The Ransom (14 page)

And instantly stiffened.

Alex shook his head in a gesture he hoped Drake would interpret as a warning. The bullish pirate hesitated a moment, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He fingered the butt of a pistol protruding from his belt, eyes locked upon Alex. But finally, he huffed. “Return the lady’s satchel, ye ill-mannered dawcock!” Scowling, the pirate did as he was told.

Juliana, her chest heaving, her eyes wide, embraced the bag and tried to lengthen her stance, but it only made more visible the tremble in her legs.

Drawing the trollop back into his arms, Drake offered another bow toward Juliana before plopping his hat atop his head. “Then be about your mission, miss. We wouldn’t want t’ cause a woman’s early demise.”

Grumbles of dissent racked the band, but Drake silenced them with a threatening curse. Turning, they staggered away, passing the jug of rum betwixt them.

Juliana fell back against the brick wall and threw a hand to her throat. Her breath came hard and fast. She closed her eyes and moved her lips as if speaking—or mayhap praying. Encased in shadows, she was not seen by the men now passing on the street. Nor by the crowd forming on the steps of The King’s Arms tavern across the way. If only she would stay hidden where she was. Two more blocks stretched betwixt her and The Black Dogg, blocks filled with roving buccaneers, their bellies floating in rum and their hearts sinking in mire.

Alex took a step toward her, intending to make his presence known, but she pushed from the wall and hurried on her way.

Another block down the road, three men slipped into an alleyway ahead of her, no doubt waiting to pounce on her as she passed. Teeth grinding, Alex turned and sprinted around the back of Massey’s Gunsmith then up the next street until he charged down the passage where the men waited. They heard him approach and swerved, blades in hand. Alex cursed as he drew his sword and took on the first man, quickly knocking the cutlass from his hand and plucking it from the dirt before he could reach it. Now with two swords, Alex parried the three men, diving, ducking, plunging, and thrusting this way and that. The ring of steel on steel could barely be heard amidst the sound of laughter and a nearby harpsichord. Young ruffians, these men were novices with the sword, and Alex almost pitied them as their swipes and thrusts met naught but air and their hard breathing and groans betrayed their fear. Finally, one man fell, clutching a bloody wound on his leg, another ran off, and the third winced beneath the tip of Alex’s blade at his throat.

“Take your friend and leave. If you harm the woman, there’ll be hell to pay.”

The man nodded. A sliver of moonlight revealed the terror in his eyes. No sooner had the villain grabbed his friend and scurried off, then Miss Juliana Dutton walked past the alleyway, completely ignorant of the danger from which she’d just been rescued.

Alex ran a sleeve over his sweaty brow, sheathed his sword, and slipped onto the street behind her. At this rate, he’d be fighting off half the miscreants in town. Thankfully, The Black Dogg was fast approaching. Of course the bawdy house presented quite another problem altogether. One which the naïve Juliana could only imagine in her worst nightmare. Her slight hesitation at the bottom of the stairs offered Alex hope that she retained a whisper of wits. The salacious invitations tossed her way from the patrons lining the porch added to that hope. Surely she would turn and hasten back to the safety of her home.

Instead she jutted out her chin, mounted the stairs, and entered the den of debauchery.

Chapter 12

A fuming cloud of body odor, tallow, and stale spirits enveloped Juliana as she shoved her way through the door of The Black Dogg, past the piercing eyes, through the gauntlet of lewd comments, and straight into a vision of Dante’s hell. Two men fought in the center. A punch was thrown. One of them stumbled backward straight for her. She leapt out of the way just in time, but ended up in the arms of the worst-smelling creature she’d ever encountered. His stink—spoilt eggs and dung—made her gasp for air while she did her best to shove away from the man who grinned at her with what appeared to be rotted wooden pikes instead of teeth.

Breaking away, she scanned the room. The two men who’d been fighting were now arm in arm sharing a mug of ale in laughter. The rest of the mob had returned to their drinking and whoring. Some hovered around tables strewn about the room; others stood in groups, sloshing their drinks and boasting of exploits on sea and land. Lanterns hanging from rafters and candles on tables were the only deterrents against the darkness filling the sordid place.

