Henri cursed her maid's sharp eyes and forced her mouth into some semblance of a smile. “Quite well, Annie, thank you,” she replied, sounding a little tart, and stalked away leaving both Annie and Mr Warren looking after her in surprise.
Chapter 2
“Wherein eavesdroppers hear nothing good, a mystery is discovered, and plots hatched.”
Henri walked home with what she could only imagine was the air of a brigand. Her eyes sought the shadows and she jumped at the skitter of dead leaves as the wind blew them to dance around her ankles. Annie eyed her curiously, but kept her council and said nothing, for which Henri was grateful. But try as she might she could not forget the sound of that low growl, the glitter of those eyes or the intense warmth of the first pair of lips she had ever encountered so closely.
With that thought came the idea that she may have allowed a dangerous man to go free. What if someone really did die? It would have been all her doing. She had, however, read the tales told by the adventurous pamphleteer, Mr Charles Batch. He had painted The Rogue in the form of Captain Savage, as a romantic hero for women to swoon over and men to condemn in public whilst secretly admiring. Though it appeared the militia had a rather different view of his character. He was known for his dashing good looks and a smooth tongue that could charm the birds from the trees and certainly had no difficulty in liberating merchant ships of cargo and ladies of jewels, money, and sometimes husbands too.
She had once heard - from Annie of course - that he had abducted the wife of a certain Lord Haversham. The lady was enroute to America and on capturing his pretty cargo, Captain Savage demanded a huge sum to release her. The monies were duly paid but the wife did not appear. In a fury the husband demanded why his wife had not been returned to him, at which point the charming rogue explained with deep apology that the lady refused to be rescued. He was reported to have said he might have to pay the husband to take her away again. Tales of his antics on the Barbary Coast had placed a sum on his head that would keep any man warm and fat for all the winters of his life. For all his charming reputation she wasn't fool enough to believe his life was that of a gentleman. He was a pirate at the end of the day and one who used force to steal from other. And yet she could not believe that the man she had just seen was in any way murderous. She scolded herself internally. How ridiculous, she knew nothing of him and could hardly form an opinion based on a few seconds in a darkened room and a kiss, which was hardly the behaviour of a gentleman. She still did not understand why she hadn't screamed and slapped him, which would have been the action of a lady. She could only conclude that she wasn't such a lady as she had once believed. Perhaps Annie's companionship had done more harm than she'd realised after all.
She was so deep in thought that she hardly noticed they were outside her own front door, and with horror she recognised the carriage that was drawn up outside and the coat of arms emblazoned on the door. It belonged to her fiancé.
“Quick!” she hissed to Annie, “round the back way.”
As one they ducked beneath the window and scurried round to the servant's entrance.
“What the devil is he doing here?” Henri cursed as they tiptoed indoors through the kitchen, ignoring the cook's tut of disapproval, and made their way to the library. This room was Henri's own personal oasis and, as it was situated next to her father's office, a place where they could attempt to eavesdrop without being seen.
Annie, as she was shorter, stouter and had sharper elbows, reached her position beside the keyhole before Henri, who was forced to fidget with impatience as Annie relayed the relevant information.
“He wants to hasten the nuptials, miss, so ye can be wed before 'e leaves for France,” Annie whispered, looking up at her with wide eyes. “Lawd, e's only gone an' bought a special licence!”
“What?” Henri imagined the heavy iron of a husband's hold on her person, close about her wrists and ankles. She would be shackled to the cold bastard on the other side of that door even sooner than she had thought. At thirty seven he was far older than her and darkly handsome, but his eyes had as much warmth as a winter sea and there was a cruel turn to his mouth that made her shudder. It was no secret that all he wanted was someone to supply an heir and a pretty ornament to wear on his arm on occasion. He had no real interest in her at all. His womanising and rakish ways would continue unabated and Henri's freedom, such as it was, would be gone forever. She had already been lectured by her father about the kind of wife this man would expect. Apparently roaming the countryside unescorted and returning looking like she'd been working down the mines was unacceptable.
