Beauvisage made a dismissive gesture with one elegantly powerful hand. “Pray do not underestimate my powers. I have a plan.”
Pierre looked incredulous. “A plan? Do you practice witchcraft?”
“Of course not. Yet, you may assume that I will find a way.”
“I have never known you to become truly enamored of any woman, m’sieur, however much they may endeavor to attract you! Yet, I believe you are telling me that you have fallen in love with a virtual stranger!”
“Calm down.” Jean-Philippe gave a negligent shake of his dark head. “Of course I am not telling you that. Nor do I owe you or anyone else but the lady herself further explanation. Now then, take this annoying monkey away and bring me the manifest. I am interested in reaching an estimate of my profit from this particular enterprise.”
Young Pierre reddened, but obeyed without further protest. When the door had shut and Beauvisage was alone, he poured more wine and wandered over to the far end of his cabin. Four high, curved windows built across the ship’s stern presented a view of the night sky with its scattering of fragile, mysterious stars.
Pursuit rode the waves with ease and, as always, Jean-Philippe was completely comfortable at sea. Yet, beneath the usual heightened sense of anticipation and pleasure he always felt at the outset of a new adventure, unfamiliar emotions churned. The very thought of his exquisite Tonie filled him with longing, determination, and an abrupt stab of worry. Where was she tonight? Was she safe?
Yes, this was madness. Beauvisage had no idea how or when the plan would unfold…only that it would. He would find her—and claim her.
Antonia Varyshkova would one day be his wife.
Chapter 4
Antonia curled up on her bunk, fully dressed, eyes closed so that she wouldn’t have to see her surroundings. The ship pitched over the tall waves, sending her stomach into spasms. With one hand, she held onto a beam that protruded from the bulkhead. Warm salt water filled her mouth, signaling that she might be sick.
Her free hand fumbled at the opening of her bodice. She used her fingertips to push aside the printed Indian cambric of her gown, and then the frill of her chemise, following along the fragile gold chain that lay between her warm breasts until she reached the man’s signet ring that nestled there. Antonia drew it out and pressed it to her lips. It was his ring. Of course, she would never see Jean-Philippe Beauvisage again, but as she felt the engraved shape of his crest against her mouth, another convulsive sensation came lower, in the heart of her woman’s place.
“You have a visitor, my lady.”
Immediately recognizing Ormond’s voice, Antonia sat up and thrust the ring back into its hiding place. He was turning the key in the lock as she hurriedly tried to straighten her bodice.
“Ah, too bad,” Ormond purred as he bent to enter. “I thought I might find you in a state of undress, perhaps needing assistance with your petticoat…or chemise.”
She fought against the flush that warmed her cheeks. “I am managing, Captain, though I sorely need my maid.”
“Yes, yes, we’ve had this conversation! You would do well to stop going on about that old hag and start being friendlier to me.”
Antonia realized that she should at least pretend to take this advice. “Of course, I am grateful to you for providing passage to my brother in Virginia. I realize I am fortunate to be here, Captain.”
“Please, call me Tobias.” He had turned silky again. “You must excuse me if I seem harsh at times. I have a great deal of power to wield as captain of this magnificent vessel and that can take its toll. However, if you behave more gently, you will find that I can be quite benevolent.”
She watched him arch his brows and attempt a charming smile. Summoning all her strength of will, Antonia lay a small hand on his coat sleeve and immediately he covered it with his other hand. “I have a favor to ask of you, Cap—that is, Tobias…”
“Yes?” He swayed slightly, close enough for her to smell the spirits on his breath.
“I confess to feeling extremely sea-sick in this cabin and it is getting worse. I know that if I would be allowed to go on deck, to take some fresh air and sunshine, I would feel greatly restored.”
“Not only shall I grant your request, my dear Antonia, but I will take the time from my duties to escort you personally!”
* * *
Standing on Pursuit’s polished quarterdeck, under a cloudy sky that threatened rain, Jean-Philippe’s thoughts were far away. He was scanning a map of the American coastline, pondering the quickest way to smuggle his valuable goods past Boston’s customs officers.
“Captain,” called Lieutenant Malle, “which of your charts shall we follow?”
