* * *
Fury settled her gaze on what Flint placed before her on the table. Her book. With the heart, the guts ripped from it. Not just a great deal of what she’d recorded, but the proof of it all too. Notes, statements. Malmesbury must have a quite a lot on all those she had kept tabs on.
Lucky him.
But it would be an act of unprecedented folly to say Is this all? and scratch Flint’s eyes. She hadn’t swept in here to do that.
No. She had swept in here to discover what he had. And then decide what she did about it.
A ruthless, chiseling bastard like Flint, lounging opposite in the chair there, would hardly give everything away. For nothing.
With the shore so close and the mast broken, she was under no illusions he now wanted to end up empty-handed. He never had. If she’d been fool enough to fall for his pretty talk, she’d be in an even prettier mess now.
She thought of the tiny moments here that had almost betrayed her and her throat tightened. No. There were only two things this unsavory transaction could involve. Sex, as it always had. And money.
She swallowed. If he asked for money, then he didn’t mean to ruin her. While sex, in her present state—well, then he did. Or maybe he just wanted to see her humiliated because she’d refused to run away with him in Genoa? Here didn’t count, because she saw now how clearly it had all been a game. He was never not going to get to this point.
“So?” Of course she could refuse. She should have refused before. But if she refused, she would not get that book, would she? Or the few bills and statements he had kept. “It happens that you do indeed have some small things of worth—and believe me, they are small, the contents of the book itself were worth a fortune. What do you want?”
“What do I want?” For a long moment his stare sat, unwavering, upon her, a tiny muscle twitching in his jaw in the gathering silence.
“What do you want for this?”
He tilted his jaw. “That depends.”
Of course it did. On who was more desperate. “On what?”
“On just how much what’s here is worth to you.”
She smiled. Why not? He’d taken her book, but she could read him like one. Money. Well, of course. She and Susan would be on dry land by supper time. Maybe even within the hour, without her having to descend to the tiresome necessity of escaping over the side.
She steepled her fingers. “Who says they are worth anything? But let’s say for the sake of argument they are to you or you’d not have put them on the table. What do you want for them?”
“What you want to give me for them, sweetheart.”
This was getting tiresome. Why did he look at her like that? As if she made a pretty display of herself sitting there, unable to hide the fact she’d come in here for one thing and one thing only. And it wasn’t sex with him.
“My book? Which you stole.” Which, the sight of on the table was almost too much to bear. “Tuppence-halfpenny, I should think. Except I don’t have tuppence halfpenny.”
“Is it always money with you?”
“Me?” Her palm slickened as she flattened it on the table. Surely he didn’t expect her to haggle like a common whore? A woman of her standing? But, if it wasn’t money, when money she could give him, when anything else, even if her heart had gone cold and it meant nothing—anything else was ridiculous.
Yet, money was her first thought as if she couldn’t quite get by the fact he didn’t love her. And still, some tiny foolish part of herself needed protecting from the wish that he did.
“Isn’t this an even finer case of pots and kettles. The mast is broken. You think I don’t know how this is over for you now land’s in sight? So why don’t you just tell me how much and let’s be done with this? That way you’ll at least get something.”
“What do I want?”
He rose up from the table and her gaze darted sideways over the scuffed leather boots not just infiltrating her vision, but standing right beside her chair. He leaned over, his arms caging her.
She could hardly believe it. Perhaps all this and the broken mast were just too much for him to bear. The interval between him last commanding a ship and now was long. Perhaps he was no longer capable of going nights without sleep and washing down grog with hefty doses of seawater, while keeping a woman in his cabin for pleasure.
Her heart hammered, although she strove not to let it betray her. “Yes.” She stared at his knuckles shining white on the tabletop. “What do you want?”
He grunted at the back of his throat, his fingers digging harder into the tabletop. Flint the slow burner, angrier with each second that passed. Although she still wanted to cling to the notion that until he gave her his demands, she was in no position to decide how best to meet them. She was a little unsure what position she was in. If he pulled her out this chair. If he kissed her.
“Nothing.” He sighed.
Fury jerked her chin up. Surely she misheard? Nothing was not the sort of word he uttered. It was not the sort of thing he’d told her to come here for. Why, she’d been fully prepared for sex.
“There’s no need to look so surprised.”
Of course, this was her book and he had stolen it. But now he had given it back, she should feel relief that he didn’t want her. Shouldn’t she? Not faint disappointment.
“You just thought the worst of me, didn’t you? Because you can’t help yourself.”
If she didn’t close her mouth, he’d know she was lying. “Well I—I—”
But the feeling was fierce, fiercer than it should have been, that he oozed disappointment. His mouth, set in a line, and the pinpricks of luminosity in his eyes weren’t him somehow. It made his face shuttered so she couldn’t read it. Worse, she couldn’t tell whether that disappointment centered entirely on himself. It couldn’t be that it sickened him to have feelings for her, despite her recalcitrance.
“You thought I brought you here for some immoral purpose. Correct? Like I used to all those years ago.”
“The thought didn’t cross my mind.” Much.
