Becoming Lady Lockwood (14 page)

Philippe took another noisy swig of rum, gulping it down. “Bah,” he said, and she wrinkled her nose, wishing she had learned her lesson the first time and held her breath when his face was so near.

He blinked slowly before he continued speaking. “I should have blown zis ship from ze water, but ze reward for a man-of-war is too tempting. And it will be very satisfying to send ze famous Captain Drake to meet le guillot—” Capitaine Valiquette’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped forward onto her shoulder, nearly knocking her to the floor.

With an enormous effort, Amelia heaved him back into his chair and hurried into action. She had no idea how long the captain would be unconscious. As quickly as she could, she removed two of the bottles from her petticoats and set them upon the table. Then she turned and began to search his quarters. Every noise she heard sent a chill of dread through her. At any moment a member of the crew could enter the cabin and she would be discovered.

Taking the lantern into the captain’s sleeping area, she searched his trunk and found what she was looking for: pistols. She also found a bag of powder and shot and quickly slipped it all into the pockets in her petticoats. She lifted the capitaine’s sword, but it was too long to fit beneath her skirts, so she continued to search until she found a sharp dagger.

Quickly looking at the capitaine’s desk, she seized any documents that she thought might prove detrimental to the French and folded them up, hiding them in the pockets beneath her skirts. She hurried back to the dining area and searched the captain’s person, nervously poking her fingers into his pockets and inside his regimental tunic. She discovered a small pistol, which quickly joined the others.

Amelia turned and gave one more sweeping glance around the room. Her eyes lit again upon Capitaine Valiquette, and her anger at his words returned. How dare he insult her captain! And her shipmates. Amelia retrieved the small dagger she had found, and acting with a bravery that she would never have been capable of had her fury not been fueled by his rudeness, she grabbed hold of the capitaine’s waxed mustache and sliced it off. She repeated the action on the other side, placing the stiff curls into her pocket.

She extinguished all but a few candles in the room, hoping that nobody would check on the capitaine if they believed him to have retired for the night. Then she picked up the bottles from the table and opened the door, speaking loudly as she turned back toward where the capitaine sprawled unconsciously in his chair. “Thank you, Philippe. Dinner was wonderful. Good night.”

Closing the door behind her, she stopped the first soldier she saw. “Capitaine Valiquette asked me to deliver this rum to his officers.”

The man held up his lantern. He squinted and tipped his head, regarding her for a moment. Would he believe her? She smiled and batted her eyes a few times, and his gaze moved back to the bottles in her arms.

“Merci, mademoiselle.” He took the bottles and led her to the plank between the ships.

Amelia held her skirts as she carefully stepped up the plank in the pitch-blackness. The lantern on the
Venture
glowed in the fog, seeming so much farther away than it had when she’d come the other way an hour earlier. Wind whipped upward between the two ships, nearly causing her to lose her balance. The pistols and last bottle were heavy in her petticoats, and her heart nearly thudded out of her chest. It was only a matter of time before Jacques or another officer discovered Capitaine Valiquette. Would they believe he merely had too much to drink? She could only hope that she would be able to set the next part of her plan into motion before her deception was discovered. But there was no turning back now. Her failure would result not only in her own death but assure William’s as well, and that was all the incentive she needed to continue.

William sat upon the deck
and leaned his shoulders back against the bars of the brig.
His
brig on
his
ship. He had never felt so angry and so helpless. Sidney sat next to him, and the other officers either stood or sat in the small space surrounded by iron bars. None of them spoke. William felt their despair. It weighed heavily upon him, like a boulder pressing down on his chest. He had done the unthinkable: surrendered his ship.

The French had come upon them in the fog and boarded the ship, completely taking the
Venture
by surprise. They had attacked without mercy, using axes, pistols, swords, and bayonets. When William had seen the extent of the bloodshed and realized that fighting would only yield more, he ended it the only way he could—by relinquishing his sword to the French capitaine. And now, instead of his crew being slaughtered, he and his officers faced execution.

He hung his head forward. And what would happen to Amelia? Now that the capitaine believed her to be a traveling dignitary, she had a better chance of arriving safely in England. But what then? He was no longer concerned with the blasted jointure arrangement. If William was to be killed, at least he knew that Amelia would be provided for, even if it meant she would bear his brother’s name. An ache grew in William’s chest when he thought of her. Would he ever see her again?

