by Georgie Lee
‘Whom do I have the pleasure of entertaining tonight?’ Lord Spotswood asked, resting one hand on the hilt of his sword. It wasn’t an idle threat. The man who’d fought at the Battle of Blenheim and led an expedition up the Rappahannock River was no dandy, but a skilled soldier capable of defending himself.
Richard flicked a glance at the window, judging the distance between it and him. It’d taken more energy than he’d anticipated to ride here on the horse borrowed from Cassandra’s stable and then to sneak unseen over the wall at the far end of the garden, past the formally laid-out planting beds and topiaries lining the gravel walks leading up to the palace, and in through the open sash to wait for the Governor. Richard hoped the man was as honourable as he remembered and he wouldn’t be forced to make a dash. He wasn’t sure he possessed enough strength to outpace the guards if the Governor summoned them. He was taking a chance by being here and with what he was about to reveal.
Richard reached up and removed the mask. ‘Richard Davenport.’
Lord Spotswood’s dark eyebrows shot up before his expression settled into one of more curiosity than surprise. ‘Back from the dead.’
‘Better dead at sea than hanging from a gibbet.’
Lord Spotswood nodded his agreement, then motioned to the chair before his desk. ‘Please, sit down. My condolences on your father. He was a good man.’
‘Thank you.’ Richard perched on the edge of the silk-covered seat, unwilling to relax. Nothing had been signed or agreed upon and he might still find himself hurrying through the garden and over the wall to safety.
‘You appear as if you almost joined him.’ Lord Spotswood nodded to the hole in Richard’s coat and the wool dark and stiff with blood.
‘A pirate’s life isn’t an easy one. It’s why I want to be through with it.’
‘I see.’ Lord Spotswood opened the top drawer of his desk and removed a leather folio. ‘His Majesty believes the best way to deal with pirates is to make honest men of them. It’s certainly cheaper than funding Royal Navy ships to root them out.’ He placed the folio on the blotter in front of him and removed a piece of parchment. In the lamplight, Richard could see the red-wax seal of King George affixed to the bottom. ‘For whom do you seek the pardon?’
‘For Captain Richard Davenport and the crew of the Maiden’s Veil.’
Lord Spotswood took up his quill, flipped back the lid on the ornate silver inkstand adorning his desk, dipped the nib and filled in the blank spaces on the document. When he was done, he fixed Richard with a pointed look. ‘No other names for the pardon?’
Richard shifted in his chair, uneasy at the tone of the question. It appeared he hadn’t guarded his secret as closely as he’d believed, but he still hesitated. It was one thing for people to suspect he was Captain Rose, it was another to confirm it and to the most powerful man in the colonies. He’d kept his real identity separate from Captain Rose’s for so long, he almost couldn’t utter the words to the official before him. If he wanted to leave this life, he had no choice but to put the man to rest. He didn’t want his alias left afoul of the law where someone like Vincent might use it against him or his men. ‘Captain Rose, of the Devil’s Rose, and his crew.’
Lord Spotswood laid down his quill and laced his fingers in front of him on the desk. ‘So the scant few rumours I’ve heard are true. You are the same man.’
‘It was the only option left to me after Vincent Fitzwilliam betrayed me. He was shipping cargo under false flags, and when I discovered it, he accused me of piracy to save himself. I and my men were innocent.’
Lord Spotswood tapped the desk with his finger. ‘You aren’t so innocent any more, are you?’
Richard bent his toes in his boots, ready to bolt for the window. ‘I will be once you sign the pardon.’
‘Yes, you will be.’ He picked up the pen and scratched the nib over the vellum. ‘Tell me more about Mr Fitzwilliam.’
‘He used forged Dutch passes during the war to avoid the embargo and continues to employ them to secure shipping business unhindered by politics. He also trades with pirates to fund his failing company. I received this...’ he tapped his shoulder ‘...in North Carolina while interrupting one of his illicit dealings.’
Lord Spotswood looked up at him from under his brow. ‘Or perhaps you were participating in the activities and were stuck by an errant bullet.’