“That’s a change.”
He straightened. Somewhat to her relief, she was forced to say. She understood, to a point, he was ruthless. One did not expect the mercifulness of a saint in a man who’d once offered her the choice between getting in his bed and walking the plank.
But the emotion that gripped him went deeper than that. The flicker in his eyes. The knitting of his brow.
“You usually have a dramatic imagination about me that way.”
Which was why she couldn’t prevent her gaze from stealing back to the table. Why would he do this? Give her the book? Unless he could get more for her.
“Go. Take everything. I want you to.”
Was he serious? Silly to let this bother her, but if there was another agenda, why did she feel it wasn’t quite right somehow to do what he said? What if he had changed? And what if she believed that and it was a mistake?
She reached out a hand and snatched up the book. The loose papers too. Opportunities like this did not come along every day.
“At least it will stop you rifling my cabin for them.”
Her? The rest of the ship certainly. But his cabin? If she was left in it alone perhaps. “M-me? I don’t know how you can say such a thing.”
“Easy. That amount of temptation under your nose, you know you couldn’t resist. ’Specially as this is where you’ll be staying till the boat’s repaired.”
She froze, her eyes first darting sideways. She hoped perhaps she’d misheard. Surely, giving her the book and the letters meant… Actually she wasn’t sure what it meant. “And why will I be doing that?”
“Why do you think?”
Ruin, of course. What else could it be, the lazy way his gaze searched her face. She would not, could not let him. She sprang for the door, any thought about him keeping her here for her own personal safety vanishing when she collided instead with him.
“How dare you?” She grasped the book tighter and s
wiped it at his chest as if it were a fan. Then she thudded it for good measure off his jaw. “If that is why you’ve given me these, you can keep them.”
And yet, was it quite the thing to do, hitting him with a pile of paper, especially when the book spine split down the middle and the leaves landed on the floor? The cologne bottle or the sextant would be more effective. Only she couldn’t reach either. Biting him was no better because he took hold of her wrists in a powerful grip and yanked her back even as she fought to get her hands on something heavier. She could barely move, although, of course she tried.
“In the unlikely event you calm down—” His drawl only incensed her further.
“And what about you?”
“Think of the baby. The heir to the Beaumont dukedom. What’s more important to you than anything. Now, you might see me giving you that book and these papers has nothing to do with you staying here. But you know my feelings on a tidy cabin.”
“I’m not picking them up again. Although I do applaud your conscientiousness in giving them to me.”
“And you know my feelings on escape. You, and just maybe Susan, although I’m less sure about her. You think I didn’t see the way the two of you were talking on that deck? You think I don’t know what you’re planning?”
God, this was madness. That twinge in her stomach alarmed her. Never mind anything else, the Beaumont heir could not be delivered in the hold of a pirate vessel. Only she felt her breath shorten and rage course through her veins.
“That’s why you gave me these? So I would come in here? You nasty, low-down son of a bitch’s dog. A bitch’s whore. A—a—”
But how on earth could she now escape if she didn’t lull him into a false sense of security? Was she mad? How could she lull him, ranting like this? And trying to hit him. Already she saw in the ice-cool of his manner, the searching stare, even the new low depth to his voice, that this was not a man to whom she could appeal.
“No. But I brought you in here because I’m keeping you and Susan apart.”
As abruptly as if he’d tossed a bucket of icy water on her, she froze. “Until when?”
“Till the mast’s mended or the baby’s born, whichever is first. Now, do you mind if I get some sleep? I’ve not had any for three days.”
* * *
She put on a brave show, Flint gave her credit for that, although he’d never seen her face so white. Later though, after he kicked his boots off and sprawled out on the bed, he was aware of a voice in his head pointing out to him this had somehow taken a turn for the worse.
He could scarcely remember being more brutal. Except perhaps the day with the trunk. But he just happened to desire her to the deepest depths of his veins. So much so it wasn’t a trouble to stay away from other women, despite the fact he’d been celibate since he left her bed and it didn’t look like he was getting any soon. Even if Marigold had not belonged to his first mate, he’d been ruined for that.
And the damned mast snapping, so near the shore. If he could get in the water and tow the damned boat back out to sea himself, he would. Because he knew damned fine what rat’s piss all this talk of choices was. She’d do anything to get off this boat and away from him.
He’d said it now. And he didn’t take it back. The Beaumont heir. That was his damned baby she had there.
If he couldn’t keep her, he’d damn well keep it.
Chapter Sixteen
It was not that Fury wasn’t used to desperate situations. It was that the water was so cold, far worse than anything she expected, like being stuck with ice shards. Hundreds of them. All at the same time. No wonder she gasped. If she didn’t move though, she would freeze.
All she had to do was strike out for the shore there, being careful to make as little noise as possible. Flint might have slept the sleep of the dead for the last five hours, but she’d left the cabin window open behind her.
Fury bobbed her way through the lapping waves, the sticks, and seaweed that covered the surface of the water. She might have taken the jolly boat, which had been lowered to take Louise-Ann ashore earlier, but even she had baulked at that. Four men were required to row it.
