The Ransom (20 page)

“Beware such modesty, milord. It would have you cast from those whom you so enjoy to entertain.”

He laid a hand flounced in lace on his chest and gave her a look of feigned indignance. “Do you take me for a common troubadour? I can hardly credit it.” But then he winked. “Though I do believe any eccentricity, even of modesty, would equally entertain this fluff-headed rabble.”

Juliana flinched. ’Twas an odd thing for one of that fluff-headed rabble to say.

He moved his gaze back to the window, and she found herself suddenly curious as to what he looked like behind all the adornment. His features were handsome enough she supposed. Strong chin and jaw, regal nose.

“What color is your hair, milord?”

He coughed rather violently before apologizing and clearing his throat. “My hair? Why do you wish to know?”

“Just curious, if you’ll allow a lady to be so.”

“You flatter me, mil—Miss Juliana.” He chuckled, lifted his hands in the air, and swept them over his elaborate attire. “This is exactly what I look like. And my hair is light, like the sun, if it pleases you.”

Light?
Hmm. Not how she envisioned. But no matter. Their engagement was as much a show as this man’s appearance.

The carriage turned a corner, and a breeze ripe with fish and salt whipped in through the window. “I deem the afternoon a success, Miss Juliana.” He smiled, his eyes aglitter. “I believe there is no doubt among those attending the tea today that we are happily betrothed.”

“Then I owe you my thanks, milord. I pray the news satisfies your father as well.”

At the mention of his father, a frown nearly cracked the paste surrounding his mouth. “Indeed.” He gazed out the window, idly twisting a ring on his finger. Moments later he faced her. “You must be tired, milady. We shall have you home in but a moment.”

She
was
tired, and she had work to do, but this ostentatious man’s sudden pensive mood coupled with his unseemly charity bade her remain in his company a while longer. Could there be more to him than ungainly poppycockery? An intellect, a depth she’d had but glimpses of during their time together? Either way, the discovery seemed far more interesting than the mound of writs awaiting her at home.

She glanced out the window. “Oh my.” Her hand flew to her mouth at the sight of two bodies hanging at the point beyond Fort Charles, their arms chained to a scaffold, their eyes gouged out by birds, flesh shriveling from their bodies.

“Do not look, sweetums.” Munthrope touched her chin and turned her gaze away, though his own remained on the poor sods. Pain etched his eyes as he studied them, but then a wave of airy indifference flooded his features. “Just pirates getting their due,” he said, settling back onto the leather seat.

The smell of roasted turtle lured Juliana to dare another glance. This time they passed Chocolata Hole, where fisherman harvested the shelled beasties from the sea. “Milord, can we walk along the shore by Fort Charles? ’Twill be sunset soon, and I am so rarely out to enjoy it.”

“For mila—you, Miss Juliana, anything.” He surprised her with the sincerity of his tone. But before she could turn and see his expression, he faced forward and gave the order for his driver to stop up ahead. Soon, they were strolling along the shore, away from the fort and the pirates and the crowds in the middle of town. A stiff breeze from the open sea kneaded water into foamy mounds that crashed upon the glistening sand with a thunderous boom. Lord Munthrope’s periwig flailed about his head like the arms of an angry octopus, and more than once, she thought it would take flight, giving her the answer to her earlier question. She had given up chasing her own hat and held it tightly in her hand, allowing the breeze to tear her wavy tresses from their pins.

Oddly, Munthrope was quiet as he walked along beside her, hands clasped behind his back, the ends of his green coat flapping over white beribboned breeches. Making her way down a short outcropping, she clutched her skirts and leapt onto a flat boulder for a better view of the horizon, where remnants of the sun left brilliant trails of crimson, orange, and yellow in its wake.

“Begad, Miss Juliana. A pretty ambition for a lady, leaping upon rocks like an overzealous frog. How refreshing!” Munthrope jumped up beside her.

