The Pirate and the Puritan (40 page)

“Why didn’t you just kill me?”
Drew tried to keep his shoulders rounded, though a strong desire to reach for
his brother had broken through his pain-fogged brain. “Why go to all this
trouble?”

“Do you think I came all this way
just to kill you? Do you think I care about you that much? Hardly. If you had
died in that prison, as you were supposed to, you would have saved all of us a
lot of trouble.” His brother’s direct gaze challenged Drew to argue.

“I never wanted anything from you
or our father.”

The duke hooked his thumbs in the
pockets of his embroidered jacket. “Well, believe it or not, he wanted
something from you.”

Drew straightened before he could
stop himself, his interest rattling his chains.

The duke nodded in acknowledgment
of Drew’s reaction, then he paced to the other side of the cell. “No, I don’t
think I’ll tell you.” He paced back again. “The reason I didn’t kill you was
because our father acknowledged you in his will.”

Drew didn’t have the strength to
hide his surprise.

“Oh, yes. And he was still alive
to receive that little ransom note from the Spanish. Wanted to send the money
and bring you back to the bosom of the family to recover. I couldn’t have that.
And not just for myself. I wouldn’t let him insult my mother’s memory like
that.”

Drew took a step toward his
brother, all restraint swept away by an awful realization. “You killed him,
didn’t you?”

“Not precisely, no. Our father
was an accomplished horseman. Did you know that?”

Drew nodded, despite himself.
He’d often seen his father ride through the village on his latest mount. How
many years had it taken Drew to stop holding his breath with the hope the duke
would finally pause to speak to him?

“Look at you! Please don’t tell
me you actually loved the pompous ass. I assure you, he wasn’t worth the
maudlin expression. Be glad I loosened the stitching on his saddle and dug a
trench under his favorite jump. He’d just gotten a new stallion—a mean animal
that was supposedly untamable. Everyone told Father he’d break his neck on the
bloody thing. I just made sure he did.”

The duke sagged for a moment,
then stood straighter as he took a deep breath and let it out again. “It feels
good to get that off my chest.” He rubbed the velvet lapel of his jacket, which
would have covered his heart if he had one. “There was speculation about his
death, of course. Everyone knew we didn’t get on, but luckily no one but me
knew about the ransom letter. The old man thought I would somehow be pleased to
know I had an older brother. As if I didn’t already know.”

The duke paced in front of Drew,
rambling on as if he were talking to himself in a mirror. “Well, that old
bugger got the last laugh, because I didn’t know he’d left you money, and even
referred to you as Andrew Crawford Andrews in his will. I mean, really, what
kind of noble name is that, Andrew Andrews? It might have been clever of your
mother to name you Andrew in the event anyone in the village missed the fact
she was my father’s whore, but I’m sorry—if all that came to light in London…
Well, we just wouldn’t want that, would we?”

His brother paused to stare at
Drew, waiting for him to rise to the slur against his mother. Let his brother
think what he wanted. He had no right to know how Drew’s mother, against
reason, loved his father and the child they’d created together.

“So you see,” his brother
continued with a slight smirk, “I couldn’t kill you outright without bringing
undue attention to myself. I certainly had no intention of taking you home and
welcoming you into the family. Actually, if Marley hadn’t brought your
existence to light, you might have escaped with me thinking you’d died in that
Spaniard’s prison. I’m so glad that didn’t happen, aren’t you?”

“I don’t want my father’s money.
I have plenty of my own.” Drew’s head was slowly clearing. The room no longer
spun, but what came into clarity was entirely more unsettling.

“Less than before, I imagine.
That was an added benefit of seizing the New England Trading Company’s assets.
Of course, the ships and goods had to be divided among the governor and a few
wronged citizens besides myself, but I made out nicely.”

Drew studied the moss that crept
up the wet stone of his prison while his brother’s words washed over him. His
brother’s confession didn’t really matter. Even if he told someone about the
duke’s involvement in Marley and Beatrice’s murder or even his father’s death,
no one would believe him. Drew was an outlaw, after all. He had committed
enough acts of piracy on his own to warrant his hanging. Felicity’s involvement
in his life had made the end to his games inevitable. His life meant nothing
without her in it, and having her in it would be her death warrant.

