The Ransom (26 page)

Anger flared in Larkin’s eyes, anger that seemed to burn hotter with each passing second. Abruptly, he smiled and lifted his hands. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Captain.”

“Leave the ship at once. Nichols will be here any minute.” Alex marched from the cabin, his mind a-spin with Larkin’s defiance as he stomped down the companionway that belonged to Juliana’s family. With a fortune in pearls that also belonged to them beneath his arm. How had such an adventurous evening turned so sour? He hoped his crew would leave the rest of the goods in the hold alone. He also hoped his guests would still be at his house and that Juliana had not discovered him missing and left. If so, she may never speak to him again.

If she discovered the Pirate Earl had plundered her father’s ship, she may very well shoot him the next time she saw him.

Trouble was, he deserved it.

Chapter 21

“Where is he, Mr. Whipple?” Juliana glared at the pretentious butler. “I insist you tell me at once.” She had searched the entire house for Lord Munthrope—except for his private chamber, of course—and not a speck of His Grace nor his lace could be found. How dare he abandon Juliana in the midst of his celebration of Lady Cransford’s birthday? How dare he leave her to entertain his guests alone? In
his
home!

“I believe I just saw him discussing politics with some gentlemen in the garden.” The butler looked bored.

“I was just
in
the garden, Mr. Whipple, and I assure you, your deviant master is not there.” She glanced through the throng milling about the foyer toward the front door. She should leave. Courting the illusive coxcomb was turning out to be more trouble than it was worth. She faced the stodgy butler.

“It’s nearly one-thirty in the morning. And Lady Cransford is asking about her cake. Where is His Lordship? With another woman?”

“I assure you, miss, you are the single object of his desire.” He straightened his shoulders.

“Oh, fie, Whipple. We both know this betrothal is a farce.”

One bushy brow rose.

“I’ll have the cake brought out forthwith, miss. And I shall fetch milord. If he is tardy, please start the festivities without him.”

The wooden butler was hiding something. She knew it. Behind that proper façade, he seemed worried. Or was it disgust? She couldn’t figure out which.

Gathering her skirts, she flounced through the crush, pasting on a smile at those who greeted her as she passed. By the time she made it to the dining hall, after being waylaid by a few rather besotted guests, the cake was being wheeled in on a cart. A magnificent three-layered cake that looked as though it should be for King William instead of a mere baronet. But then, Munthrope always did everything to excess. Including his absences, it would seem. And, much to her delight, keeping Mr. Kinder occupied as well. She spotted the merchant deep into his cups, consorting with three doting dowagers across the room.

Forcing down her frustration, she headed toward the long table laden with now-empty silver trays glittering in the waning candlelight. Grabbing a glass and spoon, she thrummed them together, making quite a racket in order to get everyone’s attention. The chattering slowed to a hum and people thronged into the room as all eyes sped to Juliana, including those of Lady Cransford, who clapped her hands in glee when she saw the cake.

Feeling conspicuous—not to mention nervous—in front of so many people, Juliana drew a deep breath, set down the cup and spoon, and clasped her hands before her. “It would seem I have misplaced Lord Munthrope,” she began with a smile. Laughter bounded through the room, followed by whispered comments.

“Have you checked the mirror in the upstairs hallway? I daresay, he so enjoys preening himself,” one man shouted, drawing more chuckles from the crowd.

“I did spot him with Miss Langston,” one tipsy lady announced. “Mayhap you have some competition, Miss Dawson, eh?”

This elicited “ooohs” and “ahhhs” from the crowd.

Juliana frowned. “Nevertheless, we are here to celebrate the birthday of—”

“Lady Cransford.” Munthrope’s voice preceded his lavish entrance as the crowd parted to reveal the swaggering buffoon.

His eyes met hers. She scowled. He gave a little shrug and sauntered her way, then swung about and faced the crowd, bowing elegantly before the birthday lady. “Happy birthday, dear lady. We are honored you have allowed us to join in your celebration.”

