Lord of Devil Isle

by Connie Mason

  Once they reached the town hall, he realized he was sadly mistaken.

  Men from all over the islands, some from as far away as Irish Isle, had made the trip. The finest families were there, even the Tuckers, though Peregrine was grateful the captain’s former friend, Saint George Tucker, was safely in the Colonies. “Saint” gave no quarter when it came to charming the ladies, which might have been why the captain and Saint George parted ways. Higgs wasn’t sure.

  But all those in attendance hoped to meet and suitably impress the three women Captain Scott had “snatched from the jaws of death.” Word of their beauty had been stoked by the retelling of their harrowing experience in the deep. Now it seemed half the unattached men on Devil Isle fancied themselves taken with one—or all three!—of the newest additions to their pink-sand shores.

  In the few minutes it took Higgs to see to the horses, the ladies’ dance cards were completely filled. He couldn’t have bought a reel with a single one of them, even if he’d had a chest full of doubloons to offer as payment.

  So he helped himself to a cup of grog and moped by the open double doors. All he could do was watch as Miss Munroe tossed her golden curls, flirting and laughing with her dance partners. Each one of them seemed to believe that smile was especially for him.

  Blast! There went gravel-voiced Tatem sashaying by with Miss Munroe beaming on his arm.

  The captain came and stood beside him in silence for a while. Lord Nick watched the festivities with such a grim face, folk might think he was presiding over a hanging instead of the merriest ball the islands had ever seen.

  “Belay that lubberly grog, Higgs.” The captain pulled a silver flask from his vest pocket and handed it to Peregrine. “This night’s work calls for sterner stuff.”

  Higgs noticed Captain Scott’s gaze rarely left Miss Upshall as she performed the intricate steps of a minuet. She was paired with Archibald Snickering, the governor’s pasty-faced secretary. Miss Upshall smiled politely at her partner, but turned her head to the side when the dance called for a stylized kiss on the lips.

  Miss Munroe did not turn hers.

  Peregrine tipped the flask and let the whisky scald his throat in several eye-watering gulps.

  “Y-you were right, sir,” he admitted. “A house party would have been the w-wiser course.”

  “That ship’s already sailed, Higgs.” The captain clapped a sympathetic hand on Peregrine’s shoulder. “Give it no more thought.”

  But it was hard not to wish back the moment when he’d offered to arrange this ball. He’d thought to win Miss Munroe’s favor by it, but instead the woman who tormented his dreams was flaunting her charms before every man in the place except him.

  He took another pull on the flask.

  “Easy, lad. Check your bearings.” The captain relieved Higgs of the spirits. “You’ve a long night before you.”

  The captain nodded at several other guests. “It seems I’m expected to act as if I’m the host of this debacle, so I’ll leave you now.” He started to push his way into the crush of people, then turned back. “Pace yourself, Mr. Higgs. And don’t do anything foolish.”

  Too late.

  Higgs was already doing something foolish. He couldn’t seem to keep his eye from following Miss Munroe around the dance floor.

  She never glanced his way once.

  Higgs had stood night watch in the pouring rain with more cheer.

  After the fiddler played three reels in a row, suddenly Peregrine found Miss Smythe standing before him, red-faced and fanning herself.

  “Mr. Higgs.” She bobbed a quick curtsey. “I’m so glad I found you.”

  He leaned toward her in order to hear her soft voice over the din of so many people, all talking and laughing at once. She wrinkled her nose as her gaze darted about the room, and he realized that beneath the heavy perfume worn by almost everyone, not all the bodies pressed into the hall were terribly clean. Being a seaman had dulled his sensibilities somewhat in that department, but he did catch a fresh whiff of vanilla wafting from the lady before him.

  Along with clean feminine skin.

  “…and so I’m afraid with all this dancing and so many people…” she was saying. Her hands fluttered at her sides. “I’m fair done in.”

  “Would you be needing some fresh air perhaps?” he asked politely.

  Her smile carved a deep dimple in her left cheek. Peregrine wondered why she didn’t do it more often.

  “If you’d be so kind,” she said shyly. “I don’t feel I know any of these new gentlemen well enough to take the air with them.”