Beauvisage glanced up distractedly. “Ask Cruikshank. I went over today’s course with him.”
Malle and Cruikshank looked at each other and shrugged.
Watching the scene from a distance, Pierre rolled his eyes and approached the trio. “M’sieur, er, Captain, if I may be so bold –”
Beauvisage looked up from his chart with an expression of wry amusement. “When are you otherwise?”
“Might I suggest that you pry your thoughts away from this fantasy you have of a certain Russian female and focus instead on our situation here at sea? You are, after all, the captain.”
“You are the most impertinent young pup I have ever encountered!” For emphasis, Beauvisage lightly cuffed the side of Pierre’s head. “Don’t let anyone else hear you speak to me that way.”
“I feel a responsibility,” Pierre went on. “Your own maman has charged me to look after you.”
“You are outrageous.”
Just then, a sailor high in the ratlines shouted, “Sail ho, off the starboard bow!”
Beauvisage straightened in surprise and waited for Cruikshank to clamber up the ladder to the quarterdeck, the captain’s favorite spyglass in his outstretched hand.
“It’s Conquerer, Captain!” he announced. “Lieutenant Malle said he can see that puffed up Ormond on deck…and, sir, there is at least one woman beside him!”
Jean-Philippe took the glass and lifted it, aware that his heart had begun to pound even before his brain had completely digested this surprising information. Conquerer was emerging through the clouds as they approached and, across the distance, he made out the proud figure of Ormond standing on the quarterdeck, his chin outthrust into the wind. The tall man wore a powdered pigtail wig under his gilt-trimmed, three-cornered hat, and a dress sword was visible at his side.
Slowly, Beauvisage shifted the lens, first to the left, where he saw a large older woman wearing a dark headscarf. The lower portion of her face was obscured by what appeared to be a veil, attached near her ears.
Somehow, Beauvisage doubted that his men would be in such an uproar over the sight of that particular woman.
Then, deliberately he scanned to the right of Ormond. Time stopped. Although the female figure he saw on the second pass was indistinct, he knew that it was Antonia Varyshkova. Her simply-dressed chestnut curls were partially hidden by a fetching flat-crowned, straw bonnet tied with green ribbons, but all his instincts recognized the shape of her slim shoulders, the faintly sad tilt of her profile, and the graceful way she lifted one hand and pointed toward Pursuit.
Pointed toward Jean-Philippe himself, it seemed, but of course, she could not know, and certainly could not see him with her naked eyes.
His mind was racing. What the devil could she possibly be doing on that ship, under the control of Ormond? In the next instant, he remembered Sir Humphrey turning the gladius over to Ormond on the docks.
“Cruikshank, inform Lieutenant Malle that we shall give chase.”
“Aye, sir,” he replied, clearly startled.
The moment they were alone, Pierre spoke up. “M’sieur, what madness is this? Do you want their cargo? Isn’t this very dangerous, especially if there is a woman on board?”
“When you have command of your own ship, insolent boy, you may ponder such matters.
Until then, be silent and obey your captain.”
“The woman,” Pierre persisted, “could it be possible that she is…”
Beauvisage pointedly gave him his back. Malle was striding across the quarterdeck and he went to meet him.
“I want that ship,” he said.
Malle’s face lit up with excitement. “Aye, sir. The wind is in our favor and we can run her down quickly.”
“Yes. She is far too unwieldy to escape,” he agreed, nodding, though already he saw that more of Conquerer’s sails were being unfurled to accept the wind, as if Ormond smelled danger.
“Soon enough we’ll be in range,” the lieutenant said. “I’ll give the order to man the guns.”
“No one will fire without my permission,” Beauvisage cut in.
“But, Captain, I don’t understand and neither will the crew. How can we take the ship without firing on it?”
“We’ll come alongside and board, but any shots fired will inflict only peripheral damage. A warning to the captain, you might say.” He paused, noting his lieutenant’s frustrated expression. “There is a woman on board and I will kill anyone who puts her in danger.”
“As you wish, Captain. I’ll give the orders!”
The wind was picking up, scattering black clouds against the pewter-gray sky, and men were pouring onto the decks, eager to engage in another adventure at sea.
