The Wayward One (The De Montforte Brothers Book 5) (2 page)

“Yes, Captain.”

Boom!

“He’s getting impatient to have that brawl, sir.”

The captain took off his hat to rub at his forehead, a few tendrils of his wildly curling black hair escaping his queue to snake around his face in the falling darkness. “He’ll be firin’ on ’is own imagination, if all goes as I intend it will.”

The western sky was just a dimming glow now, fading by the moment. The lights of the squadron were well beneath the horizon and they were all alone out here now, just the pursuing frigate and themselves. To the east, the night had turned black.

Cranton returned. “Boat’s all ready, sir.”

“Good. Ready a second lantern, but keep it below the gunwale so those butt-buggers out there won’t see it. We’ll be making a switch, shortly.” He strode to the tiller. “Bring her up three points, Mr. Tackett, and steer north, if ye please.”

“Aye, sir.”

Hesitantly, the American brig turned back towards the wind and once again the seas started to buffet her quarter…her beam. She began to roll with motion now that they had lost the following seas, and astern their relentless pursuer also changed course, running now a mile away and beam-on to them, her lights cutting through the gathering gloom.

The captain’s teeth flashed white in the darkness.

“Got that lantern ready, Mr. Cranton?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Put it in the boat and secure it well. If it goes out, we’re done for. When I give the word, lower the boat over the sta’b’d side so that ball of shite back there won’t see it, and prepare to extinguish our stern lantern at the exact same time. Do ye understand?”

“Aye, sir. I understand.”

It was a trick, but it would have to work. A bright tongue of orange flame and another angry, demanding
boom
came from the frigate, crashing across the water like a bolt of thunder. This time it wasn’t one of her small bow chasers, but one of her big guns.

Morgan watched as the captain crossed to the starboard side and oversaw the men beginning to lower the ship’s smallest boat. If he was at all anxious, he didn’t show it. As the boat descended, young and agile Midshipman Andy Cranton shimmied down one of the lines, lit the lantern someone passed down to him, secured it to a thwart and then scampered back up the rope as eager hands worked in the darkness to get the boat lowered before the next salvo from the frigate could find them and do what could be crippling damage.

Immediately, the boat hit the water and began to fall back, and as it emerged from behind the brig’s protective, concealing hull, the captain hurriedly motioned for their own stern light to be doused.

It was a clever ruse. With any luck, the pursuing frigate would mistake the small boat for its real target in the darkness and pursue it instead, allowing them to slip away into the night.

The towline paid out, farther and farther still, until the lantern that marked the little boat was only a pinpoint of light in the darkness well astern of them.

Boom!
And again:
Boom!
No iron screamed overhead, and Morgan quietly put his fingers behind his back and crossed them, hoping that the frigate was aiming at that tiny, bobbing point of light falling farther and farther astern, hoping that it would hit it and extinguish it long after they had gotten neatly away.

The captain was speaking again. “Loose the towline and let ’er go. Put the helm up once more, Mr. Tackett, and let’s get the divil out of here.”

Far behind them now, there was another
boom
and the light that marked the decoy boat went out. In moments, the frigate would come up on nothing but the smashed remains of the little boat, and her English captain would realize he’d been cleverly tricked.

Tigershark
fell back off and once again settled as the wind, strengthening a bit, filled her sails and sped her into the inky blackness to the east.

Her captain put his hands on the rail and raised his face toward the open Atlantic, the salt wind damp in his unruly dark hair and his spirit as alive as it ever could be these days. Kind of like old times, he thought. The lights of the frigate were growing smaller and smaller, and he smiled as the wind whistled past him, the ship moving up and down, up and down, through the long Atlantic swells beneath a canopy of stars spread like a blanket in the skies overhead.

Ahead of him lay three thousand miles of open ocean.

Beyond that, England.

Where Lord Andrew de Montforte—a man whom the Continental Navy wanted at all costs, a man whom the captain of
Tigershark
would spare nothing and no one to obtain—was blissfully unaware that they were coming for him.

England.

Where the most important mission of the war awaited them.

Chapter 1

London, four weeks later

“You really didn’t have to accompany me, Nerissa, but I’m terribly glad that you did.”

They were in the ballroom of an elegant London townhouse which had been filled with chairs for the guests who were arriving by the boatload through the big doors at the back of the room. Lady Nerissa de Montforte, resplendent in pearls and aquamarine silk, the light from the chandelier above gleaming on her pale ivory hair, took a seat beside her brother Lord Andrew. She touched his hand, noting his nervousness and trying to put him at ease. He did not like getting up and speaking in front of the public and surely, was wishing that his dear wife Celsie was here with him instead of his younger sister. But Celsie was once again in the family way and when the Royal Navy had issued this invitation to Andrew, Nerissa could not bear to let him face the top brass of Admiralty all alone.

“Well, it’s not like I have any great parties or other events to attend,” she said wryly. “The Season hasn’t yet started and life is pretty boring up in the country, especially with Lucien and Eva wrapped up in each other and nothing with which to amuse myself.”

The truth, though, was significantly more concerning. Yes, her brother Lucien, the Duke of Blackheath, was wrapped up with his beautiful duchess, but not so wrapped up that he wasn’t starting to cast about for a husband for the one unmarried sibling who had yet to find marital bliss.

Herself.

Best to get away from him so her presence wasn’t a constant reminder of the fact that she was unmarried—and fair game for Lucien to manipulate into an unwanted union.

But by the look of his pale face, Andrew wasn’t thinking about Lucien and his devious matchmaking, though he himself had also “benefited” from it. Instead, he was looking more and more nervous as several naval officers, resplendent in blue and white and gold, came in, many glancing at him with curious speculation before taking seats nearby. The low buzz of conversation was getting louder as the room began to fill. Laughter…snippets of conversation…chairs creaking…someone coughing.

