Shuddering at the glob that had landed on the nearby tea cart, Talon swallowed the nausea brewing in his stomach. “Indeed, sir. T’isn’t a cheery place.”
“Thish isn’t all sunshine and flowers either, sir. The perpetual war between England and France is tedious. Nearby Guadeloupe is in ruins. Saint-Domingue and Guadeloupe have both seen an increase in revolts over the last year. The coloreds have burned hundreds of sugar plantations.” Taylor’s eyes darted to the hallways and he whispered, “I can’t say I’m not a tad worried about my own help, truth be told. I wish the British and French would stop their bickering. It’s bad for island business.” He took another bit of snuff and inhaled it deeply.
Folding his arms across his chest, Talon sighed. The man’s thoughts were all over the place. “So, how did England end up with control again?”
Taylor set his cup on the bar and sighed. “Six months ago, His Majesty’s Royal Navy launched an attack on our island.”
“And Martinique is back in England’s hands.”
“Indeed. Once again, I am the Governair of Shan Pierre.” Sashaying like a romantic fool, Lord Taylor laughed at his own rhyme. “Mark my word, it isn’t over. The French will fight back, espeshially with that scoundrel Bonaparte leading their army.”
The man went to take another sip of punch, but Talon grabbed his glass. “Pardon my boldness, but what happens if the French retake possession here? What will you and Lady Taylor do?”
Taylor snickered. “Not a blasted thing. I’ve made most of my money off the rum, my dear chap. French or British, I don’t care a wit who rules as long as my distillery isn’t hindered. Promise not to mention that at Whites?”
Hiding a smirk, Talon raised his glass. He’d never stepped foot in a gentleman’s club, not that Lord Taylor needed to know that. “Your secret is safe with me, sir. What of Miss Montrose? How did you meet her and her family?”
“I see someone has an eye for beauty.” The man winked. “Fernando and I are close friends. He sought me out to teach him the techniques of growing and refining cane.” Taylor narrowed his gaze, thrusting his chin toward Talon. “What are your intentions with Talia if I might ask?
Cocking his head, Talon frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean, milord.”
Taylor issued him a sly grin. “There’s chemistry between the two of you. Don’t deny it. You couldn’t take your eyes off each other during dinner.”
Choking on his rum, Talon set the cup down and flinched. Apparently, his bang-up performance hadn’t fooled everyone. He cursed his weakness. He’d let his emotions rule with Talia, and he needed to rein them in.
Or perhaps not. Mayhap it’s a good cover.
Talon cleared his throat and puffed out his chest. “I didn’t realize I was so transparent. In any event, Miss Montrose and I have only known each other a short time. Perhaps we’ll see what transpires. She’s a rare jewel. I should meet her father and ask his blessing to court her, of course.” Talon stifled a laugh.
Take that, Talia Montrose.
Humming, Lord Taylor smacked his lips. “Be forewarned. Fernando is quite protective of Talia. She’s a tad too adventurous. I’m glad my Lydia didn’t have such a wild demeanor.” He clapped Talon on the shoulder. “But no worries. After your heroic efforts to save Talia, I’m sure Fernando will have no qualms with you. I’ll be sure to champion your honorable intentions. Cheers!”
Smiling broadly, Talon raised his cup and toasted his amicable host. Despite their auspicious landing in Martinique, the evening had been loads of fun. He only hoped they made it to Guadeloupe without further issues.
Chapter 17
GUADELOUPE, SEPTEMBER 1798
“Filthy pirate. Where is he?”
Grumbling a curse, Ramón Perez paced the floor of the small tavern as he awaited the infamous Alex Lafitte. The rogue wouldn’t have been his first choice of mercenaries to hire, but they were running out of time.
After their embarrassing admonishment from L’Archambeau, Perez was determined to finish this mission and collect his reward. And according to the Frenchman, Lafitte was the only one who could lure Señorita Montrose in.
Perez stroked his moustache and sighed. “It’s a shame we have to kill the beauty.” Despite the woman’s comeliness, he had no choice. Talia Montrose had humiliated him. Her vile act aboard the Nueva Linda had motivated him to finish this mission.
He wanted revenge.
“Stop pacing, Ramón. Why are you so nervous? Lafitte is just a man, sí?”