But the light’s reach did not extend to the corners where Juliana caught glimpses of vile things no decent person should witness. Across the main room, trollops—baring too much skin—sashayed through the crowd or perched upon men’s laps, urging them with coos and flattery to relinquish their coin. A sour taste filled Juliana’s mouth. She begged God to make her invisible. Instead, one by one, dozens of eyes swept her way, gaping at her as if she were a heavenly being dropped down from above.

Speaking of heavenly beings—
God, where are you?
She knew coming here wouldn’t be easy. She knew she’d be walking into danger. Which was why she’d stopped and prayed outside, just to make sure she was doing God’s will. Hadn’t he shown his favor, his approval, by protecting her on the way to this depraved place? Surely he would protect her once inside, especially since she was helping a friend in trouble. Yes, God would defend her! He would not abandon her like most of the other men in her life.

Forcing back her fear, she met the men’s gazes with boldness.

“Well, curse me eyes if I ain’t seein’ a real genteel lady all decked in her fripperies and finery right ’ere in the middle o’ The Black Dogg!” one particularly rotund man sporting a purple vest shouted, eliciting shouts and whistles from the throng. Another man fingered the ribbons bounding from her sleeve. Someone played with her hair from behind. A gaunt-looking fellow with two earrings in one ear and a nose the size of Jamaica
ran a filthy finger over the embroidery of her stomacher.

Juliana’s head grew light. Batting aside the vermin, she held a handkerchief to her nose and pressed through the crowd to stand in their midst. Surely once she explained her purpose, these men—no matter how vulgar and grotesque they appeared—would allow her to proceed upstairs unscathed. Hadn’t the pirates she’d encountered in the streets done exactly that? After all, she was here to help one of
their
own. Though she wished that weren’t the case with her dear friend Abilene.

“Gentlemen, grant me ear a moment. I come to help—”

“Us? Indeed ye are.” A man approached and seemed to be winking at her from a gaping hole where his right eye had once been. “An’ we’ll be acceptin’ yer help, says I!” He grabbed her arm just as the door flew open, and all gazes shot toward the newcomer. Not able to see who it was through the throng, Juliana closed her eyes and prayed for deliverance. Boot steps clipped over the wooden floor. Silence swallowed the revelry until all she heard were a few belches and the nervous scraping of chairs on wood. Pain burned her arm where the man tightened his grip.

“The lady’s with me.” That voice—that familiar voice, deep and commanding like rolling thunder—drew her eyes open to see the Pirate Earl. Against her better judgment, a tiny shred of relief spread through her.

Releasing her, the first pirate retreated a step. An odd mixture of fear and spite crossed his rum-glazed eye as he fingered the hilt of a dagger stuffed within his belt. Moans of disappointment rumbled through the mob.

“Damn me eyes!” one man growled.

“That’s the way ye be, eh?” another said. “No sharin’ from the earl t’night, gents!”

The one-eyed man glared at the Pirate Earl, his eye simmering, his mouth twitching. His fingers rubbed the hilt of his rapier as if he could summon a genie from it. The crowd backed away.

The Pirate Earl tugged Juliana behind him and remained an immovable fortress of confidence. “Are you in need of another lesson in swordplay, Will? Or mayhap you’ve not had your fill of my blade in your flesh?”

The man shifted his boots over the floor. A flicker of fear crossed his one eye as a parrot squawked from above them. “Slit his gullet, slit his gullet!”

The pirate snorted and relaxed his stance. “Stint this foolery.” He gave a nervous chuckle. “Let’s have no harsh words betwixt us, Earl. I ’ave a dozen other doxies awaitin’ me pleasures.” He dipped his greasy head toward Juliana. “No harm meant t’ ye, miss.” Then swerving, he marched off, the crowd parting as he went.

The Pirate Earl dragged her toward the front door.

“Nay! Unhand me. I must see Abilene.” She pulled in the other direction, causing some of the pirates to laugh, but most went back to their business. Soon the place resounded with the slap of cards, slosh of spirits, flurry of curses, and the beginnings of a discordant ballad.

