’Twas dark where they stood, but she didn’t miss the flash of surprise crossing his face. He didn’t think she knew about Kenmar, but she did. She knew everything pertaining to Blackwell Shipping. Probably more than her foolish father.
No, she wasn’t like her mother, and neither was she like her father. She was smarter and more dangerous.
She rubbed her arms, not because she was chilled, but because it caused Nicholas’s scent to rise, and she very much liked the way he smelled.
“Mother died when I was sixteen, telling me until her last breath to be ready to travel when he sent for us. By then, I knew we would never see him again. I’d heard the rumors of his success, but Dorothy and I kept them from Mother. I believe, deep down, she knew the truth as well, but her mind refused to accept it. I think the day my father sailed away to find his fortune, not only did my mother’s heart break, but her mind shattered.”
“I’m very sorry, Emmaline.”
She shrugged the sympathy away, having come to terms with what happened to her mother. She loved her, but she also felt pity for her, and disappointment the woman hadn’t been strong enough to live to see her daughter grown.
“It was best for her,” she said. “She couldn’t face life without him, and she certainly wasn’t living life with him. Dorothy, of course, opened her home to me. She had no children, and I became her daughter. At least, in her mind I did. She promised to find me a very respectable husband with the generous dowry she put on me. As if the scandal of my parents could be bought and forgotten. I wasn’t a fool. I knew no decent man would offer for me, and neither did I want to be offered for. I saw what my father did to my mother, and I vowed a long time ago I wouldn’t fall to the same fate.”
“You would have had offers.”
She laughed. “From whom, pray tell? Impoverished lords looking to fill their coffers? Gamblers needing to pay off debts?”
“Your aunt must love you very much to take you in and offer a dowry.”
“She does. And I don’t fault her for trying to help, but it wasn’t the life I wanted.” And still wasn’t. “I set off for the colonies on my own.”
He stiffened. “Tell me you did not.”
“Oh, I did.”
He blew out a breath and shook his head. “Alone? Emmaline, that is dangerous and foolhardy.”
Emmaline. She liked when he called her Emmaline. It made her feel like a woman. Not a pirate, not a captain, but a woman. “Of course it was, but do you see me doing any other thing?”
“No, I suppose not. Let me guess what happened. Your ship was attacked by pirates and you decided to become a pirate yourself.”
She faced him for the first time since she started telling her sordid, embarrassing tale of love gone bad. The breeze teased the ends of his hair. In London it had been short and nicely combed. Now it blew about his head, curling at the tips, a little ragged and in need of a cut. His skin had darkened to a deep tan, creases of white fanning out from the corners of his navy-blue eyes. The moonlight highlighted the angles of his face, making them appear harsher, and giving him the appearance of being chiseled from marble. But she knew firsthand those hard angles could soften into heated desire.
She longed to touch him now, to lean forward and kiss him. But she held back. She had a story to tell.
“We weren’t attacked by pirates.” At least not yet. “I made it to Boston and I met my father.”
His brows rose. “You did?”
She turned away and gripped the railing. “He denied me.” She’d never said the words out loud, and the pain of them was excruciating. Far worse than she ever believed possible. If she hadn’t been holding the railing, she would have sunk to the deck.
Nicholas cursed and reached for her. “Emmaline—”
She locked her knees and waved his hand away. “It’s all right. I’ve accepted it, and I think I’d known all along it would happen. After all, didn’t he deny us when he didn’t send for us?”
“He’s a bastard.”
She laughed. “That’s not what makes him a bastard. You see, he not only conveniently forgot about Mother and me, he remarried as well. To a woman with the right connections, whose father gave him control of the shipping company. So he found in the colonies what he couldn’t find in England.”
“Good God, Emmaline. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. My father is a bastard and my mission is to destroy him.” She turned to face him again. “And now you know why I can’t let you go back to Kenmar.”
