by Merry Farmer
Nelson held back his curse. Didn’t the barrelman know that Little Bo Peep had lost her sheep? The nursery rhyme his sister told to his nephews implied they were long gone before the story even started.
Instead of explaining the story just then, Nelson said, “The gent at the stern?”
“Yeah?” Flinn acknowledged.
“He’s the kidnapper.”
“He’s on the move,” Flinn warned, his gaze back on the Tuscan by way of his spyglass.
“Crikey,” Nelson muttered, realizing just then the kidnapper might conclude the Molly was after him. He raced to the wheel to inform Blake.
An Arresting Proposition
Blake Russell gauged the amount of space he would need to clear the Tuscan’s hull and ordered the jib and top sail to come down. Noting how the captain of the Tuscan was following a near-straight course directed to the now-visible port at Calais, he felt confident the two ships wouldn’t collide.
His crew’s excitement was palpable. Once he had explained they were to rescue the young woman in pink—she is not a tart, but rather the daughter of a rich baronet, he had been quick to inform them—they rushed about on deck carrying out his orders.
The opportunity to earn their share of the blunt offered by Sir Peter might have been the primary reason for their enthusiasm, but Blake thought perhaps they were itching for action. Itching for an opportunity to wield their swords and play pirates for just a few minutes.
He’d had to remind his men that Lord Dorchester would need to be taken alive. The baron was a peer, and therefore untouchable when it came to his crime. Should the aristocrats in the House of Lords decide to try him, Blake hoped they might see to a suitable punishment. Stripping him of his title and tossing him into Newgate would be Blake’s choice, but he didn’t think the lords would see it the same way.
“Now should I have Flinn hoist the skull and crossbones?” Nelson asked when he joined Blake at the wheel. His question was laced with a bit too much enthusiasm.
“The Jolly Roger? I don’t know that we have to do that,” Blake replied. “We risk taking a ball from one of their guns.”
“Bimmington won’t shoot. He’s already hoisted a white flag.”
“What?” Blake quickly raised his gaze to take in the sight of a white pennon waving from the Tuscan’s top mast. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he murmured. “I guess this means we won’t have to scuttle the Tuscan.” Not that he had been considering it, but if Captain Bimmington proved difficult or had fired on them, he would have given the order to return fire.
He then noticed an older gentleman waving from the starboard rail. Dressed in a navy topcoat festooned with brass buttons, his head topped with a black tricorn, Captain Bimmington was aiming a glare in his direction.
“Take the wheel,” Blake ordered, his attention entirely on the other captain, “and raise the Jolly Roger. I want Dorchester to see it.” The words were said with spite, and a grin touched Blake’s lips.
Nelson did as he was told, a gleam in his eye. “Aye, Capt’n.”
Blake made his way to the leeward rail. “Sorry about this, Captain,” he called out. “But you’re carrying contraband cargo and a kidnapper, and I’ve been hired to see to their retrieval and return to London.”
Bimmington jerked at hearing the other captain’s words. “My cargo is entirely legitimate—”
“All except for Little Bo Peep,” Blake called back. “Give up Lord Dorchester, and give up the shepherdess, and no one gets hurt.”
Giving his head a shake, Bimmington shouted, “On whose authority?”
Blake was tempted to yell back, “Mine,” but instead said, “Lord Chamberlain, Foreign Office. You’re transporting a kidnapper.”
Dipping his head at learning the young lady had been telling the truth, Bimmington was almost glad the other ship had intercepted his. Getting rid of Mr. Smith would be a relief. “Since I’ve already received pay for his passage, you can have him,” Bimmington replied, his need to yell lessened now that ropes had been tossed from the Molly to the Tuscan to ensure the two ships stayed abreast of one another. “But you’ll have to come get him. I rather doubt Mr. Smith will go willingly.”
“You’ll not fire on my crew?”
Bimmington shook his head. “We’ll be glad to be rid of him.”
Feeling a profound sense of relief, Blake called out the order to bring forth the planks that would connect the two ships. He hurried to the bow, relieved to see Barbara. She was apparently safe, holding an umbrella aloft and looking ever so pink in her Bo Peep costume. Although a bit wind-blown, she looked radiant when her gaze settled on him and recognition had her calling out his given name.
Never in his life had he felt such relief. Such joy. Such desire for a woman. No, she wasn’t a diamond of the first water. Her features weren’t those of an English beauty. Her eyes were a bit too far apart and rather large. Her chin nearly ended in a point but was saved by a bit of squarishness. Her brown hair, having long since lost its pins, was whipping about due to the wind and would no doubt resemble a rat’s nest when she was safe aboard his ship. But her smile was infectious, and the sight of her pink-clad body had his reacting in a manner entirely inappropriate for the occasion.
“Barbara! Fear not, for I’ve come to save you,” he called out.
What the hell? Had he really said such a thing? And out loud?
What the hell had gotten into him?
Miss Woodcock appeared at his side, the valise gripped in one hand and her smile wide. “My lady! I brought you a change of clothes,” she yelled. And then her smile faltered. “I don’t know that I’ll be able to do anything with your hair, however.”