The injustice and inequality of the situation made her blood simmer beneath her skin. She would be expected to behave, to embroider and give tea parties and speak politely to her husband’s guests no matter if she liked them or not. She would be a prisoner, his property do to with as he wished, simply because she was a woman and had no way to fight back. And all the time her worthy husband would continue to lavish grand sums on the likes of the scandalous Mrs Morris. His favourite mistress had just last week set the ton on their ears by driving his latest gift to her, a high-perch phaeton with four matching grey horses in violet and silver harness, through Hyde Park at the fashionable hour.
“When?” she asked, hearing the fear in her own voice.
Annie looked up at her and pity shined in her eyes. “Saturday.”
Henri swallowed, the cold chill of those imaginary shackles making her shiver. With a sudden wave of empathy she remembered the way the pirate had looked as he saw the redcoat closing in on him. He had sworn low and fierce but he hadn't panicked; he'd not despaired. Henri gritted her teeth. Well she might not be about to dance with Jack Ketch at the end of a rope, as she'd heard the servants say, but she was facing a lifetime imprisonment which looked pretty damn bleak to her. She wasn't caught yet, though. She wouldn't give into despair, and just maybe there was another way to pay her father's debt.
She jolted as she heard movement from the next room as the men exited and she held her breath until the sound of wheels on gravel could be heard drawing her fiancé away outside... for the moment.
Henri crossed the room and reached for a decanter of brandy that she kept to hand when her father came to chat with her. She poured herself a measure and downed it, before drawing in a shocked breath as a fire lit in her throat and belly. Instead of the recriminations and gasps of horror that most lady's maids would utter on seeing their mistress act in such a manner, Annie merely snatched the decanter from her and picked up another glass.
“Don't hog it, girl, I've 'ad a shock 'n all, ain't I?” Annie muttered as Henri huffed and sat down by the fire.
Taking a deep breath as the inferno in her belly dulled to a warm glow, Henri reached into her reticule and took out the folded piece of paper that her pirate had dropped in his hurry to escape. The seal had been broken and she opened it with care.
L,
Though it seems incredible the story was true, he lives. It appears, however, that the boy you wished to hear of did not escape after all, indeed he died that night and has been long put to rest. A body was washed up a couple of weeks later and was identified by a gold ring. It bore the family crest and so there was no doubt in the matter. In the circumstances I think you should meddle no further in the affair, as it is too dangerous, for you more than any. If the truth of the events of that night were to come to light, many would suffer for it. There is already a price on your head but you live yet, so be content.
I'll be at the Nag's, Wednesday as you wanted, but I implore you to stay clear. The militia is everywhere and you should trust none but your own men.
Your friend.
S
Henri bit her lip as her mind began to turn. Though the contents were cryptic to her, there might be others to whom this letter would give intelligence which her pirate might prefer to keep to himself. She wasn't so cruel as to turn him in, not after having gone to the trouble of saving him, but the fact was this could be in
formation that others might pay for, or that, if pressed, he might pay to keep hidden. The idea of blackmailing him - and there was little point in trying to pretend she was planning anything else - was appalling. Her stomach clenched in protest at the very idea of it, but being forced to spend the rest of her days married to that ... that fiend, was not an option either. She folded the letter with care and put it back out of sight before she realised she was being scrutinised.
“What you be plottin', my lady?”
Henri looked up and scowled in response to the shrewd expression on Annie's face.
“Nothing to concern yourself about,” she replied, trying to sound haughty to put Annie in her place, which was pointless as it had never worked before. As predicted Annie just put her hands on her ample hips and scowled.
“Don't ye be talkin' at me all la de da, like butter wouldn' melt. Them big brown eyes might fool yer father but I got more sense. You've got that look on ye face that means trouble, so ... what's brewin' in that mad brain of yourn?”