  “Of course,” Peregrine said, making a smart leg and offering her his arm. “It would be my pleasure, Miss Smythe.”

  Perhaps Miss Munroe would see him escorting her friend out into the soft island night and think better of him, he reasoned. A little jealousy, he’d heard, wasn’t necessarily a bad thing and might lead to a realization of the heart’s true condition. He resisted the urge to crane his neck to see if Sally Munroe was watching.

  As they entered the small foyer, Higgs ground to a halt.

  Adam Bostock, the captain of the Sea Wolf, stood in his path, feet spread shoulder-width, hands fisted on his hips.

  “Hello P-P-Peregrine. Nice p-p-party,” he sneered. “Tell your master I’m here.”

  Bostock’s pale-eyed gaze raked Miss Smythe’s form with a slow intimate appraisal.

  Peregrine could take the insult to himself. His shipmates teased him about his speech with such regularity, it no longer stung. He’d normally let Bostock’s jab roll off him like water off an oilskin, but the jackal had no right to ogle a lady as if she were some doxy.

  He shifted to place himself in front of Miss Smythe.

  Higgs had sent open invitations to all the islands, but he’d never expected the man who despised his captain, and was hated with vehemence in return, to consider himself welcome.

  Bostock wasn’t going to enter the hall if Higgs could help it.

  And he certainly wasn’t going to ogle Miss Smythe again.

  But it seemed Miss Smythe had other plans. She peeked around Peregrine toward the open door.

  “Lieutenant Rathbun! Please excuse me, Mr. Higgs, but I know this gentleman.” Miss Smythe padded smoothly around Peregrine to greet the man standing behind Bostock. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you. We feared you lost when we became separated during the wreck of the Molly Harper.”

  She extended a hand to the newcomer and he bowed low over it.

  “My dear Miss Smythe.” His tone was proper, and he patted her hand like some long-lost uncle, but his gaze lingered at her bodice a trifle overlong for Peregrine’s liking. “I, too, am delighted to find you unharmed. Are the others here as well?”

  Before she could answer, the voice Higgs had heard thundering over many a gale stopped the music, causing the hall to go suddenly silent.

  “Bostock!”

  Captain Scott strode across the large room. The crush of people parted like the Red Sea before Moses. Good thing. The captain would have trod over them if they hadn’t skittered out of his path.

  Murder glinted in his eye.

  Peregrine swallowed hard. The captain had urged him not to give in to foolishness earlier.

  Now Higgs feared he wouldn’t be able to convince his captain to take his own advice.

  Chapter Eleven

  Nicholas pushed in front of Higgs to stand toe to toe with Adam Bostock.

  “I don’t recall issuing an invitation to any offal with feet, do you, Higgs?” Nick said, spoiling for a fight. “What are you doing here, Bostock?”

  “Looking for some of my lost cargo, Nick.” Bostock’s gaze swept the room in unhurried fashion; then he raised a hand and examined his nails for some imagined bit of dust. He blew on them, and glared at Nick from under lowered brows. “It fell off the Molly Harper and I want it back. I understand you have it here.”

  Nick’s fingers curled into fists. He’d sworn an oath not to kill the man, but that did
n’t mean he couldn’t beat him to a bloody pulp if he got half the chance.

  “I have nothing that belongs to you.”

  “You’re probably right.” Bostock nodded, a rakish smile tilting his thin lips. “You can’t say the same about me, can you? Pity. I’ve had plenty that belonged to you.”

  Nick would have lunged, but Higgs grabbed his shoulders and held him back with a surprisingly strong grip.

  Bostock laughed. “Good thing your first mate has you on such a tight leash. You might start something you can’t finish.”

  Nick jerked out of Peregrine’s grasp, but the moment’s delay had given him a chance to control his fury and gather his wits. There was no way the bastard could know about his promise to Hannah.

  Was there?

  “Besides, I’m only doing you a favor. Keeping three women as your private playthings is overreaching, even for you, Lord Nick.” Eve and Miss Munroe pushed through the crowd toward Bostock. His icy eyes warmed to burnished pewter as he swept the women’s forms. He doffed his tricorne to them, tucking it neatly under his arm. “My, my, an embarrassment of riches to be sure.” His steely gaze shot back to Nick before the ladies were within earshot. “Keep up this delicious brand of hedonism, my friend, and you’ll die of the pox.”