Swimming was the one useful thing Flint had taught her. He had thought it might save her life some time. He didn’t know how right he was. Of course, the water he had taught her in had been much warmer. As indeed had been his behavior toward her on those occasions. They had swum and dived in some wonderful places. She had no wish to think of them now but her teeth chattered so badly with cold, she had to remember something warm.
A pity she’d had to wait till dusk. It gave her the advantage of darkness, however, the water would have been warmer earlier and the shore, which had looked so close, would not seem so far away, as though someone kept tugging it away from her on a string.
Naturally, as she discovered, the second she grasped the jolly’s rope and swung from the cabin window into the water, the only advantage in being pregnant was someone might take her for a whale.
After Flint’s threats, what other choice did she have though? She’d not done all this to let him take the baby. Her dreams. Storm’s future. What was wrong with him? And not just that. The taut, burning way he had looked. Eyes of icy steel. Yet eyes that had seemed to want to breathe her, to breathe her soul, while he stood over her at the door. It frightened her. Not as much as one fact though. She wasn’t having a baby on a boat.
She wasn’t having it in the water either. She smothered a shriek as a cold claw grasped the base of her spine. A very strange place to have swimmer’s cramp though, wasn’t it?
She came into the shallows and she staggered to her feet, gritting her teeth to prevent any shrieks escaping her. Already, the amount of water cascading from her gown, as if someone had tossed several bucketfuls over her, and her feet slapping through the shingle made enough noise to wake the dead. She had still to find her way off the beach.
Well, she would. Susan was on board the Palerna. This might be Fury’s only chance to free her. Only it would have been more helpful if she’d managed to bring shoes. The shingle cut her hands and knees. As for that cramp crippling the base of her spine—that was unexpected.
She gulped and crawled into the sand dunes, landing with a thud on her palms and nose. Not now. It was too early. Why, she was barely eight months. And besides, all her labor pains with Storm had been in her stomach.
No. She just had to rest for a bit. Difficult and all as it was, with the breath tearing in her lungs and her teeth chattering with cold. And knowing one terrible fact. An eight months baby would not survive. And, oh God, neither would she, out here in the open. Clutching her stomach, as if to hold herself together, she edged up against a dune. She took several short, ragged breaths to compose herself.
It may be she didn’t want this child, but she couldn’t let all this be for nothing. That would be too laughable for words. She wasn’t going to laugh. She was going to sit here very quietly for a little while. Then get on her way to that scattering of cottages further along the shore she had glimpsed earlier.
* * *
“Madam!”
Fury heard the cry, faint at first above the wind tearing at her hair, and thought she imagined it. Then she heard it again. Stronger this time. Closer too.
“Madam!”
Susan. She had escaped and was searching for her.
“Susan!” Dragging herself onto her knees she croaked, “Susan!” She must have huddled for hours in the dunes, trying to find shelter from the whipping wind, after managing to crawl a little way further. But if Susan was here, then they’d be able to make their way onto the path. Reach the cottages. By morning this would all be over. A distant nightmare.
“Madam? My God.”
Fury saw the light before she saw Susan. A huge ship’s lantern flaming into her vision.
“Oh, Susan, I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.” They may have quarreled earlier over Flint, but she owed everything to her.
“For God’s sake, my love
y. Are you—”
Susan edged the lantern down on the sand. Before she could finish, Fury clung to her. It was so good to see her, and she was warm in a way Fury wasn’t right now.
“No. I’m all right. At least I think I’m all right. But these pains. I just keep having these—” She was so ashamed to think she could screech like this, she closed her mouth to muffle the sound. The last thing she needed was to be in labor. If she muffled the sound, surely it would go away? “In my back. Cramp from swimming. It’ll go in a minute. Yes. Then we can head up the path and get away from here. There’s cottages up there at the top of the path. Someone will surely help us.”
Fury didn’t care for the way Susan’s gaze froze as she swept the hair back from Fury’s face.
“What do you mean pains? How many?”
“Not so many. Just… It’s gone now. There. Thank goodness, eh?”
“Madam, I’m going for help.” Susan got back up to her feet.
“No, Susan. I’m coming with you.”
And yet, was it such a bad idea? She stayed here and Susan fetched help. So long as that help… A terrifying thought thudded.
“Susan, how did you get here? Did you escape too? Did you manage to swim?” Another wave of pain took her but she gritted her teeth.
“Captain Flint brought me. He’s looking for you. So’s half the Palerna.”
“Half the—Susan… No, you can’t… This…this is our chance.” She shot to her feet. “Our only chance. You have no idea the things he’s said to me. You need to go to one of the cottages and raise the alarm. There are smugglers. Or privateers. Or whatever. And you get help. But you do not tell him you have found me. He wants the baby. He told me. Threatened me. It was what he called me to his cabin for.”
Why did Susan stare like that? As if Fury had gone mad? Of course the magnitude of Flint’s present insanity was hard to understand.
“And I am afraid, maybe he means to ransom me, Susan. Can you imagine?”
The Unraveling of Lady Fury Page 26
