The Notorious Lady Anne: A Loveswept Historical Romance

by Sharon Cullen

  When this was over, Daniel Blackwell would be ruined, or she would be dead.

  Long ago she’d accepted that her father would be the death of her. She termed it a fair price to pay to ruin the man who’d ruined her life and her mother’s life. But now she wasn’t able to accept her death as easily as she had before.

  Automatically her gaze shifted, searching the deck for Nicholas. Her husband. Who would have thought when she set foot on the Pride she would marry Captain Nicholas Addison? The notorious Lady Anne and the most honorable Captain Addison. Two more unsuited people had never been known. At least to her.

  And yet, when she was with him, it all seemed right. So perfect. A touch of heaven. Early this morning, while they’d made love, she’d wanted to cry. There was something different about Nicholas’s lovemaking. He was always gentle and kind, sometimes rough, but never harsh. This morning he’d been all that and more. There’d been reverence in his touch. Awe in his movements.

  Love in his eyes.

  Her mind quickly veered from that direction. All day, that thought had been sneaking up on her at the most inappropriate times, when she should be focused on this voyage, and escaping Peter Lansing and his deadly suspicions.

  But she was quickly learning that her life and her thoughts were out of control. Nicholas was never far from her mind, and more often than not she found herself looking for him, as she was doing now.

  Imbecile. Focus.

  She should have never told him he gave her hope. He’d stored the knowledge away, no doubt to use against her at a time when she was unsuspecting. She’d revealed too much, and that wasn’t like her. Or, it hadn’t been like her, until she’d met him.

  But the words she spoke had been true enough. He made her hope she could have a life after this. Hope for something better than what she’d always thought awaited her.

  Hope that she would live through this to celebrate a life with him.

  But the hope had been extinguished when he admitted he would never approve of what she was doing. And yet he still insisted on accompanying them.

  He was never far from her side, yet never intruded on her duties. He left her to do what she needed to do.

  She finally spied him on the starboard side, hands behind his back, feet spread wide, looking up at the stars and riding the waves like a man born to the water.

  As if he sensed her perusal, he lowered his head, his gaze unerringly finding hers. They stood like that for some time, staring at each other. For the first time, she didn’t feel alone in the world. For the first time she knew that if she died, someone other than Phin would mourn her. There was comfort in the thought.

  She made her way toward him, stepping around coiled ropes and the detritus of a ship’s deck.

  “Studying the stars?” she asked, hungry for conversation with him.

  “Thinking.”

  “About?” She asked although she didn’t want to know. She didn’t want another conversation concerning his thoughts on this voyage, because she was beginning to think he might be right. Was revenge worth such a high price?

  A few weeks ago—yesterday—she would have said yes, but now she had someone else to think of. A higher reason for living. Nicholas believed they could make a life together, that his name alone could mask her past deeds. And she found herself wondering if maybe he was right.

  “The gold bothers me.”

  “Gold?” Yanked from her thoughts, she had to scramble to understand what he was saying.

  “The gold Blackwell’s shipping. I don’t know where it’s heading and it concerns me.”

  The wind ruffled his longish hair. When she’d met him at Dorothy’s ball, both he and his brother had forsaken the stylish fashion of wearing a wig. The rebelliousness of it caught her attention. His hair had been shorter than most, but now it was long enough that he could tie it back if he chose, which he didn’t. Instead he let the wind rush through it, the silky black strands gently blowing this way and that. She ached to run her hands through it, to feel it slip through her fingers and rest in her palm. She shook her head and concentrated on the conversation.

  “What do you think he’s going to do with it?”

  “I’m unsure. Something doesn’t sit right, though. It’s as if I’m missing something.”

  “Do you think he’s headed to France?”

  “That’s a possibility.”

  Deep in thought, Nicholas stared at the stars, absently running his fingers up her arm, sending shivers down her spine. He didn’t seem to be aware he was touching her, the act so natural.

