"And I am grateful for your sacrifice," Ransom said dryly. He gestured to a chair which Rene made a great show of taking. Then drew out the best bottle of brandy.
A few minutes later, Rene was leaning back in his chair, his booted feet crossed neatly on the captain's table. He looked entirely at ease, holding a glass in one hand and a cigar in the other.
"Well?" Ransom said, lifting a brow.
Rene smiled slyly. "Mon ami, this task nearly cost me an ear - my left one, which I am quite fond of, by the way - and I had to cut short my visit with the lovely Mademoiselle Armand to go haring off to London. These developments were not anticipated."
"How much?" Ransom asked.
"I am insulted you think of me as mercenary," Rene answered. "However, there was a small matter of a gambling debt, the luck running low, as you might say. And Mademoiselle Armand has expensive tastes." He smiled. "Fifty for my trouble."
"It's yours."
"Excellent," Rene said, with a tilt of his head. "Your quarry was born seventeen years ago to Charles Amberly and the former Belinda Naughton. An artist, Amberly succumbed to pneumonia, leaving his wife and infant daughter penniless. The young widow married the baron of Wellshire and died herself not long after."
Rene took a long puff on the cigar. "Wellshire was a negligent father, by all accounts, leaving the girl to grow up with little or no supervision, careening all over the countryside on horseback and befriending the servants. She was liked well enough, but the absent lord was not very popular. So few mourned when he was killed by a poacher's bullet last summer."
Rene paused, as though to gauge the attention of his audience. But when Ransom kept his expression impassive, the Frenchman continued. "The title passed to a cousin, Edward, who hasn't been seen at the estate for some time. Neither has the girl, so I assumed he took her with him - until I was caught nosing around by an old tar who threatened to separate me from my ear."
When Ransom raised a brow skeptically, Rene shrugged. "Even I am not invincible, my friend. But it was a most fortunate encounter. The salt, Budd Simms by name, expressed an interest in my inquiries. He used to work at the estate and is quite protective of your little Catherine, so it took some fast talking to save my lobe."
Rene paused again, as if to be sure he had Ransom's full attention. "According to him, she fled very suddenly, soon after the new lord's arrival."
"And?" Ransom asked. When Rene did not answer at once, but took the time to blow several smoke rings, Ransom felt a surge of impatience.
"And," Rene finally said. "She is now living with her aunt, a lady of unimpeachable character. So the girl is exactly who she claims to be, while you, my friend have been at sea too long. You are seeing shark fins where there are only porpoises."
Ransom frowned. "That proves nothing. She might have come into contact with Devlin at some point," he said, although he had to admit the chances were slim.
Rene shook his head. "You are a sad case, my friend. Although you seem determined to believe otherwise, I can assure you that the girl is not in Devlin's employ."
Ransom's relief was almost physical, as though he had been struggling under a great weight that was suddenly lifted, and he rose to his feet, walking over to the windows to avoid his friend's penetrating gaze.
Here was news he had not expected, had not dared hope for, and yet... He sensed there was far more to the story. He swung round to face Rene. "You're keeping something back."
"Moi? I am tell you what you wanted to know," Rene said. "Ask me anything you like about this girl of yours, and I will answer you truthfully."
Ransom eyed the Frenchman suspiciously. "Why does she seem so familiar to me?" he asked. The question, half serious, half rhetorical, seemed to please Rene.
"Perhaps you have met her before," the Frenchman said.
"When?"
Rene grinned wickedly. "The last time you were in England, I suspect you passed right by her lands - and perhaps through the hamlet of Coxley with a young lady riding before you? Because the last time she was seen was with someone who looked very much like you, a handsome, dashing stranger."
Rene's gaze flicked over Ransom with a jaundiced eye. "Obviously, the villagers are not very discerning. Perhaps, neither is our Catherine? She told the innkeeper she had trouble with her horse, but since she is an excellent horsewoman, some thought she'd disgraced herself with this fellow and that is why she was not seen again."
