The Pirate and the Puritan (37 page)

She squared her shoulders, trying
to appear more confident than she felt. “Excuse me, Master Linley. If my manner
displeases you, then perhaps you should leave the room. I have some important
information for His Grace that does not concern you.”

Admiral Meldrick swept between
her and the two seated men. “We all know how distraught you must be, dear lady.
Neither His Grace nor myself want to see a woman hang for the deeds of a fiend.
Please speak openly.”

She refused to allow Meldrick to
remain in center stage. “Your Grace, I’ve been told capturing Andrew Crawford
is of dire consequence to you because he impersonated a member of your highly
respected family.”

The
Your
Grace
left
a bitter taste in her mouth, but alienating the duke would not save Drew’s
life. “If we could speak privately, I might be able to shed some light on the
matter.”

The duke lost his nauseating grin
and his face again was veiled with ice. Even his dark eyes were devoid of
emotion or life. “Is it true you were the pirate’s mistress?”

She dropped her facade and glared
at him. Even if she could remain humble, it wouldn’t save Drew. Jarrod Andrews
would not help her no matter how many Your Graces she spat at him. Nor would he
care if a bastard brother were hanged—but he just might give a damn if the
whole world knew he had pirates in his family, on the right side of the blanket
or not.

Admiral Meldrick jumped to her
defense before she could think of a reply caustic enough for the duke’s
question. “Your Grace, I’m sure Miss Kendall did not voluntarily lie with a
brute like
El Diablo
. The poor lady had no choice, and no one here could
blame her for it.” Meldrick turned toward her. “Tell us where we can find the
swine so we may repay him for the brutality imposed on your delicate person.”

Philip Linley slammed his hand on
a low table, rattling the teapot. “Good God, Meldrick, she’s as guilty as her
father. Drew Crawford could seduce cream from a cat. I doubt he had any trouble
with Ben’s spinster daughter.”

Felicity swung her barely
controlled fury in Linley’s direction. “Should we add the wife of a prominent
plantation owner to the list?”

Linley shot to his feet, his face
as red as the crimson material covering the seat of his chair. “You little
slut!”

The duke quieted Linley simply by
raising his hand. “Do calm down. I see living in these unbearable conditions
has turned the residents of Barbados as wild as its shrubbery.” Linley sat down
with his head lowered. The duke stopped Meldrick from again taking control of
the conversation with another showing of his noble palm. He pointed to a chair,
leaving Meldrick, a mere admiral, with no choice but to obey.

“I don’t care if Miss Kendall
claims Andrew Crawford tied her down and raped her while holding a cutlass to
her throat.” The duke directed his chilling stare at her. “My patience has run
thin. Tell me where I can find
El Diablo
.”

“Finding Andrew Crawford will not
solve your problems.” Revealing she had no intention of handing them Drew’s
head on a platter would not serve her cause. The promise of information was
what held their attention.

“Need I remind you, in addition
to the impending threat of hanging, the scoundrel has caused irreparable damage
to your reputation whether he touched you or not? No man of honor would put a
lady he cherished in that position,” said Meldrick. His patronizing tone was
becoming strained.

She wanted to laugh. These men
held up her virtue for public speculation and she didn’t care. Drew had
cherished her, but she’d thrown it in his face. Years of being a slave to her
private shame had left her too insecure to recognize his love. She wouldn’t be
a pariah for losing her virginity before marriage; she’d be hanged for not
saying she was raped. “You’re wrong, Admiral Meldrick,” she said. “Andrew
Crawford is an honorable man. I was no innocent, and I took him to my bed
willingly.”

“Good God! The man really is
Satan incarnate,” exploded Philip Linley.

If Admiral Meldrick had his
riding crop, she guessed he’d have rapped it on anything nearby. Instead, he
screeched over Linley’s ravings: “You were not brought here to make a desperate
plea for your lover. We are giving you a chance to save your neck!”

The duke appeared unmoved. She
disregarded the other men. They’d already convicted Drew.

She addressed the duke. “Drew
didn’t commit the crimes of which he is accused.”

The duke didn’t blink, nor did he
move a muscle. “Eliminating piracy in the Caribbean is not my concern. Finding
the man putting a smudge on my family name is.”