Halting, Mr. Pirate drew her to the side. “I suppose this Abilene is the trollop you went to visit last time you foolishly ventured down by the docks? Or do you intend on risking your life for every wench in the city?”

Fie, but the man was handsome. For a pirate, that is. Her eyes barely reached a chest that spread to a wide expanse of muscled shoulders. Full sleeves of his white cambric shirt emerged from within a leather jerkin over which a brace of pistols was strapped. Tight leather breeches disappeared into knee-high Cordovan boots. Doffing his plumed tricorne, he ran a hand through ink-black hair, sending a few strands drifting back over his jaw, and stared at her with those stark blue eyes flecked in irritated gray, as if she were the most exasperating woman in the world.

“You make too free with your opinions, Mr. Pirate. Abilene is my friend. She is hurt, and I’m not leaving until I see her,” she said with as much fortitude as she could muster. “Besides, I did not bid you come to my aid. I have no fear I could have convinced these men of my good purpose in coming here.”

At this he laughed. And the sound of it did odd things to her insides. Someone bumped him from behind, uttering a “pardon me, milord,” and pushing him within inches of her. He grabbed her arms to steady her, and then with an intensity that sent her skin bristling, his gaze roved from a strand of her hair drifting across her forehead, to her eyes, her nose, cheeks, and finally her mouth, where it lingered for a moment too long. The scent of cinnamon wafted over her, oddly reminding her of Lord Munthrope. Yet this man before her was nothing like the foppish lord. Nay, this man possessed not an ounce of feminine airs. He was all roughness and strength, commanding and decisive. He invoked fear in the most fearsome, and respect from the defiant. And the danger that hovered around him made her heart skip a beat.

“Come.” He ushered her through the mob to the back of the tavern, where a rickety staircase led upward. “We will see your friend,” he said as he escorted her up the sticky treads, shoving aside besotted patrons, some who gave them curious looks; others grins that made Juliana’s skin crawl. “Afterward, you will go home and never return to the wharves at night again.”

He tightened his grip on her hand as his commanding tone pricked her indignation. Who was this pirate to order her about?

They reached the landing and started down a dingy hall. Lanterns hanging at intervals cast shifting light over closed doors from which blared laughter and grunts that made Juliana’s ears burn. She tugged from his grip. “You do not own me, Mr. Pirate. Ergo, I will go where I please when I please.”

She wished her tone had not been so insolent, for the pirate turned, pressed her against the wall, then looked down at her from his towering height. Her heart raced. She stared at the brass skeleton adorning the baldric that crisscrossed his chest. Warm spicy breath wafted on her forehead. “Do you wish to die, Miss Dutton? Not just any death but one which comes at the end of a long, torturous tenure as mistress to half a dozen lusty curs?”

Her breath scrambled to her throat. Her head began to spin. “God will take care of me,” she whispered out in a tone that bore little faith in that fact.

“God?” He snorted. “A pretty desire, milady. But alas, do you see the Almighty here?”

As if on cue, one of the doors flew open and a man emerged, two women on his arms donned in nothing but thin chemises. The smell of brandy and something foul followed in their wake as they staggered past. One of the women winked at Mr. Pirate.

Ignoring her, he faced Juliana. She narrowed her gaze, trying to hide the repulsion—and fear—brewing within her.

“I make no doubt God is with me, Mr. Pirate. How do you suppose I came to this gruesome place unscathed? ’Twas the Almighty’s doing.”

For some reason, this made him laugh again. When he recovered, he shook his head. “Milady, your faith in the unseen astounds me.”

“As your ignorance of it does me.” She bit back further insults, not wanting to anger the only man who apparently had no interest in dragging her into one of the rooms lining the hall. A shrill tune blared from an organ below, accompanied by the clang of swords and vulgar shouts as no doubt another brawl ensued. “You would be best served to call upon God, Mr. Pirate, rather than waste your life in dissolute living. I fear you have lost your moral compass.”

A scream resounded from one of the rooms. Mr. Pirate didn’t flinch. Instead, one side of his lips quirked in a grin. “Milord Pirate, if you please. And I prefer my dissolute living to serving a capricious God.”