The Unraveling of Lady Fury

by Shehanne Moore

  She quashed the horde of storming sensations: Breast. Heart. Veins. The voice in her that whispered he couldn’t ever be a gentleman, but would any woman want him to be, looking like that.

  Last night he had given her an ultimatum. Tonight she came here with one of her own. And not just that. The remains of her book must be here somewhere. If she could but get her hands on it, she would be in a better bargaining position. Malmesbury might have everything she had on him, but she hadn’t solely collected information on that viperous maggot. She had collected it on everyone she came into contact with.

  “You’re not wearing the dress.”

  The way his cool gaze licked her was awful. The impossible wasn’t attainable. She hated that he made her consider it was. And right on cue, he tilted and hardened his jaw. As ever. This was one occasion she’d rather walk the plank.

  “It didn’t fit,” she lied. “I don’t know how you think it could have. Or that I would be so trashy as to wear it, even if it did. Let’s dispense with this nonsense about the frock, shall we? How about you tell me what you want? Exactly what you want.”

  “Hmmm.”

  She also hated that he always located the double entendre in everything.

  Turning his back, he resumed fiddling with his cuffs. “The first is you sit down. Unless, of course you’re here to tell me you’ve considered my offer and you intend refusing it.”

  “I think it’s obvious I intend refusing it, because I don’t regard you locking me in that room last night while I made my mind up to your satisfaction as conducive to acceptance.”

  “I told you my conditions.”

  Dear God, was that cologne he was slapping on his cheeks?

  “They’ve not changed far as I know.” He finished with the cologne.

  “Then I shall sit down. Obviously there are things to discuss. If it’s all right with you, and you’re quite finished preening yourself, that is?”

  He gestured at the feast laid out on the table in the center of the cabin. She gathered her skirts and approached it.

  “Wait.” He crossed the room and drew out a chair. “Let me get that for you.”

  Suppose, for the sake of argument, he did mean it. Suppose she went along with this charade for the few days. Suppose she didn’t find him changed. Suppose she, in fact, told him where to put himself, as indeed, was more than likely right now. Was he just going to set her down in Dover, or Bristol, given what he had threatened about the baby and Storm? Probably not.

  She took a seat and mustered a dignified pose. This present baby she had, at times, hated. She was not going to pretend. But if she lost that, she lost everything. Hopes. Dreams. Future.

  If this was a choice…

  If? Of course it was.

  “That cologne is quite gentlemanly. I like it. And the table—”

  “You want some soup?” He snatched the lid from the tureen and dunked the ladle, before she could finish. A few pale green drops spattered the tablecloth.

  Soft white damask, she thought, resisting the urge to finger it. Probably stolen. Like everything else here. Not that she should complain about that though. Not right now anyway.

  “The soup tureen is very beautiful. So intricate. Sterling silver.” She reached out a hand to the dishes sitting before her. “And the bowls. The bowls are quite—”

  “You want to eat this? Or you want to admire it?” Not especially gentlemanly. Nor was the way he loomed over her. But then, there was never any fooling him.

  If he thought she feigned amenability, if in fact, he was serious, and this wasn’t some crack-brained scheme, she’d suffer God knows what consequences.

  “I can’t eat it. Not the way the ship keeps pitching.” She placed a hand over her bowl. “I don’t think you understand. Or you think perhaps I’m lying. Which is why this game you’re playing, this game you want me to play, is a waste of time. I’m in no state of mind right now, to be dragged in here—”

  He shot his eyebrows up. Then they slammed together. “Dragged? Are you saying Benito dragged—”

  “You know what I mean.” He needn’t make it seem as if he would protect her. Although when he had, that day he’d carried her up the stairs… She quashed the recollection. “Commanded here then, to see if you’re a changed man or not. All I know is a changed man wouldn’t keep me here against my will. He wouldn’t threaten me with choosing between my children.”

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Our children.”