She forgot about Lucien, for the moment.

“Are you quite well, Andrew?” she asked, eyeing him with concern.

“I just want to say my piece, give my demonstration, and get the devil out of here.”

“Oh, do stop. This is your moment! You’ve worked hard to gain recognition and respect as a scientist and an inventor. This new explosive of yours might well be your legacy. It could change the outcome of this war. Of
course
the Royal Navy is going to be interested in it, and you should care enough to want to go up there, talk about your invention, and be proud of it.”

“What if I have an attack?”

“You won’t. You haven’t had one in ages.”

“What if something goes wrong?”

“Don’t think that way. Everything is going to be fine.”

Beside her Andrew tightened his lips, impatient as ever. This explosive, which was supposed to have more thrust and energy than mere gunpowder, had been the only reason their host, Captain Christian Lord, had been able to get his warship safely away from a French fort and warships in time to save not only their brothers Charles, Gareth and Lucien and his duchess Eva, but also Nerissa’s betrothed, Perry, Lord Brookhampton.

Though in the months that had ensued since that rescue, Nerissa wondered bitterly if Perry had, indeed, been saved.

A shadow darkened her pale blue eyes and she looked down, fingering the elegant painted fan that lay in her lap.

“I’m sorry, Nerissa,” Andrew said. “I know you’re only trying to help.”

She nodded, suddenly unable to speak. Let him think that. Let him think that her sadness was because she was impatient with his inability to embrace his own genius, the brilliant mind with which God had blessed him. Let him think that and maybe if she tried hard enough, she could think it too.

It hurt far less than thinking about Perry.

But Andrew was more perceptive than she gave him credit for being.

“You need to put him behind you,” he said gently, so that people filing loudly into the chairs behind them would not hear. “It’s time to move on, Nerissa.”

She stared down at the fan, trying to anchor herself against the emotion that the very mention of Perry’s name evoked. “I can’t.”

“You have to. It’s over, Nerissa.”

“It’s not over as long as I still love him.”

Andrew’s face softened, and he reached out to cover her hand with his own. “He does not love you. Not anymore.” His eyes darkened with sympathy. “And I’m not convinced, dear sister, that he ever really did.”

Nerissa looked away, blinking back the sudden tears. This was Andrew’s night, and she would not spoil it for him with her own troubles. “Well, at least we all know his true colors now. Or maybe I knew them all along and just didn’t want to see it.”

“Well, you see them now. We all do. And Nerissa, there
are
other men out there.” He smiled. “Plenty of them here tonight, in fact. I must say, though nobody will ever be good enough for my little sister, it pains me to see you so unhappy.”

She forced a smile and looked directly into his worried eyes. “I am not unhappy. See?”

He shook his head, sighed, and nodded in acknowledgement as another group of naval officers filed in. One of them came over, his hand extended in greeting.

“Good evening, Lord Andrew.”

Her brother rose, exchanging pleasantries with their host; it was Captain Lord, fair-haired and handsome, his gray eyes crinkling in a smile and his beautiful wife, Deirdre, on his arm. Nerissa had taken an instant liking to them both when she and Andrew had arrived earlier this evening: the taciturn Royal Navy officer who had saved her brothers’ lives and his Irish wife, who wore her dark, curly hair unpowdered and whose genuine warmth and country charm had helped to put the increasingly nervous Andrew at ease. Captain Lord seated her beside Nerissa, leaned down to kiss her cheek and then moved on toward the stage at the front of the room where an easel had been set up along with a podium; there, he was joined by his older brother, Rear Admiral Sir Elliott Lord.

“I suppose this infernal affair is about to commence,” Andrew muttered darkly.

“You’ll be fine.”

“And if the explosive doesn’t work?”

“It will.”

“I wish I could get out of here, and fast. I’m having second thoughts about this whole thing as it is.”

“Relax. Just get up there, talk about how you created the explosive, give your demonstration outside when it’s all done and after a bit of mingling we go back to our own townhouse. Tomorrow you can head home to Celsie and baby Laura, and all this will be behind you. It’s as simple as that.”

“You make it sound easy, Nerissa.”

“It
is
easy. And I’m here to help you in case you feel ill or indisposed.”

Andrew watched glumly as Captain Lord called for silence. Nerissa noticed that her brother’s hands had tightened around the arms of his chair, the knuckles whitening. He looked ready to bolt. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the captain said in a voice that Nerissa imagined had been honed on a quarterdeck and which had no trouble carrying the length of the room. “Tonight is a very special evening in that we have an esteemed guest as our monthly speaker. It was his timely intervention and genius application of a new explosive that saved his family, not to mention my own ship and crew, from certain disaster off the coast of France earlier this year. It is my highest honor and deepest pleasure to welcome and introduce to you, the scientist and inventor, Lord Andrew De Montforte….”

Applause swelled the room.

Andrew hesitated, paling.

“Go on,” Nerissa whispered.

He pushed his chair back, tall and resplendent in olive velvet that set off his auburn hair, and joined Captain Lord and his brother, Sir Elliott, at the podium. Only Nerissa could see the signs of his discomfort—the stiffness in his stance, a smile that was too quick to come and go as he formally greeted his host and the admiral. Only his breeding and upbringing enabled him to maintain an air of casual authority and confidence as he thanked his hosts and assembled guests, and began to describe how he had created the explosive that had, as Nerissa understood it, far more “blowing-up power” than ordinary gunpowder could ever have.

But Andrew, for all his genius, was not at ease in front of a group, and he soon retreated into the arena where he was most comfortable: talk of formulas, alchemy and mathematics, and Nerissa, who did not consider herself to be much of a genius at all, found her mind drifting to other things as she nevertheless kept a protective eye on her brother in case he needed her support.