The Ransom: Legacy of the King's Pirates

by Marylu Tyndall

  Handing her hat and cloak to Abbot, she glanced up the dark stairway, hearing her bed calling to her. But she had a business to run, and it would be dawn in a few hours. She must rethink the benefits of this feigned betrothal with Munthrope. Surely, it wasn’t worth sleepless nights. Even though—dare she hope—the pretense seemed to be working. Nichols had not made an appearance last night, nor had he sent his card requesting an audience with her in quite some time. Mayhap he’d finally given up his pursuit. Oh, Lord, let it be so.

  She also hadn’t seen Munthrope after he’d hurried from the dining hall holding his bloody arm. How could the man have injured himself so badly in his own home? He hardly seemed the type to invoke violence in others, nor was he clumsy. Oh, fie. What did it matter?

  Before Abbot could shut the door, Mr. Kinder stormed into the foyer, his face flush with both alcohol and exertion. And with something else—

  Rage.

  “My pearls are gone!” he shouted. “Gone, I tell you!”

  Realizing he was besotted from the long soiree, Juliana tried to placate him with a gentle smile. “If you please, Mr. Kinder, take a deep breath and calm yourself. What do you mean gone?”

  “Stolen! Right off your ship!” He wagged a finger in her face. “Dutton Shipping guarantees the safety of their cargo at sea or at dock. And your father will pay, do you take me? He will pay!”

  Dread soured in Juliana’s throat as she tried to make sense of his words. Her father had always kept sentries aboard their ships in port. She had done the same. “There must be some mistake, Mr. Kinder. We keep our ships well-guarded.” Why had she not taken care of the problem with the customs agent last night?

  Mr. Abbot cleared his throat. “Yes, indeed, miss. There were several men stationed aboard.”

  Lantern light flickered over the veins bulging on Mr. Kinder’s neck. “A hundred sentries would not have mattered. Not with pirates.”

  “Pirates?” The dread sank into Juliana’s stomach.

  “Aye, a nasty lot of them, word is.”

  “How did you hear of it?” Oh, Lord, please let this be a mistake.

  “Hear of it?” Spit flew from his mouth. “Why, the news spread like the plague at Munthrope’s! As soon as I was told, I left and verified it was true.” He attempted to calm himself. “I have lost a valued customer. Lord and Lady Salem will never purchase from me again.” He growled and shifted his searing gaze between her and Abbot. “Why am I even speaking to you?” He handed his hat to Abbot. “Where is your father, Miss Dutton?”

  He started up the stairs, but the butler leapt in front of him. “I beg your pardon, sir, but Mr. Dutton has retired for the evening. If you would come back later …”

  “Nay! I will not come back later.” He hesitated, glancing up the stairs one last time before stepping down in front of Juliana and thrusting a finger in her face. “Someone at Dutton Shipping disclosed the contents and value of my merchandise on board your ship.”

  Juliana swallowed, trying to accept that the pearls had been stolen, trying to accept that her business was most likely ruined. “Nay, sir. I resent the implication. I … my father runs a reputable business.”

  “Then why did every sailor I spoke with tonight confirm rumors of a fortune in rare pearls hidden on your brig?”

  Knees buckling, Juliana exchanged a glance with Abbot, who merely shrugged. She faced Mr. Kinder and forced a rigid tone. “We can hardly be held accountable for foolish rumors, sir.”

  “Yet, they were neither foolish nor rumors, now, were they?” Mr. Kinder’s shoulders sagged. He searched the dark foyer as if expecting his pearls to materialize.

  “Tell your father I will return later in the day.” He grabbed his hat from Abbot and lifted a stiff chin toward Juliana. “At which time, I shall expect two things: one, to actually see the man in the flesh, and two, full reparations for my stolen pearls. If not—our friendship aside—I shall tell every merchant in town that Dutton Shipping is not to be trusted.”

  With that, he marched out the door into the darkness.