The suspicions darkening Lord Spotswood’s eyes gave Richard a glimpse of how others might view him when he returned, but he didn’t allow it to dissuade him. He didn’t care about society the way Cas did, only about seeing justice for him and his men done, and finding another way to destroy Vincent. ‘I had nothing to do with the trade. I was there to try to collect evidence against Vincent, as I’ve always done. I would have found it, too, if the schooner’s Captain hadn’t attacked.’
‘Hmm.’ Lord Spotswood didn’t challenge Richard’s proclamation, but clearly didn’t believe it either. Given Lord Spotswood’s hatred of pirates, Richard imagined, even with a pardon, he’d never have the man’s—or society’s—full trust. He would bear the prejudice for Cas and the chance to come home and strike at Vincent in the very place he lived and thrived. He’d also make sure a generous donation to some cause of Lord Spotswood’s or any other influential man’s would help make the sight of Richard among good people more palatable.
‘You make some serious accusations against an esteemed man.’ Lord Spotswood dipped the nib in the inkwell, tapping off the excess against the metal before returning it to the pardon. ‘I suppose you have evidence of his dealings from the other ships of his you’ve captured?’
Richard dug at a nick in the chair’s arm with his fingernail. ‘A few passes which I believe are forged, but little more.’
‘I see.’ Lord Spotswood signed his name to the document, then took up a stick of wax and melted it over the candle.
Five years seemed to vanish with each drop of red on the vellum and the day he hadn’t dared to imagine sat mere inches before him. While Lord Spotswood pressed his seal into the wax, Richard ran his thumb over the smooth end of his sword hilt. The pardon didn’t remove the threat of Vincent striking at Cas and Richard, but Richard would no longer fear the law. Instead, he’d use it to find a way to make Vincent pay for his crimes. His men would enjoy their share of the wealth they’d collected over the years, and Richard would at last fulfil his promise to them to see their names cleared. This wasn’t how he’d imagined this ending, but it was better than leading them to the gallows or the bottom of the ocean.
Lord Spotswood dusted the vellum, then held it up and blew off the excess.
Richard raised his hand to accept the document, but Lord Spotswood set it on the desk and rested his elbows on either side of it like a lion guarding its prey. Richard’s stomach tightened at the pause.
‘This isn’t the first time I’ve heard rumours of the Virginia Trading Company dealing with pirates,’ Lord Spotswood explained. ‘Usually the stories come from less credible sources who succumb to fatal accidents or jail fever before they can be of any use to my quest to root out illegal trading. I also have strong reason to believe, despite Mr Fitzwilliam’s outward support for me, he covets my position and is far more involved in the recall effort than anyone realises.’
‘He doesn’t have the money or the influence in London to achieve it.’ The thought of Vincent obtaining the governorship worried Richard. Vincent could wield the powers of the office against anyone, for any reason, including Richard and Cas. He might find a way to drive them from Virginia, or worse. He couldn’t become Governor.
‘I agree, but I’d rather see him convicted than risk him gaining support either here or in Parliament. His interests are not Virginia’s interests and I won’t see the lawlessness of North Carolina take root here.’
‘Then why not seek more solid evidence against him?’
Lord Spotswood sat back in hi
s chair and laced his fingers over his stomach. The pardon rested tantalisingly in front of him. ‘My position at present is a precarious one. With Reverend Blair leading the recall effort against me, if I accuse a burgess like Mr Fitzwilliam of criminal acts without evidence, it will weaken my position at a most inopportune time.’
‘What does this have to do with my pardon?’
‘I’ve granted Captain Richard Davenport and Captain Rose the King’s Grace. However, the crew of the Maiden’s Veil and the Devil’s Rose will not obtain it until I receive irrefutable proof that the Virginia Trading Company is trading with pirates. Bring me enough proof of Mr Fitzwilliam’s illegal dealings to convict him and I’ll pardon your men.’
Richard gripped the arms of the chair. ‘I can’t leave my men outlaws, or abandon them after their years of faithful service to me.’
Lord Spotswood held out his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘Then return to them and find the evidence I need.’