  They were enemies. She’d kidnapped him. They weren’t supposed to marry or fall—

  She quickly pushed the thought away. He’d never once said he loved her, and she had no reason to believe he did. Except, why would he marry her, protect and make her his viscountess if he didn’t?

  Don’t go there, Emmaline. In that direction lies heartache. You’re asking for more than you deserve. Be happy with what you have. Because what she had was more than she dared hope, and should be enough. “Where do you think he’s heading?” Emmaline asked.

  Nicholas shook his head. “Damned if I know.”

  Blackwell’s ship, the Illusion, was riding at a good clip, and had been for the three days they’d been trailing him. Southwest. Not toward London, or even France. Interesting.

  They’d picked the ship up ten days after leaving Barbados, and they’d been watching it ever since, keeping it in their sights but not advancing.

  She was close. So damn close to finishing her mission. Eleven years in the planning and she stood at the precipice, ready to step forward, ready to see all her hard work come to fruition.

  And yet the satisfaction she thought she’d feel wasn’t as sharp as she’d hoped. Not with Nicholas beside her.

  Their time on the ship had been wonderful, beautiful. A honeymoon of sorts, if you could call sailing on a pirate ship with other pirates a honeymoon. But they were both where they loved to be, and for several days they didn’t mention why they were sailing or where they were going or what was going to happen once they got to their destination.

  They worked during the day and made love during the night.

  “How long are you going to follow him?” Nicholas asked.

  She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. Truth be told, she could attack the ship now. The winds were in their favor. The ship sat low in the water, which meant it would be slower than hers. Yet she didn’t give the orders. She rubbed her stomach, which had been off the last few days. Nerves normally never bothered her, but this time was different. This time she had Nicholas with her.

  She had half a mind to dump him in a tender and send him off, away from her ship and the battle to come.

  “Second thoughts?” he asked.

  She lifted her chin. “No.”

  Was her father on the ship? Was he smug in the knowledge that his ships hadn’t been attacked in several weeks?

  Her mind flashed back to the moment that changed her life. The words would forever be etched in her memory, the scene forever branded on her soul.

  Once she’d reached Boston all those years ago, she found her father’s office building and waited until the end of the day, then followed him from his office, not wanting to confront him in such a public place. He walked with the rolling gait of a sailor, and she’d been startled to discover she was almost as tall as he was. In her mind, he’d always been bigger than life. A giant of a man. He slowed at a large house, and she knew that if she didn’t speak now, she’d lose her opportunity.

  “Pardon me,” she’d said, relying on the manners Aunt Dorothy had instilled in her, wanting him to see the girl she’d become.

  He turned steel-gray eyes to her, hard and uncompromising. She looked for any sign of recognition, but didn’t find any. A child of about four ran up to him, yelling “Papa,” and launched his tiny body at the man’s legs. Shocked, Emmaline took a step back, her gaze locked on the black-haired boy with the gap-toothed smile.
r />   “Can I help you?” he asked, ignoring the child.

  Emmaline looked into those cold gray eyes, then glanced nervously at the boy. Papa? “Are you Daniel Blackwell?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m, um, Emmaline. Your daughter.”

  He went still. His hands flexed and Emmaline took another step back. She’d made a mistake. This man couldn’t be her father. He couldn’t be the same man her mother told her story after story about, weaving tales of daring and bravado, telling her of the words of love he spoke to his wife and newborn daughter. The man in front of her was a brute dressed as a gentleman, with no warmth in his eyes, not even for the child who so obviously adored him.

  “You must have mistaken me for someone else,” he said. “I don’t know any Emmaline.” He shook the little boy off his leg. He landed on his butt and looked up at his “papa” with a fading smile. Daniel Blackwell turned and entered the house, leaving her alone, confused and hurt.

  Emmaline spent the night in a barely reputable inn. Outside, men laughed drunkenly and Emmaline huddled in her bed, more afraid than she’d ever been. All her life, she’d had her mother and her aunt to take care of her. She’d never been so alone, and had mistakenly, naïvely assumed the world wasn’t so bad. That she could easily sail to the American colonies, and from there her father would welcome her with open arms and take her in.

