by Vale, Jennae
“Now that yer father is gone, ye will have more freedom, but ye must be careful, Lizzie. The world is filled with people who will take advantage of ye.” He stood and made his way across the room to a box that caught his attention. It wasn’t a large box. In fact, it fit in the palm of his hand. It was intricately carved with monstrous creatures. “May I?” he asked, indicating the box.
“Yes.”
He opened the lid, finding that the box was lined with velvet, and tucked neatly into the bottom was a key. He lifted it out and held it up to Lizzie. “What does this open?” he wondered.
She stood and went to him. She took the key from his hand, examining it. “I’ve never seen this before.” She placed it back in the box.
He stared at the key a while longer before closing the lid and placing it back on the table. “There must be a place here in the house where your father kept his valuables.”
Lizzie thought for a moment. “He never told me of any such place.”
“It’s too dark to hunt for anything tonight. Tomorrow morning we’ll search the house and the grounds. Hopefully the storm will have passed by then.” He retrieved the box and put it in his pocket for safekeeping.
“We have a busy day ahead of us. We should retire for the night.” She stood close, gazing up at him.
The aroma of verbena wafted to his nose. It was a scent he would forever associate with Lizzie. It took every ounce of control he could muster not to take her in his arms and kiss her again and then carry her to his bed where he would make her his. She would be willing, of that he was sure, but he would not take advantage of her feelings for him. “I will escort ye to yer bedchamber.”
She placed her hand in the crook of his arm as he led her up the stairs. The heat of that dainty hand was burning a hole in his arm and his resolve. A few more steps and they would be at her door.
As they approached, she removed her hand and turned to him. “Goodnight, Rourke.”
Before he could speak, she stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, then slipped through the door, leaving him to what would surely be a sleepless night filled with thoughts of her.
Chapter Eight
The search began first thing in the morning. Rourke and Lizzie went from room to room in an effort to find the place where her father would have kept his valuables, including the extra taxes he’d been collecting for years. They found nothing.
Lizzie was ever aware of the handsome man at her side. A stray lock of dark brown hair fell into Rourke’s eyes, and much to her disappointment, before she could do it for him, he raked it back off of his face.
“Do you think Guyton knows anything?” he asked. “Or Maria?”
“Perhaps we should find them.”
“We’ve looked everywhere. If it’s not in the house, I’m not sure how to proceed. We don’t even know if William was the one who took the treasure. If he was, he would have needed an accomplice. I can’t imagine him sneaking aboard Las Animas on his own.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Lizzie concurred.
They went to the kitchen where they found Maria busy cleaning. She glanced up at them and stopped what she was doing. “Is there something I can do for you, Miss?”
“Maria, do you know if my father had a hiding place somewhere in the house or on the grounds?” Lizzie asked.
The woman looked puzzled, but was obviously thinking about it. “No. He would not have told me if he did, and I’ve never heard any of the servants speak of it.”
“Do ye ken where Guyton is?” Rourke asked.
“In the garden.” She neatly folded the cloth in her hands and placed it on the table.
“Thank you for your help,” Lizzie said before following Rourke out the back entrance into the herb garden.
Small droplets of water sitting on leaves caused the plants to sparkle as if they’d been dusted with tiny gemstones. The storm passed at some point during the night, leaving blue skies and white clouds.
“Guyton!” Lizzie called. He was examining a broken tree limb caused by the high winds.
“Miss,” he said, turning toward them. “We were lucky. This seems to be the only damage to the garden.”
“That is fortunate,” Lizzie said. “We were wondering if my father ever told you of a place he might hide things of importance.”
He thought for a moment. “Not that I can remember.”
“Guyton, on the day of the murder, were there any guests you can recall?”
“Only Mr. Pargo and the other one.”
“They came after the murder,” Lizzie reminded him.
“Are ye sure?” Rourke asked her.
“I didn’t see anyone here before I found Papa, but I had been out for a walk shortly before.”
“What about you, Guyton?” Rourke asked.
“I was in the garden.”
“And Maria?”
Guyton shrugged.
“Were any of the other servants here? Or any of William’s soldiers?” Rourke turned first to Guyton and then to Lizzie with his question.
“You know, now that I think about it, I was surprised to come back and find no one around. It was very quiet, except for the sound of the gunshot,” Lizzie answered.
“Where was Daniel?” Rourke asked.
“He was with Guyton.” Lizzie’s brow furrowed as she placed a finger to her lips. “Do you really believe Pargo and Agustin were responsible for my father’s death?”
“I do. They could easily have been hiding somewhere after he was shot.”
“I did call for Guyton when I first entered the house, but before I heard the shot. Perhaps they heard me.”
“Pargo will have a lot to answer for.” Rourke seemed quite agitated.
“Mr. Rourke, the other man…” Guyton began, but it was obvious he didn’t know his name.
“Agustin,” Rourke said.
“Yes.” Guyton appeared thoughtful. “He has been here before to see the governor.”
“Are you sure?” Lizzie asked.