Henri huffed at her. Well there was no point in not asking. She needed to know. “Do you know where the “Nag's” is?” she asked, hoping she sounded nonchalant.
Annie's eyebrows hit her hairline and Henri sighed at the futility of trying to put anything at all past the wretched woman.
“The Nag's Head?” Annie shrieked with alarm. “Aye, I know it, but I ain't never set foot in the place, t'ain't safe for a respectable woman, it ain't,” she said, crossing her arms over her generous bosom with a disapproving sniff. A sly grin swiftly followed, which was far less surprising and much more in character. “It's full o' smugglers, miss. Oh, aye, the gentlemen are the only ones who drink there, though they 'ave the best brandy you ever tasted ...” She stopped mid sentence and pursed her lips. “Or so I'm told,” she added.
Henri rolled her eyes. “Where is it then?” she demanded, watching her perplexed servant with amusement.
“Ye take the old Chapel Road to the Market place, then the alley that leads to the quay, It be down there.”
Henri smiled.
“And why would ye be wantin' to go down there may I ask?” Annie demanded.
“That is none of your business,” Henri said hoping she sounded authoritative. Annie's eyebrows drew together but she didn't query her any further.
Henri spent the rest of the afternoon avoiding her father and making plans. By the time it had grown dark she had changed her mind about going down to the Nag's Head a dozen or more times. She knew it was dangerous, she knew it was foolish - and she determined to do it anyway. There was no point in sitting about wringing her hands and wishing the world was kinder. The world wasn't kind and never had been and if she wanted it changed it she'd damn well have to change it herself.
The house was dark and silent when she opened her bedroom door, and the full moon slanted curious patterns across the polished wood floor to the stairs. The bright silver light somehow seemed to amplify every tiny creak of the floorboards and made her anxious journey to the front door fraught with terror. She stopped for a moment on the stairs to compose herself. If she couldn't even make it to the front door without having a fit of the vapours she wasn't going to get very far at all.
Once outside she took a breath and pulled her cashmere shawl tightly around her shoulders. The evening was icy cold and the sky clear, a heavy frost dusting everything around her with glittering white. Her breath billowed around her face and she tiptoed down the gravel path, quite certain that her father and every servant would be alerted to her night-time activities as both gravel and frozen leaves crunched with incredible volume beneath her feet. She walked with quick determination, keeping to the shadows and ducking into dark corners if she heard anyone approaching.
Henri made it to the Market Square without incident but knew that here she faced the greatest dangers. The alley that Annie had instructed her to take was not in a salubrious part of town and in normal circumstances she wouldn't even have braved it in daylight. She knew well the only kind of women who would be walking there at night alone were not the kind she would wish to be mistaken for. But there was nothing else to be done. If she wished to avoid marriage to a man she despised, this was her only option.
She pulled the shawl up over her hair and covered her face, and with her head down hurried into the alley. She quietly thanked her good fortune that it was such a bitterly cold night. Everyone with any sense was tucked inside and by the time she stood beside the Nag's Head she could see that the place was packed, even though the windows were fogged up. She hesitated outside, peering in through the steamy glass. The stench of the alley seemed overpowering against the clear, crisp air of the night. The mingled scents of fish guts, urine and stale ale were already heavy on the air when a large man pushed his way out through the front door of the pub, bringing with him a thick waft of tobacco smoke. Henri clung to the shadows until the man had gone on his way before taking her courage in her hands and reaching for the doorknob.
Once inside, her senses were overcome once more. The perfume of too many people crammed into too tight a space, many of them long unwashed, was spiced with brandy and rum and a heavy pall of smoke. There was a shocked silence as she entered and she felt a prickle of fear run up and down her spine as the weight of their curious gazes fell upon her. Scanning the room with desperation she prayed she would see her pirate. Of course it was at this point and rather belatedly, that she realised just how foolish that was. He was unlikely to make himself easily seen and sit in full view of all, knowing that the militia was after him. Her cheeks burned as catcalls followed her path through the room, with invitations to put a smile on her face and give her a comfy lap to sit on, though the language used to encourage her might even have put Annie to the blush.