  “Not likely,” Nick said, his voice silky with menace. “So long as I avoid your mistress.”

  Bostock emitted a low growl and went for his blade. The shining steel cleared its scabbard with a metallic rasp.

  A gasp went through the crowd pressed around them.

  Nick had removed his sword belt earlier. It was customary for civilized men to lay aside their weapons for public events. Now Nick’s sword stood useless in the stack of blades shed at the door by the revelers, too far away for him to reach, even with a lunging grab. The tip of Bostock’s blade wavered before Nick’s chest, poised to strike like an adder.

  “As you can see, I am without means to defend myself at present.” Nick spread his arms and did a slow pirouette. “With all these witnesses, running me through would mean a short rope and a long drop. There’s no doubt you deserve hanging, Adam, but are you in that much of a hurry to meet Madame Hemp?”

  Bostock didn’t budge. Nick bared his teeth at him. No one would mistake the expression for a smile. “Come, Bostock. I’d count it worth dying so long as I knew you’d be fitted with a necktie when the magistrate convenes the next assizes.”

  His enemy wavered a bit. “In deference to this festive occasion, I might be inclined to more tolerance than usual.”

  “Your forbearance is noted.” Nick lowered his arms and his voice. “However, if you feel the need for satisfaction, Adam, I will be more than happy to accommodate you at the time and place of your choosing.”

  Challenge me, you bastard. I beg you. Surely a promise not to do murder did not mean he couldn’t defend himself.

  “Now, now, gentlemen. This has all been a simple misunderstanding, I’m sure.” The man holding Miss Smythe’s hand dropped it and stepped forward with alacrity. “Please, Captain Bostock, I urge you to desist. I’m certain we can settle this dispute amicably.”

  The newcomer made an elegant leg to Nick and topped it with an intricate flourish, waving his cockaded tricorne before him. Nick kept his gaze trained on Bostock. This other popinjay’s antics might be just the distraction Adam was waiting for.

  “Allow me to introduce myself, Captain. I do have the honor of addressing Captain Scott, do I not?” Without waiting for a reply, the man hurried on. “I am Lieutenant Fortescue Rathbun, lately of His Majesty’s Royal Navy. Once a military man, but now devoted to the gentler pursuit of seeing fine young ladies suitably wed to deserving gentlemen in the Colonies. Your servant, sir.”

  Rathbun seemed to expect a similar speech in return, but Nick was damned if he’d scrape and bow to such a fop. After all, this was the weasel who’d convinced Eve to agree to marry some planter named Pennywhistle.

  Ignoring him, Nick spoke to Bostock, who still hadn’t lowered his blade. “Well, Adam? What’s it to be?”

  Lieutenant Rathbun sent Bostock an urgent glance, his lips pulled in a tight line.

  A muscle ticked in Bostock’s cheek, but he sheathed his blade. Then he unstrapped the sword belt and deposited his weapon with the others that had been surrendered near the door.

  Nick signaled to the musicians to begin playing again. The merriment started afresh, but the dancers were in danger of neck cricks from craning to keep the group at the door in sight, just in case more sparks should fly. Music, dancing, spirits and the possibility of mayhem. The island had rarely seen such entertainment under one roof.

  “It seems you’re fitted with a rather tight leash yourself, Adam,” Nick said, flicking his eyes to Rathbun and back. If he goaded Bostock hard enough, he might yet receive the challenge he was angling for.

  “Pity.” Nick spat the word.

  The corners of Bostock’s mouth turned down in disgust, but before he could respond, Eve pushed around Nicholas and took Rathbun’s arm.

  “Lieutenant Rathbun, how lovely to see you looking fit and well after our ordeal. I assume this gentleman”—she nodded to Bostock—“is the one who came to your aid on that dreadful night of the wreck.”

  “Indeed, he did.” Rathbun introduced Captain Bostock all around. Bostock bowed and preened for the women he’d recently referred to as “cargo.” Nick wanted to knock him into the next world.