“I am. Your father never had visitors here at the mansion, so I thought it unusual.”
“How many times did you see him?” Rourke asked.
“Two or three. He never stayed long.”
“Thank you, Guyton. We may have solved at least one mystery, possibly two.”
They turned back to the house, leaving Guyton to continue his gardening.
“What should we do now?” Lizzie asked.
“I think I should pay a visit to the tavern. Someone there might be convinced to supply the information we need.”
“I’m coming with you,” Lizzie stated.
“I’ve come to accept the fact that every time I say I’m going to do something on my own ye want to go with me. This time, I’m putting my foot down. No. You can no’ come with me.”
“I’d like to know why.” She stopped, hands on hips, awaiting his answer.
“Have ye ever been to the docks before these past few days?” He knew the answer to his question, but thought it worth repeating.
“No.”
“Then ye don’t understand the danger it poses for ye.” She was an obstinate lass. He wasn’t sure the threat of danger would deter her, but it was all he had to frighten her with.
“Just for me? What about you? Are you not in danger as well?”
“No. I am armed and capable of taking care of myself.” He could see her impatience and anger beginning to bubble over.
“Well, I don’t care what you think. I’m coming with you or I will go on my own.” She stormed past him, toward the doors, but he reached out, grabbing her arm and spinning her to face him.
He had no doubt that she’d go on her own given the chance. He could stand here and argue with her until at some point she finally gave in, but they didn’t have the luxury of time. “Fine. Come with me, but ye must do as I say, do ye understand?”
“Do you think I lack intelligence. Of course I understand.” He had clearly angered her once again.
The fire in h
er eyes fanned his own flames. Flames of desire. Lord how he’d love to kiss her into submission. The problem was, he couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t be the one submitting. As much as he hated to admit it, the lass had cast a spell on him. Seeing her luscious curves, her plump, tempting lips, and a cascade of golden curls framing her face, it was all he could do to behave like the gentleman he needed to be and not the rogue he was.
Lizzie stood glaring at him, her foot tapping impatiently where she stood. She was angry. Angry that he thought she could so easily be dismissed despite the fact she had much more at stake than he did. Angry that he thought she needed him. Angry that she did need him. Angry that she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.
“Shall we?” A muscle flexed in his jaw as he motioned for her to proceed.
Lizzie threw her shoulders back and held her head high as she passed him. Sneaking a peak over her shoulder, she saw him shaking his head before scrubbing his fingers through his hair. She’d won, and he didn’t like losing.
They took the governor’s carriage into town. The man who drove had taken her father to town many times, but it seemed there wasn’t a rut or hole he was capable of missing. Lizzie held on tightly as she was jostled back and forth. Rourke didn’t seem to be having any problem sitting in one spot. His strong, muscled arms were crossed over his broad chest as he gazed out the window, never once looking her way.
If that was how he wanted to be… The carriage hit a particularly large rut and she found herself bounced right into his lap. She scrambled to move back to her own seat, but he had an iron grip on her.
“Ye’d better stay where ye are. It seems the driver is a blind man.”
Lizzie almost laughed, but she controlled herself. The last thing she wanted was for Rourke to think she was amused by him. Besides, she was enjoying the sensation of a strong arm holding her securely. It reminded her of being pinned against a tree in the pouring rain. A small mewl of pleasure escaped her throat at the thought of what had transpired between them.
“Did ye say something?” he growled.
The deep sound of his voice cut right down to her core, and she squirmed in his lap, apparently causing him some discomfort.
“Sit still, lass.” He moved her a bit, and she felt the hardness between his thighs as it poked her backside.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, although she wasn’t. Not one bit. She moved again, this time knowing full well what she was doing.
“Enough,” he whispered in her ear. “If yer no’ careful, I’ll be taking ye here in the carriage. Ye would no’ want that now, would ye?”
She started to speak. She wanted to say she did, but the carriage came to a halt. Rourke moved her from his lap to her seat and then sat forward, placing his elbows on his knees, head in his hands.
“We’re here,” she said.
“I ken we’re here. I need a moment, if ye doona mind.” He sounded exasperated.
Lizzie smiled and glanced out the window at a scene that both frightened and fascinated her. Men, who she now knew to be pirates, were everywhere. They were armed with every weapon imaginable and appeared quite deadly. She scooted a bit closer to Rourke.
“Do ye see now why I wanted to leave ye behind?”
“I do.”
“Ye’ll obey me without question, do ye understand?” His stern voice left no room for disagreement.
The rebellious side of her wanted to say she didn’t have to obey him, but the sensible side of her agreed. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from saying the wrong thing. “Yes.”
He opened the door to the carriage and those nearby congregated around to see who was arriving. When Rourke stepped out, he was greeted with curiosity. They knew who he was, but not why he’d arrived in the governor’s carriage.
He held out a hand for her, and she took it. As she set foot on the ground, a murmur erupted from the men, which turned into hoots, whistles, and lewd comments she was embarrassed to hear.