As Alberto stuffed his face with bread, Perez glared at the gluttonous slob. Where had L’Archambeau found such a cretin? Alberto had been a liability from the start. With this idiot at his side, his chances of finishing this assignment and collecting his dues were slipping through his fingers.
“Bonsoir. Are you looking for me?”
Perez halted his steps as a heavy French accent accompanying a tall, sun-kissed man no older than five and twenty boomed through the tavern. Silence swept across the patrons as he swaggered across the room. His long, brown curls were tied back with a fancy velvet bow and a tricorne hat sat jauntily on his head.
Nudging Alberto, Perez stifled a laugh. “Dios, this is the infamous Lafitte?”
Approaching Perez and Alberto, Lafitte extended his hand with an arrogant smile. “Oui, I am Alex Lafitte. Monsieur Perez, I presume?”
Accepting the man’s greeting, Perez motioned for Lafitte to join them at the small round table. “Sí. Please sit.”
In typical fashion of a common rogue, Lafitte sank into the chair and sat with his legs wide and his arms relaxed at his sides. However, his eyes flitted suspiciously from the door of the café to the pier as if waiting for a calvary to storm the premises.
Alberto swallowed his food and pushed away from the table. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Señor. Your family name is legendary, even in Spain.”
Ignoring Alberto’s outstretched hand, the privateer wrinkled his nose. “Charmant.”
Glowering at Alberto, Perez pushed him aside. The man was becoming a nuisance. It was no secret the Lafitte family hated the Spanish, and they needed this man’s expertise. “Señor, L’Archambeau tells me you are interested in procuring work.”
Green flecks sparked in Lafitte’s hazel eyes as his gaze bore into Perez’s. “It depends what you’re willing to offer. I am in no hurry to leave Martinique. I have plenty to keep me busy. And my ship won’t sail herself.”
Perez arched an eyebrow. “Pardon, Señor, aren’t you rather young to be a sea captain?”
Lafitte’s gaze bore into Perez as if he were digging for gold. “Monsieur, I’ve spent most of my life at sea. I am fully qualified.” He leaned forward. “Are you insinuating otherwise?”
“Of course not,” Perez stammered. “This assignment is important, I assure you. Your cousins are looking for a place to establish trade in New Orleans, sí? It could mean a major boon to their business in the Territories.”
Flicking an invisible piece of lint from his silk breeches, Lafitte gave a half-shrug. “Perhaps. Enlighten me and I’ll decide for myself.”
Stroking his mustache, Perez eyed Lafitte. He had an ill feeling about this alliance, but L’Archambeau had promised that if they enlisted the Creole’s help to capture Señorita Montrose, they would finally receive their full pay. But if the rumors about the Lafitte’s barbarous tirades were true, this mission could end as badly as it started.
“Do you know where Señorita Montrose is?” Alberto’s rotund belly shook as his loud voice bounced off the walls. Gritting his teeth, Perez kicked him underneath the table.
Lafitte arched an eyebrow and smirked. “Talia? I haven’t seen her since she and her father were here on business two years ago. Not that it’s any of your concern.”
Leaning over the table, Perez clenched his fists. The rogue’s flippant attitude wormed under his skin like a parasite. Perhaps they needed to use a different tactic with this whelp. “Perhaps we need to take you into custody to get you t
o talk.”
The locals glanced up from their drinks as Lafitte threw his head back with a hearty laugh. “A Spaniard threatening to turn a native son into the authorities?” Bursting up, he whipped his dagger from his boot and pressed the blade to Perez’ throat. “You’ve crossed a line, Señor.”
Glancing around, Alberto smoothed the lapels of his shirt with a nervous laugh. “Now gentlemen, let’s work together. Señor Lafitte, we are willing to pay you fifty pounds for your efforts.”
Lafitte drew a bit of blood at Perez’ neck. “The hell you say.”
Swallowing, Perez choked out, “Sí. Fifty pounds will get you passage to New Orleans and a perhaps a new headquarters for your troubles.”
Sheathing his blade, the privateer stared at them intently. Stroking his dimpled chin, he sank into his chair with a dramatic sigh. “I’m sorry, gentleman, but Talia Montrose is worth more than that. Perhaps a bit more could persuade me.”
