by Ava Bradley
"He's still alive." John shrugged to show he didn't care either way. "And still set on marrying his daughter to the young prince," he finished with rancid sarcasm.
"Is that so? And where is the lovely lady?" He delivered his well-practiced expression of condescension. "I told you not to let her out of your sight. Rumor has it she has run away."
"She's always running off somewheres. She's a regular little pirate with that ship of hers." John wanted to slug that arrogant face into next week.
"I have made certain inquiries. The ship has disappeared. No one from Maryland to Georgia has spotted her. Nor has she been sighted headed for Europe."
"Maybe she sank," John said with forced disinterest. Deep in his gut, the first quake of fear started. If Adriana died fleeing, they'd surely find a way to pin it on him.
He didn't want anyone to die. He'd been drunk the night he shot Edmund, and considered it a heaven-sent miracle the man had survived. A second chance gifted from God himself. Since then, he'd stayed up many long nights searching for a plan to make it only look as if he killed Edmund when the time came to finish the job, and escape with his payment before anyone realized he didn't.
"Edmund will know where she has gone."
John shook his head and swallowed a mouthful of cooling ale. "He don't."
"We shall see about that. Go collect him, and bring him to the dock," the man ordered. "Tell him Vincent Weiss wishes a word with him."
"I can't get him out of the sanitarium," John protested. He wanted nothing more than a hearty beef dinner across the street at O'Shaughnessy's and a good night's sleep.
"You can, and you will," Vincent sneered. He slid off the seat and straightened his fine woolen coat. "He will take us to Adriana if he knows what is good for him."
* * *
Even though she convinced Mrs. Bailey to return to her own cabin, having demonstrated the solidness of the locks at her door, Adriana tossed and turned through another sleepless night. When she wasn't pondering the many strange revelations that seemed to be materializing about her father, she was thinking about the irate young man sleeping on the other side of her cabin wall.
Though his unruly hair was in need of a trim, he'd been transformed into the most handsome vision she'd ever laid eyes on merely by putting on her father's fine clothing.
No, Adriana realized, it wasn't the clothes, but the man she saw in a clearer light. Unlike the refined young men who pranced around like peacocks in their up-to-the minute fashions, Christian stood with a distinctive degree of integrity in those squared shoulders and proudly held chin. He was a man who knew what he wanted, and took it the best way he knew how. Strangely, Adriana admired him for the passion with which he pursued his quest. In the wrong or not, his determination was admirable.
What if he were to pursue her with the same tenacity? Strange flutters rolled through her stomach at the thought. She closed her eyes and imagined handsome Christian seeking her with the same passionate energy, and her body grew heated. These thoughts were sinful. She was to be married in less than two months.
But these thoughts are my own, and no one will ever know about them. I have a right to them.
She recalled the feel of his large hands on her forearms when he'd trapped her in the hall; strong like granite yet gentle, almost a caress. The way his eyes had drifted over her, his lashes sweeping up and down as he shamelessly drank in every inch of her. Preston Weiss had never looked at her like that.
The heat raging through her turned to sour regret. She would never know such ardent passion. Her future was laid out for her in a neat little package, but Christian would go on to adventure after adventure, wild and free and following nobody's rules but his own. How she envied him for that. How she wished she could be part of it.
She put her fingers to her lips to suppress a giggle. Imagine, the two of them together, sailing the high seas like pirates.
The feeling turned cold in an instant. Christian despised her. If she weren't so necessary to him, he probably would have already tossed her overboard.
Adriana rolled over again, bringing a whine from Chauncy as she disturbed him with her foot. "Come here boy. What do you think, my little darling? Should I be kinder to him?"
The dog's ears perked and his tail thumped up and down.
Christian wanted to hurt her father. For that, she couldn't forgive him. But Adriana couldn't help thinking back to her time in London when her best friend had become so cruel. She wished Cecelia could have put herself in Adriana's shoes and imagined how she felt.
