An Improper Proposal (19 page)

That was the last straw. Payton drew in a deep breath and shouted, “I will not marry an American—”

Nor anyone else for that matter, she meant to add, but Ross cut her off.

“You have no choice in the matter.” Ross, now that he had come up with a workable plan, was quite pleased with it. “No Englishman will have you after the spectacle you made of yourself today. But an American would, and right gladly, I’d think, with your money. And,” he added grudgingly, “you aren’t as ugly as Raleigh’s always makin’ you out to be. Leastways, to an American you ought to be passably pretty.”

“I won’t go!” Payton roared. “You can’t make me go!”

“You will,” Ross assured her, “and I can.”

“I say, Ross,” Raleigh said mildly. “I have to agree with Payton here. This seems a little extreme. Send the girl all the way to America, just because she—and very rightly, I might add—tried to save Drake’s arse? I think you’re being a bit harsh.”

“Right!” Hudson stood up. “She was only tryin’ to help out a fellow seaman.”

“That’s precisely the problem,” Ross insisted. “Payton isn’t a seaman. She’s supposed to be a marriageable young lady. But she can’t seem to remember that, now can she? But maybe if we get her away from the sea—”

“I won’t go!” Payton cried. “So bugger off, you bleeding sod!”

At that, Georgiana removed the handkerchief from her face and sat up. “Ross,” she said in a very small voice. “May I see you in the other room, please?”

Ross held a hand, palm out, to his wife. “In a moment, Georgie. First I’ve got to thrash Payton within an inch of her life.”

Georgiana laid the handkerchief to one side. “No, Ross,” she said. “Now.”

But whatever it was Georgiana was going to tell her husband in the other room was left to the imagination of all concerned, because at that very moment, the door to their private sitting room fell open, and a white-faced young man, panting very heavily, collapsed upon the floor before them.

“Cap’n Dixon,” he cried, reaching a hand out toward Ross. Like a man dying of thirst he reached his hands toward whatever water was on hand. “Thank God I’ve found you!”

Mrs. Peabody appeared in the hallway beyond the door through which the young man had crashed. Horrified that this scruffy-looking fellow might be the pretty young lady’s lover, and perfectly understanding why her family should be so upset over the prospect of her marrying him, she had followed the youth up the stairs, and now declared, “Oh, I tried to stop him, sir, honest I did, but ’e wouldn’t listen. Said ’e ’ad something right urgent to tell ye, and—”

“All right, all right.” Ross waved the lady’s apologies away. “We know him. It’s young Hill, isn’t it? You’re shipboy, aboard the
Constant
.”

“That’s right, sir.” The boy could barely draw breath, he was panting so hard, but he hadn’t forgotten his manners. Seeing that there were ladies in the room, he’d swept off his cap, and now sat on the floor, crumpling it anxiously between white-knuckled fingers. “Jeremiah Hill, sir.”

“Well, then, Hill, what seems to be the trouble? Shouldn’t you be aboard the
Constant
with Captain Drake? I’d have thought she set sail hours ago.”

“That’s right, sir, she did. Only not with me on her. I was—I’m sorry to say I missed ’er sailing, sir. I was ’avin’ a drop with a friend, and the time slipped away, and next thing I knew, she’d set sail—”

“Well,” Ross said severely. “That’s a serious offense, young man, missing your sailing. Captain Drake won’t like it. He won’t like it a bit.”

“I know, sir.” Hill ran a trembling hand through his neatly trimmed brown hair. “That’s not why I’m ’ere, sir. I mean, I’m not ’ere to beg your pardon, sir.”

“Good,” Hudson said, offering the boy a tank a rd of ale he poured from a pitcher on the table. “Because Ross’s pardon is hardly worth begging for. He’s a mean old chap, our brother. Here, now. Drink this.”

The boy took the tankard, and gulped down its contents gratefully. When he had somewhat quenched his parched throat, he wiped his lips on his sleeve and said, “It’s what I saw along the docks, sir, when I finally realized I was late, and went runnin’ for ’er—for the
Constant
, I mean. She’d already pulled out
—
wasn’t but
Constant
a speck in the distance—and I realized I’d mucked it up, but good. I was swearin’ fit to burn the captain’s ear—” He glanced guiltily at
Constant
Payton and Georgiana. “Beg your pardon, mum. Then, as I was standin’ there, I got jostled aside by the biggest bloke I ever did see, a great black fellow, with rings in his ears and nose. And after ’im came all sorts of no-good-lookin’ men, the likes of which I only ever saw down Nassau way. They were all makin’ ’aste to pull out, sir, on account of—this is what I ’eard one of ’em say—on account of that bastard—beggin’ your pardon, ladies—Cap’n Drake had left port early, and they had orders to follow him.”