Rene laughed. "Shame upon you, my friend, for ruining an innocent young thing. And then not to recognize her? You are quite the rake," he said, tipping an imaginary hat.
"I have ruined no one," Ransom said as he dug deep into his memory. He had rescued a beautiful girl in passing, but she had been little more than a child. Surely, she couldn't have been Catherine, with a salty tongue and wit beyond her years.
Ransom frowned, inclined to think it all speculation that Rene had concocted for his own amusement. And, even if the tale were true, that chance encounter would hardly explain his odd feeling that he knew Catherine, really knew her... Ransom glanced sharply at Rene and thought he saw a ghost of a laugh before the Frenchman's expression turned serious.
"There is something else," Rene said, rising to his feet and reaching for the bottle.
After refilling the glasses, he leaned his elbows on the table. "When I convinced the old salt that I was not after the girl's maidenhead or aught else, he confided in me. He thinks the father's death was no accident and names the new baron as the man behind it, especially since no one admits to the girl's disappearance. He has no proof, of course, and who would listen, if he did? He was not for stirring up the waters, thinking the girl was safe in the balmy isles."
"I take it that situation has altered?" Ransom asked, with a sharp sense of dread.
"Oui. I decided to make a trip to London to do some more digging, and I discovered that Wellshire is fast squandering his inheritance through a variety of vices. Apparently, someone brought him news that the girl is living in the islands, and now he is not content to leave well enough alone. He wants her dead. Considering his condition, I would not be concerned about his ability to make that happen, but he has turned the task over to someone else."
Ransom tensed.
"Oui, my friend, you should be concerned," Rene said, seeing his reaction. "Wellshire did not buy the services of some cheap goal bird, but has made a deal with Devlin himself."
"Devlin? Why would Devlin be involved?" Ransom asked. But even as he spoke, he realized that Devlin already was involved, sending Blakely to Barbados to tell his lies...
Rene shrugged. "I cannot say, but perhaps he hopes to hurt you."
Ransom glanced sharply at his friend, not bothering to deny the possibility. "I'll kill him."
"I thought as much," Rene said.
"The bastard has eluded me for too long."
"He was in London when I left, though how long he remained there is anyone's guess. And exactly where in the city he has his den, even I could not find out."
Ransom swore under his breath. "No wonder I lost all trace of him here. But if he is in London, just how does he propose to stretch his tentacles this far?"
"He has many who are willing to do his bidding, for favors or coin," Rene said. He took a long drink and eyed Ransom. "If you had some dirty work that needed to be done in these seas, who would you take it to?"
"Ben Pike," Ransom answered, with a grimace.
"That is my guess, also."
Ransom felt a sudden chill. "I thought he was practicing his own brand of bloody harassment along the American coast."
"So he was, but he has been sighted heading south."
Ransom's brow inched upward as his gaze met Rene's. "He's moving fast."
"He enjoys this kind of work."
"This is one mission he will not complete."
Rene nodded. "See that you take care of him - and Devlin, too," he said, raising his glass in a silent toast. "For I've a longing to meet his lady of yours."
Chapter Sixteen
Cat twirled an orchid between her fingers, her thoughts far from the garden where she sat among the lengthening shadows.
"You cut the oldest Grayson boy quite rudely last night," Amelia said as she knelt a few feet away, clipping the choicest blossoms. "And after he showed you such partiality."
Cat shrugged. "He is too stodgy for my taste."
"Oh, I see," Amelia said, wryly. "A man has to accost you in your nightclothes to gain your attention."
Cat's chin jerked up. "No, that is not the way of it at all," she said, annoyed. Although Ransom had departed, her aunt referred to him constantly, and Cat was growing weary of it. "If you must know, Charles Grayson has never appealed to me, and, besides, he disapproves of your gardening."
Amelia laughed, sinking back on her heels. "So does half the island."
"That's exactly what he claimed," Cat said, frowning. "Why, he even said that Lord Claremont does not approve."
"He doesn't," Amelia said, pulling off her gloves and rising to her feet. "The old goat would be happy if I gave up my work entirely."
