Falcon's Angel

by Judith E. French

  "Edward Mason?"

  Richard nodded. "He's the only one who hasn't lost ships on the Outer Banks. And he's the only man to argue against organizing a force to eradicate them."

  "What about his younger brother George?"

  "George is an enigma. He's extremely fond of Julia, that much I know. He escorted her to Rachel Ridgely's engagement ball last winter. You were on that trip to Boston, I believe. But both George and Edward have influence because—"

  "They're nephews to our esteemed governor."

  "Exactly. Mason's tried to convince his uncle that going after these wreckers means crossing into North Carolina waters. He says it would be wiser to contact the authorities there and let them deal with the villains."

  "We know where that will get us," Will said. "We've been complaining to them for years about the problem." He paused, then went on. "I've never liked Edward, but that doesn't tie him to acts of piracy."

  "He's a man with expensive tastes. A gambler." The older man's face hardened. "Mason lost two thousand dollars last week."

  "On a horse?" Will asked.

  Will and Edward Mason went back a long way. Edward was a bully, older than Will by ten years, and prone to using boots and fists on younger lads. Quieter George had hovered in the shadows, never involving himself in the fights, but standing behind his brother.

  While Will was growing up, Edward's age had given him the advantage. Once, Edward had killed a hound pup of his out of pure meanness, and more than once, Edward had beaten him bloody. Everything changed when Will returned from several years at sea. Not only had he had a growth spurt, but he'd gained survival skills in darkened fo'c'sles and the dockside stews.

  "Edward put his money on a horse with a weak foreleg, so it happened," Richard continued. "But it's not the first time Mason has lost, and it's not just betting on slow horses."

  "Papa!" Julia called from the hallway.

  "In a moment, dear." Richard threw him a meaningful look. "We'll talk about Mason later. I think we've neglected our hostess long enough." He smiled thinly. "I understand that woman... the one who assisted you. She's staying at your house?"

  "No, sir. Lady Graymoor has already taken me to task for that. She's opening her home to Angel."

  "Good." Richard rose and slapped him companionably on the shoulder. "You know what my hopes are for you and Julia. No." He lifted a hand in protest. "Don't say anything. I don't want to put you on the spot. What I want doesn't really matter. Your position with Hamilton Shipping has nothing to do with my daughter. I already think of you as the son I never had, Will."

  "I know that."

  "Whoever marries Julia will inherit everything I own."

  "Whoever marries Julia will get a wonderful woman. I'm just not certain I'm that man, the one who will make her happy."

  "What is this about marriage?" Julia smiled radiantly from the doorway. "Enough of your business talk, Papa. I won't allow you to keep Will to yourself all evening. He's promised to walk with me in the gardens."

  Richard beamed. "You know I can deny you nothing."

  "Nothing but the right to pick my own bridegroom," she fussed, taking Will's arm. "Will, pay no heed to him."

  "A partnership in the business and a dowry that will free you of all debt," Richard reminded her.

  "Papa, you are disgraceful. Will and I are friends."

  "The best of friends." He smiled at her. And I'm the greatest of fools not to grasp what's being offered, he thought. Half the men in Charleston would give their right arm for such a proposition. Julia would make the perfect wife. She was good-natured, sweet-tempered, and rich. And she would solve all of his financial worries.

  So why was he walking arm in arm through this magnificent house with a woman like Julia Hamilton and wishing he were wandering a nameless beach with a merry-be-gotten redhead without a copper to her name?

  Chapter 14

  It was nearly eleven o'clock when Will took his leave of Julia and her father and walked the few blocks home. Despite the hour, people were on the street and carriages rattled past.

  "Will!" A well-dressed man on horseback reined in beside him. "It's good to see you alive. Come with me. I'm meeting my cousin Beau and Tom Humphreys at Dixon's."

  "No, thanks," Will answered. "I've early business tomorrow."

  "Planning another pirate hunt?" Joseph Fisher's ruddy face split in a grin.

  "I am."

  "Better luck next time. The trick is to catch them before they catch you."

  "Thanks. I'll try to remember that. I suppose the tale is all over the city."