  “And the best part is Captain Bostock stands ready to assist us once again,” Lieutenant Rathbun said. “Ladies, you’ll be relieved to know I’ve arranged passage for all of us to the Carolinas on his good vessel, the Sea Wolf. Your bridegrooms will only be inconvenienced by an additional few months’ wait at most.”

  “Noble intentions aside, I’ll wager Lieutenant Rathbun hasn’t two coins to rub together. Did you demand the fare up front?” Nick asked his enemy.

  Bostock shot him a death’s-head grin. “No. As soon as I heard it might inconvenience you to remove these lovelies from your home, I agreed to payment upon delivery.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “It was the least I could do.”

  Nick glared at him. “You can always be counted upon to do the least.”

  “But, Lieutenant Rathbun,” Miss Munroe put in. “What if we no longer want to go to the Carolinas?”

  “Not want to go?” The man’s mouth gaped as if he was totally flummoxed. “How could you not want to go to a prosperous and deserving bridegroom?”

  “After that horrible storm, I never want to set foot on a ship again,” Sally said with conviction.

  Eve scurried to her side. “Now dear, I’m sure you don’t mean that. It was only one storm and—”

  “And it was naught but a wee squall, at that,” Nick finished helpfully. “You’ve not seen a storm worthy of the name till you’ve seen your first hurricane.”

  Sally turned the color of parchment. “You mean there’s worse than what we went through?”

  “Assuredly,” Nick said. “Why, one season, the Susan Bell was driven before a storm for the better part of three days near as we could reckon it. There was no morning or night to be seen. Only wind and waves and a leaden sky.”

  “And us b-battened down with not a stitch of canvas flying, b-bilge pumps manned round the clock.” Higgs jumped into the fray with Nick like the excellent first officer he was.

  “Even seasoned crewmen were sick as babes,” Nick said. “Remember that, Higgs?”

  “Aye, sir.” His first mate nodded, fighting back a grin. “S-seaman Tatem was green as an oyster.”

  “That settles it. I won’t go.” Sally shook her head. “And Penny won’t go either, will you, dear?”

  Miss Smythe glided over and took Sally’s hand. “No, sir. I would prefer not to leave St. Georges.”

  Eve’s jaw dropped in dismay. Nick could’ve kissed the pair of them.

  “Shall we put the matter to a vote, Miss Upshall?” he couldn’t resist asking. “Ah! It appears we just did. Sorry to
disappoint you, Rathbun. The nays have it—the ladies will not be leaving with you.”

  He’d figured Rathbun for a dandy, accustomed to using sweet talk to persuade and wheedle his way, but now the man’s face went hard as iron.

  “Miss Munroe, the decision to continue on is not open to question. We are not a democracy. We have a sovereign and the rule of law,” Lieutenant Rathbun said. “Setting aside an engagement of marriage is no light matter. There have been agreements made, moneys expended, and I needn’t remind you of certain issues best left undisturbed. It would be a shame if I were to have to uncork that unsavory barrel of fish, if you take my meaning.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I certainly take your meaning,” Nick said. He’d made no promise to his dead wife not to kill smarmy coves like Rathbun. “You’ve just threatened ladies who are under my protection. You will withdraw immediately, sir, or I’ll be forced to demand satisfaction.”

  “I’d be honored to be your second,” Higgs spoke up, without a stammer for once, and took his place at Nick’s left side.

  Rathbun lowered his brows. “This is not your affair, Captain Scott.”

  “I’m making it mine.”

  “Very well, though I should warn you that throughout my military career, I was regarded as a master of the blade,” Rathbun said through clenched teeth. “Captain Bostock, may I count on you as my second?”

  Bostock hesitated. “Ordinarily, I’d jump at the chance of anything which results in blood spilled, especially when it mostly belongs to Nicholas Scott.”

  Nick cocked his head and sent his enemy a wry smile in acknowledgment of the swipe. “Go ahead and accept, Bostock. And I’ll do for you, too, once I’m done with this macaroni.”

  “You tempt me, but I’m not in the habit of taking ladies on a journey they clearly don’t care to make.” Bostock folded his arms over his chest. “With regret, Rathbun, I must decline.”

  Rathbun’s nostrils flared. “This matter is not concluded.”

  He turned on his heel and stalked into the night.