“Damn!”

Ross had gone nearly as pale as the quaking lad before them. He exchanged looks with his two .younger brothers. “La Fond?” he asked them.

Hudson nodded. “Sounds like it. He wouldn’t dare show his face in Portsmouth, but you can be sure he’ll be waiting somewhere offshore.”

“But how could he know?” Raleigh shook his head. “How could he have known Drake was sailing today?”

Payton had climbed out of the depths of her leather chair, and now stood, shaking with rage, before them.

“I’ll tell you how he knew,” she said, her hands in fists at her side. “Becky Whitby told Marcus Tyler this morning!”

This was enough to send even Raleigh, the laziest of the Dixon children, to his feet. “Good God in heaven,” he breathed. “She’s right!”

“We’ve got to get out there, Ross.” Hudson was already reaching for his hat and gloves. “Madam.” This was addressed to Mrs. Peabody. “Have your man bring our carriage round. And hurry!”

Mrs. Peabody, alarmed by the gentleman’s imperious manner, scooted off in a flurry of skirts and apron. Things were not turning out at all the way she’d planned them for the pretty young lady. And she was beginning to think she was better off not understanding them, after all.

“Ross,” Georgiana said. “I don’t—”

“Have we got any other ships in Portsmouth right now?” Raleigh, who’d also started pulling on his gloves, wanted to know.

“Aye, sir.” The boy, Hill, had finally climbed off the floor, and now stood twisting his cap. “As soon as I ’eard those men talkin’ about Cap’n Drake, I went straight to the dockmaster, an’ found out the Dixon frigate
Virago
pulled into port last night. I went and spoke with the cap’n—’e’s  the one ’o knew you’d’ve been at Cap’n Drake’s wedding, an’ ’e’s the one that sent me ’ere. ’E said to tell you ’e’ll be ready to leave the minute you set foot on board—”

Hudson looked pleased. “The
Virago
, eh? She’ll do. Armed with eight thirty-pounders, she is.”

A grim-faced Ross tugged on his top hat. “What are we waiting for, then? Let’s go.”

All four Dixon children turned and hurried from the room, leaving their father, Georgiana, and the shipboy blinking at one another.

“I say, Georgiana.” Sir Henry looked up from the musket-ball he’d been polishing. “Where did everybody go?”

Georgiana was in no mood to placate the old man. She sank back down on the settle and, laying the handkerchief over her face once again, quipped, in a very irritated voice, “To the devil.”

She was not far wrong.

Drake stood on the quarterdeck of his ship, the
Constant
.

And she
was
his ship, not just one he was commanding; she belonged to him now, a thought that kept returning, again and again. And filling him with guilt, because he knew how much Payton had wanted her. More than that, he knew how much Payton deserved her, how hard she’d worked for her, how lovingly she’d polished her brass, and how much input she’d had in her design.

And yet there was joy inside him, too, just when he’d begun to think he might never feel happiness ever again. Joy because she was a beautiful ship, the fastest craft on water, as finely made as Chinese porcelain, just as lovely, just as strong.

Yes, she should have been Payton’s. And maybe it was true that, deep in his heart, he knew she was Payton’s, and that he was only borrowing her—taking care of her—until her rightful owner could claim her. And he didn’t mind. He didn’t mind at all. It was something they could share, something that connected them across the waves, across the miles separating them.

It was enough.

It had to be.

But right then he had more important problems than the
Constant
‘s rightful ownership. That ship to the north, for instance. He hadn’t been certain at first, but now there was no doubtingit:  it was following them. And now his crew had figured it out, as well.

“Captain.” His first mate, an able fellow by the name of Hodges, approached. “I’ve just had a report there’s a full-rigger bearing down on us out of the north. She’s coming on fast and strong, sir.”

Drake nodded. “I noticed her at sunup. Perhaps our boy Hill flagged himself a ride, and is trying to catch up?”

The second mate overheard, and gave a chuckle. “I wouldn’t put it past ’im. ’E’s the type that’d do anythin’ to spare ’imself a whippin’.”

Hodges shook his head. “He wouldn’t be ridin’ on this ship, sir. Or, if he is, it isn’t voluntary. This ship’s not flyin’ any flags.”

Drake raised a hand to his chin, and stroked it thoughtfully. “Not flying any flags, eh? Who do you think it is, Hodges?”

