Claimed by the Rogue (35 page)

“She’s a pretty piece, your woman. What’s her name?” the pirate captain had asked, pointing to Phoebe’s miniature, the heavy ruby ring, too large for his finger, slipping about his slender digit.

“Phoebe Tremont, Phoebe Tremont, Phoebe Tremont…”

Aristide Bouchart. Arthur Trent. They were the same man!

Heart hammering, Robert turned to look full on at Phoebe. “This ruby is the same worn by the pirate captain who tortured and killed without mercy. Sailing under the black flag, he went by the name Arthur Trent, but you know him as—”

“Aristide!” Phoebe shoved a fist against her mouth.

Robert nodded, swallowing against his throat’s knotting, the enormity of what he’d done only now beginning to sink in. “He discovered my padlock locket and seized it. From the moment he set eyes upon your miniature, the questioning began. Who were you, what were you. He made it clear he meant to have your name. At the time I couldn’t think why; still I was determined not to give it up. Indeed, everything in me screamed to withhold it even if doing so meant my death.”

“Oh, Robert, no!”

“Your meeting him in London was no happenstance. Don’t you see? He sought you out because of me, because I gave you up.”
 

Bouchart, or rather Trent, must have thought to retire from piracy and marry into wealth. Eventually he’d made his way to London and sought out Phoebe. How delighted he must have been to discover that the miniaturist had, if anything, understated her beauty.

Eyes huge, she shook her head. “I almost wed a pirate. You warned me that he was dangerous, but I was so stubborn, I refused to credit it.”

“Don’t thank me just yet. It was my fault that he sought you out. Fifty lashes in, he broke me and I gave you up. I shouldn’t blame you were you unable to bear the sight of me.”

She reached out and laid a hand along his jaw. “You were under torture. You had no choice.”

“Did I not? There is always a choice.” Too ashamed to meet her gaze, he stared up at the ceiling timbers.
 

Slender arms banded about him. Soft lips pressed against his cheek. “There is naught to forgive and much to be grateful for. Had you not returned and been so intractable in your pursuit of me, I would be bound to a ruthless pirate in a few short weeks. Cannot you see—you
saved
me.”

Heartened and humbled by her generosity, he turned to face her. “Earlier you asked me again why I stayed away for six years and let you think me dead. Now you have the whole of your reason. What I’d done was already unforgivable. How could I compound my sin by inflicting you with the wreck I’d been reduced to?”

“Is that what ‘Mother Geneva’ meant by saying you feared I might see you as less than a man?”

“Yes.”

Framing his face between her palms, she said, “Look into my eyes and tell me what you see.”

Probing her eyes’ misty blue depths, Robert found only love. Phoebe’s love for him shone brightly as any northern star, as fathomless as the sea itself.
 

“Once and for all, there is naught for you to feel guilty about and nothing for me to forgive.”

He shrugged. “That is a subject of some dispute, but what is clear is that there is a great deal to be done. When I first returned to London, I made my report to your brother at the Admiralty.”

Her face registered shock. “Reggie has known all along! But he’s never breathed a word.”

Robert hadn’t imagined he had, and yet it was heartening to hear that his trust had not been misplaced. “I know he’s a bit of a black sheep, but so far as his diplomacy and discretion, I believe he’s deserving of more credit than he’s given.”

“What do you mean to do?”

“I was a coward six years ago, but I will be a coward no more. I cannot leave a pirate on the loose in London. I must see justice served.”

“Promise me you won’t kill him—not for his sake but for yours.”

He shook his head. “I wish I could, but I cannot. You see, I have learned one lesson. Heretofore, I am done with making promises I may not be able to keep.”

Chapter Fifteen

Dawn was but breaking when Robert handed Phoebe down from the hackney carriage. “I know it’s hard to part, but until I can bring Bouchart to justice, your parents’ house is the safest place for you. Plead a headache if you must and remain locked in your room until I come for you.”