Drew leaned against the wall and
crossed his ankles. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” The duke sighed.
“Well, I feel as if I’ve just been to the confessional. I suppose I should be
on my way and let you rot in peace.” He yanked his wig back on and tucked his
hair beneath it. Rows of tight white curls adorned with a burgundy-colored
ribbon provided the bloodthirsty fiend with an effeminate air that covered his
tracks as well as his title. Drew could now see why Lord Christian’s disguise
worked so well.

The duke bowed at the waist. “I
can honestly say it was a pleasure to meet you.”

Drew tried to keep the bloodlust
out of his eyes and maintain his relaxed stance. Let him out of his chains and
he would rip out the duke’s liver and make him eat it. Worst of all, in light
of his brother’s list of victims, Drew had no doubt Felicity was in serious
danger.

Drew suspected his brother read
his thoughts, because the main stepped outside the cell and closed the door. He
took the torch from its holder on the stone wall.

“One more thing.” The man’s
genuine smile set Drew on edge. “Felicity is going to have a terrible accident
shortly after your execution. You told her too much.”

Drew lunged, but his chains
brought him up ridiculously short of reaching the duke. His brother’s laugh
drifted over the rattle as he walked away.

Drew eased back against the wall.
A cold fury cleared his vision, allowing him to see through the pitch-black
gloom. He’d have his chance with the Duke of Foxmoor after all. Being the
martyr was no longer an option. His prison rations remained in a dark corner of
the cell, untouched. The runny gruel and moldy bread had looked too revolting
to eat before, but things had changed. He needed his strength.

A large rat challenged him over
the bread and lost. Drew picked off the largest sections of spongy green from
the damp loaf. He swallowed the first bite before he gave in to the urge to
spit it out.

Without examining the contents
too closely, he took a gulp from the bowl. He winced and took another long swallow.
After he forced down the rest of the food, he’d sleep. And tomorrow he’d find a
way out of here.

“Where are all the guards?”
whispered Felicity.

“I don’t know. Maybe we’ve
finally had some luck.”

In the inky darkness, she heard
Solomon’s shrug in his tone rather than witnessing it with her own eyes. She
stared down into the void at the bottom of the steps. After the first two, the
rest disappeared into nothing.

“Or maybe they’re all down
there.”

A map of the jail, procured from
one of its former inmates, had revealed the back entrance. The thick oval door
stood off the main street so pedestrians wouldn’t be bothered by the flow of
dead prisoners. Not many survived the Barbados goal’s harsh conditions. Even
fewer escaped. The wooden door, reinforced with steel bands, was supposed to be
locked and guarded.

Solomon touched her shoulder.
“It’s too late to change your mind. He’s to be executed tomorrow.”

To distract from her sudden rush
of fear, she checked the contents of the sack slung over her shoulder. “I'm
just making sure I have everything.” She readjusted her breeches. The increased
freedom of wearing men’s clothing boosted her confidence. She could do this.
She had to do this.

When Solomon showed up on her
father’s doorstep shortly after Drew’s arrest, he’d wanted her help only as an
informant. She’d had other ideas.

Being part of the escape plan
kept her from thinking about her last meeting with Drew. She could still
pretend she was a part of his life, and that the hurtful words he’d said didn’t
exist. She turned to Solomon. “I’m ready.”

Without a word, he nudged her
forward. She gingerly descended the first step. One. Two. She placed her hand
against the cold stone, using the wall as a guide. There were twenty-three
steps in all and she had to count every one of them.

Concentrating on getting down the
windowless stairwell without breaking her neck didn’t stop her anxiety over
seeing Drew again. After her initial devastation ebbed, she’d realized his
cruelty at their last meeting had sprung from a desire to keep her from helping
him. It was obvious. Unfortunately, his declaration about not loving her
sounded too close to the truth. Her father had tried to warn her. Drew’s
reputation with women alone should have convinced her she’d never be more to
him than a passing fancy. His words only confirmed what she already knew.