“Seventy-five!” Alberto blurted out.
Throwing his hands up, Perez rolled his eyes heavenward. Couldn’t the half-wit think before speaking? Perez glared at Lafitte. “And not a penny more. Will that suffice, Señor?”
Gazing about the sparsely decorated pub, Lafitte hummed. “I suppose that sounds fair. However, I have a stipulation.” He stood slowly, accentuating his full height as he stood toe to toe with Perez. “If I do this, you swear to me that Mademoiselle Montrose will come to no harm.”
Perez clenched his fists and huffed at Lafitte. The audacity of this upstart. “That isn’t up to us. She’s part of our bargain with Señor DuPont.”
“Pas mal,” Lafitte tsked. “I had hopes to continue our previous—ahem... relationship.” He winked at them.
Perez’s nostrils flared. He’d also had a notion to take Talia as his lover once they reached New Orleans. But he couldn’t let her get away with humiliating him.
Lafitte rolled his eyes heavenward. “I haven’t got all day, Pepe.”
Perez stepped forward to browbeat the scoundrel, but Alberto piped up, “It’s a deal.”
“Dios mio, shut up, Vargas!”
Alberto eyed him and mouthed, “Five hundred pounds.”
Slumping, Perez sighed. His partner was right. Such a treasure was too much to lose because of a tart like Talia Montrose. He could buy plenty of women with his share. “Bueno, Señor. No harm will come to the Señorita.”
Alex Laffite tapped the corner of his hat with a broad smile. “Merci, bonnes hommes. I look forward to working with you.”
Cocking his head, Perez motioned for Vargas to retrieve their bounty from the kitchens. “This might entice your beauty and her bodyguard out of hiding. They have a soft spot for him.”
As Alberto returned with Marcus bound in chains, Perez shoved the boy toward Lafitte. “Meet your new master, perro.”
“WHAT A BEAUTIFUL DAY. Did you sleep well, Monsieur?”
As the break of dawn whispered at the horizon, Talon stifled a yawn. Loading the carriage with their new provisions, he grumbled, “It would have been better had we slept longer.”
Talia shrugged. “The ship will be leaving with the morning tide. Unless you prefer to stay here? We should not take advantage of Monsieur and Madame Taylor’s hospitality.”
Talon wasn’t looking forward to another fortnight upon the sea, but Talia was right. Thanks to the Taylor’s generosity, they had food, clothing, and shelter until they reached Guadeloupe. Lady Taylor had loaned Talia a few extra gowns and Taylor had outfitted Talon with a handsome leather riding vest and breeches that were more comfortable in the tropical heat. The nobleman and his wife had funded their trip without a second thought.
And Talon had Talia to thank.
They boarded the carriage, and the driver set a course for St. Pierre. As the sugar cane waved in the warm winds, Talon stared out the window, brooding. He hated the fact that he had no control over this mission... not that he ever had. Being set up as a pawn wasn’t at all what he’d envisioned when he left his family. He probably could have found passage on a ship back to England, but he had no desire to return to that life.
Still, with Talia in charge, he had no clue what their next step would be.
Jutting out his chin, he stared at her defiantly. “Since I failed to properly capture Miss Aringosa, it seems my assignment is all but over.”
Talia smirked. “Oui, c’est vrai. Your employment with Monsieur DuPont is finished. What will you do now?”
Damn the woman. Crossing his arms, he tipped his head with a scowl. “I have no bloody clue. You’re in charge. I can’t get home without your assistance. Hell, I didn’t even get paid for rescuing a debutante spy.”
Her skirts whipped at her ankles as she turned and glared at him. “I’m sorry I cost you your wages, Monsieur Barberry. If you have nothing better to do, perhaps you’ll see me safely to New Orleans. I am just a spoiled plantation owner’s daughter, after all.” A tear rolled down her cheek as she looked away.
Talon sighed. Apparently, she had nursed feelings for him. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he needed to end whatever emotional connection they had.
He’d spent a restless night thinking about Taylor’s suggestion that he properly court her, but it would never work. They came from different worlds. Their flirtations over the past month notwithstanding, he could never take her home to his family. His clan would mock him for settling for a gadjo. His father would never approve.