Beauvisage wished he could simply propel himself onto Conquerer’s deck, dispatch Ormond with his rapier, and carry Antonia off. Reality was another matter. It wouldn’t be easy to capture her, but he would.
Without question, he would succeed.
* * *
“Look, there is another ship!” Antonia exclaimed in surprise, pointing into the rising wind.
“Do you imagine that I am blind?” Ormond grabbed his spyglass from a custom-made rack.
Zoya stared at him in disdain. “You make a mistake, speaking to my mistress in that tone,” she said in heavily accented English.
“Get out of my way, old woman!” He shoved her against Antonia and squinted into the glass even as his stone-faced lieutenant and first mate came rushing to his side.
“We believe it’s that pirate,” shouted Lieutenant Fallow. “I’ve heard of his ship, Pursuit.”
“They call him le Vaurien des Mers,” chimed in Cobling, the rangy sailing master. “It means Sea Rogue!”
“You idiot, I know damned well what it means!” snarled Ormond. “Take these women below and lock them in her cabin. Now! And then bring me the key.”
The dark clouds were building overhead and raindrops began to pelt the deck as Cobling led them away. From a distance, Antonia heard Ormond issuing orders for the guns to be manned.
The first mate alternately dragged and pushed the two women down through the main hatch, into suffocating darkness that was relieved only by the quavering flame of an occasional lantern along the gangway. The fumes of pitch and bilge water seemed even stronger to Antonia after her exposure to the open wind on deck. Ducking to avoid a particularly low deck beam, she tried her best to overcome the sensation that the walls were closing in to swallow her.
“You’re safe,” Zoya murmured, reaching out to clasp her mistress’s hand. “I’m here.”
“Thank God for that.”
When the trio reached her cabin, Cobling thrust them inside. Before she could protest that he must leave them a lantern, he’d rammed the door shut and turned the key in the rusty lock.
“We have no light!” Antonia pleaded.
“Be glad you’re alive,” came Cobling’s growled reply. “If the Sea Rogue takes you, you’ll wish you were back in this cabin, dark or no, safe in the protection of Captain Ormond!”
Chapter 5
Pursuit’s rakish lines and smaller size allowed her to swiftly overtake Conquerer. Jean-Philippe Beauvisage was a daring, resourceful captain and he gave orders to tack to windward so that they came around the bigger ship quickly, and at such an angle that there was little opportunity for defensive cannon fire.
As they closed in and crossed Conquerer’s stern, Lieutenant Malle said, “Captain, I beg you to reconsider. Let us fire and disable that beast before they hit us first!”
“Do you doubt my strategy, Malle?” Beauvisage’s blue eyes flashed as he grinned. “The men may aim at the foreyards and staysails, but not at the hull. I don’t want to sink her, yet it couldn’t hurt if that windbag Ormond has to spend a day or two making repairs. I’ll wager that he isn’t fool enough to fire on us once he sees that defeat is inevitable.”
Once the frigate lost sail power and began to limp, it was easy enough to come alongside her and use grappling hooks to lock onto the bigger ship.
The moment the order was given, Pursuit’s four dozen shouting crewmen went streaming over the side wielding pistols, daggers, swords, and boarding axes. They were frightening-looking in their ragtag clothing, with bright kerchiefs tied around their heads and daggers clenched between their teeth.
Beauvisage watched from the quarterdeck as his band of misfits descended on Ormond’s more disciplined but far less devoted crew. A smile touched his hard mouth.
“There are twice as many of them, Captain,” Lieutenant Malle said. He was a neat, little man and his thin lips were pressed together in concern. “And I believe they may have twice as many cannon!”
“Fear not. What we lack in power, we make up for in zeal. They haven’t a chance.”
And it was true. The uniformed men on the frigate were no match for the impassioned attackers who were swarming over their decks. Pursuit’s crew had orders to avoid inflicting mortal wounds, but their sheer ferocity seemed enough to win the day. They met with only token resistance.
“And now, it is time for me to pay a visit to Captain Ormond,” Beauvisage said. He looked around to find Pierre waiting nearby, holding his favorite dark blue coat. It was beginning to rain.
