by Howe, Cheryl
The duke lost his nauseating grin and his face again was veiled with ice. Even his dark eyes were devoid of emotion or life. “Is it true you were the pirate’s mistress?”
She dropped her facade and glared at him. Even if she could remain humble, it wouldn’t save Drew. Jarrod Andrews would not help her no matter how many Your Graces she spat at him. Nor would he care if a bastard brother were hanged—but he just might give a damn if the whole world knew he had pirates in his family, on the right side of the blanket or not.
Admiral Meldrick jumped to her defense before she could think of a reply caustic enough for the duke’s question. “Your Grace, I’m sure Miss Kendall did not voluntarily lie with a brute like El Diablo. The poor lady had no choice, and no one here could blame her for it.” Meldrick turned toward her. “Tell us where we can find the swine so we may repay him for the brutality imposed on your delicate person.”
Philip Linley slammed his hand on a low table, rattling the teapot. “Good God, Meldrick, she’s as guilty as her father. Drew Crawford could seduce cream from a cat. I doubt he had any trouble with Ben’s spinster daughter.”
Felicity swung her barely controlled fury in Linley’s direction. “Should we add the wife of a prominent plantation owner to the list?”
Linley shot to his feet, his face as red as the crimson material covering the seat of his chair. “You little slut!”
The duke quieted Linley simply by raising his hand. “Do calm down. I see living in these unbearable conditions has turned the residents of Barbados as wild as its shrubbery.” Linley sat down with his head lowered. The duke stopped Meldrick from again taking control of the conversation with another showing of his noble palm. He pointed to a chair, leaving Meldrick, a mere admiral, with no choice but to obey.
“I don’t care if Miss Kendall claims Andrew Crawford tied her down and raped her while holding a cutlass to her throat.” The duke directed his chilling stare at her. “My patience has run thin. Tell me where I can find El Diablo.”
“Finding Andrew Crawford will not solve your problems.” Revealing she had no intention of handing them Drew’s head on a platter would not serve her cause. The promise of information was what held their attention.
“Need I remind you, in addition to the impending threat of hanging, the scoundrel has caused irreparable damage to your reputation whether he touched you or not? No man of honor would put a lady he cherished in that position,” said Meldrick. His patronizing tone was becoming strained.
She wanted to laugh. These men held up her virtue for public speculation and she didn’t care. Drew had cherished her, but she’d thrown it in his face. Years of being a slave to her private shame had left her too insecure to recognize his love. She wouldn’t be a pariah for losing her virginity before marriage; she’d be hanged for not saying she was raped. “You’re wrong, Admiral Meldrick,” she said. “Andrew Crawford is an honorable man. I was no innocent, and I took him to my bed willingly.”
“Good God! The man really is Satan incarnate,” exploded Philip Linley.
If Admiral Meldrick had his riding crop, she guessed he’d have rapped it on anything nearby. Instead, he screeched over Linley’s ravings: “You were not brought here to make a desperate plea for your lover. We are giving you a chance to save your neck!”
The duke appeared unmoved. She disregarded the other men. They’d already convicted Drew.
She addressed the duke. “Drew didn’t commit the crimes of which he is accused.”
The duke didn’t blink, nor did he move a muscle. “Eliminating piracy in the Caribbean is not my concern. Finding the man putting a smudge on my family name is.”
Felicity smiled sweetly at the duke, but she had no doubt triumph sparkled in her eyes. He knew Drew carried his blood. She’d stake her life on it.
“No doubt you would be appalled by the idea of the Andrew’s name being publicly linked with piracy, as would the rest of your esteemed family. I see your father has passed away. Do you have any siblings, perhaps a brother?”
Admiral Meldrick beat his fist on his thigh. “Miss Kendall, the Duke of Foxmoor’s lineage has no bearing—”
Jarrod Andrews, Duke of Foxmoor, showed his teeth. She guessed it was his attempt at a placating smile. “I believe we are making Miss Kendall nervous. Perhaps more progress would be made if I spoke with her in private, as she first suggested.”