Cat glanced at her aunt in surprise. "But I thought you two were such good friends."
Amelia sat down beside Cat and looked out over the gardens she tended so lovingly. "No. I would say we are friendly adversaries."
She chuckled, then paused as if choosing her words. "We are two old people drawn together by common backgrounds and interests. We enjoy each other's company, but that does not mean we agree on everything or even that we agree on the important things."
Amelia sighed. "Ah, but with my husband Horace it was something else entirely, and that is as it should be."
She turned to take Cat's hands in her own. "You are too young to settle for less than that. Just imagine spending a lifetime with a man who disapproves of you!" Amelia shuddered. "You must be true to yourself and follow your heart."
While Cat appreciated her aunt's sincerity, the advice was difficult to heed. She could hardly be herself among the landed gentry when part of her was a hoyden who liked to fish and sail and swim.
And she could not follow her heart, that ignominious organ, for it persisted in yearning for the man she had once called captain. Having no desire to admit to such traitorous feelings, Cat shook her head and stood.
"Well, enough of such talk," Amelia said, a sad smile lingering on her face, as she, too, got to her feet. "Let us go in, dear. The sun is nearly down."
"I'll be in after a moment," Cat said, wanting a few minutes to regain her composure. "I think I'll watch the sunset."
With a nod, Amelia turned to go, leaving Cat alone in the gathering twilight.
After watching her aunt enter the cottage, Cat wandered to the edge of the terrace, then climbed down to an outcrop below, where she rested her elbows on her knees and cupped her chin in her hands. A fantastic display of reds and yellows melted into the ocean in a breathtaking array, but she stared unseeing into its glory as she mulled over her aunt's words.
Were two people ever happy together? Her mother and stepfather had not been well suited, and most of the couples on Barbados seemed to maintain a kind of distant tolerance. Was the type of relationship that Amelia recalled a possibility, or were her aunt's memories sweetened by time?
Cat's own wretched experience with love seemed to prove that it did not lead to happiness. And as though to emphasize the point, she was struck by a sudden, piercing longing for Ransom.
Cat shook her head, as if to dismiss him from her thoughts, but she could not stop herself from wondering where he was now. Was he standing on the deck, the wind tossing his dark hair, or bent over his ledgers, the evening light gilding his handsome face?
With a frown, Cat recalled his onerous behavior, and yet she could not as easily alter her feelings for him. If only he had trusted her...
Cat frowned. There was no point in dwelling upon what had happened. Instead, she needed to forget him and go on with her life. But it seemed that whenever she tried, Amelia or someone else brought him squarely back to mind.
When she heard a nearly imperceptible rustle in the bushes behind her, Cat felt an absurd surge of hope that he would appear, magnificent and contrite, to sweep her up in his arms. But the sound was followed by silence, and Cat promptly reproved herself.
She could not go through life listening for Ransom's footsteps and expecting him to return. Standing up, she dusted off her skirts and vowed never to wish him near again.
It was the last thought she had before all went dark.
***
The sun was a faint glow on the horizon as the Reckless approached Barbados. It reminded Ransom of the morning he had caught Catherine swimming nearly naked, and he let himself savor the image before putting it aside. Since Rene's visit, he had been assailed with such memories, each one more potent than the last.
It was as if a dam had opened, loosing feelings he had never known existed. The absurd longing for Catherine that he had been fighting since meeting her doubled in intensity since Rene had cleared her name. Now he wanted nothing more than to see her again - and to ensure her safety.
More than likely, he would find Catherine blissfully asleep in her bed and outraged at any disturbance, he thought, his lips curving into a smile as the ship entered the bay. He shrugged off the notion that she might not be happy to see him, considering their last encounter. Whatever had gone before was past, and soon he would hold her in his arms again...
Ransom reached the Molesworth cottage as dawn was breaking, certain that his headlong rush to Catherine's side was premature. But the sight of Lord Claremont's carriage in the drive at this hour made him leery.
