by Kimberly Nee
“You will clean this mess and fetch Captain Carmichael and myself fresh drinks. Oh, and some wine for my dear sister. Tonight, we celebrate her return from the grave.”
A look of relief and a quick bob of her head. “Yes, m’lord.”
He turned back to Gabby as the maid sank to her knees and began scrubbing at the carpet with a rag she’d pulled from her apron pocket. “Captain Carmichael is a skilled captain with relationships with many merchants in the Colonies. From Carolina to Massachusetts. As well as many, many associates in the West Indies.”
Carmichael rose from his chair, his expression returning to normal as he bowed toward her. “I do hope you won’t hold past sins against me.”
Anne finished scrubbing up the mixture of ale and wine on the floor, and gathered the goblet and tankard before rushing by Gabby and out of the room. Gabby stared hard at him. Did he truly think she wouldn’t? If he did, he was even more the fool than she already knew him to be. “That remains to be seen.”
“Oh, you have naught to fear, Ryan,” William assured him with a laugh. “Gabriella has no desire to involve herself in the business end of Markham. Even she will tell you she has no interest in how the business end works. Nonetheless, you will understand if I ask you return the Galatea to her, now that she’s walking among the living again.”
Carmichael’s round face hardened and a scowl pulled at his lips, but then his expression changed with mercury speed. It was unfortunate he couldn’t control the angry flush turning his large ears scarlet, which only served to accentuate his oafishness. Hardly a master of control over his emotions, as his smile was forced and obviously phony. “Of course. I expect you will put me at the helm of a faster Markham ship as it is.”
She didn’t even try not to laugh. “The Galatea is the fastest ship in the Markham fleet.”
William coughed and cupped a hand over his mouth as he cleared his throat. Anne returned bearing a tray laden with three goblets and two crystal decanters. She placed a goblet before each of them, set the decanters on the table, then hurried out without a word. As she closed the doors behind her, his hand fell away from his lips. “The Amphitrite is second only to the Galatea and she will serve you well.”
Carmichael’s mouth was still tight as he reached for his goblet. “Very well. It will do, I suppose.”
A sour retort rose to her lips, but she swallowed it as she tugged her chair away from the table and carefully sat. Her belly was still tight, but she would play along with William and Carmichael for now. She wanted to know more about their partnership and if she pounced on her brother the way she wanted to, he might never offer it up. Besides, she was also hungry and didn’t relish the thought of a confrontation on an empty stomach. Far better to eat first, then pounce.
Anne returned, this time bearing a tray laden with silver serving dishes. She made two more trips before bidding them, “Enjoy, m’lord,” and hurrying back out.
“Shall we?” William gestured to the veritable feast the single maid had laid out for them. Pheasant, ham, potatoes, an assortment of dressings and breads and gravies—more food than she’d seen in a long time—spread out before her.
Silence fell as bowls and platters were passed about, and Gabby was not shy about helping herself. Since her return to civilization, it seemed she was always hungry. Hopefully, it was only a temporary thing. If she grew too fat, she’d never fit into anything in her wardrobe.
“We shall drink to the safe return of my sister,” William offered up in a grand, booming voice as he raised his goblet.
Carmichael looked as though he might choke, yet, he lifted his goblet and drank with William. Her goblet remained empty, though, as she didn’t want to risk being anything but clearheaded. There was too much at stake for her to risk a loose tongue or worse. Her senses would not be dulled this night.
If William was at all unsettled by her unexpected arrival, he hid it well. Too bad she couldn’t say the same thing about Carmichael. His ears remained red and ruddy, and every few minutes he glared at her. His jaw tightened with each look, and if his shoulders tightened more, he’d shatter like brittle glass.
She enjoyed watching him suffer. Enjoyed his nerves being stretched and plucked like harp strings. With each second, he twitched a bit more, as the anticipation strained him. Much longer, and he’d burst right before her eyes.