Blake gave the lady’s maid a quelling glance before he turned his attention back on Barbara. “I’m coming for you,” he shouted, and made to head for the planks that now connected the two ships.
“Not unless you have twenty-thousand pounds!”
In the span of a blink of an eye, Lord Dorchester had moved up behind Barbara and had grasped her around the waist with one arm. He now held a pistol to her face, the barrel denting the rounded flesh of her cheek.
Alarm and fear had Blake frozen where he stood. “You unhand her this instant, you cur!”
“Not until I get the ransom and safe passage to Calais,” Dorchester called back. In a voice that only Barbara could hear, he added, “Isn’t this so much more exciting than our two o’ clock ride in Hyde Park would have been?”
Barbara stiffened in his hold. “Lord Dorchester?” she whispered in awe, attempting to turn so she might see him more clearly. The gun barrel pushed harder though, and she was forced to look at Blake.
Which she didn’t mind in the least. His concern for her seemed genuine.
He was dressed exactly as she remembered him from the night before, which meant he really was a pirate. Either that, or he had rushed off to his ship to save her the moment he learned she was in danger. Standing as he was, with one hand on the hilt of a cutlass and the other on his hip, he looked dangerous. Devilishly handsome, despite his large nose. And quite annoyed, given how the muscles at the top of his broad shoulders bunched.
“Oh, Blake,” she whispered, wishing he could hear her words. “My hero.” In a louder voice she said, “Don’t give him a farthing.”
“Now see here, you...”
The baron didn’t have a chance to finish his curse when a brandy wine barrel came down hard on his head.
Holding it between his two hands was Fitz.
The Molly’s sailing master stood over the crumpled body of the kidnapper for a moment in an effort to determine if he had really knocked him out before he raised his head and then gave Miss Wycliff a slight bow. “Miss Peep,” he said with an impish grin. “’Tis verra good to meet you. My mum used to read me your rhyme next to me bed at night”, he said in all seriousness. “Didn’t realize you were real. So sorry about your sheep.”
Barbara blinked. And blinked again. “Oh, well, thank you,” she repli
ed, adding a curtsy, just before she was suddenly engulfed in Blake’s arms.
“Are you well? Did he hurt you?” the captain asked, not giving up his hold on the young woman.
“I am fine, now that you are here,” Barbara murmured, rather liking how one of his hands was sliding down her backside. When he cupped her bottom and pulled her closer, she let out a gasp and her eyes widened. “Have you really come for me?” she asked in a whisper.
“I have, my lady,” Blake whispered.
“However did you know where I was?”
Blake reluctantly pulled away but left his forehead pressed against hers. “I’ll explain later, but first we must get you aboard the Molly. Take you back to London,” he murmured. He raised his head and motioned toward Lord Dorchester. “Good work, Fitz. Tie his hands behind his back, and get him onto the Molly,” he ordered.
“There’s twine in the captain’s cabin,” Barbara suggested, and Fitz paused to nod at her before he hurried off.
Barbara returned her attention to Blake, her tremulous smile suggesting she might cry at any moment. “You came for me,” she whispered.
Blake took a deep breath and let it out as he nodded. “I did. I was so worried. Did he... did he force himself on you?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“I would shoot him if he did.”
“You would do that for me?”
Nodding, Blake once again dropped his forehead to hers. “Are you sure he didn’t hurt you?”
Barbara was almost disappointed when she had to say, “Yes, I am sure.”
“Did he frighten you?”
Angling her head to one side, Barbara thought of the moment the pistol was shoved into her cheek. “Yes.”
“Then I’ll shoot him for that,” Blake vowed.
A delightful grin spread over Barbara’s face. “I believed you really were a pirate when I saw you a moment ago.”
Blake aimed his attention on the boards that connected the two ships. “You may again when I tell you we have to walk the plank.”
“What?” Despite the disbelief in her voice, Barbara allowed Blake to lead her to where the set of planks spanned the divide between the two decks. A wave of seasickness had her clutching her middle. “I cannot walk the plank,” she managed to say.
Without a word of warning, Blake lifted his Bo Peep into his arms and strode across the chasm between the two ships, grinning when he saw how she had squeezed her eyes shut and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Once he was on the Molly, his crew broke out in cheers, and Barbara opened her eyes.
“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” he asked as he set her back on her feet.
She struggled to stand upright, and when Russell noticed, he simply scooped her back into his arms. He surveyed his crew, most agog at seeing him carrying a woman. “Take Dorchester to the brig. Get us back to London. We’ve a reward to collect for having captured him,” he called out.
The crew erupted in another round of cheers before they scattered to do his bidding. The reward promised in Lord Chamberlain’s letter was really for returning Miss Wycliff to her father, but his crew didn’t need to know that.
And neither did Barbara.
A Maid is Missing
With Barbara still in his arms, Blake headed towards his quarters.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked, her hands once again wrapping around his neck.
“To my... to the captain’s quarters,” he managed to say. “I’ve a comfortable chair for you, or there’s a bed should you wish to lie down.”
“Your bed?” she asked, sounding almost hopeful.