  Chapter 22

  The figures on the paper began to twist and curl and fade. Leaning back in her chair, Juliana rubbed her aching eyes and listened to the warble of afternoon birds in the garden. After sending Abbot to King’s Wharf to ensure the safe unloading of the rest of the goods aboard the Midnight Fortune, she had barricaded herself in her father’s office, searching through every line of his accounts to find a way to pay Mr. Kinder for his lost pearls, praying for God to insert a sum where she had overlooked it before, some overestimated expense, some underestimated credit. But after three hours, the only thing she discovered was a dwindling income that, if left unchecked, would sink the business to the bottom of the sea.

  To make matters worse, from the sounds of the coarse hacking drifting down the stairs, her father’s health worsened. When she’d visited him moments ago, he’d not even had the energy to insult her, only offering her a weak scowl. Which worried her all the more. So she’d sent Miss Ellie for Dr. Verns, though Juliana was beginning to doubt the man’s curative abilities. However, she did wish to ask him if he’d paid a visit to young Michael at the orphanage as she’d requested.

  More coughing echoed down the stairs, this time violent, sending a shudder through her and tears into her eyes. God, please don’t take my father. She closed those eyes now, forcing back the fear. What would she do if her father abandoned her just like her mother had done? And like Rowan had done his whole life? Just like that preacher who had abandoned the children at the Buchan orphanage? Then she, too, would be an orphan, left to cope in this cruel world all by herself. How long could she run Dutton Shipping before people discovered her ruse? Not that she was doing that good a job of running things anyway.

  Footsteps and the clank of glass opened her eyes to see Rowan gesturing to a cup of steaming tea he’d just set atop the desk, his normally cocky grin replaced by a slightly penitent frown.

  A breeze quivered the calico curtains and teased the curled tips of his light hair, absent a wig at the moment. She much preferred his natural hair anyway. Dark stubble peppered his jaw, and though he wore the same lavish suit from last night and shadows hung beneath his eyes, he still presented a handsome figure.

  “I brought you some tea, sister dear. I know how tired you must be.”

  She eyed him. “I’ve been tired on many an occasion and you’ve never brought me tea before.”

  “Have I not?” He shrugged. “Bad cess on me.” Turning, he ran a finger over the bookshelves, pretending to peruse the titles, though Juliana had never seen him actually read a book before.

  “What is it you want, Rowan? I have work to do.”

  He strolled to the open French doors and leaned on the frame, gazing out upon their mother’s garden, where afternoon sunlight angled over colorful flowers. Bees buzzed, birds flitted. All happy and carefree—completely unaware of the disaster looming in the house beside them.

  “Do you ever think of her?” he asked.

  “All the time.” Juliana brought the cup to her lips. Peppermint and lemon filled her mouth, reviving her senses.

  “’Twould that she had not died.” He gave a listless sigh.

  Juliana’s chest tightened. “She loved you very much.”

  He snorted. “She’s the only one who did.” He glanced at Juliana over his shoulder, his eyes misty. “Besides you.”

  Juliana set down her cup, remembering all the times their father had spoken cruelly to Rowan. “Father doesn’t mean what he says to you. You know that.”

  “Yes he does.”

  Poor Rowan. While Juliana seemed able to shrug off most of her father’s abuse, Rowan took it to heart, allowed the man to trample his confidence and stomp on his hopes. “He’s just an ill-humored old man who wants everyone to be as miserable as he is.”

  Rowan continued to stare into the garden. “He was unfaithful to Mother, you know.”

  She did know. Though she hadn’t realized Rowan was aw
are of it. The smell of heliotrope filled the room, caressing her heart with memories of the dear lady. “She forgave him. As we should.” Though Juliana wasn’t entirely sure she had succeeded in that regard. Another blemish on her sinful soul. ’Twas no wonder the Almighty withheld his blessing.

  “Never! He’s getting what he deserves.” Rowan spun, his face tight with pain and anger.

  Sorrow burned in her throat. “You mustn’t say that, Rowan.”

  “Why? Because we need him to run the business? We’re doing fine without him.”

  “We?”

  His lips slanted. “You then. And I in my own way.” Moving toward her, he leaned his palms on the edge of the desk, looking more serious than he had in a long while. “The Devil’s own luck about Kinder’s pearls.” Remorse burned in his blood-shot eyes.