Twelve
. She forcibly
pushed away the thought and focused on the steps. When her fingers brushed
something slimy, she fought the urge to wipe her hand on her breeches. Touch
had to double for eyesight.

Despite his lack of feelings for
her, she still loved Drew and would do anything to see him safe.
Eighteen
.
She couldn’t let her personal heartbreak foil the plan. He had never promised
her anything but lust. Even she was slightly surprised that she’d expected
more. Perhaps her love for Drew had grown so strong that she found it hard to
believe the intensity was not returned.

Twenty-three.
She stepped
down onto the soft dirt floor. Cells lined the walls. Muted moonlight drifted
through the high windows. Gray clouds with dark bellies shut out the stars,
keeping her from seeing more than a few inches in front of her. She had to
strain to make out the cells. Drew was supposed to be in the last one.

She counted the cells and stopped
at Drew’s. From her bag, she removed the long, sturdy file she’d selected for
picking the heavy latch. If it hadn’t been for her extraordinary talent for
opening locks—a skill that could not be bested in speed by even the most
experienced cutthroats in Drew’s crew—she’d have been forced to wait on the
Rapture
.
She wanted to be the one to set Drew free. Her rescue would show him his words
hadn’t destroyed her. He meant as little to her as she did to him. Only she
herself had to know her heart was permanently shattered.

She laid her hand against the
cell’s face, feeling for the lock. The slight pressure pushed open the iron
gate.

She froze. It should have been
locked. The small fear that lay curled in her belly got up and stretched. She
crept inside the cell. Empty chains lay in a heap against the wall.

She pursed her lips to silence
her anguished cry. They could not be too late. It was unthinkable. He hadn’t
been in the cell long enough to die of starvation or disease. Solomon’s
informant had said they’d seen him— She didn’t complete her thought.

A hand clamped over her mouth a
second before she was shoved to the ground. The file flew from her grasp,
landing on the dirt floor out of her reach. Her assailant fell on top of her.
She tried not to panic as she fought for a chance to free herself. Squirming in
her captor’s grasp, she reached for the long, sharp file. Her fingertips grazed
its tip. If she could grab it, she could use it as a weapon.

Her assailant groped her body,
stilling his movements when he touched her hips. The fierce grip he had on her
loosened. He lifted his weight and rolled her over.

She recognized the opportunity
and acted swiftly. Mustering all the strength she possessed, she yanked up her
knee between his bent legs.

He rolled off her with a familiar
grunt. “Felicity.” He groaned. “It’s me.”

She scrambled to her feet,
pushing strands of hair out of her face to assure herself it was indeed Drew.

“You scared me.”

Drew curled into a ball on his
side. “I guess”—he paused to catch his breath—“you’re still angry.”

“Yes, but I only kneed you
because I didn’t know it was you.” She stood over him, straightening the
oversized jacket that had twisted in their struggle. Being in his company
brought the sharp sting of his rejection back in a rush. He grunted as he slid
to his knees.

She put her finger to her lips. “
Shh
.
We have to be quiet.”

“I think I’m going to be sick. Do
you know how bad it hurts a man when you knee him in the groin?”

“Yes.” She held herself stiffly.
Running to his side would only remind them both of how foolish she’d been in
declaring her love. “I wouldn’t have put so much force into it if I’d known it
was you. Now hurry.”

He finally got to his feet, but
had to bend over his knees for a few seconds before straightening. “What the
hell are you doing here, anyway?”

“I’m here to rescue you.”

“I think you emasculated me
instead.”

She choked down a terse
rejoinder. Curtailing his virility, even temporarily, wouldn’t hurt him. She
should have kneed him in the beginning instead of falling in love with him.

“How did you get out of your
chains?”

With a jerk of his head, he
directed her attention to a dark corner in the cell. “I had the key.”

Her gaze focused on a crumpled
figure, blood running from his mouth. A tray of food lay scattered around him,
as if he’d been surprised while delivering Drew’s last meal. Immediately, she
looked away. Turning her back to Drew, she tried to hide her revulsion. She
really was in over her head this time. Having another death on her conscience
was more than she could bear. If the British caught them, no one would be
spared.