“We have grave misgivings,” the cabin boy fretted as he helped him into the perfectly tailored garment.
“Prepare my cabin for a visitor,” Jean-Philippe instructed, as if Pierre hadn’t spoken at all. “And I’ll want something decent to eat, with a bottle of good wine. See what you can do about that.”
He strode off across the quarterdeck with tanned fingers lightly resting on the hilt of his sword, while Pierre stared at Lieutenant Malle in consternation.
“Did you hear that? M’sieur is about to join in a bloody battle and all he can talk about is his next meal! I sometimes believe those who call him mad.”
* * *
As Jean-Philippe jumped lightly onto the blood-smeared decks of Conquerer, rain lashed his face and a powerful surge of wind untied the black riband that bound his hair. All about, men continued to their hand-to-hand battles, but Beauvisage saw that, one by one, Ormond’s uninspired crewmen were giving up their weapons. Soon they would be invited to sail with the Sea Rogue if they chose, and the bloodshed would truly end, for clearly they had no loyalty to their captain.
Yet, even as these thoughts ran through Beauvisage’s mind, his first concern was Antonia. Where the devil had Ormond put her?
In the midst of the clash of arms and the heat of the struggling, grunting men’s bodies, Cruikshank loomed up beside him. Breathing hard and streaked with gunpowder, the first mate gave an exclamation of delight.
“Ah, Captain, it’s good to see you! We have them on their backs, just as you foretold. It will be over soon.”
“I know.” His grin faded at the sight of a deep gash in Cruikshank’s forearm. “Mon Dieu, you’re wounded!” Pulling off his once-immaculate coat, he used his dagger to cut a strip of cloth from his own linen shirtsleeve. Swiftly, he bandaged the injured arm. “There. At least the bleeding has slowed now.”
“’Twas merely a scratch, sir!” cried the first mate. “And now, I await your orders.”
“First I must have a little chat with the proud commander of this vessel,” Beauvisage said with a note of irony. He crooked his head toward
the quarterdeck above them. “While I speak to Ormond, you must tell any of his crew who want to leave behind this drab existence, that they are welcome to come and sail with us on Pursuit.”
“Aye, sir. Surely many will accept that invitation!”
Beauvisage threw his sodden coat over a nearby yardarm. The rain was pouring from the three corners of his hat, so he drew that off as well and raked both hands through his dark, unbound hair. No doubt Ormond would take him for a savage. It gave him a moment of grim amusement to realize how little he resembled the satin-clad fop who had minced and posed at Rayne Hall just a few nights earlier. He almost wished he could introduce himself…
“Perhaps you should stay near enough to provide a distraction, just in case he means to murder me,” he told Cruikshank with a grim smile. “And when we are finished, we shall rescue a damsel in distress.”
Without waiting for the first mate’s response, Beauvisage started for the quarterdeck, his sword at the ready. The moment his boot touched the first step, a wild-eyed Tobias Ormond appeared above him. Rain poured from his white wig and dribbled white powder down his face and coat.
“Get back, you cur!” he shouted and brandished his sword.
“Do I hear an invitation?” laughed Beauvisage. As he recklessly climbed to the quarterdeck, he saw that Ormond now realized who he was dealing with.
“You’re the one they call the Sea Rogue, aren’t you? Sounds very dashing, yet you are nothing more than a dirty, unscrupulous pirate! You can’t even bother to dress properly!”
“Captain, all the fine uniforms and fancy wigs in Christendom will not save you now. Your crew cares nothing for you, so why should they die to protect your ship?”
“I don’t need them!” Defiantly, Ormond brought up his sword.
Beauvisage countered the attacking blade with his own, the fierce clash of swords drowning out all but his need to find his Tonie. In many ways, the two men were evenly matched, Jean-Philippe discovered. Too bad for Ormond that years as a pirate captain had honed in Beauvisage a graceful strength no mere fencing master could teach. He smiled as he came at Ormond, forcing him back with each thrust and parry, until they were nearly at the bulwarks.
Heart of Fragile Stars (Rakes & Rebels: The Beauvisage Family Book 1) Page 4
