Brazen Temptress (32 page)

Maureen nodded and plucked the pistol still stuck in Julien's belt. She held out her hand for the Marquess's weapons. "I'll stay here. Give you and Lord Weston a head start."

Lord Trahern looked about to argue with her, but Lord Weston spoke up. "She's right, Giles. We can carry him faster. And she's a fine shot. Probably a better mark than either of us."

The other man nodded and handed over his pistols. "We'll wait for you there."

She shook her head. "No, make for the
Destiny.
Don't wait for me. It will take you some time to navigate the surf and get past the rocks. I can hold them off until then."

"But how will you —" Lord Trahern started to protest.

She leveled the pistol as his chest. "I'll swim. I'll make it. Just get Julien to the
Destiny.
Get him to the ship's surgeon before ... before ..." Maureen turned and took her position. "Get him to safety or you'll both answer to me."

They nodded, and she thought she detected a wry grin at the corners of Lord Trahern's mouth. With Julien between them, they set off for the beach.

Maureen took a deep breath and began to fire. She continued, taking aim and making every shot count. Near the house she saw the Lord Admiral gesturing to his men, shouting orders.

Glancing back, she saw three figures staggering across the beach. They'd made it!

Now all she had to do was get there herself. She'd fire everything she had, drive back the attackers, and then make for the beach.

She raised the two pistols and fired. The hammers clicked down, but nothing happened.

She was out of ammunition. And out of time.

There was only one thing left to do. Run.

But she didn't run in the direction of the shore. Instead, she ran directly at her attackers, screaming like an banshee and shaking her empty fists at them.

It stunned them momentarily, as she hoped it would. And it accomplished exactly what Maureen wanted: It kept them from the beach just that much longer.

For as they swarmed around her, binding her arms to her sides, she was still able to twist around and look toward the sea. The first longboat had made it to the
Destiny,
and the second one — the one that carried Julien and his brothers-in-law — had just passed the shoals.

Ethan and Julien would live.

And that was all that mattered.

She howled in victory, raising an ancient cry high to the heavens, until a fist crashed down on her head and she fell into the same oblivion that had overtaken Julien.

"Maureen," Julien called out. His head rolled from side to side, his eyes finally coming open. "Reenie?"

His blurry gaze focused on Giles. "Where is my wife?"

"She is following us."

Julien turned. He was aboard the
Destiny,
and from the feel of the ship, they were no longer anchored. They were underway.

He pulled himself up, fighting off the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him.

Roger Hawley — the ship's surgeon, who had stood as Julien's best man — rushed forward, pushing him back down on his bunk. "Hold up there, Captain. You took a bullet. I've got to get it out."

Julien shook him off. He wasn't sure where the strength came from — maybe it was just the more frightening thought of continuing to live without Maureen, as he had for the last eight years, that pushed him to his feet. "Not until I have my wife aboard." He checked the wrap around his shoulder and then leveled a hard stare at his brother-in-law. "What happened?"

"After you were hit, your wife insisted we take you to the beach. She said she would follow." Giles shook his head. "I hate to sound like my son, but she put a pistol to my chest and ordered me to move."

"That's Reenie," Julien said, wishing his wife had a little less spirit. Damned if one of these days her willfulness wasn't going to get her killed.

If she wasn't dead already.

Outside, the echoing thunder of cannon rocked through the air.

The door to his cabin flung open. Ethan rushed in, with Charles right behind him. "They sent me down to tell you, sir," his son said in a wild rush. "There's a ship of the line bearing down on us."

Julien staggered to the door. He turned and looked at his brothers-in-law. "I'm sorry I involved you in this."

Giles shook his head. "I've always wanted to see life from the other side of the lines. Now's my chance. I doubt they can hang me if they shoot us out of the water first."

Julien snorted. "I don't intend to lose."

He continued his painful trip topside. If his men gave any notice to his injury, it was only a passing glance. They were too well trained to let anything distract them from their duties.