A word from the duke proved as good as King George’s himself, at least on Barbados. Philip Linley and Admiral Meldrick promptly removed themselves without a grumble.
Felicity stood before the seated demigod, feeling like the fly before the spider. She reminded herself of her earlier victory and sat down in a chair vacated by one of the men, not waiting for an invitation. The duke stood.
After raking her with his gaze, he sneered and showed her his back as he paced the room. He matched Drew’s height, but Jarrod Andrews appeared slight, where Drew looked lean and sinewy. He strode toward her, then stopped with his hands behind him, his feet braced apart. The gesture created as forbidding a figure as Drew in his pirate guise.
He tried to bore a hole through her with his stare, but she retaliated by mirroring his steady glare.
“Well, here we are. Alone at last. Tell me, my little colonial, what do you think you know?” The dark brown of the duke’s eyes absorbed the light, making them appear black. Though of an entirely different hue, Drew’s eyes also turned dark when he became angry or passionate. She suspected the duke possessed a full mouth much like his brother’s, but his constant sneer and the ridiculous color he painted his lips made it impossible to tell for sure. Their relationship would be obvious once it was brought to light.
She tilted her head in an exaggerated show of studying him. “You know, Your Grace, your resemblance to your brother is striking.”
He gave no outward sign that her jab pierced him. In fact, he remained rigid. “You speak gibberish, Miss Kendall. You’re wasting my time.”
She arranged her skirts, refusing to appear flustered. After a moment, she glanced up at him and smiled brightly. “Congratulations. You have a brother. Stir any memories?”
“No.”
“I’m sure it’s easy enough to check. Drew’s mother was a servant at your father’s country estate. She lived in the village near your home. And there is the resemblance. You both must look like your father.”
The duke returned to his makeshift throne. He leaned back and, to Felicity’s frustration, appeared completely relaxed. “I grew up in London. A lovely tale, though. I might even find it amusing if it were not at my deceased father’s expense.”
His dark eyes remained intense, directing a piercing stare at Felicity. She struggled not to fidget. “I know the truth. A truth you obviously don’t want revealed. Take back your reward, release my father and your relationship to El Diablo will stay our little secret.” She thought she saw his jaw twitch and held her breath.
He brought a lace handkerchief from his sleeve and dabbed at his nose. “This will stay our secret, I can assure you of that.”
The promise in his calm tone couldn’t have been more threatening if he’d had armed troops flanking him ready to carry out whatever mischief he had in mind. The duke didn’t need a visible show of force. He was a force all on his own. For the first time, Felicity realized just how powerless she was in this situation.
Drew’s life had been much harder. He’d been condemned for even being born. What chance did he ever have against the absolute authority of men like the duke? She studied the man in question, looking for the bluff behind his threat or any signs that his powdered arrogance hid a trace of compassion. Every muscle in the duke’s face had tightened. He looked ready to strangle her. She should say nothing. Confrontation would only bring the duke’s vengeance down upon Drew that much harder. As much as she wished she could, she found it impossible to hold her tongue. How could the man be so cruel?
“Perhaps you can get away with killing your brother, but my father is well lik
ed. And if I follow in his wake, someone on the island is going to speak up. There is only so much destruction you can wreak without calling attention to yourself, Your Grace.” She didn’t have to add the sarcasm in addressing him as his title warranted, but she couldn’t help herself.
“I don’t know if you have the more vivid imagination or your pirate. You’ll tell no one of this nonsense because no one will believe you.” His tone gave no indication that her words disturbed him, but he shifted slightly.
“There is the resemblance—and your last name is Andrews, his first name is Andrew. I’m sure it will be enough to stir curiosity once I bring it to people’s attention. Perhaps I already have. I’m sure you’ve noticed how easily rumors spread on Barbados.”
He tilted his head as if to study her. “How is it you came to be scooped up by Admiral Meldrick again, Miss Kendall? Did El Diablo spit you out like so much gristle?” He let his gaze drift over her. “Yes, I can see that. And yet you still feel compelled to defend him. Plain women are so loyal.”