His throat constricting, Ransom cleared it before stepping to the door. He was admitted immediately to the parlor, where a disheveled Mrs. Molesworth was in hot debate with his lordship.
The older man swung round. "Say, what do you know about this business?" he asked sharply.
But Catherine's aunt looked relieved at the sight of him. "Thank heavens," she muttered, a dainty hand raised to her mouth.
"Now, see here-" Lord Claremont began, but Ransom cut him off.
Turning to Mrs. Molesworth, he said, "Where is Catherine?"
"She's gone, your grace," the woman whispered.
"When?"
"Last night. She didn't come in for supper." She raised a hand to his sleeve. "You knew?"
"I had an idea," Ransom said.
"Here, now. What is this about?" Lord Claremont asked.
"Is there a plantation on the other side of the island owned by a Montgomery?" Ransom asked, as he remembered the last time one of Devlin's people had made land here.
"Yes. Near Holeton."
"What the deuce has Montgomery to do with anything?" Lord Claremont asked, with a snort. "Why, the man's older than I am! I tell you, the girl's probably eloped with that Grayson boy. What's his name? Charles! I say head over to the Grayson place, and you'll probably pick up their trail."
Ransom had been ignoring Lord Claremont, but this last speech brought him up short. "What?" He whirled toward Catherine's aunt. "Is that possible?"
"No," she answered, scornfully. Straightening her shoulders, she gave Lord Claremont a look that made him mumble something unintelligible.
Ransom eyed her closely, but saw no prevarication there and concentrated on his next move: finding the fastest route to the Montgomery plantation.
***
Cat drifted in the nether world between dream and reality, sometimes hearing the babbling of voices, sometimes sunk in silence. There was the jolt of riding in some sort of conveyance, and finally, the familiar roll of the ocean. The stench below the decks, acting as a poor man's hartshorn, finally roused her, and a man's visage swam before her eyes.
I must be dreaming, she thought.
"Miss Amberly, how nice to see you again," the man said, and she focused on pale blue eyes peering at her from a narrow face. Somehow, it was familiar, but Cat was too groggy to remember why.
As if reading her thoughts, the man spoke again. "It is Richard Blakely," he said. "We met at the ball at Lord Claremont's, held in honor of Worcester."
Cat blinked in surprise as the memory of that night returned in a rush. The man before her was one of Devlin's people, and he had lied to Ransom about her, although she had no idea why.
Puzzled and angry, Cat struggled to speak, but her mouth was full of cloth and her movements were halted by rope that bound her wrists and ankles. Alarm raced through her, yet she quelled it sharply, taking several deep breaths as she forced herself to be calm.
"Very good. I was hoping you would not faint dead away," Blakely said. "Of course, I gathered you must be unusual, since you are the only woman ever to catch Duprey's interest. I must admit that I was not very impressed at our last meeting, but now I see that you do have a certain spirit, don't you?"
Since Cat could not respond, her companion continued in the same mild tone, which was jarring, considering the circumstances. "Pardon the accommodations," he said, looking about in distaste. "But Ben Pike is not known for keeping a clean ship."
Ben Pike? Cat felt a new frisson of panic. Was she aboard the pirate ship The Prize? She glanced around cautiously.
She was lying on a large, unkempt bed with expensive, but grimy hangings. And through the meager light she could discern crates, chests, and furniture in disarray, all so filthy that she cringed. Bottles and plates on a nearby table, the moldy remains of food still visible, gave testament to a recent feast.
No wonder the cabin smelled sour, Cat thought, shuddering at the thought of the rats that would be drawn here. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to focus upon her captor, who was speaking again.
"I have never had a desire to travel with Mr. Pike for obvious reasons, but one must often face adverse conditions in the completion of one's duty," Blakely said. "You really should have taken me up on my offer at Lord Claremont's house, and then we might have avoided this unpleasantness."
He shrugged. "Now, I'm afraid your cousin has become involved, so it's too late."
At the mention of Edward, Cat eyes widened.
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