She bit her lower lip. "What does he feel?" she asked Chauncy. Christian was dangerous, that much was as obvious as his eyes were mystical sea foam green. He was a criminal who continued to break laws with no regard. It was hard to imagine what possessed a person to act in such a manner.
He longed to save his father. Adriana sighed. She'd been told as much, but she wasn't anticipating his emotions.
"I cannot," she whispered to Chauncy. The dog rose and padded up to her head. "Try as I might, I cannot understand his feelings."
Chauncy curled up beside her head in a tiny ball. He licked her cheek, his tail gently wagging.
"I will try," she said. "Tomorrow, I will try to imagine what he is feeling. Perhaps if I understand him better, I might find a way to convince him to abandon this ludicrous plan and take us home."
Chapter Seven
To his dismay, Christian's seasickness had not faded as he awoke on his fourth day at sea. The scents of Mrs. Ling's breakfast, today something briny and greasy, mixed badly with the usually mouthwatering scent of coffee.
He rose slowly. There was little purpose in hurrying topside. He was merely a passenger on this voyage. As much as he hated to admit his failure, Christian would never be a sailor. He was more like the prissy dandies he regularly poked fun at than he cared to admit.
When he made his way on deck, he found Henri and Adriana peering over the rail at the bow. Mrs. Bailey sat amidships on the padded bench, holding Chauncy. Even the old woman seemed to fair better now than he. Today he refrained from attempting a cordial good morning. The woman would only snap at him, and he wasn't in the mood.
"What is the problem?" he asked gruffly. The sun was practically at its peak in the sky; they were wasting time.
"Anchor's stuck," Henri answered simply.
Adriana turned around with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Care to go in after it?"
Christian's heart lurched. The thought of diving into the water stole his breath. In all the many months of planning this voyage, he'd done his best to ignore the fact he would once again be on the water, vulnerable to the sucking, clawing will of the dark sea.
He squared his shoulders as he forced a calming breath in, and out. "Certainly not."
Adriana laughed. "Don't look so insulted. It is over sixty feet deep here. No one truly expects you to. After all, I wouldn't want you to ruin my father's fine clothes."
He glanced at the coastline. It appeared they were anchored off an uninhabited stretch of land. "Where are we?"
"Georgia," Henri said. His shoulders sagged and he didn't lift his gaze to meet Christian's as he moved past. "Ollie, let out the mizzen stay, si vous plait."
"What's happening?" Christian asked, trying to tramp down his irritation.
"We're going to let down the mizzen topsail. That's the highest one," Adriana told him.
"Yes, I remember," he lied. The ship remained an unwelcome jungle of ropes, the peculiar names given to the sails even more confusing after four days.
Even Ollie, who had once become confused when he'd accidentally put his left shoe on his right foot, seemed to know the ship as if he'd been born on it. He proved his worth by moving to his tasks before Henri even voiced his commands, and the young man climbed throughout the rigging as nimbly as a spider on its web.
Adriana unraveled the rope from its bollard and before Christian could make himself useful, she and Henri had lowered the top most sail in the middle mast
. The main? Christian wracked his memory. No, the mizzen mast.
She met his expectant gaze. He realized he must look like an imbecile.
"We'll allow the wind to pull us around. It might loosen the anchor."
"And if it doesn't?"
"Then we find ourselves in a situation." She set a grim expression on him, as if this was his fault. It was, he reminded himself. She blamed him for everything.
Henri shuffled down the deck as the ship slowly swung around. Hardly a breeze ruffled the unfurled sheet in the unusually still morning. It was ominous, as if death lurked nearby.
When Henri was out of earshot, Adriana stepped closer. "He stayed at sail most of last night, even though we were supposed to anchor early."
"And I suppose you think that is my doing," Christian growled. "I am pushing him too hard."
Adriana visibly clenched her teeth. "That truce you proposed, do you still wish it?"