Still, she played on as if everything was fine. Conversation floated from local matters, to household troubles, to business, and she was actually rather grateful that neither man seemed inclined to ask her about her whereabouts in the time she was supposed to be dead. Almost a shame, really. How many colors would Carmichael have turned, should William suddenly ask?
It was something that unnerved her as well. Wouldn’t it be a typical response to ask about where she’d been? If William was so upset by her death, and so overjoyed at her apparent resurrection, why was it that he wasn’t at all curious about where she’d been? So, if she hadn’t known he was in league with Carmichael, she’d be absolutely befuddled by his claims at being so upset, all the while he didn’t trouble to ask where she’d been all this time.
Thinking about it made her head hurt, so she concentrated on her meal and when it was over, she said, “William, may I have a word with you?”
Carmichael’s ears had to be close to bursting, had to burn like the fires of hell, they were so red, and he promptly choked on his ale. He coughed a loud, hacking cough, and thumped on his chest with one fist. William shot him a queer look as he replied, “About what?”
“I wish to discuss Markham Enterprises and what has happened in my—ah—absence.”
Carmichael let out a mighty hack, his face almost purple, and William sighed. “Do choke a bit more quietly, if you’d not mind.” He turned his attention back to her. “There is nothing to discuss, Gabriella. At least, nothing you would be interested in. Father left the company to me.”
“He left you half of the company and we both know it. Half of those assets are mine, whether my name appears on the door or not.”
“I know you like to believe that, but we both know he left you the Galatea and nothing more.”
Her belly tightened. There was no malice, no anger, in his voice. There was nothing more than a weary matter-of-factness to suggest she was mad to suggest such a thing. “That is not true.”
“It might as well be.” William let out a heavy sigh and half-heartedly attempted to cover up a rather rich belch. “And I refuse to discuss my business with a woman.” He turned to Carmichael, who by now no longer choked, but breathed normally again. Even some of the red had drained from his ears. “Would you care to join me in the library, Ryan, for a cigar and some brandy?”
Though he hardly appeared the brandy-and-cigars sort, Carmichael nodded as he rose. “I would love to. Miss Markham, a good evening and again, I am glad you are in one piece, safe and sound.”
William did not offer up an “excuse us,” as he shepherded Carmichael out of the dining room and closed the doors firmly behind them.
Silence dropped like a lead brick, the air thick and heavy. She stared at the vacated chairs even as her hands clenched into fists.
No. They did not just sweep out of the room as if she ceased to exist. She twisted in her chair to glare at the doors. Bastards.
Fury, boiling hot and scarlet, rushed through her, powerful enough to lift her from her chair. She stormed after them, boots first thudding dully against the carpet, then reverberating loudly as they met wood.
She threw open the library doors. “You are not going to simply dismiss me like some common servant,” she snapped, closing the space between them. William was only an inch or so taller, so they were almost eye to eye, and he couldn’t intimidate her the way he did most women. “And don’t you move,” she growled at Carmichael, who was halfway out of his seat on the pale green damask sofa before the fire.
“I have nothing more to say,” William replied, swirling the golden liquid in his goblet, “So, take yourself
off, Gabby, as a good girl should.”
He turned away, but not before she grabbed hold of his arm and yanked him back to face her. “We will discuss this and we will do it n—”
A bright light exploded inside her skull as his fist cracked solidly into her jaw. The light burst outward into a shower of smaller flashes. Then a black curtain dropped down and the light went out.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“You told me she was dead!”
Carmichael visibly paled as he took a long swallow of his brandy and stared down at the inert body sprawled on the fine Persian carpet between the sofa and the hearth. Disbelief and fury brought a fresh ruddiness to his cheeks and turned his elephant ears scarlet once more. Bloody fool. As if those huge ears weren’t enough of a burden, that they changed colors only made matters worse. “How could she not be? I left her on a rock of an island, just as we discussed.”
Never before did William Markham, Earl of Hampton, want to pummel a man as much as he wanted to pummel Carmichael. One small task and the buffoon failed. It was all so simple. Snatch Gabby and maroon her. Guaranteed death. “Well, it obviously wasn’t much of a rock, now was it?”