Across a narrow channel, the
Retribution
sailed alongside them. A Mr. Whitney, who had identified himself as the first mate, called over.

"What's our course, sir?"

Julien glanced up at the ship bearing down on them. They could more than likely outrun the heavier, bulkier ship, but that would mean leaving Maureen behind. He had no intention of doing that. "We attack," he shouted.

The man nodded and began calling out orders to the
Retribution's
crew.

Julien turned his face to the wind and then gauged the distance between them and the British. The ship was looming larger and more menacing than it had at a distance.

A first-rater, with over a hundred cannon. Even with the added advantage of the
Retribution
at their side, they were still outgunned and outmanned.

At least they had the wind in their favor.

Giles moved to his side. "You could surrender. I could claim I was here on a diplomatic mission and that you were transporting me."

Julien laughed. "The
Destiny
on a diplomatic mission for His Majesty? It might bide us some time while they finish laughing. Then they will still blow us out of the water. You are forgetting there is a price on my head as well as on this ship. The crew who sinks the
Destiny
splits a prize of fifty thousand pounds. They wouldn't care if the entire royal family were aboard. Right now every man on that ship is spending his share."

Giles looked across the water at the ship bearing down on them. "I hope you have a plan."

"I do, but I doubt my wife would approve."

Just then there was a tug at his sleeve. "Father, where is my mother?" It was Ethan, his face brimming with pride. When Julien just stared at him, surprised to hear himself called by his rightful title, his son spoke up. "Cousin Charles told me."

"Remind me to talk to Cousin Charles after all this is over," Julien said, glancing across the deck to where the Earl of Hawksbury stood.

His nephew shrugged and then turned to aid a man who was adjusting the lines.

"Father, where is my mother?" his son repeated.

"She's still ashore."

Ethan nodded. "Will she be safe there?" She damned well better be, he thought. Instead, he asked the boy, "What do you think?"

"I think she'll be safe."

"I do too. Now, since she isn't here, I have to ask your permission on something. Something I doubt she would like. But since you are most likely her second in command when it comes to the
Retribution,
I would like to ask your permission to captain her."

Ethan's face grew grave, as if he knew full well the weight of having to make this decision for his mother. "Are you a good captain?"

"One of the best."

He nodded. "Will you return her in good condition?"

"That's where I think your mother and I would disagree." Julien knelt down and explained his plan to his son. "You see, it is the only way. The
Destiny
is faster than the
Retribution,
and we'll need every sail to get away."

Ethan looked from the
Retribution
to the ship bearing down on them. "I don't think Mother is going to be happy with us, but I think you're right, sir. It is the best plan."

Julien grinned at his son and rose to his feet. "Start transferring every bit of powder we've got to the
Retribution,"
he shouted to his men. "Leave us just enough to fight with, but we'll need every ounce over there if we are going to make this work."

As the men set to work, Ethan tugged on Julien's sleeve again. "Father, what can I do?"

If truth be told, he didn't want Ethan anywhere on the ship, but he couldn't turn down the lad's offer. "Where is your Aunt Pettigrew?"

"Helping Mr. Balton," Ethan said.

"Loading muskets?" Julien shook his head. Could he have heard his son correctly?

"Aye, sir. Mr. Balton says she has quite a hand for it. Should I go help?"

The ammunition stores, while dangerous in themselves, were well below the waterline and the least likely spot to be hit. Julien nodded to his son, and Ethan scampered down the nearest hatchway.

For a moment the pain in his shoulder rallied forth, leaving him nauseous and wavering on his feet, but he swallowed it back.

Cannon fire from the British ship cleared his senses, the balls landing close enough to send spray up over the sides of the
Destiny.

The next ones would hit if he didn't change course.

Shouting more orders and stalking across the deck, he tamped down any thoughts but what was before him.