She blinked, momentarily losing her train of thought. As hard as it must have been for Drew surviving on his own, he was fortunate not to have been taken to the bosom of this family of vipers.
The duke cleared his throat in the face of her momentary discomfort, but she swore she saw him smile behind the hand he used to politely cover his mouth. “Whether or not Drew Crawford is related to me won’t change the fact he is a pirate and will be hanged for his crimes. I had nothing to do with that. And as for you, Miss Kendall, things would go so much more easily for both you and your father if you’d put your considerable energies into bringing the fiend who kidnapped you to justice rather than making up tales no one wants to hear.”
The Duke of Foxmoor was giving her a clear choice. If her father had not been thrown in jail without real proof of any crimes, she might not believe the duke could wave a hand and have all the charges dropped. Judging by the events that had transpired since the duke’s arrival, he could proclaim himself King of Barbados without opposition.
“Shall I assume by this blessed moment of silence that we understand each other?”
An image of Drew and her father swinging from a scaffold chilled her, but not enough to cool her fury. As long as she drew breath, she’d not let Drew’s family continue to persecute him. “You’ll have to catch him first.”
“That’s why we have you, my dear. To make sure I don’t miss a visit from a long-lost relative. You’ll be my guest until your execution, of course. But not to worry; if your lover doesn’t come to your rescue in time, I’ll make sure you see him in hell.”
***
Being Jarrod Andrews’s guest at the Linley plantation involved three days in a locked room no bigger than Felicity’s cabin on board the Queen Elizabeth. The windowless closet, tucked beneath an eave of the roof, held only a bare cot and a chamber pot. During the heat of the day, she could do little more than be still for fear of swooning. A servant girl brought her stale bread, bland soup and water with a touch of rum once a day.
She assumed the rations were the same given to the slaves, and she suspected the girl gave her the food out of the kindness of her heart rather than on instructions from her master. Despite her miserable accommodations, Felicity didn’t feel mistreated as much as forgotten. Her father’s conditions were much worse. Even the mean comfort of her cot fed her guilt.
When the message to meet the Duke of Foxmoor in front of the house arrived, she was too excited to leave her room to be concerned. Escaping appeared an impossibility behind the locked door. Despite telling herself otherwise, hope that Drew would rescue them still fluttered to life at the slightest opportunity.
Sweet fresh air engulfed her as she was ushered through the servants’ door in the back of the house. With a burst of energy, she rushed around to the front yard. She halted on the edge of the wide gravel drive. A carriage of gilt and polished mahogany winked in the noonday sun. Jarrod Andrews, the Duke of Foxmoor, stood by the conveyance, challenging the coach’s splendor with his own. He glanced at her and frowned.
She cautiously approached him. Whatever he had in mind, it wasn’t for her benefit. She had to keep up her guard if she wanted to out-fox him.
He put a lace handkerchief over his nose and directed her into the coach. She tried to match his haughty demeanor despite the fact that her appearance warranted his action. To her surprise, he offered her his hand to assist her into the carriage. She took it and daintily lifted her skirts, as if she wore a gown of pink satin rather than filthy brown rags. Her skin crawled at the contact with his warm gloved palm. She forced herself not to wipe her hand against the plush velvet upholstery.
During the coach ride toward Bridgetown, she guessed, they continued their mutual silence. For once, her healthy curiosity abdicated to common sense. Even if she asked where he planned to take her, she feared he’d only tell her a frighteningly twisted version of the truth. She couldn’t afford to lose her wits. Each day of her confinement had been a test of will. She knew the duke hoped time would break her spirit and force her to condemn Drew.
The Duke of Foxmoor gave no outward sign that he still expected her cooperation. He alternated between ignoring her and studying her with humorous speculation. When they stopped in front of the prison, she assumed he’d grown tired of waiting for Drew’s attempted rescue and planned to put her in a cell next to her father. She had no opposition to the arrangement. If she were closer to her father, it would be easier for Drew to rescue them both.