He pulled a hand through his dark hair as he also stared down at his sister. She lay on her back, in a most undignified position. Dressed like a man. Though her breeches did hug her legs in a most enticing manner, he wanted to spit on her nonetheless. Worthless bitch, lying there with one arm flung up above her head. A mottled purple and blue bruise rose up on her left cheek. His sister. No, his half-sister. The bitch. It was her bitch mother who took his father from him. If it weren’t for Georgina Cavendish, Gabriella would never have been born. If she had never been born, William would never have had to share his father or his inheritance.
He fell far short in comparison to Gabby. She shared their father’s love of the sea and sailing, shared his love of excitement, of adventure. William shared none of it. Sailing was work, and he was no commoner about to dirty his hands with something as tiresome as sailing.
When Carmichael suggested they simply do away with her, he couldn’t agree quickly enough. For years, he and Carmichael had worked together, with Carmichael stealing cargoes from Markham ships, as well as others, to resell for higher profit. William would then collect the insurance on Markham’s lost cargoes and even on the ships, if they were wrecked. He often transacted this business in a delightful coffee house in Tower Street in Town, and in a short time, he’d tripled the Markham family fortunes. Though Richard Markham had made provisions for Gabby, he couldn’t leave Markham Enterprises to her at all. The most he could do was keep her taken care of financially.
That wasn’t enough for William. He wanted her gone. Permanently. He’d shared enough with her. Markham was his and his alone.
“And now what do we do?” he growled, pacing before the hearth, sidestepping Gabby’s body as wood shifted with a crackling pop. “Garrison has seen her, no doubt, and knows she is here. We know Anne has seen her. I cannot simply make her disappear now. How could you be so stupid?”
“How could I be so stupid?” Carmichael’s blue eyes were wide and round with disbelief. “I was the one who thought of marooning her in the first.”
“And that was a magnificent success, wasn’t it?”
“I’ll admit, I did not expect this turn of events.”
William sighed as he stomped over to the cluster of decanters, each half full, and refreshed his brandy. “There is little sense in my growing angry. We need decide what we are going to do.”
Carmichael nudged Gabby with the toe of his boot. “How hard did you hit her? I hope you didn’t bloomin’ kill her.”
William almost dropped the decanter. She had dropped like a stone, her legs simply crumpled beneath her, and her head hit the floor with a sharp thud. Perhaps he had killed her. He set down his glass and moved around to crouch down beside her with a crush of velvet.
Her pulse beat strong beneath his fingertips. “She lives, more’s the pity.”
“An accident, perhaps?” Carmichael suggested. “Even Garrison could swallow her fallin’ down the bleedin’ stairs.”
“I think we have no other choice. Take her to her chambers.”
“Me? You take her.”
William snorted as he rose. The brandy beckoned and he’d not ignore it. “No. You take her or I will see to it you hang for the attempted murder of my darling sister.”
Carmichael glared at him, but did as he was told, muttering beneath his breath as he came around and crouched to lift Gabby from the floor. He grunted at the weight that went with her statuesque build, weight that was deceptively more than it appeared. William chuckled. “Would be a shame if you should both have an accident, wouldn’t it?”
“Bugger off,” Carmichael grunted, shifting his burden as he staggered toward the door and lurched through the doorway.
With a gusty sigh, William dropped onto the sofa and leaned his head back. This was a most unfortunate twist of fate. Gabby was not supposed to walk through the doors of Hampton House. She was never supposed to walk amongst the living again.
“Bloody hell.” The oath slid out as a low growl. Carmichael had returned to England as cheerful as a schoolboy getting away with a prank. Gabby was gone, out of their lives forever, and the Markham fortunes would belong to William alone. Carmichael would have to go, of course, as he was the only one who posed any sort of threat.