‘If I defy the terms of the pardon, I’ll be a wanted man again and anyone who helps me will be breaking the law.’
Lord Spotswood shrugged without sympathy. ‘You and your cohorts in Virginia, whoever they may be, will be in no more danger than when you crept in here. Besides, you’re a clever man, having avoided capture all these years. I’m sure you’ll find a way to meet my demands.’
‘And if I ignore your demands and appeal to the Governor of North Carolina for a pardon for me and my crew, which he is sure to grant, then what?’ Lord Spotswood wasn’t the only official capable of extending the King’s Grace.
Lord Spotswood didn’t flinch at the threat. ‘Then I will accuse you of breaking into this very palace and threatening me, of returning to a life outside the law and see to it you’re hunted down. You will not escape this, or your past, Mr Davenport.’
Richard rose, indignity burning in his chest. ‘You’re forcing me to continue in a life of piracy.’ And away from Cas.
Lord Spotswood stood and tugged the edges of his rust-coloured coat taut against his solid chest. ‘I don’t like pirates, Mr Davenport, of any ilk. They’re an affront to men who earn an honest living, and it galls me to give them pardons, but as the King’s minister in Virginia, I must. However, it doesn’t mean you won’t pay for your crimes, either by obtaining proof of Mr Fitzwilliam’s treachery or through the Admiralty court.’
Richard opened and closed his hands, struggling to keep his rage against fate, Vincent, the Governor and himself under control. He’d been a fool to think he could simply leave this life with a pardon when it held him as tight as the grappling hooks securing a captured ship. In five years he’d collected little more than circumstantial evidence against Vincent. He wasn’t likely to obtain something more damning now, unless he could find Captain Dehesa. It would mean returning to sea for hell knew how many more months or years. It would mean facing Cas and telling her he was leaving her, again.
* * *
Vincent stood over his desk, sifting through his papers, but nothing appeared out of order or missing. While his back was turned, the women had been in here doing heaven knew what.
Looking at the portrait. He didn’t believe the excuse for a moment. The entitled whore. What was she really doing in here?
Vincent rose and went to the window, ignoring how bare the mantel appeared without its candlesticks. The silver would only delay the Devlins. After the loss of the schooner’s merchandise and the Spanish silver, he wasn’t sure how he’d repay them.
‘Sir,’ Mr Adams entreated from behind him. ‘My man has returned from Belle View. One of the field hands saw Lady Shepherd returning from the direction of the empty overseer’s cabin early yesterday morning. My men investigated and although no one was there, they found traces of a rendezvous. Food, drink, rumpled sheets.’
Vincent glared at the portrait of his father. ‘I won’t be made a fool of by that whore. Find her lover and get rid of him.’
‘I think there’s more to it.’
Vincent turned to Mr Adams. ‘What do you mean?’
‘My man found bloody bandages, as if whoever was with her had been wounded. Then, last night, a crewman from the Devil’s Rose approached me.’
‘Impossible. No sailor ever leaves the Devil’s Rose.’
‘This one did and he’s seen the Captain without his mask. Richard Davenport is Captain Rose, he has the scar you described to me, and Captain Rose was recently wounded. Now, Lady Shepherd attends to a bloodied man on her property, in secret. She was alone with Captain Rose on board his ship and, at one time, Richard Davenport’s fiancé.’
Vincent ran one shaking hand through his hair, dislodging a few strands from his queue. ‘So it’s true. My old friend is the cause of all my present troubles.’
He turned to the window to watch the James River flowing dark and steady past Butler Plantation. The hours Vincent had spent sailing with Richard, and at Sutherland Place, had been Vincent’s refuge from the strife at home. He’d envied his friend’s happiness, especially his loving father. It’d been a bitter day when the schooner Captain had informed him that Richard had discovered his secret. He hadn’t wanted to destroy his friend, but he’d known Richard’s honesty wouldn’t allow him to look the other way, and the last five years had proven him right. Richard could have disappeared, but instead he’d done all he could to steal the thing he knew Vincent cared about the most. He would not succeed.