  “Whosever children they are. That’s how I see it anyway. They’d put me ashore and conduct matters properly from there.”

  “Come to Ravenhurst, you mean?”

  “I gave you the offer. I thought that maybe, I hoped that maybe—”

  “You hoped wrong.”

  “But isn’t that what you’re trying to be a gentleman for?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “That’s how I see it.”

  The appeal to whatever soft spot he didn’t possess was clumsy. Had she felt better, she would have done better. Or never done it at all. After all what was the point? Especially when she’d made her choice, even before she stepped in here. All this just confirmed the necessity of guaranteeing her future. By whatever means. If that meant sacrifice, then she would sacrifice.

  She shivered a little. Then she straightened her spine and faced him with what she prayed was a neutral expression. After all, she’d decided on this.

  “Here’s the deal I’m going to make. I want to give you Storm.”

  Flint stared at her there, her lashes swept down to hide the glint in her eyes, although he knew damned fine that she stared at him, in addition to feeling he was going to burst with every beat of his heart. Wasn’t she the very one who had begged him, and begged him, to get her pregnant, for Storm’s sake?

  Unless something had changed. Before he let his thoughts drift to what that might be, before he started thinking what a prized bitch she was, before anything, he needed to remember he had misjudged her once before. Look where it had gotten him.

  All right, he had been seven years younger then. Did he want to be seven years older before he realized he’d done it again? And why?

  “Storm?”

  “Why do you sound so surprised? Of course, if you don’t want—”

  “Who says that?”

  She colored. Of course she would. Because like hell he would let her think he wasn’t amenable to her little suggestion when she so clearly didn’t mean it.

  “If you don’t want to know her whereabouts, that is. I mean, I-I’ll let you meet her.”

  “Now, why would you do that? So we can all play happy family together.”

  Still, he couldn’t deny the tidal wave of despair that engulfed him. Christ, consider this damned carrot she dangled. At him. Him. Who was nothing like the damned donkey she imagined. It was anything rather than accept him, wasn’t it?

  “Us? Of course, if you can’t see me asking myself, if you can’t ask yourself, what kind of mother keeps a child from its father? Especially a father she should meet? Who desires to meet her?”

  He paused, looming closer. What was one more nail in his coffin if he pulled her out that chair she sat in, distant as the polar stars, toying with the soupspoon? The one he’d plundered a Spanish vessel for. Especially when he wanted her so much. Screwed some sense into her, like he used to. It would be difficult, when she was so heavily pregnant, to be less than the slow burning man no one could needle though.

  “I don’t know. Maybe one I’m looking at right now who thinks I’m stupid enough to fall for it?”

  “The thing is, I’m the kind of mother who wants the best for her children.”

  She could have fooled him but he bit his tongue.

  “And a pirate vessel—”

  “Privateer.”

  “Let’s not quibble about words. Because a ship like this is hardly the place to raise a child. You know that and I know that. However, you can meet her, see if you like her, and then…then
we discuss it. Because you pretending to be a gentleman, or a changed man, is silly. I’m not the only one who needs to make a choice here.” She set down the spoon. “You do too.”

  * * *

  “And then what, madam?” Susan tugged her cloak shut.

  It was the calmest midday in four. As it always did, unless the water was millpond flat, a breeze blew though. This one peppered with sleet.

  Fury dragged her gaze away from the tall, rangy figure half way up the foremast shouting orders at the men below.

  What didn’t matter?

  Hadn’t Susan been listening to a single word she’d been saying? Unless Fury was very much mistaken, the mast was snapped in half, held in position by ropes and rigging, or Flint would climb further.

  Although she allowed that Susan might not understand the significance of that, being unaccustomed to ships of this size, Fury couldn’t believe she wanted to rake over the bones of what had happened several nights ago. Or maybe she could.

  “Then the boat pitched and he had to go on deck,” she lied. “But as I said to you, I was confident he could get us through that storm, just as I’m now confident I can get us both out of this. Why keep asking?”