Kenmar would be proud. Nicholas had the information he set out to find. Emmaline claimed she wouldn’t let him go, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t above escaping. When they arrived in Barbados, he had every intention of going to the governor, using Kenmar’s far-reaching influence and his own title to request passage back to England.
He pressed a fist to the pain in his gut and stared up at the ceiling of his cabin. The moon’s reflection off the water sent ripples across the ceiling, and the sway of the ship on the calm sea should have lulled him to sleep long ago. Except, his mind was a whirl of images. Of Emmaline strolling the deck and telling a story that still stunned him, and consumed him with an anger so deep it frightened him.
Daniel Blackwell was lucky Emmaline hadn’t already killed him.
Nicholas’s parents instilled in their children a sense of decency, as well as a sense of responsibility. Being a noble meant far more than the privileges of title. It meant you were responsible for a vast number of people who worked for you and lived on your land. Nicholas’s father made sure Sebastian and Nicholas understood their responsibilities. It enraged Nicholas that Daniel Blackwell couldn’t even take responsibility for his wife and child.
It was unconscionable.
Emmaline didn’t get a chance to tell him exactly how she came to be a pirate. The night watchman pulled her away with a minor problem needing her attention. Nicholas didn’t need to know the rest of the story, for he was sure he could guess it. No doubt, she left Boston to return to England and the life her aunt set out before her—marriage to a proper husband, something Emmaline would have hated. More than likely her ship had been attacked by pirates. It wasn’t unheard of for sailors to jump on the pirate ship and take up pirating. It was unheard of for a woman to do so. That she survived the first years was testimony to her strength and fortitude. And her deep-seated hatred of the man who had no right to be called a father.
Nicholas sat up, knowing sleep was out of the question when his anger churned so violently. He hated Daniel Blackwell and wished him dead, but that didn’t mean what Emmaline was doing was right.
Yet, what recourse did she have? As a woman with no man to protect her, she had none. She did what she had to do, and he admired her for it.
If Nicholas went to Kenmar with his report, Emmaline’s revenge would be stopped and she would be wanted for piracy. A hanging offense.
As it stood, Kenmar didn’t even believe Lady Anne existed.
Nicholas put his elbows on his knees and ran his hands through his overlong hair. If he reported what he knew, Kenmar would surely speak to the king about his actions. Nicholas would be rewarded. He might even be able to return to the Navy as a higher-ranking officer. It was everything he’d hoped for and more.
Or …
He could give Emmaline the information she needed—more than she had ever hoped to get—and let her bring Blackwell down. Which was no more than the bilge-sucking bastard deserved.
All his life, Nicholas had done the right thing. He’d been the dutiful son, behaving well in public, carefully weighing important decisions and how they would affect his family, their retainers and the people around him. He meticulously thought through problems. He was polite, and fair in his commands as a captain. He never kicked puppies, and he danced with the awkward debutantes who stood on the outer edges because he felt sorry for them.
But in this, who was right and who was wrong? Kenmar felt he wa
s right to search out and destroy the person ruining his good name, and costing him and his fellow businessmen a large amount of money. Emmaline thought she was right to destroy a father who destroyed her life.
Was there a way to help them both?
And if not, did he have it in him to turn his back on years of ingrained honor, to help someone who walked on the wrong side of right?
Chapter Twelve
Emmaline was well aware of Addison’s dark gaze on her. He stood with his back to the railing, ankles crossed, arms crossed, watching her with the look of a lion tracking his prey. Like he wanted to devour her in a single bite and lick his chops with a satisfied grin.
She quelled the nervous flutters in her stomach, and forced herself to approach him. She was Lady Anne. Men didn’t make her nervous. She made men nervous.
She’d managed to avoid him for two days, and by the accusing look in his eyes, he knew it. But there had been much to do to ready the ship to drop anchor. It had nothing to do with telling him her deepest secrets and exposing herself in a way she’d never done before.
Nothing at all.