‘I want you to find him and bring him to me, alive. I want him to see he hasn’t won and to watch his precious Lady Shepherd and all her lands become mine, for she will be or she will face the gallows for harbouring a pirate.’
Chapter Nine
‘Where have you been?’ Cas rushed to Richard when he entered the cabin. She took his hand and pressed it against the softness of her chest and the yellow silk of her stomacher. Her fingers trembled where they clutched his, her fear as genuine as the small strand of pearls encircling her delicate wrist. ‘I thought you’d left me and gone back to the Devil’s Rose.’
‘No.’ Not yet. He stretched out his fingers to caress the top of one supple breast, making her sigh with a tenderness to gut him. She believed in his goodness when no one else did. Lord Spotswood was correct. Richard had committed many sins and now he must pay for them. He gently slid his hand out from under hers and sagged down on the rough coverlet, weary from hours on a horse to Williamsburg and back, not to mention his throbbing shoulder. Lord Spotswood’s conditions, and what he now needed to tell Cassandra, sat heavy on his conscience.
‘What’s wrong?’ She stood over him, the red of her petticoat bright beneath the embroidered flowers of her yellow overskirt and bodice. She was beautiful, innocent, and he was unworthy to tarnish her with the filth of his life.
‘You’ll despise me when I tell you.’
‘Then wait, and let’s be together, like we used to be.’ She leaned down to touch her lips to his. Heaven lingered in the taste of her, a paradise he’d only ever allowed himself to imagine during the darkest nights aboard ship. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her against him, desperate to cling to her for ever, but he couldn’t. All he could do was savour her for this brief time, and carry the memory of it with him back out to sea. It would comfort him through the hard and lonely days to come, the ones hovering before him like a storm on the horizon. He hoped this precious memory did the same for her. It was all he could give her before he left.
The warmth of her against him dispelled the pain in his shoulder and made his senses drunk on the taste of her. Gently, she slipped her hands around his neck, caressing the skin beneath his hair with a light touch before working her way over the sharp line of his shoulders to his chest and untying the laces of his shirt. When it opened, she slid her fingers over the bronze skin of his chest, her touch achingly light. With a groan, he pushed her back slightly, then buried his face in the rose-scented mass of her curls. She tilted her he
ad, allowing him to trace the long line of her neck with his mouth. With his good hand, he caressed her back before grabbing her buttocks and pulling her closer. Gathering up the full fabric of her skirt, he worked his way under the folds to caress her bare leg. She sucked in her breath at the hot touch of him against her smooth thighs.
She ran her hands over the curve of his chest and across his flat stomach to the fall of his breeches. With deft fingers, she undid the buttons, freeing him from their confines. Letting go of her skirt, he pulled the long laces of her stomacher loose, freeing her from the voluminous dress before tugging his shirt over his head and dropping it to mingle with her brocade gown. He removed his breeches while she undid the panniers and padding until there was nothing but her chemise. When he rose from removing his breeches, he slipped the cotton off her shoulders, allowing it to fall and pool at her feet. It left them both naked and vulnerable with one another and yet he was hiding a secret, one that would destroy everything between them. He almost stopped them from going on, but she stepped up to him, her breasts brushing his chest as she rose up on her toes, her arms encircling his neck, and kissed him. She’d asked him for this last token of himself, and he would give it to her. It would be a much lonelier life for them both after this night, but for the moment they had one another and this brief time together.
Wrapping his arm around her waist, he guided her to the bed and covered her with his body. He slipped between her thighs, revelling in her soft moans of pleasure as he moved within her, deeper and deeper until he thought he would drown in the pleasure of her being. She ran her fingers over the taut muscles of his back as he clasped her to him, not letting her go, keeping her within the circle of his arms, knowing the passing hour would soon force him from her and this time it would be for good. In their coming together last night he’d made her a silent promise and he was about to go back on his word once more. He’d hurt her too many times to expect forgiveness when he returned, assuming he ever did. All he could do was lose himself further into her until their passion crested and he cried out in both release and regret.