  “Because I don’t understand why he locked you back up, madam. That storm didn’t strike till four nights later.”

  Why did people always think the worst of her? How could Susan believe it her fault that he’d reverted to type again? Her own maid, for goodness sake.

  “Because he just did. Haven’t we been over this again and again?”

  She was not going to admit how Flint had marched her from his cabin to hers in a furious temper, pushed her in and bolted the door, as if he found her ultimatum utterly repellent. Flint, the slow fuse, burning fit to explode. Of course, she might have known the notion of asking him to choose would put her in some very stormy waters.

  He hadn’t given her an answer though. Seeing his head turn her way, she smiled and raised a hand. It would not do for him to think her unamenable. Or Susan either. Not if that mast was broken.

  Susan clutched her shawl to her throat with her other hand. “Madam, it’s foolhardy. I vow and swear, in your condition—”

  And how dare Susan think her plan more foolish than foolproof. Why, her plan was perfect. The coastline lay in sight. Provided that mast was broken.

  “A fat lot you, or anyone else here, cares about that.” She spoke through her teeth. “Thinking we should just sit this out. Oh, I can see you think he’s a very fine man and all that. But let me tell you, he gets this ship back under way, he’ll drag us both to Jamaica or some other God-awful hellhole and I will be ruined. I am probably ruined anyway. Do you know how many days it’s been since he kidnapped us? It’s been three alone since that storm struck.”

  “Madam, you know how much I’ve always cared. I’m the one who found you that day on the quay, after you’d sat there—”

  For a whole day in the freezing cold of a land she’d never been in. She didn’t want to be reminded of that. “To get us out of here, I said some things to him. All right?” Oh God. She was beginning to sound like him.

  “I still think—”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have said them. Any of them. I accept that. But, not only will it not come to that because he won’t choose seeing Storm over captaining this tub, that mast is broken, I’m sure of it. This is our chance.”

  “Madam, you can’t, whether or not you think that’s the English coast over there.”

  “Think? I don’t think, I know. Of course, if you had made some headway talking to those whores, over there…” She let her gaze drift for a few short, pointed seconds across the deck. “Who he was probably with for those four days before the storm struck.”

  “Is it any surprise I never, madam, being as this is the first day I’ve been let out because of you?”

  Susan’s scoffing and reproving tone rankled. How dare she blame Fury for this? Next Susan would be suggesting she should just accept the whores, accept everything.

  “Because you won’t appeal to his…whatever it is he’s got for you.” Susan sighed. “But it’s something.”

  “May I remind you of my condition.” Fury snapped her gaze back, from the whores, from him. Did galloping idiocy run in Susan’s family? If so she must move Storm. She did not want the child raised by fools. “So that’s hardly likely. Anyway, if you think for one minute I’m staying here and taking him anywhere near Storm, I’d sooner cut my throat. That was just an offer. A suggestion when he—” Saw the paper thinness of what she offered? She shrugged and glanced out at the swelling waves.

  It was true though. The choice had never been about Storm and this child. The choice was between letting him have the few days or not. She had determined not.

  Only, on reflection, it troubled her that the need to protect herself was paramount. It shouldn’t be. Why couldn’t she have sailed into that cabin and said, of course Flint, you have a week? Knowing it would be no trouble. That it was, spoke of a lack of dignity on her part. A lack of backbone. A lack. Period.

  “Well, madam, it just seems a lot more sensible somehow.”

  “What?”

  “Than you trying to get off this ship. Would it kill you just to let him at least see her? Just once? You know there’s other ways of leading a pig to slaughter. What if he has changed?”

  “Yes. And maybe that same pig will ride a fine black horse up and down the broken mast there. Now here he comes. Be quiet.”