The least he could do was see her safely home. He wouldn’t have survived had she not rescued him from the Nueva Linda. Besides, he didn’t have any other arrangements. And he owed Perez and Vargas a few broken arms and bruised ribs. He vowed to see them hang for what they did to Marcus and Talia.
Damn it, I care too much.
Pressing his lips together, he threw an invisible shield around his psyche and bit out, “Very well, Miss Montrose, I’ll accept your terms of employment. And my pay?”
She smacked him with her straw hat. “Dieu, I will give you your five hundred pounds, Monsieur Barberry.”
Talon ran his hands through his hair, his mood darkening. “Fine. Who are we meeting in St. Pierre?”
“Taylor has a merchant ship delivering his rum to Guadeloupe. The captain of the Winged Runner is expecting us at the pier.”
He harrumphed. “I bloody-well hope we have a better experience this trip.”
“It has to be better than our voyage aboard the Nueva Linda.”
Arching an eyebrow, Talon muttered, “I don’t trust as easily as you, Miss Montrose.”
TALIA SCANNED THE HORIZON, searching for Lord Taylor’s merchant ship as the carriage driver helped Talon unload their trunk. Her nerves fraying, she tried to focus her attentions on their task instead of Talon’s boorish attitude.
And to think, she’d spent all night pining for the rogue. He was as confusing as island governance. What was wrong with him? Had he no feelings for her whatsoever?
Ignoring the pain in her heart, she strode down the pier. She approached a grungy sailor at the gangplank. “Excuse-moi, Monsieur...”
The lanky man turned around with a nasty smile. “Loo’ here, mates... a beau’iful Betty graces us with ’er presence.”
Wrinkling her nose, she recoiled as the putrid odor of tobacco and sweat washed over her. Pushing away from the scoundrel, she swallowed the remnants of breakfast at the back of her throat. “You filthy gamin. Do you know who my—”
As quick as a zephyr, Talon rushed to her side, trapping the sailor’s neck between his strong hands. A low growl left his throat. “You’d better keep your distance from Mademoiselle Montrose, mate, unless you’d like to become a permanent barnacle on the underside of this blasted ship.”
A tingling warmth coasted through Talia as she straightened her shoulders with a smile. That’s better. She placed a gloved hand on his arm. “Release the scoundrel, Talon. I am unharmed. Let’s find the captain.”
Glaring at the man, he did as she bid. Puffing his chest, he wrapped an
arm around her waist and pulled her to his side. “Stay close, love.”
Her hopes soared. Perhaps he felt more than he let on.
As they approached the gangway of a large frigate, Talon released her hand. “Dear God, this is a merchant ship?”
With wide eyes, Talia blew out a breath. “I think we’re about to embark on a new adventure, Monsieur.”
With its three triangular sails billowing in the wind, the Winged Runner was nearly twice the size of the Nueva Linda. Sixteen guns ran the length of the hull. And at the bow of the ship, a mermaid displayed in all her glory was cast in pure gold.
“Taylor is doing quite well for himself in the new world, it seems.” He linked his hand in hers. “Come, love.”
Ascending the wooden plank at the front of the ship, they came to a stop as a weather-worn gentleman with a first mate’s insignia attached to his lapel held up his palm. “Halt. No civilians aboard this ship.”
Talia handed him a parchment with the governor’s seal. “But Monsieur Taylor has issued us passage upon this vessel, Monsieur.” A brilliant smile spread across the man’s face, and Talon muttered a curse under his breath. She glared at him and addressed the officer. “You go to Guadeloupe, oui?”
“Aye, miss. We’ve a load of rum and goods to deliver before sailing to the American Territories.” He barely scanned the document before tossing it aside with a broad grin. “This seems in order First Mate Patrick Fitzpatrick, at yer service, Miss.” He bowed deeply. She stifled a smile and extended her gloved hand. With a gleam in his eye, the red-haired sailor pecked the top with a wink.
Grunting, Talon stepped in front of her, his arms crossed over his chest. “Enough. Are we allowed to board the beast or not?”
Fitzpatrick held out his hand. “A fellow Englishman? Brilliant.”
Talon squinted at the man. “Your name is Patrick Fitzpatrick?”
“Aye.” The sailor scrubbed a hand across his short red beard. “Me mam had quite a sense of humor. Ye can call me Fitz.”
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