The lady in question returned his bow, her face pinking and giggles bouncing off her lips. “’Tis my honor, milord.”

As Munthrope continued his speech, strutting before the mob like a popinjay, Juliana noticed something was different about him. Though he wore the same garish attire, his beribboned doublet sat on his shoulders slightly askew. His lace cravat appeared to be damp with sweat, his silk breeches wrinkled. Even the white paste on his face was blotchy and thin, revealing hints of sun-bronzed skin beneath. Sun bronzed? Couldn’t be.

After he finished his whimsical soliloquy, he ordered the orchestra in the next room to play
Sweet Nightingale
in Lady Cransford’s honor and then began to sing in his shrill voice. As the guests joined in, he conducted them with mighty sweeps of his arms.

This couple agreed;

To be married with speed,

And it's off to the church they did go.

He winked at Juliana over his shoulder, then swept Lady Cransford across the floor in a dance, delighting the crowd.

She's no longer afraid

For to walk in the shade,

For to lie in the valley below;

Finally, he halted, faced the mob, and with uplifted hands finished the last stanza with a flourish. Everyone clapped as the footmen cut the cake and the guests streamed forward to gather their piece. His Lordship slipped beside her.

“Where were you?” she demanded.

“Why, sweetums, whatever do you mean?”

She grimaced. “I told you not to call me that. And I haven’t seen you for over two hours. That is what I mean.” She smiled through gritted teeth at Mr. and Mrs. Ferrah passing by on their way for cake.

His grin lifted the mole atop his lips. Wasn’t it on the other side earlier? “Dare I hope that milady missed my company?” He laid a bejeweled hand upon his chest. “My heart cannot take the thrill.”

“I fear it will have to, milord.” She seethed. “I care not whether you engage in trysts with every ample-bosomed sycophant who bats her eyelashes your way, but I would hope you would not do so when I am present, nor when I am required to entertain guests in your home.”

“Trysts? Ample-bosoms! Oh my!” He laughed. “You use me monstrously, mil—Miss Juliana.” His deep-blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “I may be many things, but I am loyal to a fault and would ne’er think to betray your confidence.”

She was about to tell him that she had no confidence in him, simply an expectation not to be humiliated, when a red dot appeared on the sleeve of his otherwise pristine white shirt. A red dot that now expanded and streamed down the length of his arm.

“There can never be a tryst when Miss Juliana is in my midst.” He began a ridiculous rhyme, then halted when he followed her gaze and saw the blood.

“You’re injured, milord.” Juliana gaped up at him.

“Nay. Just a scratch. ’Tis nothing.”

But it didn’t look like a scratch. In fact, from the amount of blood, it appeared to be a wound that ran deep across his bicep.

Excusing himself, Munthrope ploughed from the room, hand gripping his arm, his usual swagger replaced by a march of authority.

♥♥♥

“What do you mean the pearls are gone?” Rowan stormed toward Captain Nichols, intent on shoving him against the wall of the punch house. But the man sidestepped him, snapped his fingers, and the two marines flanking him drew their service swords.

Growling, Rowan spun about, tore off his wig, and ran a hand through his damp hair. The other patrons who had glanced up, hoping for an altercation returned to their cups and cards as the normal clamor of strident voices and slosh of drink resumed.

Nichols stepped from between his lackeys, drew out a chair, and gestured for Rowan to do the same. “I suggest you keep your voice down, lest you want everyone in Port Royal to know of your loss. It certainly would not bode well for business.”

“The news will spread soon enough,” Rowan grumbled, trying to settle his breathing as a throbbing began in his head. He rubbed his temples. “You said the pearls were in no danger,” he ground out in an angry whisper. “You said you posted enough marines on the ship to defeat a small army!”

