandra stirred sugar into her lemon water with the delicate silver spoon. The clink of the metal on the crystal glass filled Mr Fitzwilliam’s sumptuous Butler Place sitting room and drew tighter the anxiety already making her stomacher snug. She wore a yellow dress with silver embroidery along the bodice and white lace at the bust line. Flowers embroidered in the same silver thread decorated the skirt, the generous hips of which, supported by the panniers Jane had repaired, extended out over the small chair she perched on. She’d worn the dress, despite the heat, in the hope of appearing to Mr Fitzwilliam like any other fashionable lady, one who thought of little else except her toilette and the latest fashion, even if both were the furthest things from her mind today.

  She’d left the cabin before Richard had risen this morning, making it easier to hide from him her plans for today and to keep him from trying to stop her.

  She flicked a glance at the double doors off to her left, which were slightly ajar, and what appeared to be an office just beyond them. She wasn’t sure how she would slip in there without Mr Fitzwilliam noticing her or what she’d find if she managed it. She was silly to even consider sneaking in there, but after last night, the possibility that she could do something to bring Richard home urged her on. He still loved her, as much as she loved him, and she would be happy at last, with a companion to help her though her troubles. The past would lose its hold on her and she would claim a future with Richard.

  Mr Fitzwilliam sat across the burled-rosewood tea table from her, his glass untouched, a lemon slice floating at the top. He had been solicitous enough since her arrival, but there was an edge to him today that added to hers, as if he were nervous about something. She wondered if he suspected her, then dismissed the idea. His opinion of ladies was too low and his imagination too blunted for him to consider what she was really up to by paying a call on him today.

  ‘Am I to hope your unexpected visit is to give me an answer to my suit?’ he asked.

  Cassandra stopped stirring her lemon water and stared at the pips settling on the bottom of the crystal glass. She suddenly regretted her boldness for more reasons than the recklessness of trying to steal personal papers from an influential burgess on behalf of a notorious pirate. Not only was she about to become a thief, but she must irritate Mr Fitzwilliam by disappointing his ridiculous aspirations to be her husband. If what she found wasn’t enough to help Richard, or if he still refused the pardon, making an enemy of Mr Fitzwilliam would cost her dearly. It went against everything she’d spent the last few weeks trying to accomplish, but it had to be done. She would not see Richard sail away from her again and be left once more to fend off the difficulties of life alone.

  She set the lemon water down on the table between them and rested her hands in her lap, tilting her head a touch to see him clearly from beneath the curving brim of her wide hat. It would be a delicate undertaking to refuse him without insulting him. The most she could do was try to mitigate some of the damage to both his ego and her position. She might dislike him, but she needed access to him and his house and more occasions to acquire evidence from him if she was to help Richard. If she could convince him that they could not marry because of a fault in her and not him, it might satisfy his sizeable ego. ‘I thank you very much for your offer, Mr Fitzwilliam, and I’m quite flattered by your proposal, but I’m still in mourning for my late husband.’

  She tilted her hand to display her wedding ring and gazed on it with a tenderness to almost make her choke. Giles might have done little for her in life except torment her, but she would use his death to her advantage. He owed her at least this one small favour.

  ‘And when you are finished mourning?’ he asked as if demanding from his groom when his horse might be finished with its oats so he could get on with his morning ride.

  ‘I don’t know when that will be. Even when it is done, I don’t think I will be inclined to marry. I don’t ever want to endure the heartbreak of widowhood again.’ She prayed she wouldn’t be struck down for her lies. She’d enjoyed more happiness in her widowhood than she’d ever experienced with Giles.

  ‘My offer isn’t a matter of inclination, or sentiment, but a business proposal,’ Mr Fitzwilliam clarified with a wave of his hand as though they were discussing the price of tobacco and not her entire future or the right to control her person and property. ‘I’m sure you’ve discovered how difficult it is for an unattached woman to manage a place like Belle View. I’m offering you the protection of a husband, and to relieve you of the difficulties of running a large estat
e and everything it entails. Under my direction, it will be one of the most prosperous plantations in the colonies and you one of the most influential ladies.’

  ‘While it is tempting to accept your kind offer to take care of me and increase my prestige...’ she smiled sweetly at him, trying not to gag on her words or how he spoke as if their marriage was already decided. No wonder a man like him thought nothing of owning slaves. He believed he possessed some natural right to command and rule over others, including her ‘...as I said before, I have no intention of entering into a partnership of any sort at present.’

  She offered a small shrug, more to shift the bead of perspiration sliding down the centre of her back than to emphasise the solidity of her stance, at least where he was concerned. She’d gladly accompany Richard up the church aisle if they could find a way to keep him safely in Virginia. Assuming he accepted the pardon. She twisted the wedding band on her finger, hoping he hadn’t taken advantage of her absence to return to his ship. No, he isn’t so deceitful.

  Mr Fitzwilliam sat back in his chair, a curl of disgust marring the thin line of his lips. ‘So you’re content to allow Belle View to moulder under bad management?’

  She tightened her one hand so hard, her fingernails bit in to her palm while she kept everything else about her simpering and innocent. ‘In time, I’ll develop the dock myself.’

  ‘You?’ An unattractive red spread up his neck, hinting at her failure to rebuke him without creating too much ill will. ‘What do you know about business?’