  Lowering her gaze, she examined the papers strewn across the desk. “We cannot afford the loss. Or the scandal. I don’t know what to do, Rowan.” She raised pleading eyes to his, hoping beyond hope that he would step out of his childish cloak and put on a man’s attire—become responsible, as she so desperately needed him to be.

  Instead, he reached inside his coat pocket and tossed a pouch of coins onto the desk.

  “What is this?”

  “Thirty pounds. I won it last night in a game of Faro.” He smiled with pride.

  “And you’re giving it to me?” She raised a brow. That was certainly a first.

  “To help cover the cost of the stolen pearls.” He opened his mouth to add something, but shut it. Was that a look of guilt on his face?

  She wanted to ask him where he got the money to gamble with in the first place but knew it was some hellish agreement he had with Captain Nichols. In truth, she didn’t want to know. Grabbing the pouch, she thanked him. It was a start. A small start. Though she knew it wouldn’t be enough to satisfy Mr. Kinder when he arrived. Which was why she’d instructed the staff not to answer the door to anyone. She couldn’t put the merchant off forever, but she needed time to figure out what to do, what to say, how to appease him before he destroyed her family business.

  Covering another yawn, Rowan started for the door. “I simply cannot keep my eyes open another minute, sister dear. I’m abed.” And off he went without a thought that she, too, had not slept all night.

  ♥♥♥

  A lightness in his step, despite his lack of sleep, Alex took the stairs up to the Dutton home two at a time. He knew Lord Munthrope was being rather presumptuous in calling on Juliana uninvited, especially when she was no doubt still asleep, but he couldn’t help himself. Something in her eyes last night—a flicker of admiration, a hint of camaraderie in their banter—gave him hope that even dressed and behaving like a silly fop, Juliana might find him agreeable in some respects. Besides, he wanted to see how Dutton Shipping fared after the loss of the pearls. He hoped the business hadn’t suffered overmuch. He hoped they could hold out another day or two until he could put his plan into place. Had Miss Juliana heard ’twas the Pirate Earl who’d become her enemy? That, too, disturbed Alex more than anything.

  Yet no one answered the door. He knocked again, tapping the hilt of his cane on the wooden portal over and over until hurried steps sounded on the other side. The door flung open to reveal a plump woman, face flushed and red curls poking from beneath her mob cap like a sea urchin.

  “Yes?”

  “Lord Munthrope to see Miss Dutton.” He flung his cane over his arm.

  “Oh, forgive me, milord.” She bobbed a curtsey and wiped her hands on her stained apron. “I believe she’s in the master’s study. Let me fetch ’er.” She started toward a room on the left, when a woman’s voice barreled down the hall from the back of the house. “Marcie!” The scent of something burning tickled Alex’s nose. The woman flung her hands to either side of her head then darted away, exclaiming. “My bread! My bread!”

  Alex stared after her. Why would the cook be acting as butler? No matter. In the study, eh? Mayhap he’d finally get to meet Juliana’s father. Affecting a pompous walk in case anyone was looking, he crossed the foyer and stopped before the closed door. Snoring met his ears. Not loud obnoxious snoring like the men on his ship, but soft snoring that was more like a deep rumbling sigh.

  Opening the door ever so slightly, he peered inside. Miss Juliana sat behind her father’s desk, her head lying atop a pile of papers, her pink lips slightly open. Golden waves spilled from their pins over the desk like a waterfall of sunlight. A pen perched in one hand, while her other lay limp beside a cup of tea.

  A dozen questions stormed through him, but none of them mattered at the moment as he stood mesmerized by the sight. The lady astounded him. She enchanted him. And he suddenly felt unworthy of her. He inched inside the room for a closer look, when the toe of his silly red shoe struck a chair.

  Her head jerked up. Her eyes met his, dazed at first before a line formed between her brows and she shook her head. “Oh my. Lord Munthrope.” She stood, wobbled, and gripped the edge of the desk. “How, why? I didn’t hear you come in. Where’s … ?” She glanced out the door as if looking for a servant. “Oh, fie! They weren’t supposed to answer the … never mind.”

  Odd. She wore the same gown from last night. “Your cook let me in.” He smiled, taking in the bookshelves lining the walls, the elaborately carved wainscoting, the oil paintings of the English countryside. “Your father’s study, I presume?”