“Never known the Frenchman to make his way this far north, sir, but if I were a bettin’ man, that’s who I’d put my money on. Word around the alehouse is he was plenty burned up about the way you fired on him off Cat Island last August.”

Drake’s smile was rueful. “That pirate never could take a joke. Well, have the men stand ready, in case there’s something to this. I’m guessing it’s nothing, but it never hurts to be prepared.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Hodges went away, and Drake turned his gaze toward the horizon, looking, to the disinterested observer, every inch of him the cool, collected officer. His hands behind his back, one booted foot upon the base of the rail, he seemed oblivious to the danger into which they were sailing—or, if not oblivious, confidently uncaring.

This was the way he wanted to appear to his men. Inside, however, Connor Drake was fairly jumping for joy. He couldn’t tamp down a sudden thrill of exhilaration. A full-scale battle was about to come under way, and Drake couldn’t have been happier about it. Not, of course, at the prospect of bloodshed. A man couldn’t be happy about that. But he couldn’t help but be happy that things, which had looked so bleak up until now, might well work out, after all. And work out to his liking.

The minute he’d heard the name Marcus Tyler tumble from Payton’s lips the day before, things had finally begun to make some sense. He’d had his suspicions, but Payton’s observation in the hedge maze confirmed them. It was all he could do not to rub his hands together in glee. It was for this reason that he kept them firmly in check behind him. After days—no, weeks
—
of straining at his own impotence, unable to lift a finger to change the way events were unfolding all around him, he could finally, finally take some action.

The first thing he was going to do was blow the ship coming after them out of the water. He hoped her crew would put up a decent fight. If La Fond was commanding them, they would. If, however, they were some of Tyler’s hired mercenaries, he really couldn’t expect much. They were in it for the money, not the glory—not like La Fond, whose pride was at stake. It had to be La Fond, he thought to himself. He had to be involved in all of this somehow. Drake was going to be bitterly disappointed if it was proved he was not.

He wasn’t really very clear about what he was going to do after he’d blown his pursuers away. If he judged it safe enough, he might just turn the
Constant
right round and head straight back to England. There were a few things there he’d left unfinished, and he figured, once he’d gotten rid of Becky Whitby, he could go back and take proper care of them.

“You there,” he called to the man in the crow’s nest. “What do you see?”

“They’ve got their guns out, cap’n,” came the cry. “I’d say they’re bound on firin’ on us, soon as they’re within range.”

“Excellent. Hodges! See that the cannons get loaded.” Drake took his hands out from behind his back, but only to rest one on the hilt of the sword he wore atone hip. and the other on the butt of the derringer he wore strapped to the other. “Change our heading. I want to try to ram her.”

Hodges balked. “Sir?”

“Oh, we’re not really going to ram her, Hodges. Do you think I’d do something like that to this lovely lady? Not on your life. But they don’t know that. Let’s give them a little scare. If anything, it’ll bring us in range to fire onthem.”

Hodges touched his captain’s arm. “Beg pardon, sir,” he said, as quietly as he could, and still be heard over the shouts of the men and the constant roar of the sea. “But you aren’t forgetting there’s a woman on board? Wouldn’t it be better if we tried to outrun ’em? I mean, after all, this is the fastest ship on water, sir …”

“Run?” Drake stared down at the shorter man. “When we’ve ample time to prepare for a fight? Perish the thought, Hodges.”

Hodges nodded. “Well, I was only thinking of the lady, sir.”

“Well, let me worry about the lady. You worry about getting those cannons loaded.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Hodges went away, and Drake, though still unable to shake his feelings of elation, realized the man had a point. There was a lady on board. He decided he had better pay her a little visit.

Becky, almost as soon as she’d set foot on board, had locked herself into the captain’s cabin, claiming she felt ill. Well, that was to be expected, he supposed. She wasn’t used to sailing, and, like most women, was bound to suffer seasickness during their crossing.

And it had to be even worse for her, in her condition. Drake truly did feel pity for her. Yet he couldn’t help thinking, as he made his way through the busy throng of sailors, toward the after house, where the captain’s quarters were located, that really, this was living. This was how he’d always intended to spend his life, never dreaming that one day, he might inherit his brother’s title, fortune, and lands. He hadn’t been happy when he’d learned about it, that day in the lawyers’ offices. Connor Drake belonged to the sea, and not to some baronetcy smack-dab in the middle of dairy country. What kind of man spent his life chained to a desk, sitting there adding up column after column of sums, declaring how much milk they’d pulled in from however many Jersey cows they happened to own at any given time? That kind of life had been all right for his brother, Richard. Richard, with his dull wits and ham-fistedness, was suited to it.