Phoebe wasn’t at all certain she would need to “plead” anything. Knowing the atrocities of which Aristide—or rather Arthur Trent—was capable, and that Robert meant to rout him out, had brought on the beginnings of one already. “What of you?”

He shrugged, as though his safety were of secondary concern. “If all goes as planned, by the day’s end your former fiancé will be clapped in irons and under guard in the Old Bailey facing charges of murder and piracy on the high seas.”

“
If
all goes as you plan. What if it does not?”

“It shall. Know that I am not alone in this. I have Caleb at my side and Montrose too.”

“I’d feel better if you’d let me go with you as well.” Waiting seemed to be a lady’s lot. Just once she wished she might be in the thick of things and truly useful. “I could help, draw him out perhaps. He does not yet know I am aware of his true identity. I could say I’ve rethought breaking off our engagement and—”

“No!”
 

Phoebe blinked. Despite all their sparring of the past weeks, this was the first time he’d raised his voice to her.

In a milder tone, he said, “I love you for your loyalty and your lion’s heart, but a man of Trent’s ilk is not to be trifled with. You’ve seen his handiwork emblazoned upon my body, and it is far from the worst of the atrocities he’s committed. Once I reveal him to the magistrate as an imposter and a pirate, he will not hesitate to use those I love against me both from spite and to secure his safe passage out of England. Promise me you’ll do as I ask and stay within until I return?” He gestured to the townhouse, the windows as yet dark.

“Very well, I
promise
.”

Expression easing, he nodded. “And for God’s sake, do whatever you must to send that maid of yours packing.”

“With pleasure,” she said though she had a feeling that after the other day Betty might well have decamped of her own accord already. If she was indeed Aristide’s mole, now that their betrothal was broken, she must know her mischief-making on his behalf was done.

He leaned in to kiss her. Phoebe lifted her face and met his seeking mouth with hers. Despite the passion they’d shared aboard ship, the closemouthed kiss jellied her knees and set her heart aflutter.

Taking a shaky step back, she smiled up at him. “A kiss in plain view of my parents’ house, s’faith sir, you’ve grown bold to take such liberties with a lady’s reputation. My father might well make you marry me for it,” she added with a wink.

Robert grinned. “Had I known that was all that was required, I would have kissed you on the street weeks, no,
years
ago. Let what tongues wag that will. Before the week is out, you will be my wife in every way. For now, bear up, be brave.”
 

Bear up. Be brave
. Six years ago, he’d taken his leave with fair near the same words.
 

“You should go inside now,” he said, tucking the pelisse about her. “I will wait here until you are safely within.” Dropping his hands, he stepped back and turned to climb into the carriage.

Heart sinking, Phoebe caught at his sleeve. “Have a care, my love. I don’t believe I could bear it were you taken from me a second time.”

“I shan’t be,” he said with conviction.

She swallowed against her throat’s knotting. “Mind no more making me promises you cannot be certain to keep.”

He laid a hand upon either of her shoulders. Holding her at arm’s length, he looked deeply into her eyes. “Do as I bid, and I
swear
upon our love and all that I hold most sacred and dear that I will come back and claim you as my bride.”

Head reeling with the discoveries of the past twenty-four hours, body deliciously tender from their night of loving, Phoebe nodded. “Very well, then I will do as you say—this time.”

Tears pooled in her eyes. Before he might see them, she turned swiftly away. Intimately aware of his gaze following her, she crossed to the house’s fenced front yard.
 

The gate opened near soundlessly, likewise her key turned smoothly in the front door lock. Offering up a rare sentiment of gratitude to her mother, who was ever after the servants to oil all hinges, Phoebe pulled the door quietly closed behind her. Tiptoeing through the foyer, she saw that not quite all the rooms were dark. Relying on the light of a single Argand lamp, a housemaid knelt at the grate in the front parlor, laboring with brush and dustbin.
 