Felicity smiled sweetly at the
duke, but she had no doubt triumph sparkled in her eyes. He knew Drew carried
his blood. She’d stake her life on it.

“No doubt you would be appalled
by the idea of the Andrew’s name being publicly linked with piracy, as would
the rest of your esteemed family. I see your father has passed away. Do you
have any siblings, perhaps a brother?”

Admiral Meldrick beat his fist on
his thigh. “Miss Kendall, the Duke of Foxmoor’s lineage has no bearing—”

Jarrod Andrews, Duke of Foxmoor,
showed his teeth. She guessed it was his attempt at a placating smile. “I
believe we are making Miss Kendall nervous. Perhaps more progress would be made
if I spoke with her in private, as she first suggested.”

A word from the duke proved as
good as King George’s himself, at least on Barbados. Philip Linley and Admiral
Meldrick promptly removed themselves without a grumble.

Felicity stood before the seated
demigod, feeling like the fly before the spider. She reminded herself of her
earlier victory and sat down in a chair vacated by one of the men, not waiting
for an invitation. The duke stood.

After raking her with his gaze,
he sneered and showed her his back as he paced the room. He matched Drew’s
height, but Jarrod Andrews appeared slight, where Drew looked lean and sinewy.
He strode toward her, then stopped with his hands behind him, his feet braced
apart. The gesture created as forbidding a figure as Drew in his pirate guise.

He tried to bore a hole through
her with his stare, but she retaliated by mirroring his steady glare.

“Well, here we are. Alone at
last. Tell me, my little colonial, what do you think you know?” The dark brown
of the duke’s eyes absorbed the light, making them appear black. Though of an
entirely different hue, Drew’s eyes also turned dark when he became angry or
passionate. She suspected the duke possessed a full mouth much like his
brother’s, but his constant sneer and the ridiculous color he painted his lips
made it impossible to tell for sure. Their relationship would be obvious once
it was brought to light.

She tilted her head in an
exaggerated show of studying him. “You know, Your Grace, your resemblance to
your brother is striking.”

He gave no outward sign that her
jab pierced him. In fact, he remained rigid. “You speak gibberish, Miss
Kendall. You’re wasting my time.”

She arranged her skirts, refusing
to appear flustered. After a moment, she glanced up at him and smiled brightly.
“Congratulations. You have a brother. Stir any memories?”

“No.”

“I’m sure it’s easy enough to
check. Drew’s mother was a servant at your father’s country estate. She lived
in the village near your home. And there is the resemblance. You both must look
like your father.”

The duke returned to his
makeshift throne. He leaned back and, to Felicity’s frustration, appeared
completely relaxed. “I grew up in London. A lovely tale, though. I might even
find it amusing if it were not at my deceased father’s expense.”

His dark eyes remained intense,
directing a piercing stare at Felicity. She struggled not to fidget. “I know
the truth. A truth you obviously don’t want revealed. Take back your reward,
release my father and your relationship to
El Diablo
will stay our
little secret.” She thought she saw his jaw twitch and held her breath.

He brought a lace handkerchief
from his sleeve and dabbed at his nose. “This will stay our secret, I can
assure you of that.”

The promise in his calm tone
couldn’t have been more threatening if he’d had armed troops flanking him ready
to carry out whatever mischief he had in mind. The duke didn’t need a visible
show of force. He was a force all on his own. For the first time, Felicity
realized just how powerless she was in this situation.

Drew’s life had been much harder.
He’d been condemned for even being born. What chance did he ever have against
the absolute authority of men like the duke? She studied the man in question,
looking for the bluff behind his threat or any signs that his powdered
arrogance hid a trace of compassion. Every muscle in the duke’s face had
tightened. He looked ready to strangle her. She should say nothing.
Confrontation would only bring the duke’s vengeance down upon Drew that much
harder. As much as she wished she could, she found it impossible to hold her
tongue. How could the man be so cruel?

“Perhaps you can get away with
killing your brother, but my father is well liked. And if I follow in his wake,
someone on the island is going to speak up. There is only so much destruction
you can wreak without calling attention to yourself, Your Grace.” She didn’t
have to add the sarcasm in addressing him as his title warranted, but she
couldn’t help herself.