He had a fight on his hands, something he'd had countless times. Yet this time it was different. This time a fire burned within him that hadn't been present ever before.

This was one battle he couldn't afford to lose.

The icy dash of seawater brought Maureen awake. She sputtered and coughed, choking on the salt filling her mouth. Her fingers clawed at the decking beneath her, trying to find a handhold, something to hang on to.

Before she could catch her breath, a second bucket of water poured over her prone figure, this time sending the stinging, frigid water into her eyes and ears.

She shook like a wet, angry dog and reared back her head. "One more of those and I'll kill the son of a bitch."

Laughter followed, as cold and mean as the water running in rivers down her neck and back, streaming from her loose hair. "And you thought you could be a lady," the Lord Admiral's voice mocked from somewhere close by.

Maureen took low, steady breaths, bracing herself for the next round of water, but none came. Slowly, she raised her head and took in her surroundings.

She was aboard a schooner, more than likely the Lord Admiral's private vessel from the looks of the rich ornaments and other touches. They were sailing away from shore, Hawthorne Hall rising on the distant hill behind them like an ancient sentry. The men manning the ship regarded her warily, as if fearing to meet her gaze.

It occurred to her that one of them would have to kill her. The Lord Admiral hadn't brought her out here for a pleasure trip. The man did everything in a calculated, precise manner. He had his reasons, and she feared she'd find them out only too soon.

Her head pounded, leaving her unsteady and dizzy. But she could hardly protect herself lying on the ground, so she knew she needed to get up. She brought herself to a kneeling position, not wanting to stand too quickly and find her legs buckling beneath her. Her hand brushed over her boot.

Her dagger. She still had it. She almost grinned.

Whatever the Lord Admiral had planned for her, she was sure he would be more surprised by what she would give him in return.

In the distance a cannon boomed. Beside her the Lord Admiral laughed again.

"Get up, my dear Baroness. Get up. You'll miss the entertainment."

More cannon answered the first one, but this time with a different pitch. Two ships, maybe more, she estimated from the sounds.

Her gaze swung across the waves to where three ships were making their first maneuvers into engagement. She would have known the lines, the sails, of the first two anywhere.

The
Retribution
and the
Destiny.

But it was the third ship that ran her blood as cold as the water they'd dashed over her head.

A first-rate. A hundred or more cannon strong. The largest of the British warships. A floating armory of firepower and unbeatable strength.

The Lord Admiral moved to her side, his fingers gripping her elbow as he dragged her to the railing. "Seems my best ship saw the signals from shore. Care to make a wager,
Baroness?
Your ships versus mine. I'll give you good odds, considering how outgunned and outmanned your side seems to be."

Maureen watched the movements between her ship and Julien's. She didn't even know if he was still alive. But one thing was for certain: Her family was aboard those ships, and she didn't want to just stand here and watch them die. "I'll take that wager. But forget the odds. My life for yours."

The Lord Admiral laughed. "Your life is already forfeit. If your husband continues to fight like that, you'll be a widow before you die."

The
Destiny
sent out a volley of shot, some hitting the British ship, most of it splashing harmlessly in the water.

It was obvious the frigate was playing target, darting in and out and taking the bulk of the shots, while the more maneuverable
Retribution
sailed in tight circles just outside the range of the warship.

Yet, it didn't make sense.

They should be working together to cripple the British so they could then make a run for the open sea. What was Mr. Whitney, her first mate, thinking? He should be helping the
Destiny,
not running scared.

"Would you like a closer look? It seems even the rats aboard your ship are deserting your husband," the Lord Admiral said, offering her a spyglass with the same mock gallantry one might use to offer a lady punch at Almack's.

She snatched the glass out of his hand and brought it to her eye. She scanned the decks of the
Destiny
but saw no sign of Julien. She swept it again and this time saw Mr. Whitney on the rear deck, shouting orders.

Mr. Whitney aboard the
Destiny?
Then who was manning the
Retribution?