This very moment, she would be eating dinner in the ridiculous mustache-twirling French capitaine’s quarters. William could only hope her title would ward off any of the man’s unwanted advances. He clenched his hands at the very thought of that buffoon touching his Amelia.

Sidney bumped William’s shoulder with his own, distracting the captain from his maudlin contemplations. “You made the correct decision, Captain.”

William glanced at him. “A strange sentiment from a man destined for execution.”

“If we had continued to fight, more lives would have been lost. You thought only of your men, not your own reputation or pride. It was the correct decision.”

William rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. “Thank you, Mr. Fletcher.”

“I feel proud to have served with you, Captain. And proud to call you a friend.” Sidney’s voice was low, and he looked across the brig as he spoke.

“Come, man. All is not lost. You speak as if we’re heading to the executioner today.”

Sidney lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I did not want to forget to tell you.”

From the periphery of his vision, William studied his oldest friend. Sidney had always been exactly where he was now—at William’s side. Despite his penchant for flippancy, Sidney was a loyal companion and even now supported William.

William felt his throat begin to constrict. “It has been a privilege to serve with you, Mr. Fletcher. It is a fortunate man indeed who has such a friend as yourself.”

Sidney nodded once and continued studying the opposite wall.

The captain watched the guards. The three French soldiers had confiscated the English officers’ weapons and then escorted the prisoners at bayonet point to the section of the ship that housed the brig. The guards had shoved and spit on them and hurled what William assumed to be insults as they’d pushed the officers into the brig and locked the padlock on the door. The room was well lit by lanterns that hung from the ceiling so the guards could maintain an effective watch over their prisoners. But once the officers were locked in, the Frenchmen had promptly ignored them. The guards were currently seated on barrels, using a large crate as a card table. The lack of discipline shown by the enemy soldiers was deplorable. Sitting down on duty? Gambling?

Just as William was pondering the miracle that Napoleon had thus far experienced a fairly successful campaign with such a poorly trained army, the door to the room opened, and Amelia stepped in wearing a stunning blue dress and carrying a bottle of rum. She closed the door behind her.

William gasped.
No! What is she doing?

But Amelia did not even spare the incarcerated officers a glance. Instead, she focused her attention on the French soldiers, who had risen to their feet upon seeing her. She spoke to them in French, and though William could not understand her words, he saw that the soldiers relaxed. Amelia sat upon the crate with them, laughing at something one of them said. She opened the bottle, and the men passed it around, obviously very grateful for the spirits—and for the enchanting company.

William felt as though a clamp had been fastened about his insides. Amelia must be hoping to intoxicate the soldiers and somehow overpower them. It would never work. One bottle of rum would not do anything but impair the Frenchmen’s judgment and possibly loosen their inhibitions, especially with a lovely young lady in their midst. She was most certainly putting herself into a situation which she would quickly find out of her control.

William stood. “M’lady. You mustn’t—”

One of the guards picked up his musket, stepped up to the bars, and raised the butt of it to use as a club while William continued his protests.

Amelia hurriedly stepped between them, saying something in French to the guard and giggling. She linked her arm through his and turned to pull him back toward his friends. But with her other hand, she found William’s and slipped something into it without the Frenchmen noticing. She and the guard took their seats once again upon the crate, and Amelia continued to charm them with her batting eyelashes and French chitchat.

William turned his back to the bars, faced Sidney, and opened his hand. The two of them leaned close, and by the light of the swaying lanterns, they peered at what appeared to be two thick hooks sitting in William’s palm.

Sidney lifted one and studied it for a moment before he broke into laughter. The first good humor William had seen from him in days. After a quick glance at the guards, Sidney stifled his glee, but his eyes continued to shine with mirth.

William raised his eyebrows in question.

Sidney held the hook above his lip and pretended to twirl it. William looked back at the object that remained in his hand. The capitaine’s mustache? He glanced back over his shoulder at Amelia.

“How—”

Sidney continued to grin. “None of us should have ever doubted the ingenuity of Miss Amelia Becket.” He held the half mustache up again and spoke in a nasally voice, “Especially zis brute of a captain.”