  She tugged her cloak around her. Flint had dropped the last few feet to the deck and now that he’d straightened, his gaze fixed on her. She wanted to think it was because he liked the look of her. She doubted it, the way he knitted his brows.

  “Madam…”

  “Shh, Susan. He gets wind of anything and I swear it’s over between us. I am getting off this boat if it kills me.”

  Of course, it couldn’t be over, unless she did really move Storm, but there was no harm saying so. She kept a close eye on Flint as he muttered something to one of his men in passing. Ships had their own rhythms. Already she felt she’d fallen back into place here. Except of course, for the awful sickness. She tilted her chin. Would he amble toward her like this if the mast was broken though?

  Yes. He might.

  “Fury.”

  It was the first time she’d seen him since he had locked her up. But she didn’t want to examine the marks of sleeplessness that stood out beneath his eyes. Or the four-day’s growth of stubble on his handsome jaw. The uncombed nature of his hair either. Besides the liberties he took, in terms of the way he ambled toward her and the false way he grinned, were enough to suffer. She hadn’t missed his glower a second ago.

  “Is there something wrong with the mast?” No point beating about the bush.

  She refrained from making her scan of the nearby shore too obvious. Although he should know, his frown didn’t fool her.

  If Flint, the patcher of various holed hulls and shattered decks, was hard-pressed to bandage that mast up, why not add to his consternation?

  “Nothing Nathan there can’t fix.”

  “Oh, I see.” Ignoring Susan’s disapproving frown, she let her gaze filter across the deck. Then back to his face. She smiled. “Absolutely nothing to worry about then. And of course, a good supply of timber from the beach over there. I suppose we’ll be underway in no time.”

  If he was at a true loss, there was no sign. That look was pure Flint. Lazy. Conniving. Deceptive.

  “If you’d like to step into the cabin, there’s something I want to give you first.”

  In her condition?

  She tried not to shoot a stunned glance at Susan, but the shiver the words sent down her spine, her glance had darted before she could stop it. Also, he loomed in a way she could only describe as sexually menacing.

  “No, James. The sooner you recognize I’m not the old Fury who once stepped into cabins with you at the drop of your breeches, the better. Unless you’ve made your mind up about what w
e discussed, in which case the only thing you can give me is an answer, I am staying right here.”

  He might have been captain, but she was no ordinary prisoner. If he needed a moment to take that in, unfreeze his gaze a little, fine.

  “Is that what you think?”

  “Indeed.” In case he didn’t understand, she made herself sound even primmer.

  But with the way his eyes blazed, and the second it took to tamp down his outrage, she felt obliged to backtrack.

  “What I mean is Susan and I will return immediately to our cabin.” Give up the first piece of freedom in days? Was she mad? Ignoring the way Susan’s jaw dropped, she continued. “Won’t we, Susan?” On this she intended to stand firm. Maybe he had thought she’d be more amenable. He had saved them, she supposed. The storm had been violent. “I understand, of course, you have been preoccupied, but you can speak to me there, when you’ve made your mind up about what we discussed. Whether you can give up privateering or not to be a proper father to Storm and this baby.”

  Holding her cloak shut she stepped past him. At least, she attempted to. But he blocked her way, his ice-cold gaze freezing her.

  “That there’s a real pity. See, I was going to give you these papers. You know the ones you keep harking you want back. But seeing as you don’t, I’ll just put them ashore for safe-keeping with Louise-Ann.”

  Louise-Ann? She couldn’t allow such a thing. Dear God. What was left of Malmesbury’s secrets in the hands of some Dutch slut? Being sold to the highest bidder? No ifs, no buts about this. She wanted that book. So desperately, he was welcome to read her like one.

  “There is no need to be so hasty, Flint.”

  “Quite so hasty? Or just quite so? Cabin door’s open when you’re ready to negotiate.”

  “Negotiate?” In his cabin, when she knew exactly what he thought and she knew exactly how this would look? How could she?

  “Negotiate. The choice is yours.”