Candlelight smeared blotches of gold and gray across Nichols’s face, bringing to light the anger simmering just below the surface. “I did.” His eyelid began to twitch. “’Twould have been impossible for anyone, even with fifty pirates, to overcome my marines.” He pulled out a scrap of foolscap and perused it with a scowl. “To the Devil with the Pirate Earl!” He roared. “How did he accomplish it?”

Rowan snagged the paper from his hand.

Captain Darling, I could not accept such a gift without expressing my sincere gratitude.

Always your humble servant, PE

Rowan snorted. “So he knew about your trap.”

“Apparently.” Nichols dug his fingernails into the table, then grabbed the paper and held it over the candle. Within seconds, it burst into flames and disappeared.

“It would seem this Pirate Earl is not one to contend with.” Rowan gave a bitter laugh. “He outwitted and outmatched you at your own game. And I played the fool for believing you the better man.”

“I
am
the better man!” Nichols slammed his fist on the table, jarring the candle and nearly tipping over a pewter mug of half-finished ale. Gazes flung their way.

A sour taste coated Rowan’s mouth. He cursed himself. Pearls worth more than three hundred pounds, and he’d trusted them to this fish-brained lout. How was he going to tell his sister? How would they be able to cover the loss of so great an amount when they were already struggling?

A tavern wench passed, and Rowan ordered a mug of Kill-Devil. The stuff could melt barnacles off a ship’s hull, but he needed it tonight. “Now what am I to do?” he moaned.

But Nichols wasn’t listening. He leapt to his feet and took up pace, a string of curses pouring from his mouth. “I’ll catch him yet. He’s not as smart as he thinks.” He raised a finger in the air. “Pride goeth before destruction, and the Pirate Earl’s destruction is fast approaching!”

“I said, what am
I
to do?” Rowan raised his voice over the din as the wench returned with his drink and slapped it on the table, holding out her palm. He slipped her a coin. “What am I to do to cover the loss of so great a fortune? You owe me, Nichols.” He took a draught of the fiery liquor, choking it down.

“I owe you nothing!” Nichols halted, adjusted his periwig, and pierced Rowan with his snake-like eyes. “You knew the risks.”

“Alack! You said there were none!”

“Any fool could see there was a chance this … this … base cullion would win.” Nichols’s face seemed to twist in the candlelight. “Nay, I must catch him in the act of piracy itself. Out at sea. Yes, that is it.” He took up a pace again, the marines moving to allow him past. “One of your ships will do nicely.”

Chuckling, Rowan leaned back in his chair. “Have you naught but seaweed for brains? I’ll not risk any more of Dutton Shipping on your reckless schemes! I’ve already lost too much as it is.”

Nichols snorted. “You mean to say you have gained too much, sir! Have you not been well paid for your endeavors?”

Rowan glowered into his drink. Indeed, the man had more than kept him in the many games about town.

Mocking laughter resounded through the room, followed by the chink of coin and chime of blade as some poor sod accused another of cheating. Shouts followed. Nichols ignored them. Taking a seat, he leaned over the table toward Rowan, a look of devious anticipation on his face. “Pray tell, what have you discovered of the priggish Lord Munthrope?”

“Nothing of interest.” Rowan fingered his mug. “He’s the son of an earl, an Edmund Merrick Hyde, Earl of Clarendon. An ex-pirate turned missionary, they say. He receives a stipend and post from the man every few months. He grew up in the Carolina colony with a mother, a Lady Charlisse Bristol, and two sisters. I assure you, he is as unremarkable as he is ostentatious.”

“Humph.” Nichols’s brow darkened. “Keep searching. There is something odd about the man. I know it.” He leaned back in his chair and adjusted the cravat at his neck. “Now about that ship of yours.”

“I cannot and
will
not risk my family’s fortune again.”

Fire simmered in the captain’s eyes. “I underestimated this Pirate Earl, I’ll not gainsay it. But he’ll not beat me twice. A trap at sea using one of your ships and we’ll have him, I know it!”

“Or he’ll have my ship as prize.” Rowan took another gulp of rum, finally feeling its soothing effects.