“I don’t know if you have the
more vivid imagination or your pirate. You’ll tell no one of this nonsense
because no one will believe you.” His tone gave no indication that her words
disturbed him, but he shifted slightly.

“There is the resemblance—and
your last name is Andrews, his first name is Andrew. I’m sure it will be enough
to stir curiosity once I bring it to people’s attention. Perhaps I already
have. I’m sure you’ve noticed how easily rumors spread on Barbados.”

He tilted his head as if to study
her. “How is it you came to be scooped up by Admiral Meldrick again, Miss
Kendall? Did
El Diablo
spit you out like so much gristle?” He let his
gaze drift over her. “Yes, I can see that. And yet you still feel compelled to
defend him. Plain women are so loyal.”

She blinked, momentarily losing
her train of thought. As hard as it must have been for Drew surviving on his
own, he was fortunate not to have been taken to the bosom of this family of
vipers.

The duke cleared his throat in
the face of her momentary discomfort, but she swore she saw him smile behind
the hand he used to politely cover his mouth. “Whether or not Drew Crawford is
related to me won’t change the fact he is a pirate and will be hanged for his
crimes. I had nothing to do with that. And as for you, Miss Kendall, things
would go so much more easily for both you and your father if you’d put your considerable
energies into bringing the fiend who kidnapped you to justice rather than
making up tales no one wants to hear.”

The Duke of Foxmoor was giving
her a clear choice. If her father had not been thrown in jail without real
proof of any crimes, she might not believe the duke could wave a hand and have
all the charges dropped. Judging by the events that had transpired since the
duke’s arrival, he could proclaim himself King of Barbados without opposition.

“Shall I assume by this blessed
moment of silence that we understand each other?”

An image of Drew and her father
swinging from a scaffold chilled her, but not enough to cool her fury. As long
as she drew breath, she’d not let Drew’s family continue to persecute him.
“You’ll have to catch him first.”

“That’s why we have you, my dear.
To make sure I don’t miss a visit from a long-lost relative. You’ll be my guest
until your execution, of course. But not to worry; if your lover doesn’t come
to your rescue in time, I’ll make sure you see him in hell.”

***

Being Jarrod Andrews’s guest at
the Linley plantation involved three days in a locked room no bigger than
Felicity’s cabin on board the
Queen Elizabeth
. The windowless closet,
tucked beneath an eave of the roof, held only a bare cot and a chamber pot. During
the heat of the day, she could do little more than be still for fear of
swooning. A servant girl brought her stale bread, bland soup and water with a
touch of rum once a day.

She assumed the rations were the
same given to the slaves, and she suspected the girl gave her the food out of
the kindness of her heart rather than on instructions from her master. Despite
her miserable accommodations, Felicity didn’t feel mistreated as much as
forgotten. Her father’s conditions were much worse. Even the mean comfort of
her cot fed her guilt.

When the message to meet the Duke
of Foxmoor in front of the house arrived, she was too excited to leave her room
to be concerned. Escaping appeared an impossibility behind the locked door.
Despite telling herself otherwise, hope that Drew would rescue them still
fluttered to life at the slightest opportunity.

Sweet fresh air engulfed her as
she was ushered through the servants’ door in the back of the house. With a
burst of energy, she rushed around to the front yard. She halted on the edge of
the wide gravel drive. A carriage of gilt and polished mahogany winked in the
noonday sun. Jarrod Andrews, the Duke of Foxmoor, stood by the conveyance,
challenging the coach’s splendor with his own. He glanced at her and frowned.

She cautiously approached him.
Whatever he had in mind, it wasn’t for her benefit. She had to keep up her
guard if she wanted to out-fox him.

He put a lace handkerchief over
his nose and directed her into the coach. She tried to match his haughty
demeanor despite the fact that her appearance warranted his action. To her
surprise, he offered her his hand to assist her into the carriage. She took it
and daintily lifted her skirts, as if she wore a gown of pink satin rather than
filthy brown rags. Her skin crawled at the contact with his warm gloved palm.
She forced herself not to wipe her hand against the plush velvet upholstery.