Thankful for her soft-soled slippers, Phoebe made to slip past. A board’s creak gave her away. The girl twisted her head around to the open doorway, her eyebrows shooting up when she caught sight of Phoebe. Phoebe’s heart stopped and then started anew. Provided Providence was willing, she would be a wife in another few days, her nocturnal wanderings of note to none. Still, much like good manners, discretion hurt no one and cost nothing. Lifting a finger to her lips, she crept toward the stairs. Ascending, she fought a silly sense of foreboding prompted by how quiet it was. The silence was so complete she might have detected a pin’s dropping. She was being a goose, of course. Naturally the house was uncommonly hushed. It had just broken dawn. Even her early rising father would still be snoring in his bed. Stepping off the landing, she bypassed her parents’ and Belinda’s rooms and hurried down the hall to hers.

She slipped inside, brought the door closed behind her, and sank back against the paneled wood. “Pippin,” she whispered, gaze searching the dimness. “Mummy’s home.” Her gaze went from the bed to the basket and back again, but no furry face appeared in greeting. “Pippin,” she said again, more loudly, too concerned to care whom she might awake.

Crossing to the bed, panic climbed her throat. Hers was a modest-sized chamber. There were only so many places a small dog might conceal himself. She threw her reticule upon the counterpane and went down on all fours. Pulling up the ruffled bed duster, she peered beneath. Empty. Rising, she searched his other favorite hiding place, the wardrobe, but he was not there either. Her gaze snagged on her writing desk, the tool for Betty’s duplicity! Dreading what she might find, she walked over to it. A single sheet of written-upon foolscap lay atop, penned in what she now recognized as Betty’s coarse, looping hand.
 

If you want your dog back alive, come to Serpentine Bridge in Hyde Park—alone.

Phoebe froze. Her thoughts whirled back to the burn she’s spied atop Betty’s breast. No popping cinder had struck that intimate spot, but for a lover with a sadistic streak access would present no problem. Aristide must have bedded Betty as a first step to persuading her to spy for him; otherwise why on earth would she commit such wanton cruelty?

Gone was the loving glow that had warmed Phoebe but a few minutes ago. Knowing the lengths to which Betty was capable, she felt as though her veins bore ice water in lieu of blood. Her hope for getting Pippin safely back lay in persuading the girl that she no longer stood as her rival. Once Betty learned of the broken-off engagement, she would have no cause to act out of spite. Provided Phoebe retrieved Pippin before Betty learned of Aristide’s capture and arrest, all might yet be well. She would need to act swiftly.
 

But Robert would never countenance her meeting the maid alone, nor would she blame him. Still, if her plan went awry, someone should know of her whereabouts. Dipping the much-abused quill in the inkpot, she scratched out a brief addendum directly below Betty’s threat. Heart drumming, she sprinkled sand to set the ink, folded the paper and penned Chelsea’s direction on the outside. There was no time to spare for heating the sealing wax—then again, the contents weren’t meant to be private.

She hesitated, turned back and picked up the silver-handled pocketknife used for sharpening the quill. Hoping she’d have no need of it, she nonetheless dropped it inside her reticule and hurried out, carrying the letter with her.
 

The household would be awakening soon. There was no time to waste. Alighting from the landing, she headed back into the parlor where the sleepy-eyed maid seemed to have nodded off, her bin and brush discarded.

Phoebe bent, rousing her with a gentle shake of shoulders. “I need you to go below to the kitchen and find a footman to deliver this without delay,” she said, pressing the letter into the girl’s sooty hand along with a coin from her purse.

The girl’s heavy lids lifted. “Gorm, a guinea!”
 

Straightening, Phoebe supposed it was a great deal of money to give as a gratuity, but so long as the parlor maid saw the service discharged, she would have earned every shilling. “Tell Charlie or Freddie or whomever delivers it that there’ll be one for him as well once I return.”

She spun away and stepped back out to the foyer. Footfalls fueled by fear, she cut across the black-and-white tiles to the door. Reaching for the knob, the irony of her circumstances wasn’t lost on her. This time she, not Robert, was the one to break her promise. But with Pippin’s very life at stake, there was no help for it. She could only hope that her beloved pirate would prove swifter to forgive than she.