William turned his attention back to Amelia. He could hear the sound of quiet laughter behind him as Sidney apparently shared the joke with the others. A surge of energy took hold of the officers as the cloud of despair began to disperse.

One of the soldiers sitting with Amelia slid down to sit on the deck, resting his cheek against the crate. Was the man sleeping? Another took a long drink of the rum and toppled onto the floor.

Amelia did not appear surprised. Her focus was on the last soldier. Although William could not understand the man’s words, the Frenchman appeared to be nervous. His voice rose as he pointed to his shipmates and then to the bottle of rum. Amelia was attempting to reassure him. Her voice was calming, but the man refused to be placated.

The soldier reached for his bayonet but grasped only air. His movements were sluggish. He blinked slowly and reached again, only to be stopped by Amelia’s voice and the pistol she held pointed at him.

The tension in the room instantly rose. Amelia’s eyes were narrowed, and her voice was sharp, but her hand shook. She lifted the bayonet and moved it out of the man’s reach, speaking a litany of words that William did not understand but which resulted in the soldier loosening his buckle and removing the ring of keys attached to his belt. Amelia snatched the keys from his hand and stepped toward the brig.

She began to work the keys in the large lock, holding the pistol beneath her arm. “The marines are aboard the French ship,” she said quickly to William. “The capitaine and hopefully most of his officers should be either sleeping or very near to it. The French soldiers are aboard the
Venture
, and your weapons are stowed in the bow.”

William leaned his head closer, resting his hand upon her shoulder. “You should never have endangered yourself in this way.”

She tried a different key, wiggling it as she spoke. “I find, Captain, that I prefer your head where it is.”

The lock clicked, and William saw movement from the corner of his eye.

“Amelia! Behind you!”

Just as Sidney pushed the gate of the brig open, the French soldier stumbled toward Amelia with his dagger raised. She turned but too late, and he slashed the knife downward into her side.

Amelia screamed and staggered back against the bars. Sidney quickly dispatched the man, and William pushed through the gate of the brig, pulling Amelia into his arms.

When he looked into her face, William saw that it was deathly white. He turned his attention to her injury and saw blood spread from the gash in her side.

She winced in pain. “William, go! The laudanum will wear off quickly.”

Blood was seeping from the tear in her dress and beginning to drip onto the floor. Lieutenant Wellard handed William some rags. He took them, pressing them against Amelia’s wound. She breathed in sharply.

“I will not leave you, Amelia.” He clutched her close to him, even as he felt her legs refuse to support her. He lowered her to the ground to lean against the crate, his arms still around her.

“William.” Her voice was alarmingly soft. “I do not think the wound is deep. But if you do not defeat these Frenchmen, we shall all face the guillotine. It would not matter if I was the Queen of Sheba; no title will save me once my deception is revealed.”

He was torn. He could see the truth in what she said. It was the only way to save her and his men, but the thought of leaving her bleeding upon the deck was inconceivable. Standing, he lifted her into a shadowed corner. He pulled off his jacket and folded it, tucking it gently beneath her head.

“I brought pistols.” Amelia winced again as she clutched the rags to her side. “In my skirt.” She pulled on her skirts to reveal the pockets in the hem of her petticoats, and William was dumbfounded as he pulled out two pistols, a dagger, and a bundle of documents.

He brushed the backs of his fingers along her cheek. “You are amazing, Amelia. The men of this ship, and even His Majesty the King, owe you a debt of gratitude for what you’ve done.”

“I did not act out of patriotism. And though I care for the crew of the
Venture
, I confess, it was only their captain that I thought of.” She reached to press her hand against his cheek. “You must go. Find Dr. Spinner, and I shall be well.”

William glanced toward where his men stood awaiting his orders; then he turned back to Amelia, cupping his hand behind her neck and pressing his lips against hers. The warmth of her response was nearly his undoing. He pulled away. “I will not fail you,” he whispered before brushing one last kiss across her lips.

He stood and strode to where the officers waited. Sidney held one pistol, and the other officers had claimed bayonets and knives from the guards. William kept a pistol for himself and handed the other to Lieutenant Wellard.

“Men, I believe we owe it to Miss Becket to show those Frenchies that they attacked the wrong ship.” He opened the door and charged into the night to reclaim what was his.