But first things first. Gabby’s return changed things. Instead of Carmichael suffering a terrible fall while riding, William would somehow have to find a way for Gabby to have that accident instead. Then he would deal with Carmichael.
She was supposed to have died with their father, on the lake in the small row boat. But at the last moment, she’d changed her mind about fishing with Richard, and because of that divine intervention, she lived on to become the greatest thorn William’s side had ever known.
“Well, it won’t matter when everything is over and done and Markham is solely mine.” William swirled the brandy in his glass, then lifted it to his lips. “And then, life will be as close to perfect as it could ever possibly be.”
Her head ached.
No. Throbbed was by far a better description, as pain rose up in a terrible wave, crashed over her, and then ebbed to offer up a few minutes of relief.
Gabby swallowed a soft moan as she lifted her head from the soft feather tick. Sitting was difficult, as her stomach tossed violently with the slightest movement, but she managed and, when she gingerly prodded at the doughy flesh over her cheek bone, tears sprang to her eyes. “Ohhh…” she breathed as a hot tear slipped over her lower lashes to streak down her cheek.
There would have been two tears, no doubt, if only her right eye wasn’t swollen shut. William’s fist had caught her just below the eye socket, and while she was probably fortunate to still have her eye—at least, she thought she still had both eyes—that side of her face felt very much as though the bone had been pulverized. She swallowed and tasted blood. A quick inspection with her tongue and she felt the shredded inside of her right cheek, no doubt from being ground against her teeth. It was only dumb luck that he hadn’t broken any teeth as well. Bastard threw a devilish powerful punch.
“Bloody hell…” she breathed as her nose ran and her good eye overflowed with tears. Had he cracked her skull as well?
Her hand trembled, and that tremble worked its way through her entire body until she could no longer contain it. She wasn’t cold. If anything, the room was too warm.
No. It was worse than being cold.
She was terrified.
No one knew she was there. Gregory did, of course, but he didn’t expect her back in London for several days. By then, who knows what William and Carmichael would have done to her.
The chill rattling her bones worsened, no matter how tightly she hugged herself. Why hadn’t she accepted his offer to accompany her?
More importantly, why hadn’t she chosen to remain on St. Phillippe?
She
slid down off the bed, sucking in a sharp breath as the movement sent a fresh wave of pain coursing through her as she took a step toward the windows. Walking was a bit difficult, as the puffiness in her face played games with her mind, and having only one good eye distorted her perception a bit.
Her headache eased some as she reached the window and leaned her head against the cool glass. The tears still stung her eyes, but she struggled to hold them back. Crying solved nothing. It wouldn’t put her back on St. Phillippe. It wouldn’t bring Diego to her. The only purpose it would serve would be to start her head aching again, and her eye already hurt enough as it was. Why make the pain worse?
There was a bench beneath the window, one with a padded seat covered in fine pink velvet. She sank onto it, and reached up to rub her forehead with one hand. “I thought I was doing the right thing, what I should do. And not necessarily for me, but for him as well.”
She had little doubt Diego and Adeline rekindled their romance. Her belly kinked and bile rose in her throat. Another gentle prod against her puffy cheek, and the disturbing images of him and the lovely Adeline vanished from her mind. It took a few minutes more for her belly to calm and her head to clear. The fog clouding her brain was slow to recede, and she didn’t know how long she sat there, head against the rippled glass, until it faded entirely.
It was dark out, but other than that, she had no way of knowing what time it was. It could be the middle of the night, it could be nearly dawn. For all she knew, she was unconscious for a day or more.
She lifted her head to glance over her shoulder. Perhaps she wasn’t locked in. After all, it was no secret that physically, she was no match for William. At least, he probably didn’t think so. He couldn’t know that she’d stood up to men twice his size, and won. If only she had her sword or her pistol. Then perhaps the trembles would leave her body entirely. Both had been left in her cabin aboard the Galatea, and most likely discovered by Carmichael, who’d made a terrific show of patting her down to relieve her of pistol and dagger when she was first brought aboard the Nereus.
