Teresa Medeiros (49 page)

Warned by the fierce glint of pride in Lucy’s eyes, Kevin staggered back against the rigging, swearing in defeat.

Lucy clicked her heels together and lifted a hand to her brow in a formal salute. “Powder Mouse Snow, sir, reporting for duty.”

The phantom ship melted out of the night in eerie silence, her silk sails billowing like the raven wings of an avenging angel. Tendrils of mist enveloped her deserted decks on a night when there was no mist. Her graceful rigging glistened silver in the moonlight, a deadly web of destruction.

At her inevitable approach, a handful of French unfortunates threw themselves overboard, preferring certain death to the specter of the unknown.

Later, many of the more superstitious French sailors would swear to their skeptical, but intrigued, First Consul that it was not a single ship, but an entire fleet of demon ships, spawned from the docks of hell by a Satan jealous of Napoleon’s ambitions to conquer what had been promised to him—the world. Their suspicions
were reinforced by the terrible swiftness with which the sleek raptor swept down upon them and the chaos that ensued.

Their British prey forgotten, the square-riggers reeled in a desperate attempt to escape the inescapable. They careened through the waves, trapped in a vortex of their own terror. The relentless ghost ship sliced between them with only inches to spare, gliding so swiftly and so soundlessly that by the time a panicked gunner could get off a shot, it had vanished from sight.

The errant cannonball smashed into the rigging of its sister ship, shredding her topsail. The ships collided, shattering the abrupt silence with the protesting wail of splintering oak.

Before the phantom ship could rematerialize, and heedless of the further damage they did to their vessels in their haste, they disentangled themselves and made for the far horizon and France without so much as a backward glance.

To the Englishmen aboard the rapidly sinking
Courageous
, who had already been making peace with whatever God they served, the reappearance of the phantom schooner was received with mixed emotions of delight and dread. The shadow of her bow fell over them, followed by a grim creaking, as if the rusty gates of heaven were being thrown open to receive repentant sinners.

They stood knee-deep and shivering in the frigid water, wondering if they would live to tell their grandchildren of the
Retribution
’s miraculous intervention. Did she represent salvation or damnation for their battle-weary souls?

As if in answer, a rope ladder unfurled from the heavens, smacking into their upturned faces. They snatched at it with grateful hands, not caring for the
moment whether they were climbing to meet a loving or a vengeful God.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this. Have you lost your bloody mind?” Kevin muttered out of the corner of his mouth, his jaw rigid with disapproval.

“I haven’t much choice,” Gerard hissed in reply, watching from the fo’c’sle as the pale, sodden sailors filed aboard a deck already crowded with the somber members of his own crew. “After taking such pains to rescue them from the French, it would have been a bit ill-mannered to let them drown, don’t you think?”

Kevin returned a sulky shrug, but Gerard knew his brother wasn’t as bloodthirsty as he appeared to be. He was just half out of his mind with worry. For him.

Gerard was seized by a similar insanity as Lucy emerged from the hold. He had expressly forbidden her the lower gundeck, fearing it might come into use, but from the smudge of grime on her nose and her guilty expression, it appeared she had managed to wiggle her way into some sort of mischief after all.

He started toward her, desperate to shield her from the wildly curious stares of their new passengers, but a jubilant cry stopped him in his tracks.

“Lucy! Lucy, my girl, is that you?”

Like the exceptional commander he was, Lord Howell had chosen to be the last man to abandon his foundering vessel. As a consequence, he was soaked all the way to the trailing ends of his gray hair. As his men half assisted, half dragged him over the starboard rail by the braid of his uniform, he sneezed heartily, then shoved their clinging hands away to stagger across the deck to Lucy.

Lucy quaked at the blunt shock of emerging from the hold only to be enveloped in Lord Howell’s soggy, familiar embrace. He couldn’t have greeted his own
daughter with any more heartfelt enthusiasm. His generosity tore open her fresh wounds, letting in the air they needed to heal. She crumpled into his arms, allowing herself the long-denied luxury of crying on a shoulder broad enough to absorb her tears.

“There, there, girl,” he murmured when the tumultuous shaking of her shoulders had eased. “Stand back, why don’t you? Let me have a look at you.”

She obeyed unthinkingly, dabbing at her nose with the back of her hand. Lord Howell surveyed her masculine garments with a curious eye, then beamed at her with genuine affection. “None the worse for your adventures, I see. Your poor father has been going out of his mind with worry. Almost got his silly self court-martialed by absconding with one of the King’s warships without waiting for His Majesty’s approval. Of course, His Majesty, being a father himself, took pity on him when he returned, half mad with grief at failing to retrieve you.”

Mad indeed, Lucy thought bitterly. Probably foaming at the mouth with rage.

She was spared fabricating a suitable reply by the abrupt shift of Lord Howell’s attention to the fo’c’sle behind her.

The Earl’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “Claremont? Is that you, fellow? I thought you’d skulked off in shame after the abduction. Good God, I hadn’t realized Lucien had hired you to rescue his little girl. What a splendid job you’ve done! You’re quite the hero, aren’t you?”