Blake swallowed. “Yes. Should our trip back to London take all night, then I will see to it you and your lady’s maid—”
“Where is Woodcock?” Barbara asked, glancing back to where Althea had been standing with the valise. “I should like to get out of this costume and into warmer clothes.”
“She’s around here somewhere.” Blake frowned, wondering where the lady’s maid was. “She has your valise—” He spun around, his gaze searching the area where he had last stood next to Althea, but that part of the deck was now abandoned.
He noted how Fitz and Blakely were seeing to Lord Dorchester, the two managing to haul the baron’s prone body across the planks. Once they were on board the Molly, the wooden planks were pulled back onto the ship, and the ropes tying the two vessels together were loosened.
Captain Bimmington stood with his hands on his hips, watching closely as the Molly drifted away from the Tuscan, as if he was worried the two ships might yet collide. He gave a wave when it was apparent they were on separate courses. “May the wind be at your back,” he called out.
Blake acknowledged the words with, “And at yours,” before he carried Barbara into his cabin.
He set her on the edge of his bed. “I’ll have your maid join you when I find her,” he said as he straightened. In the dim light, he allowed his gaze to pause for a moment. Despite her mussed gown, the faded red lip color, and evidence she’d been exposed to wind and sun this day, her wide eyes were bright as she regarded him.
She still took his breath away.
Finding the temptation too great, Blake leaned down and kissed her.
Much like the kiss he had bestowed on her at the ball, Barbara wasn’t expecting it, but she returned it without hesitation.
Blake finally pulled away, his heart hammering despite the excitement of the past half-hour having passed. “I know I should apologize—”
“Don’t you dare,” she warned with a shake of her head.
“Oh, well then.” Blake took her face between his hands and kissed her again, this time for a moment longer. “I won’t,” he whispered before he gave a slight bow. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I’ve something I need to see to, but I will return soon.” He took his leave of his quarters.
Barbara let out the breath she’d been holding, sad for the loss of his attentions but heartened that he had simply picked up where they had left off the night before at the ball.
Had that really just been the night before? So much had happened in such a short amount of time!
Rising to her feet, she took a few steps to test her balance. The motion of the water beneath the larger ship was less noticeable than on the Tuscan, and she walked with confidence to the door of the cabin to look out.
Deckhands were scrambling about, a few climbing ropes or pulling on them in an effort to get the Molly turned around for its trip back to London. That’s when she noticed the pennon of the skull and crossbones flying above, the wind whipping the black and white flag so hard, she could hear the flapping sound.
“Pirates,” she whispered. A combination of disbelief and fear gripped her just then. In all the excitement, she hadn’t even noticed that Blake’s ship really was a pirate ship.
A hand went to her middle again as she struggled with seasickness. Food. She really needed food. Determined to find some, she made her way down the only stairs she could find.
“Is she in here?” Blake asked when he stepped into the wheelhouse. Nelson was at the wheel, struggling to get the ship headed north.
“She who?” the first mate responded.
“Woodcock.”
Nelson paused in his task and stared at the captain. “She was on deck a moment ago,” he said as he pretended to look for the lady’s maid. “She’s not in here.” He was about to say more, but the captain disappeared.
Blake rushed about the deck. Not finding Miss Woodcock along any of the railings, he stood beneath the main mast and called up to Flinn. “Where’s the lady’s maid?”
The barrelman leaned out of the crow’s nest, his gaze sweeping the ship below. He then turned his attention on the Tuscan, and his arm shot out. “Over there,” he called out. “On the Tuscan.”
Blake turned around and then made his way to the stern, his attention on the lady’s maid who now stood at the rail of the other ship. On the deck next to her feet was the valise. �
�What did you do?” he called out in confusion, realizing she had to have walked the plank to get onto the Tuscan when the two ships were still joined. Was she mad?
Or had she run a rig?
“I decided I wish to live in France,” Althea shouted back, her shoulders shrugging in a manner suggesting she didn’t have a care in the world. “Thank you for the ride.” Her huge grin suggested she had made her decision long before she had boarded the Molly.
A niggling, annoying feeling had Blake cursing just then. He had really hoped she wasn’t what Nelson had suspected, but it seemed his first mate was right. “With twenty thousand pounds, I suppose?” he yelled back.
The lady’s maid dipped a curtsy and smiled again, but she said not a word. The distance between the two ships would have prevented her response from being heard.
“Dammit,” Blake ground out. “Dammit all to hell.”
Althea Woodcock had been in it with Lord Dorchester all along. She had probably been dispatched with the ransom by her employer, so that if a ship hadn’t been able to intercept the Tuscan before it reached Calais, the ransom could still be paid.
Well, what would Sir Peter do when he discovered she had made off with his money? Money that was probably supposed to be the reward money for returning Barbara Wycliff to London?
Blake was pondering this and more when he returned to the wheelhouse to tell his first mate what he had discovered.
“Gone, isn’t she?” Nelson asked when Blake joined him again.
Blake allowed a grimace, thinking his first mate seemed awfully pleased with himself. “On the Tuscan. With the valise, of course,” he said on a long sigh. “Dammit, how is it she even made it over there without being seen?” he asked. “With twenty-thousand pounds, no less?”