Christian let out a long breath. "I do."
"Then for the good of everyone on this ship..." She smiled stiffly. Would he ever see a real smile from her? Even forced, it hinted at the true beauty she possessed. "Come, help me work the winch."
He followed her to the front of the ship with peculiar excitement coiling in his belly. This marked the first time she'd sought his assistance.
"How do you know it is sixty feet deep?" he asked, then made a note to make himself sound disinterested. Calm yourself, man. She hasn't asked for anything worth getting riled over.
"The indications on the chain. One hundred and twenty-five feet is let out. We subtract ten feet to account for the difference from the deck to the water, and forty five–half the length of the ship–to account for the slack."
"I see," he answered, making a note to remember this.
"Right side, or left?" She gestured to the two levers on the apparatus they used to draw the anchor. What had she called it yesterday? The windlass.
Christian took the right handle and Adriana grasped the left. It wouldn't budge.
The ship continued to swing around until the bow was pointed toward land. "Try again," Adriana told him.
They heaved against the lever, and this time Christian felt it give. There was a thump, and the chain began moving. Once freed, the hoist's arms turned easily, though he could still feel the weight of the anchor in his forearms. When it finally emerged, Christian was surprised to see how small and oddly shaped it was. It looked nothing like the traditionally shaped anchors on the packets. This one was narrow, with triangular barbs like arrowheads on three arms. It was hard to believe this small device could hold down a ship of Lady Luck's size.
Adriana snapped a smaller chain to a ring on the anchor's neck and used a small winch to draw it against the outer hull. Without a word of thanks, she turned to help Henri with the sails, and Christian was left feeling utterly useless again.
For the shortest moment, he'd felt a deep sense of unity with her, working at her side in the operation of this ship she loved so dearly.
But as they got underway, Adriana took the helm and hardly glanced his way, making him feel as insignificant as a gnat. Henri went below to sleep. Christian headed to the galley to see if there was anything left to eat, but Mrs. Bailey was sitting at the table sewing and chatting with Mrs. Ling. In the company of the disapproving chaperone, Christian felt like a disease.
He retreated to the captain's office and opened a pull-out drawer holding the ship's log. He flipped back to the first pages where he found the vessel's diagram. It was as confusing as standing on deck listening to Adriana rattle off the names of sails and ropes and beams, and being nearly seventeen years old, many of its pages were faded.
He was surprised to read Lady Luck was built with privacy in mind. The rigging was designed for as few as three men to operate in moderate seas, allowing the owner a modicum of solitude in his travels.
Christian remembered the day he'd stepped aboard to see the ship's many padded benches and the hammock strung between the masts, and expected Edmund Montague had little interest in manning his own ship. Peculiar, Christian thought as he pursed his lips. Edmund Montague certainly was full of surprises.
He flipped forward to the first entry; Lady Luck's maiden voyage, August nineteenth, 1857. Henri had been her first and only captain, though on longer trips a "Captain Hollingsworth" was also present.
Most of the entries were typical nautical readings and ship sightings written out in Henri's harsh scrawl, but an eloquent handwriting caught his attention. It was an entry written by Edmund Montague.
September 17, 1860
On return from Nova Scotia we have been caught by a vicious storm. Today is our ninth day held captive by the sea only five miles off the coast. The sky is black, the wind shrieks out its fury and the waves rage against us. We dare not attempt to land for the sea's wrath will smash us against whatever we near. To attempt to leave the ship by shore boat would equal suicide.
Henri and his courageous crew have demonstrated Herculean valor in keeping us afloat. Adriana thinks it a grand adventure. I declare, I have never seen the child seasick. If anything, I suspect she grows bored of the monotonous weather. I have not explained to her that our stores are nearly depleted, but I wager she knows, for only this morning the rope mooring our barrels of water broke and all but one demolished with a thunderous crash heard by all aboard.