Ignoring them with a haughty expression, though she was well aware her cheeks were burning, she fought her way towards a filthy looking bar as the stench of the place became thoroughly overwhelming. Good Lord, had she just ruined herself for nothing more than a fool's errand? Her gaze fell upon a buxom woman who grinned at her, showing a row of uneven yellow teeth. The strumpet was sitting in some fellow's lap as he openly fondled her bare breasts. Gasping in shock and beginning to realise just how far out of her depth she really was, she began to consider turning around and running for her life, assuming she still could. She cursed her own mutton-headed stupidity and stifled a squeal as a hand reached out and pinched her behind with some enthusiasm. Without thinking she simply reacted and turned to slap the face that belonged to the hand. The deeply tanned and ruddy face seemed unmoved and in fact its owner simply roared with laughter. She noted with dismay that there was no mark of the blow against his cheek, even though her hand stung fiercely.
“Ere, Jay, thisun will warm ye up, I reckon,” the big man bellowed, pointing at her as a small rat-faced man beside him leered in response. Jay she presumed.
“Aye, Mousy, reckon she would n'all.”
Henri swallowed down the little bubble of terror that fluttered in her chest before she decided that she'd come this far and she wasn't about to give up. “I wish to see Captain Savage,” she said, putting up her chin and ignoring the looks of incredulity that both men were giving her. “I have something that he wants,” she added, and then regretted that part as the looks became ones of mutual understanding.
“Oh, aye, ” said the rat-faced man, smirking and looking her up and down. He wetted his lips in a manner that made Henri want to retch. “I'll just bet you 'ave,” he muttered with a leer.
Henri fought the blush that was burning up her neck and glared at the man. “Considering I saw the militia out on the Market Square I would think you might want to take me to him sooner rather than later,” she said with as much heat as she could muster. That of course was a lie, but lying seemed the least of her problems just at the minute. The two men frowned with uncertainty, and for a moment she thought they would throw her out or at least question her further. In the end she was alarmed when the big man grabbed her by th
e wrist and towed her after him. The crowded room parted easily before his bulk and she found herself following him up a narrow and rickety wooden staircase. They continued along a dark corridor until they stood below a hatch in the ceiling. The big man reached up and pounded three times on the opening.
“It's me,” he said, the words terse, turning back to look at her with a frown. “There's some woman 'ere to see the Capt'n, says she's got something for 'im.”
Henri huffed as the unmistakable sound of men guffawing was heard through the ceiling. And then the hatch was drawn back.
Chapter 3
“Wherein wolves howl, mice growl, and our heroine tries not to bleat.”
A pair of highly polished black boots became visible, then long, long legs, followed by a fine pair of muscular thighs in perfectly fitting breeches. The view continued in a pleasing manner as more of the hard, exquisitely sculpted male body appeared through the hatch. Henri averted her eyes before she could be caught staring but could only echo Annie's earlier sentiments on the matter. Pretty indeed. She looked up as the man jumped down to the floor with the stealth of one who was well used to creeping about in the shadows, and he was quite adept at it despite his size. Her wide eyes once more met a familiar pair of bright blues, though this time it was the pirate who looked startled.
“What the devil are you doing here?” he asked, sounding astonished and none too pleased about the matter.
The black mask was gone, but the expression he wore was just as forbidding. For a moment Henri quailed as she realised just how precarious her position now was, but in for a penny …
“I have something that belongs to you,” she said, as her heart beat so hard it threatened to escape her rib cage. She swallowed and hoped her fear didn't show in her face.
To her surprise his expression softened, and he took a step towards her and held out his hand. “The letter?” he said, his voice quiet. “There was no need to bring it to me, you have risked much.”
The Rogue Page 2