  "It is. Edward Mason has done everything but place a notice in the paper. He's no friend of yours, Will."

  "Obviously. He's still vexed that he couldn't pick up Falcon's Nest for a song."

  "He told my Beau that he still means to have it. Wants the place as a wedding present for George."

  "Hadn't heard that brother George had found anyone willing to have him."

  Joseph laughed. "No, but you know George, always hopeful. But, I'm serious. You should come with me. If Mason's there, you might win back that bay mare of yours. Even my little sister could beat Edward at piquet."

  "Another time." Will waved and walked on. He'd known Fisher, Beau, and Tom since he was in leading strings. They were a good lot, but he had no wish to extend the evening with drinks and gaming. And he wasn't in a mood to confront Mason. His garden stroll with Julia had done nothing to settle his mind.

  He found her attractive, charming, and witty. But he couldn't shed his reluctance to make their friendship more. He didn't doubt that Julia would make him a good wife. It was his ability to make her a decent husband that caused him worry.

  He wondered if he would have felt differently about Julia if he'd never looked into Angel's sea-green eyes or spent time alone with her on the island. Would he have married Julia as everyone expected him to and been content?

  He wouldn't be the first man or the last to lose all reason over a pair of perfect breasts and a sweet little bottom that fit perfectly in his hands. Suppose his intense attraction to Angel was purely sexual?

  Or suppose he'd let himself be drawn into the web of a heartless wench who could kill as easily as she could shed her clothing?

  The problem was that he was beginning to think of Angel as more than just a brave friend or a ripe and luscious body that he longed to bed. She was wise and funny, and she viewed the world in a way that he hadn't done since he was young.

  Not that she was a child—far from it. Angel was different, a woman so far apart from others of her kind that they seemed hollow and dull in comparison. He could almost picture her waiting for him when he returned from a voyage... or worse... see her keeping step beside him as they strolled through the market of some exotic port.

  They had nothing in common. She was without education, social position, or respectable family. Hell, the chit could not read or write.

  He shrugged, wondering for the first time whether those things were really important or if everything he'd been taught to believe about a Falcon's position in life was nonsense.

  His front door opened directly onto Church Street. It was unlocked, as usual. He slipped in quietly so as not to disturb the servants, but chuckled when he found Delphi waiting for him at the foot of the wide staircase.

  "Even'n', Mr. Will." Her soft voice echoed in the empty hall passage as she nodded slightly in lieu of a curtsy.

  It was hard for Will to get used to the empty feeling. Once these wide planks had been covered with Persian rugs. An Irish hunt table and matching chairs had lined one wall; a tall, Japanese Imari palace vase had stood in the entrance corner. But those items had all been sold to pay debts, and this area as well as many of the other rooms stood empty of all but dour family portraits staring blankly from their gilded frames.

  Delphi, however, remained as staunch and cheerful as ever. She had been a member of this household since she was born. Her mother, Sally, had been a wedding gift to his mother when
she married his father. And although Delphi had received her freedom at Will's mother's death, this remained the black woman's home as much as his.

  "Can I get you anything?" she asked. "I made a fresh kettle of she-crab soup this afternoon."

  Will's feelings for his housekeeper would have been difficult for him to dissect, let alone explain to Angel. Delphi was more than a trusted employee. While they were related by affection rather than blood, both maintained a titular master-servant relationship that fooled few. Delphi not only managed Falcon's Nest as she chose, she was not above chastising him when she was displeased by his words or actions. And he, in turn, felt providing for her and her large family was a matter of honor.

  One of the reasons losing the mansion would have been such a disaster was that Delphi, her husband, her aging mother, children, and grandchildren would have been left homeless and unemployed. None of them were slaves, but they'd been the property of the Falcons at one time, and Will felt the weight of his responsibility toward them all.

  "No, thank you, Delphi," he answered. "I couldn't eat another bite. Miss Hamilton's cook was in fine form." He removed his high-crowned hat, but gripped it by the narrow brim, unconsciously turning it in his hands. "How's Aunt Sally tonight?" he asked, inquiring of Delphi's mother.