Lucy held her breath, afraid to even blink for fear her expression would betray her. A wild hope thundered in her breast as she realized the Admiral, in his desperation to conceal his own misdeeds, still hadn’t made Gerard’s identity public. Please, God, she silently prayed, turning to watch him descend from the
fo’c’sle with her heart in her throat, please let him brazen it out.

Brazen it out he did, swaggering across the quarterdeck with a dazzling bravado that made her mouth go dry with yearning. “Spare me your accolades, sir,” he drawled. “They might impress Gerard Claremont, but I can assure you Captain Doom hasn’t the vaguest interest in them.”

L
UCY CLAPPED A HAND OVER HER MOUTH to smother a moan of horror.

To Lord Howell’s credit, he looked genuinely aggrieved, not the least bit elated at the prospect of hooking such a remarkable catch. “I say, Claremont, are you trying to tell me that
you’re
Captain Doom?”

Kevin plunged down from the fo’c’sle. “Balderdash! He’s nothing but a craven impostor.
I’m
Captain Doom!”

Without even looking, Gerard swung his fist back and smashed it into his brother’s face. Kevin went down like a stone.

Gerard’s merry grin was unrepentant.
“I’m
Captain Doom.
He’s
unconscious.”

When Lucy came rushing at him, Gerard sighed, reluctant to dispose of her in like manner. One look at her frantic face and Lord Howell would clap them both in irons. Feinting to make it appear her motion was his, he seized her around the shoulders, whipped
his pistol from his breeches, and pressed it to her temple.

“Unless you’d like our next dance together to be the gallows hornpipe,” he muttered into her ear, “I suggest we make this convincing.”

Lucy had no trouble making it convincing. She was furious. Gerard was proving to be no less a tyrant than the Admiral, always making high-handed decisions about her future without consulting her.

“Why did you confess, you idiot?” she bit off beneath her breath, squirming wildly in his less than tender embrace.

“He’s a smart man,” Gerard replied through clenched teeth, wincing as her ruthless heel ground his toes into pulp. “It wouldn’t have taken him long to figure it out for himself. Dammit, listen to me! We haven’t much time. When we get to London, I want you to go straight to Smythe.”

“And you, sir, can go straight to Hades,” she snarled.

If Lucy had reverted to addressing him formally, Gerard knew he was in dire straits. Afraid she was going to incriminate herself out of sheer spite, he raked back the hammer of the gun.

Lucy went limp with shock, wondering if he might actually shoot her for smashing his toes. She suppressed a hysterical giggle, finding it utterly absurd that even while he was holding the balance of her life in his unscrupulous hands, she could take such perverse pleasure in the warmth of his arms around her.

The deck threatened to erupt into anarchy, the crew of the
Courageous
drawing steel to compensate for their waterlogged pistols, their reluctant hosts bristling at the threat to their captain. Apollo stepped forward, using nothing but his imposing size to coax one whey-faced lad into sheathing his sword. The
Retribution
’s
crew might be outnumbered, but they weren’t out-manned.

Gerard’s voice rang with authority, stilling them all. “I have only one condition for surrender, Lord Howell.”

The Earl’s worried gaze flitted across Lucy’s face. “What might that be, sir?”

“That my crew’s valiant and self-sacrificing actions in coming to the aid of the
Courageous
be duly noted and amnesty considered for each and every one of them.”

Lord Howell nodded somberly. “I shall note it in my log with all due gravity. But what of yourself, son? Have you no plea to make on your own behalf? For leniency, perhaps? A more merciful execution by shooting? A promise not to display your body for the amusement of the masses?”

Gerard felt Lucy’s flinch all the way to his bones. Not even Lord Howell could grant him the one thing he wanted—time. Time to stand before a minister of God and vow to cherish this woman for the rest of her life. Time to watch her slender body ripen with his child. Time to romp in the autumn leaves with their grandchildren. But most precious of all, time to explain to her that he was tired of running. That without her by his side, there was nowhere left to run.

“I’ll tell you what I want, sir. To be rid of this spoiled little bitch.” Gerard gave Lucy a shove, praying it would be hard enough to remove her from harm’s way for good. She stumbled to her knees at Lord Howell’s feet. Tossing her hair out of her eyes with a jerk of her head, she glared at him disbelievingly, her gray eyes smoky with hurt. He sneered down at her with all the contempt he could muster. “There ain’t no ransom worth having a woman like her aboard my ship.”

Laying a hand on Lucy’s shoulder, Lord Howell said gently, “I’m afraid it’s no longer your ship, sir. Seize him.”

Lucy watched in fierce misery as the crew of the
Retribution
was stripped of their weapons and directed to the lower fo’c’sle for interrogation. Gerard vanished into the shadows of the hold, flanked by two burly sailors.

Lord Howell tugged at her elbow, helping her to her feet. “Don’t worry, child. The rascal will soon be in irons where he belongs.” Attributing her bleak shudder to the cold, he draped an arm over her shoulder to block the frigid wind. “I can’t even imagine how overjoyed your father will be to see you.”