  Juliana brushed her skirts and attempted to stuff her wayward hair back into her coiffure. “Yes … I … uh … he asked me to find … to bring a document to him. And well, I must have fallen asleep.” She lifted up a few papers and released them, sending them fluttering back to the desk. “I can’t tell one writ from another. They all look alike.” Her giggle was forced. What was she hiding?

  “Looking for a document with a pen in your hand?”

  She stared at the quill, still gripped in her fingers, before tossing it to the desk with a nervous laugh.

  Alex raised his brows. “I was hoping to meet your father, sweet—Miss Juliana.”

  “He’s not home, I’m afraid.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze, but instead began shuffling books about the desk.

  “Hmm.” Alex scratched his chin, then remembered the blasted white powder covering it. “Did he request you send him the document by post?”

  She lifted narrowed eyes and frowned.

  He swung a long curl of his periwig over his shoulder. “However, it pleases me to know he has recovered from his illness.” A humid breeze blew in through the open doors, showering him with the same scent of vanilla and cherries that so often lingered around Juliana.

  Pasting on a smile, she skirted the desk, took his arm, and led him out of the room. “Forgive me, Your Lordship, but what exactly are you doing here?”

  Rays of sunlight floating in through the front windows dappled her in gold. A few strands of her flaxen hair danced about her waist. Her cheek bore the imprint of the document she was lying on, and he reached up to smooth it out. If only to touch her skin.

  Coughing sounded from upstairs. She jerked her gaze upward. So, her father was not well, after all. Mayhap news of the stolen pearls had sent him back to his bed. Guilt tightened across Alex’s chest at the look of fear on her face. But how to inform her that he knew what he wasn’t supposed to know and that all would be well?

  She ushered him to the door as if she couldn’t get rid of him fast enough. So much for their friendly banter last night.

  He halted and faced her. “I came to beg your forgiveness, milady, for dashing out on you last night. It was beyond incorrigible, and I owe you an explanation.”

  “You owe me nothing, milord. I hope you have recovered from whatever wound your arm suffered.” Yet she seemed as disinterested in his injury as she was in spending another moment in his company.

  “I have, indeed, thank you. A sword wound, Miss Juliana. From a playful joust with a friend. You see, that is where I was during my absence. Another thing for which I must
beg your forgiveness. I simply cannot turn down a challenge, once presented.”

  At this, she gaped at him and laughed. “You? A sword fight? With whom?”

  He waved an arm through the air, avoiding her eyes. “An old friend. ’Tis sort of a tradition.”

  Her face twisted in unbelief, but she gestured once again toward the door. It flew open, admitting a middle-aged woman in a maid’s uniform, who was followed by a tall, lithe man with graying temples, carrying a satchel.

  “Dr. Verns,” Juliana swept toward him. “Thank you for coming. Miss Ellie will show you up.” She all but shoved the man toward the stairs.

  “I saw your father yesterday, Miss Dutton,” the man said as he mounted the steps. “I’m not sure I can do much more for him.”

  Juliana’s shoulders slumped as the doctor turned and finally saw Alex standing behind the open door. He sent her a look of apology before continuing upward.

  She approached the bottom of the stairs. “Dr. Verns, did you have a chance to see the young lad, Michael, at the orphanage?”

  “Not yet, Miss Dutton. I intend to visit him later today.”

  The orphanage? Alex swallowed. Were the children struck with more disease?

  The maid glanced at Alex before giving Miss Juliana a look of sympathy and continuing to lead Dr. Verns up the stairs.

  Juliana stared after the doctor, wringing her hands until he was out of view. Then, turning, she gazed at Alex with contrition. “I beg your pardon for my untruth, milord. I simply do not wish it known that my father is ill. He is recovering and will be back to himself in a matter of days.”

  He studied her. The catch in her voice and shift of her eyes told him otherwise. Was this dear lady running Dutton Shipping on her own? It certainly wasn’t being managed by her wastrel of a brother. Alex had seen him on multiple occasions deep into his cups—and his cards—down by the docks. If that was the case, the loss of the pearls would be her undoing.

  Her gaze met his and a brief acknowledgment of the truth spanned between them. “Please tell no one, milord. I beg you.”