She smiled and drew in a deep breath of briny, tropical air and allowed the wind to swirl over her, fluttering her skirts and dancing through her hair. For a brief moment—if only a moment—she dreamed she was still a little girl, her mother was alive, her brother adored her, and her father loved her so much that she hadn’t a care in the world.

Until Munthrope opened his mouth. “This calls for a rhyme, I’d say.” He raised his hand in the air. “There once was a lady who leapt like a frog, she dared to—”

Juliana touched his arm, stopping him. “Pray, I beg you. No more rhymes today, milord.”

He pouted like a little boy, though a glimmer of mischief appeared in his eyes.

She faced the sky again, admiring how it changed with each passing second as if an artist with an invisible brush added a bit of color here, a swath there. “Thank you for indulging me, milord. This was not part of our bargain.”

“On the contrary, it can only aid the impression we give should anyone happen by.”

“’Tis beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Stunning. Simply stunning.” The seriousness of his tone brought her around to see he was staring at
her
. He coughed and quickly examined the sky, holding one hand in the air as if he were posing for the queen. “A glorious way to end the day.”

“And usher in a new one,” Juliana added, glancing back at the horizon. “A new beginning. Perchance a better one.”

“Why would an accomplished lady such as yourself have need of a better beginning? Surely with your father’s thriving business, all your needs are met, all your desires fulfilled.”

“Do not presume to know me, milord,” she ground out. “Or anything about my life.”

A rare glimmer of contrition waved at her from his blue eyes. “My apologies, milady. I meant no offense. You merely concern me with your words. Is there something I can be of assistance with, some problem which I can help solve? I do hate to see you vexed.”

She studied him.
Fie!
Surely the man bore no interest in her romantically? “I am not vexed. Nor do I need your help,” she replied rather sternly. “I do not want your friendship either, milord. You’ll do good to remember ’tis but a business arrangement we have. Your attempts to woo me are doomed to fail.”

An impish grin appeared on his lips. “Woo you? Begad, sweetums, were I to purpose such a thing, I fear there would be no hope for your heart.”

She smiled. “Alas, your confidence is exceeded only by your vanity, milord. But not to fear, there are many ladies quite taken with your wit and charm.”

“But not you.” He raised his brow, that ridiculous horse patch leaping with the movement.

She lifted her chin. “It would take more than wit, charm, title, or wealth, milord, to win my heart.”

He gave a hearty laugh. “Alas, what is left?”

“Honor, honesty, goodness, kindness, and trustworthiness
… to name but a few.”

His eyes locked upon hers, and an admiration she had not foreseen appeared within them. But then it was gone. Stolen by the shadows slinking out to claim the night. The last vestiges of sunlight drifted over his jaw, where evening stubble broke through like crops in a field of snow.

“It grows dark.” He leapt from the boulder and helped her down, then proffered his elbow to escort her back to the carriage. A cannon thundered from Fort Charles.

Juliana’s heart leapt as she tightened her grip on Munthrope’s arm.

“No worries, Miss Juliana. They are but signaling an incoming ship.”

She knew that, but for some reason her nerves were atwist. Shadows seemed to leap at them from all around. How quickly it grew dark here in the Caribbean. A carriage ambled by. A group of sailors rushed past, laughing and shoving each other playfully.

Juliana startled at a quick movement to her right. A man leapt out from behind a large fern, his body a dark outline against the sand. He thrust a knife—a rather large knife—toward Munthrope. “Your purse, milord.”

Juliana’s breath rasped in her throat. She squeezed Lord Munthrope’s arm. Why, she couldn’t say. The milksop could not protect her any more than one of her lady friends. In fact, he merely stood there, no doubt frozen in terror.

“Give it to him, milord.” Juliana nudged him.

“I’d do wat yer lady says, milord, or I’ll gut ye bof like a fish.” At Munthrope’s silence, the man stepped closer and waved his knife across their chests in a taunting display.