She clutched her hands to her stomach, where the flutters turned to churning waves. His gaze followed the movement, a small smile playing about the corners of his mouth, as if he were aware how nervous he made her. She quickly dropped her hands to her sides, fisting her fingers in the fabric of the blasted skirts she was forced to wear because they were so close to home, where any stray fishing vessel could easily spot them.
“Emmaline.” He pushed away from the railing and bowed, the formal act incongruous on her pirate ship, and yet perfectly right for him. Her gentleman prisoner.
She tilted her head stiffly. “Captain Addison.”
He settled himself against the railing again. “You’ve been a busy woman the last two days.”
“Someone has to run the ship.”
He pressed his lips together, but couldn’t suppress the amusement dancing in his eyes. Oh, the blackguard!
“There are a few things you need to know before we go ashore,” she said, ignoring her anger and his mocking by taking on a brisk, businesslike tone.
He pushed away from the rail slowly, almost insolently, and clasped his hands behind his back. The wind ruffled his hair and, oh, how she wished she was the wind blowing through those ebony strands, caressing his face and body.
Heat blossomed in her cheeks. She looked away because his blue eyes seemed to pierce her soul, leaving her no secrets. Secrets? No. She had no secrets from Nicholas Addison. Not anymore. She’d laid bare her shriveled soul, and wished to God she hadn’t.
What a fool she’d been. A love-struck, softheaded sapskull, who believed for a few moments that revealing the truth, when she’d kept it tightly locked away for so long, would matter to this man. As soon as she left him she regretted every single word of her confession. What would he do, now that he had the means to destroy her?
She tried to look into his eyes, to discern his motives, but there was nothing there. His innermost thoughts were closed to her, buried behind smoldering blue eyes that revealed nothing.
Her stomach cramped and she resisted the urge to press her hands against it again. Never before had she been so simpleminded as to trust someone she barely knew.
You know him. He’s kissed you senseless twice now.
If she could have, she would have rolled her eyes at herself. Kisses? That’s all it took for her to spill her secrets? If so, then she was weaker than she thought, and that made her angry. She couldn’t afford to be weak. Not when so many people relied on her.
One of Addison’s black eyebrows rose in query. “You were saying there is something I need to know?”
She squeezed her fingers together, probably wrinkling the fabric of her skirt, but she didn’t care. “Here in Barbados, I am known as Emmaline Sutherland, the widow of a rich plantation owner. I like to travel to London frequently.” She shrugged, her fingers loosening. “It explains my frequent absences from the island.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Very well. But I’m unsure what this has to do with me. As you said, I am your prisoner, and as such won’t be out in …” He cast a critical eye over the lush island. She swore his nostrils flared at what he would consider primitive dwellings.
Her anger bubbled at the affronted look he cast toward the island she called home. “Society,” he finished, with a pointed look at her.
“Of course you won’t.” Truthfully, she hadn’t thought that far ahead, and it wasn’t as if she were welcomed in society. Not that Barbados had much of a society. Not compared to London, anyway.
He was looking at her again, those indigo eyes probing, assessing, full of questions. She clutched her skirts and refused to look away. What was going on behind those beautiful eyes? What plans was his nimble brain forming? She wasn’t foolish enough to think he wasn’t planning something. Escape, most certainly. And that, she could not allow. Not since he knew her real identity.
“Will you keep me in your dungeon?” he asked.
Yanked from her thoughts, she drew back in confusion. “Pardon?”
“Your dungeon. I imagine it’s where you keep all your prisoners.”
She pressed her lips together. He was mocking her again, as if he knew she’d never had a prisoner. At least, none she’d brought to her home. Phin was right. What was she thinking, bringing Nicholas Addison here? Thank God, Phin didn’t know she’d told Addison about herself. At least for now, he didn’t know. She cringed at the thought of what he’d do when he found out.
“I’m afraid I don’t have a dungeon, Captain.”
“Surprising.”