  She’d believed a new life awaited her here. One where she fit in better, where she wasn’t an outcast because her blood wasn’t good enough.

  She vowed to confront him one more time. She’d simply startled him earlier. He wasn’t prepared for her. Maybe after a night of thinking about it, he’d realize the mistake he made.

  With steely resolve she barged through the doors of Blackwell Shipping Company the next morning. She stalked passed the men working at the desks, ignoring their startled stares. She shoved open the door that said Daniel Blackwell, and with a swirl of skirts stepped inside his office.

  “Hello, Father.”

  He stood slowly, carefully placing the papers he’d been reading on his desk with shaking hands. But he wasn’t shaking from relief that she’d returned. No, he was angry. Fury screamed from those cold gray eyes. Inside she quivered with her own fear. What have you done now, Emmaline?

  “I told you once, miss, I do not know any Emmaline.”

  And suddenly her fear turned to anger. “I am Emmaline Blackwell, born to you and Elizabeth Blackwell. Born in London, England. Do you still deny my existence?”

  He studied her for a long, tense moment, his gaze roving over her face. Did he see the resemblance? Did he remember?

  “I know no Elizabeth Blackwell. My wife’s name is Millicent Blackwell. I have four sons, all born here in Boston. I certainly don’t have a daughter.” He sat down and picked up his papers, dismissing her. She stood there, shame building inside her, until he glanced up at her.

  “Do I need to call the constable, miss? This is a busy office and I have no time for girlish foolishness.”

  He denied her. She wanted to weep, to scream, to cry out in pain. She wanted her mother, as childish as that might seem. Something inside her broke free. It wasn’t a physical feeling as much as a knowledge that something was different. What she didn’t know, what she had no way of knowing at that moment but would recognize in her later years, was that the core, the very essence of Emmaline Blackwell had changed. He’d denied her, but he would never deny her again. She would force him to acknowledge her existence. Somehow, some way, Daniel Blackwell would regret ever denying he had a daughter.

  Now, eleven years later, Emmaline stood port side of her own ship, with her own crew of loyal men, and watched the Illusion cut through the waves, loaded with gold, if Nicholas and her sources were to be believed.

  Her anger pulsated through her. An anger she’d lived with for so long she didn’t know what it was to live without it.

  I certainly don’t have a daughter.

  Oh, yes you do, Papa. And you’re about to meet her again.

  She spun away from Nicholas and ordered the crew to head for the ship. The crew cheered their agreement and she smiled, but the smile slipped when she caught Nicholas watching her intently, his expression grim.

  What did he expect? He’d given her the information for Blackwell’s downfall. She’d told him numerous times not to board this ship, but he came anyway, knowing who she was and what she was about.

  If he was disappointed in her, that was his problem.

  Cutlass in hand, pistols primed and tucked into his waistband, Nicholas stood with the rest of Emmaline’s crew, fighting the images flashing before his eyes of his last battle.

  Never in this lifetime did he think he’d ever be on the other side of such a battle. If caught, he’d be labeled a pirate. Hanged as a pirate. But if he had second thoughts, all he had to do was look at Emmaline and those second thoughts vanished. He’d studied her while she watched Blackwell’s ships, lost in her own memories, haunted by what transpired between her and her father so many years ago. The sadness inside her echoed inside him.

  She was his wife. His pirate wife. He wasn’t here to fight Blackwell, he’d leave that to Emmaline and her crew. He was here to protect her, because he vowed to God he would. And because he needed to. She’d wormed her way into his heart and set up residence there. To lose her would be like losing a limb. Worse. The loss of a limb he could live with and still function. Without Emmaline, Nicholas wouldn’t be able to function at all.

  The Delilah sailed ever closer to the Illusion. They were so close Nicholas saw the captain standing starboard, staring at them through a telescope. He glanced at Emmaline, who stood to his right, her knuckles white on her cutlass, her jaw clenched, eyes narrowed.