Rourke grabbed the man nearest to him by the throat. “Not another word from any of ye or ye’ll answer to me.” He released the man, tossing him aside as if he weighed nothing. The sea of men surrounding the carriage parted to make way for them to pass. He held tight to Lizzie’s hand as he pulled her along behind him until they reached Red Legs Tavern.
Before they entered, Rourke turned to her. “Are ye ready?”
“I am.” She wasn’t, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she wished she was home.
Chapter Nine
Entering Red Legs Tavern, Lizzie was immediately thrown off balance by the loud and raucous scene before her. The rancid odor of unwashed bodies, smoke, and spirits turned her stomach. She wasn’t sure her eyes could open any wider. She clutched Rourke’s hand and arm, trying to get as close to him as she possibly could. Half-naked women sat astride men, engaged in activities that left little to the imagination. An odd curiosity overcame her, and she couldn’t help but stare at what she was seeing.
“What have we here?” An elderly, white-haired man with a kindly smile approached them.
“Jacob!” Rourke appeared to know him.
“Is that ye, Rourke Mackall?” the man laughed.
“Ye ken it.”
“And who is this lovely lass?”
“Lizette Wickham, daughter of the late governor,” Rourke said.
“Late! I’ve only just arrived, what has happened?” The man seemed shocked to hear the news.
“Someone killed him in his home,” Rourke answered.
“And ye’re trying to find them.” It was a statement not a question.
“We are.”
The man gave Lizzie a once over as if sizing her up. It wasn’t like the other men who hardly tried to cover what they were thinking as they ogled her. “And she’s to help ye.”
“Ye’re a sharp one, Jacob,” Rourke used his free hand to clap the man on the back.
“I’ll help ye if I can,” Jacob said.
“What would ye want in return?”
“A place on The Dagger. I find meself between ships.” Jacob smiled and revealed a somewhat toothless mouth.
“I won’t ask why, but if ye find any useful information, I may be able to help ye.”
“It must be useful then?” he asked.
“Aye, it must.”
“Ye’ll hear from me again. Miss.” He bowed to Lizzie, who couldn’t help but smile. “’Twas a pleasure.”
“Stay close,” Rourke cautioned Lizzie.
She didn’t plan on letting go of him, so that shouldn’t be a problem. As they made their way through the tavern, Lizzie was shocked to see some of the women who had been present for her father’s burial. He was the governor, after all.
“You are bothered by what you see,” Rourke said.
She didn’t want to give him any more reason to believe he’d been right in not wanting to bring her along. “I’m not bothered, only surprised to see the women who were at the mansion yesterday.”
He didn’t believe her, and she could tell by his raised brows and smug grin.
“Where are we going?”
“Back here. Sit.” They had reached the back of the tavern where several men stood, clearing a table for them. Rourke nodded his thanks as they staggered away.
A pitcher of ale was slammed down on the table in front of them along with two tankards. The red-haired, green-eyed woman who brought them threw an arm around Rourke’s shoulders and he reciprocated the gesture with an arm around her waist. “Thank ye, lass.”
Lizzie hoped it wasn’t obvious she was staring, but she couldn’t seem to help it. The woman’s ample bosom was spilling over the top of her dress as she sat in Rourke’s lap.
“Is there anythin’ else I can do for ye, love?” She ran a finger along his chin.
Lizzie thought she was going to be sick. Rourke wasn’t stopping her. In fact, he took her hand in his and kissed it. “There is something. Can you let it be known, discreetly of cour
se, that I’m looking for the man who killed the governor?”
“It would be me pleasure, Cap’n Mackall.” She winked at him and nodded to Lizzie as she walked away.
“Do you behave that way with every woman you meet?” Lizzie didn’t hide the disapproval in her voice.
“Are ye jealous?” The smuggest, most maddening smile she’d ever set eyes on appeared on his face.
“Don’t be silly. Why should I be jealous?”
“There is no reason, but ye are.” The mischievous twinkle in his eye told her he was teasing her and enjoying it.
“You are wrong, sir. I will not argue the point any further.” He was right. She couldn’t deny it to herself.
“As ye wish.” He filled his tankard. “Would ye care for ale?”
“Thank you, no,” she huffed.
“And now we wait.”
An awkward silence followed. Rourke seemed comfortable enough as he leaned back in his chair while scanning the room. She on the other hand, chose to look down at her hands rather than continue to be assailed by the sight of men and women engaged in behavior that both fascinated and repulsed her.
Rourke sat up in his chair, causing her head to pop up. He nodded toward a shabbily dressed man limping toward them.
“I hear ye’re seeking answers.” The man sat at the table with them.
Lizzie leaned away from the man, who was a little too close for her liking.
“Aye. What do ye ken?” Rourke asked.
“That depends.”
“On…”
“What ye’re willing to pay.”
Rourke took a bag of silver coin from inside his shirt and plunked it down on the table.
The man reached for it, but with lightning speed, Rourke stabbed the bag with his dirk, anchoring it to the table. The man’s hand retreated.
“Now. What do ye ken about the governor’s killer?”