Her anger broke through the ropes tethering it in place. She was finished with his mocking. Finished with him. “Let’s be honest, Captain Addison. You know and I know I’ve never brought a prisoner here. At least not one I’ve let live.”
She found some satisfaction in his surprised look.
“You are the first prisoner I’ve brought to my home. And make no mistake, this is my home, and I would appreciate it if you didn’t turn your nose up at it.”
“I didn’t—”
“Yes, you did.”
“Am I truly the first prisoner you’ve brought here?”
Taken aback by the unexpected question she nodded. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
He took a step closer, crowding her, his thighs brushing against her skirts. “Why did you bring me here? Why let me live, when so many have … perished?”
He was mocking her again, and she hated him for it. Most men cowered before her, and those who didn’t soon learned she was a formidable opponent. Some didn’t live long enough to come to such a conclusion. But not Captain Addison. He didn’t fear her, and it both confused and bothered her. She didn’t know how to act around him, when her threats received no response.
“Because you have information I need.” Why did she suddenly find it difficult to breathe? Blast her stupid corset! Had she laced it too tight?
“Is that all?”
When had he moved closer? His toes touched hers, which meant his feet were beneath her skirts. And she was close enough to see the deep blue of his eyes, so dark they could change to black in a heartbeat. She’d witnessed the transformation the times they’d kissed.
Involuntarily she looked at his lips. Firm, yet so soft when he kissed her. She was practically panting now, the damn corset so tight she couldn’t draw in a decent breath. She licked her lips, the phantom taste of him on her. She thought she heard him groan, but more than likely it was the rigging above them.
“Is that the only reason you haven’t killed me, Emmaline?”
She jerked her gaze to his eyes, but that wasn’t much better. “I …”
His brows rose. “You?”
Her fingers unfurled from her skirts. She reached forward, needing to touch him. Just one touch. Her knees knocked together so hard she was surprised he didn’t hear them, while h
eat built between her thighs. Mortified, she yanked her arm back to her side. What was wrong with her?
“I can’t let you go.” She stepped back, breaking the spell he put her under. “Not now that you know where I live and who I am.”
Curiously, the mocking left his eyes, replaced with what she swore was disappointment. But why disappointment? How had she disappointed him?
They anchored in a hidden inlet on the southwest side of the island. The sailor in Nicholas was impressed. Emmaline’s faster, smaller sloops maneuvered well in the shallow inlets, and were at once hidden from sight. Looking in from the ocean, no one could tell a fleet of pirate ships resided here.
Crewmen rowed the small tenders to shore. When Nicholas climbed out, unsteady without his land legs, Emmaline was already on the small beach.
The island displayed all its late-spring glory. The trees were green with vegetation. The flowers bloomed in a riot of color that hurt the eyes, but was a balm to the soul after weeks of seeing nothing but the gray sea on all sides. Emmaline bent, scooped up a handful of white sand, and let it sift through her fingers. The breeze caught the granules and whisked them away.
Nicholas paused, caught up in the scene before him. Not of the flowers, though they were a sight to behold, but of the woman. The enigmatic Emmaline Blackwell Sutherland was as beautiful as any of the exotic flowers blooming along the tree line. As beautiful, and as mysterious. And like those flowers with their velvet-soft petals, he wanted to pluck her, to explore her depths, to hold her in his hands and examine her beauty.
She’d surprised him when he first saw her on the ship dressed, not in the breeches and shirt he was accustomed to seeing her in, but in a deep-rose gown in the height of fashion. Her ebony hair, usually pulled into a braid and trailing down her back, was coiled into a tight bun hugging the nape of her neck.
Nicholas’s reaction had been visceral, coming upon him so fast it made him dizzy. Weeks ago he’d been almost embarrassed at the sight of a woman wearing men’s clothing. Now he hated the gown, preferring her in breeches and a silk shirt.
The Notorious Lady Anne: A Loveswept Historical Romance Page 13