  “Is it Blackwell?” he asked.

  She nodded and Nicholas heaved out a breath. He looked at the man who’d caused his wife such grief. There was nothing to suggest he was evil, but Nicholas knew evil could reside deep inside a person.

  Emmaline gave the order to lower the king’s flag and raise the black flag. Nicholas tensed, the fire of battle raging through him. There was no turning back now.

  As soon as the black flag made an appearance, a cry rose from the Illusion and activity intensified.

  Emmaline raised her sword and looked directly into the eyes of her father. Slowly Daniel Blackwell lowered the scope. For several long moments father and daughter stared at each other. Then with a downward slash, Emmaline lowered her cutlass and her crew released the guns. The sound was deafening, plunging Nicholas back to the last battle he’d been in. The last pirates he’d fought. Already men were screaming and wounded were dying. War was a messy thing and the images would never leave him. He wondered how Emmaline did it. How she lived with the memories.

  Instantly, Nicholas’s world narrowed and he focused on staying close to Emmaline to protect her back. She raced toward the railing and the tenders waiting to take everyone to the Illusion.

  Nicholas glimpsed Phin jump in one and Shamus in another. The huge sailor’s look was grim and Nicholas had to look away with a tight feeling in his stomach. A sense of foreboding took over, and he had to shake it away before it paralyzed him.

  Once Emmaline was able to board the Illusion her course was clear. She cut a swath through the fighting men, heading straight for Blackwell. Nicholas kept pace with her, knocking off would-be attackers intent on killing the pirate captain, while he admired her skill with a sword and her instincts when it came to survival. She seemed to know when someone was rushing her, when to step to the side, when to parry. Often the smallest men were the best fighters, having speed and agility on their side, and Emmaline was proof of that. Her reach was short, but she was able to duck under an attacker’s long reach and get him in the soft underbelly.

  His appreciation for her fighting skills rose, and although he didn’t approve of this attack, he was proud to fight next to her.

  Already the deck was cloaked in the smoke of the guns and blunderbusses. A
few times he lost Emmaline in the smoke, but quickly learned to stay by her side. He’d long since lost track of Phin and Shamus.

  Through the drifts of the smoke, he witnessed a few of Emmaline’s men hurrying toward the hold, where the promise of gold awaited.

  The thought of the gold bothered Nicholas more and more. He grabbed Emmaline’s arms and she spun, cutlass raised. Quickly Nicholas stepped back, out of the way of the deadly weapon until his presence penetrated the haze of combat in Emmaline’s eyes.

  She was like a schooner, sleek and fast and deadly, and God help him, he was drawn to the fire inside her. “The gold,” he yelled over the noise of the fighting.

  She nodded, taking a last look behind her, no doubt searching for her father. Nicholas grabbed her arm and together they made their way to the hold, dodging blows, sidestepping men locked together in battle.

  The quiet of the hold was almost disorienting. A few of Emmaline’s men were already there, carrying out rich bolts of fabrics and other items they could sell for profit.

  Nicholas wound his way around the half-opened barrels, Emmaline’s hand clenched tightly in his. They were out of danger for now, but he found he couldn’t let her go. To watch her dive into the melee had nearly killed him, and ’twas something he hoped to never see again.

  He stopped, swung her around and kissed her. Hard. Needing her body against his, to feel her heart thundering inside her, to feel her lips against his. She made a startled sound but kissed him back.

  “Good God, woman, don’t ever scare me like that again,” he said when he broke away.

  She smiled, her eyes alight. This was where she was truly alive, where she was at her best, and it frightened him that he’d married a woman who enjoyed such danger.

  He stepped away from her and his emotions, because both were too much to contain, and visually searched the hold. “Where do you think the gold is?”

  Emmaline shrugged. “I care not for the gold, Nicholas.”

  He looked at her sharply. The haunted look was still in her eyes and anticipation fairly rolled off her. She wanted to go up top. She wanted to confront her father. It wasn’t enough that Blackwell knew she was the one attacking his ships. She wanted to face him.