  "Passable. Thinks she might get up tomorrow, might bake some cherry tarts."

  "That's good to hear," he answered. Delphi's mother was blind, and so far as he knew, hadn't stirred from her bed in the room off the kitchen for three years. But every evening Aunt Sally expressed a belief that the next day she'd be up and ready to resume her household tasks.

  Will glanced up the stairs and back to Delphi. She maintained a solemn expression, but mischief twinkled in her dark brown eyes. "Is Angel settled in at Lizzy's?" he asked brusquely.

  He knew she was gone. The house felt vacant. Even sick, Angel's vitality had added an intangible excitement to Falcon's Nest.

  He swallowed his disappointment, refusing to give in to the irrational need to see her. "Did she protest the move?"

  Flickering candlelight highlighted Delphi's smooth brown face. "No, sir. She never made a whimper; walked down those steps on her own two feet."

  "Good, good," he replied. What had he expected? That Angel would refuse to leave his house? She was angry with him. Naturally, she would be pleased to take up residence elsewhere.

  "Mr. Will? Something troubling you?"

  "No. I'm fine. Just tired," he said. "Don't worry about me. You go on to bed."

  She lit a second candle from the first and handed it to him. "Good night, Mr. Will. Sleep easy."

  He waited until Delphi's footsteps faded away before slowly climbing the winding staircase. What was wrong with him? It was late, too late to go visiting. Damned if he'd make a fool of himself by worrying about Angel when she was snug at Lizzy's.

  What he ought to have done was take Joseph up on his offer to go to Dixon's. A few drinks, a few hands of cards certainly would have improved his mood. The trouble was that he hadn't visited Savannah in months. He'd touched in other ports only briefly, not long enough to find a healthy and willing lady of the evening. Perhaps he'd better rethink his policy of never buying the services of a whore in Charleston. A man who set too many boundaries for himself was courting trouble, and who went without release was bound to start thinking with his third leg rather than his head.

  Will swore softly. It was his head that had gotten him into his mess. And nothing could alter the fact that since he'd first laid eyes on Angel, he'd wanted to make love to no other woman.

  And since having Angel would be like sailing into the eye of a hurricane without a rudder, he doubted that course would do much to ease his confusion.

  Will started to open his bedchamber door, then thought better of it. Instead, he went down the hall and entered his father's room.

  Inside, he stood still and gazed around. The chamber hadn't changed since the day his father had died. His mother's portrait hung on the far wall. A carved rosewood table held a bowl and pitcher, his father's Bible, and a long-stemmed clay pipe. Furnishings, bed linen, and curtains were as fresh as if Delphi had changed them this morning. And if Will let himself give way to fancy, he could imagine that he still caught a whiff of his father's pipe tobacco in the air.

  Heart thudding, Will crossed to the spot on the far side of the bed where he'd discovered his father's body.

  "Are you here?" Will called.

  The only answer was the steady tick of a mantel clock.

  "Why?" Anguish welled up in Will's chest. "Why did you do it?"

  He moved the candle back and forth above the floorboards, half expecting to see a telltale stain, but there was no trace of the rivers of dark blood or of the sickly sweet smell of death. His grandfather's dueling pistol was gone as well. Will had hurled that into the Cooper River the morning after the inquest.

  "We could have made it right," Will whispered hoarsely. A hard lump rose in his throat, and he swallowed, trying to ease the constricted muscles.

  He waited for his father's voice... his deep chuckle. When it didn't come, Will nodded and blinked away the motes of dust he was certain must be the cause of the stinging in his eyes. "Don't worry," he said aloud. "I'll settle your debts, and I'll see justice done. I swear it."

  Will left the room and closed the door tightly behind him. If there were ghosts in this house, they weren't lingering there in his father's chamber.

  Still, he was too melancholy for sleep. "I wonder if Lizzy's still awake," he wondered aloud. Talking with Lizzy, even arguing with her, always made him feel better.

  "Lizzy, hell," he muttered. It was Angel who drew him, Angel who had gotten under his skin so that he couldn't stand being apart from her.