After the duke made his exit with the help of his footman, Felicity stepped down from the coach. Her father stood in the street outside the prison. He blinked and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light, but otherwise he appeared unharmed. When she ran to his side, the guards by the prison doors showed no interest in stopping her. She hugged him, forcing herself not to grimace at the ripe scent he’d gained during his incarceration.
“Are you ill?” She stood away from him and looked him over, trying to discern the cause of his release.
He breathed deeply and rubbed his deflated belly. “I’m fine. I never noticed how sweet the Barbados breeze is before.”
She turned to find the duke tilting his head in mock admiration of their reunion. “Touching. It warms my heart to be the instrument that unites a father with his child.”
Foxmoor’s obviously happy mood ruined her pleasure at seeing her father released. Something was very wrong. “I don’t understand.”
The duke shrugged. “You’re free to go. You both claimed your innocence and I have decided to believe you. There’s no further reason to hold either one of you.”
A chill settled around Felicity’s heart. “If you kill us, El Diablo will hunt you down…”
He laughed. “You seem to think highly of your value as a bedmate. Maybe you’re right. At least your champion is willing to trade his life for yours, but he won’t be hunting anyone down ever again.”
Before she could ask him to explain, a regiment of boots hitting cobblestones forced her attention in the direction of the docks. A group of soldiers marched toward them. Red coats flanked a prisoner who stumbled to keep up with the soldiers’ lively gait. As they neared, Felicity recognized Drew. Chains on his hands and feet awkwardly shortened his stride.
She would have run to him if her father had not stopped her.
The duke laughed again. “Let her go, old man. I can’t wait to see Miss Kendall grovel for her lover’s release. It will be so romantic.”
Her father whispered near her ear. “Keep your temper under control. Don’t make it worse for Drew.”
She nodded. Her father released his grip on her arm slowly, as if he expected her to change her mind at any minute and bolt for Drew. She stood straight, swallowing the lump in her throat.
Despite his chains, Drew looked every bit the dangerous pirate. His hair was loose and windblown—the set of his jaw defiant. He stared straight ahead. She didn’t avert her gaze from him on the chance he might look her way.
She had to find a way to tell him how sorry she was, even if it was only in a pleading glance.
Admiral Meldrick himself, mounted atop a white stallion as crisp as his uniform, led the brigade of soldiers needed to escort one prisoner. “Here he is, Your Grace. Walked right up on the beach like his note promised.”
Drew’s rebellious glance swung to the duke. Felicity wondered if he found it any easier to take once he realized that his father wasn’t the one who betrayed him. His fierce expression gave nothing away, but Felicity swore she saw something in the depths of his eyes flare with recognition as he gazed upon his brother—and worse, understanding.
The duke looked Drew over with obvious disdain. “Doesn’t seem very repentant, does he?”
Drew was the same height as his brother, but Drew appeared to loom over the thinner man. Chains rattled as Drew strained against them to lean toward his accuser. The duke stepped back, then straightened, as if he’d caught himself in the telling act. “Do you have your prisoner under control, Meldrick?”
Meldrick dismounted, then pushed aside the soldier standing next to Drew. Felicity had not noticed the shackle around Drew’s neck until Meldrick yanked the chain connected to it. Drew jerked forward but didn’t drop his gaze. Meldrick yanked again. “Lower your eyes before your betters, swine, or I’ll have you whipped.”
Felicity closed her eyes. She wanted to intervene but feared anything she said would encourage the duke to carry out Meldrick’s threat. The sound of Drew’s deep voice made her swiftly open her eyes.
“Do what you want. You’re going to kill me anyway.”
“No!” she called out before she could stop herself. Drew didn’t acknowledge her outburst, but he tensed visibly.
The duke appeared to notice Drew’s reaction, because he stepped forward and smiled. “Looks as if your whore doesn’t want to have you tortured before your execution, so why don’t you behave?”
Drew relaxed against his bonds but still stared indignantly at the duke. “She means nothing to me.”