Christian thought back to their first day at sea, when he'd wanted a bath and Adriana had told him they must ration their water while at sea, even when within sight of land. A tumble of emotions accompanied the understanding she had not been lying.
Yesterday lightning struck the sea near us. Henri managed to get the mainsail up to take us south in hopes of scurrying from beneath this unholy gale. But so far, the storm has only grown worse.
Christian didn't need to be told that Henri was a hero, but reading this reminded him how great the old man was. Ever since he could remember he'd looked up to him with awe, the only father he had truly ever known. He chewed down his guilt; he'd been too hard on the old man lately. He would try and take some of the burden off him during the next few days.
For years Christian suspected Henri felt greater loyalty to Edmund Montague than to him. For this, he couldn't blame him. By his thirteenth birthday Christian had become a skilled and busy thief and was scarcely about on Henri's fewer and farther-between visits.
All these years he'd accepted Henri's flimsy excuses: that he stayed in the Montague employ out of deceit, gently embezzling paltry cents here and there while watching and spying. But all the while, he tried to talk Christian out of his anger. It had come as a brilliant surprise when Henri agreed to this scheme to rob and ruin his employer. Christian had believed it was the letter from his father that convinced the old sea captain. Now, he wasn't so sure.
The next entries read how the unfailing Montague luck had saved them from the storm. Christian ground his teeth. Edmund Montague must believe himself in possession of his own private guardian angel.
He flipped the pages of the logbook forward until he came to another neatly scribed entry of Edmund's.
July 21, 1862
I take a great risk coming here, but since Henri's return from Limoges last year I have been a sick man. I have never truly been at peace, not since the day my life and the life of another changed forever, but I have cloaked my misery by sending Henri to watch over my old friend's family.
Christian caught his breath. He'd suspected as much. All this time Henri claimed he'd been spying for him, he'd been in fact spying on him!
Since hearing Henri's tale of the young man's fate I have lived with the fault of not one ruined life, but two, and today I saw as much for myself. I watched from the deck as the two worked together at the dock on my schooner Diamond Jubilee. He walks tall and proud but with his shoulders braced against the world and a scowl of anger in his brow visible to me even at this distance through the looking glass. He is unkempt, his clothes old and tattered, and I have no choice but to believe
Henri's claim that Lilyana has not shared a single franc of the allowance I provide. I wish not to think the worst of her. Perhaps the lad refuses it, or perhaps they both do. I fear I shall never know. My desire to tell him my regrets are purely selfish, for I know to do so would only insult him. It is I who must live alone with my shame. Tomorrow we return to America, and I will probably never see him again.
Christian sat back on the captain's stool. His vision blurred and the tiny room and its contents drifted away. He blew out a long, unsteady breath as his heart crashed against his ribs.
Edmund Montague had risked the journey to France to see him. How many years had he been sending funds? All his life it had been his mother who stoked Christian's rage for the Montagues with her fevered accusations. She'd claimed Edmund to be the most selfish and arrogant of devils. All that time he'd been providing a stipend, which she had kept to herself?
What he knew about his family's past he knew from his mother, vaguely confirmed by Henri.
Was it possible she had lied to him?
Christian drove his fingers though his hair. This changed little. Edmund Montague was still the man who'd gotten away that day, the man who had taken the necklace for himself and turned his back on his partner. But to learn he'd felt guilty about what happened and had tried to account for it, in however small away, cast a different light Christian was unprepared for.
"What are you doing in here?"
Adriana's voice cut through his thoughts like a jagged-edged blade. He found her distrustful gaze bearing down on him.
Christian flipped the logbook back to the beginning. "Studying the ship's diagram, as you yourself told me I should."
Her expression softened slightly. "Oh." She glanced away. Her long lashes swept over those brilliant blue eyes, hiding them from him.
"Henri is on deck?" Christian found his own voice shaky and unsure. He needed time to collect his thoughts. The world he thought he knew was crumbling. How ironic that he had wished this turmoil on Adriana.