  Retracing his steps, he went downstairs, strode through the hall, and followed a passageway that led to the gardens and stables at the back of the house. An eight-foot-high brick wall divided Falcon's Nest from Lizzy's grounds, but the wrought-iron gate was unlocked, the hinge oiled to open easily into her formal garden.

  No lights showed on the ground floor of Lady Graymoor's home. On the south side of the house where Lizzy's private suite lay, and on the third-floor servants' quarters, there was pitch darkness. But upstairs, in the oldest part of the mansion, a candle glowed behind shuttered French doors.

  A thick mist had drifted in, covering the boxwood and worn brick walks. There were no stars, and the waning moon painted the still garden a ghostly pewter-blue. But Lizzy's property was as familiar to Will as the deck of the Katherine. In seconds, he'd doffed both hat and coat, discarded them on a marble bench beside the fountain, and approached the house.

  Wooden pillars encircled by wisteria enclosed a porch on the garden level of the original section. The same columns also supported a narrow balcony and ornamental railing outside the second-floor guest chamber. Swiftly, Will climbed up the gnarled vine to the landing.

  * * *

  In a narrow alley, two streets nearer to the harbor, a man in a wide-brimmed hat waited in the shadows. Somewhere off in the direction of McCrady's Tavern a dog barked, but the sound was distorted by the creeping fog that cloaked the shuttered office windows and locked warehouses.

  Minutes passed. The seaman thrust his hands into his pockets and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He could hear nothing but the hiss of his own breath. Still, he lingered, straining for the muffled thud of footsteps.

  Without warning, small, cool fingers tapped his arm. The man leaped back, cursing, and slammed into the wall. "What the—"

  "Jonah Lapp?"

  "I'm Lapp."

  "Please, sir. Come wi' me." The black boy beckoned. "This way, sir."

  His escort had no torch. Lapp followed as the child turned down one passageway and then another. The stench of rotting fish grew stronger.

  "Here, sir." Lapp's guide pointed to a door. The faintest glow of light showed under the bottom.

  "Where...," he began, but the boy had melted into the
darkness. Swearing, he shoved the door open. The room was small and bare of all but a three-legged table and a single candle stub. Someone stood in the far corner, but Lapp couldn't make out his face.

  "If you're lookin' for your money back," the sailor warned. "I ain't about to—"

  "You told me Falcon was dead."

  "Thought he were."

  "I paid for a service that I haven't received."

  "It ain't my fault. I cut loose the cannon. And I would have smashed his skull, but a wave took him over—"

  "Shut up. I don't want to hear your excuses. I want him dead or you'll return your wages—double."

  "Go swive yerself," Lapp replied. "I ain't givin' you nothin', ya tight-arsed..." His eyes widened, and he backed up against the door, eyes riveted on the short-barreled pistol in his employer's gloved hand. "Here, now! Ain't no need fer that."

  "If this is too difficult a task, I can find someone else. But if I hire another, you're expendable. Do we understand each other?"

  "Yeah. All right. I'll do it."

  "One chance. Fail me again, and you'll suffer the consequences. Don't think you can escape by taking ship. I'll know it. And I'll have a special reward waiting for you the next time you put into port—any port."

  Lapp nodded, his gut twisting. Suddenly, he needed to take a shit. "I'll take care of him."

  "Of them. Falcon brought a slut back with him. Red hair. Comely. Do them both and make it look like a crime of passion." He lowered the pistol, just a little, so that the weapon was aiming directly at his crotch. "Unless you're squeamish about the woman."

  "Nah. Man or woman. Don't matter to me." He straightened. "You care if I do her last?"

  "As you please."

  "But I oughta get somethin' extra for her."

  "That will be your something extra, won't it?"

  "Besides. Hard coin. Murder don't come cheap."

  "That's not an unreasonable request. No mistakes this time. Is that clear?"

  "Clear as mother's gin."

  "Good." He leaned over and blew out the candle. "Wait here for a quarter hour, Lapp. Follow me before that, and I'll blow your head off." He cleared his throat. "Fail me again, and I'll have someone knock you senseless and sell you to the British navy. I'm sure they'll pay a reward. I understand you had a misunderstanding with a second officer."