Juliana’s heart nearly burst through her ribs. Was this to be her end? Gutted on the shores of Port Royal, left for the birds to eat, like those pirates hanging at the Point? What had she done to deserve this
? God, please help us
.
I promise I’ll do better, but please save us.

Munthrope remained silent beside her. He didn’t twitch, didn’t flinch, didn’t cry out for help. Juliana shook his arm, trying to jar him from his terror-stricken stupor, when slowly and methodically, he nudged her behind him.

“Ah, ’ow chivalrous.” The man spat to the side. “But I’ll still be takin’ that purse o’ yers.” He lunged for Munthrope. In a move too fast to see, the pompous lord gripped the villain’s wrist, twisted him around, and shoved him to his knees. He then kicked him to the sand, while somehow ending up with the knife firm in his grip.

Then, with a shoe upon the man’s neck, he made him eat sand, while he flung the blade into the now-dark sea.

Chapter 17

As the carriage hobbled through the streets on the way back to the Dutton home, Alex bit his lip, gazed out the window, and cursed himself for a fool. He had hoped to spend a pleasant afternoon becoming more acquainted with Miss Juliana. What he hadn’t planned on were his many horrific blunders. He’d played the part of supercilious Munthrope among society without incident for years now. But in the past few days he’d made one mistake after another: leaving paste on his face, using his real voice earlier in the carriage, describing his supposed peers as fluff-heads. And now, the worst bungle of all, proving capable of defending himself and his lady against an armed assailant—something Lord Munthrope should not possess the skill or bravery to accomplish.

Of course afterward he’d made light of the incident, claimed his rage and stupidity had gotten the better of him. But now as the carriage jostled down the street, Miss Juliana studied him as a naturalist would a new species of insect. He even perfected a little whimper here, a shaking of the hands there, a sweating of the forehead and neck, all enacted amidst fearful groans and mutterings. But the lady was having none of it. She was no dim-brained female. Not a word spilled from her lips as she continued to watch him with narrowed gaze and suspicious looks.

“I daresay, have you ever seen such inane absurdity?” He waved his arms about madly. “That poor villain was obviously new to his breeches, an amateur of the lowest ranks, no doubt sent out by Uncle Blackguard in an attempt to train the lad. Forsooth, I can hardly gainsay it! Either that or the man was cupshotten with the worst batch of Kill-Devil rum ever made on the island! His ineptitude made Your Lordship look like a hero, I make bold to say. I cannot wait to blazon the exciting tale among our friends!” He forced a loud chuckle.

Miss Juliana’s delicate brows rose. “You are pleased to mock me, milord.” Her voice was curt and strong as she sat straight in her seat.

“Mock you? Curse me for a rogue if I dare such a thing!”

She gaped at him as if he was, indeed, a rogue. But what else could he have done? If he had continued his namby-pamby performance, allowing the thief to easily acquire his money purse, the precocious scoundrel might have thought the lady would be easily acquired as well. And Alex could not have allowed that.

Now, he had one last card to play. And it was not an easy one. Squeezing his eyes shut, he thought of the singular moment in his childhood when he had cried. That single moment in which he had vowed never to do so again. His fourteenth birthday, when instead of seeing his father and mother strolling toward the house from their long trip abroad—as they had promised—he saw a messenger with a post that said they’d been delayed several months. Months that turned into a year. There. The tears came, filling his eyes with burning. Withdrawing a handkerchief from his pocket, he fluffed it out and drew it to his moist face.

It had the intended effect.

“There, there, milord.” Juliana touched his arm. “No need for tears.” Her voice had softened once again.

“My apologies, Miss Juliana.” He sniffed, held the cloth to his nose, and looked away. “I suppose the terror of the event has just struck me. How very frightening to think we could have both died there on the beach.”

“We are safe now, Your Lordship. God protected us.”

God again!
Could the lady not see ’twas he who constantly kept her safe?

When they reached her house, she thanked him for the interesting afternoon, denied his escort to the door, and quickly slipped inside as if he had the plague.