April Moon (5 page)

“Aye, aye, sir.”

With the door closed once more, Richard scooped up his uniform coat.

“All right, m’lady,” he said briskly, shrugging into the blue jacket. A roll of his shoulders straightened the facings and gold epaulet. “We don’t have much time. Tell me exactly what Lowell intended you to accomplish while you had me alone in your cabin.”

Sarah blinked at him in surprise. She’d thought the game played out. “What does it matter now?”

“A great deal. To me, if not to you.”

She hesitated a moment before deciding she had little to lose by admitting the truth at this point.

“Sir James intended me to save his life, which apparently was already saved.”

Blake’s keen blue eyes bored into hers. “And?”

“And to save his ship.”

“All that by enticing me into your bed?”

Shame coiled in her stomach. Pride wouldn’t let her look away from his steady gaze.

“Actually,” she said coolly, “I was instructed to
get you weak-limbed with pleasure, snatch up your pistol and put a bullet through your heart.”

“I thought as much.”

The facade Sarah had just assumed came apart. She stared at the man blankly, unsure she’d heard him aright. “What do you mean, you thought as much?”

“I knew there had to be more to the scheme than your noble offer to sacrifice yourself.”

“Is that why you left your pistol lying within easy reach on the table?” she demanded incredulously. “To see if I would use it on you?”

“To see if you would try,” he replied with one of his quick, slashing grins.

The realization burst on Sarah with shattering clarity. Blake had been toying with her! All the time, he’d been toying with her! And here she’d thought…She’d imagined…For those insane moments in his arms, she’d let herself believe…

What a
fool
she was!

Struggling to contain her fury and her hurt, she drew herself up. “How disappointing for both of us that I did not attempt to shoot you. It would certainly have added more spice to the game.”

“That it would,” he agreed with a cheerfulness that curled her hands into claws.

Seething, she watched him stroll across the cabin to retrieve his weaponry. He buckled on his sword with a swift efficiency that bespoke long practice.
When he hefted the pistol, its silver scrollwork gleamed. And when he aimed the barrel at Sarah’s heart, she thought for a stunned second he intended to pull the trigger.

Just as quickly, she dismissed the absurd notion. Nevertheless, her pulse hammered wildly as he closed the small distance between them.

“The game’s not done yet,” he said. “Tell me why you agreed to Lowell’s plan. I would guess it wasn’t just to save his leathery hide.”

“My reasons are my own.”

“Tell me, lass. Perhaps I can help.”

She couldn’t imagine how, but the overwhelming need to confide in someone—anyone!—overcame her reluctance to discuss her family’s financial failings.

“Sir James holds a number of my father’s notes. A rather staggering number, if you must know. He holds almost as many of my brother’s. He said he’d pay them off when we became engaged, but held back. Now he’s promised to settle them if I…I…”

“Bring me down?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t hesitate. Reversing the pistol, he held it butt-forward.

“Take it.”

“What?”

“Take it. You struck a bargain with Lowell. He won’t honor his end if you don’t honor yours. You’ll have to shoot me.”

“Y
OU’RE MAD
!” Sarah gasped, the weight of the pistol heavy in her hand. “I can’t shoot you!”

“Of course you can.” He caught her sagging arm and steadied it. “All you have to do is wrap your finger around the trigger, like this, and squeeze.”

“Sir! Lieutenant Blake! You cannot expect me to…”

“Richard.”

Stupidly, she gaped at him.

“Richard,” he repeated, a smile in his blue eyes. “My name is Richard. I should like to hear it on your lips before you pull the trigger.”

“I have no intention of pulling anything!”

He was mad, Sarah decided. He had to be to stand with legs wide braced, laughing down at her while she held a loaded pistol mere inches from his gullet.

“Say it. Just once. Richard.”

“Richard! There. I’ve said it. Now do, for pity’s sake, take this thing.”

Desperately, she shoved the butt against his
chest. He refused to accept it. Instead, he wrapped his big hand over hers, pointed the barrel at an awkward angle, and pressed his fingers on hers.

The pistol belched fire.

Smoke blossomed.

Richard flinched.

Sarah shrieked as the bullet grazed his upper arm and plowed into the bulkhead behind him. The acrid stink of powder stung her nostrils and burned her eyes. She could barely hear above the ringing in her ears, had to struggle to catch Blake’s offhand comment.

“There,” he said with a nonchalance that stunned her. “It’s done.”

It certainly was. Blinking away the burning tears, Sarah stared in horror at the red stain darkening his uniform sleeve. He grinned at her obvious dismay and dragged a handkerchief from his coat pocket.

“It’s just a scratch, lass. I’ve nicked myself worse with my razor of a morning.”

Still rooted in shock, she made no move to assist him as he tied the white linen around his arm one-handed and used his teeth to tug the knot tight.

“Now you may tell Lowell the truth,” he told her when the makeshift bandage was in place. “You took aim and fired, but the shot went wide of its mark and you merely winged me. He can’t fault you for not attempting to hold to your end of
the bargain. Or hurt you,” he added under his breath, flicking a glance at her bruised wrist.

She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Or what he’d just done. He was an American. A mere colonial. As near to a pirate as made no difference. Yet he’d
shot
himself! Put a bullet through his own flesh to aid a woman he scarcely knew.

Tears stung her eyes again. In the few short hours Sarah had known this man, he’d shown more concern and consideration for her than any of the other males in her life, her father, brother and betrothed included.

Not only concern, she thought with a sharp ache just under her ribs. He’d also given her a taste of a woman’s pleasure, dark and rich and all compelling. The memory of it shimmered inside her, only to shatter at the thud of pounding boots. She didn’t doubt they heralded the precipitous arrival of several members of his crew, come to investigate the shot.

“Lieutenant! Sir!”

“You’d best let them in,” Blake instructed, busy reloading the discharged pistol.

Sarah had no sooner pulled the bolt than the door burst open. A grim-faced officer rushed in, primed pistol in hand. The tall, cadaverous seaman—Jenkins—came hard on his heels. Maude pushed past them both, her eyes wide and frightened.

“M’lady!” Her face paled as she spotted the red-
stained handkerchief tied around the captain’s arm. “Oh, no! Did ye do that?”

“I—I…”

The lie stuck in Sarah’s throat. It was left to Blake to answer cheerfully.

“She did, indeed.”

With a wailing cry, Maude rushed across the cabin, flung herself to her knees, and wrapped her plump arms around his boot tops. He stumbled back, almost knocked off his feet.

“Don’t hurt her, sir! It weren’t her fault. Sir James forced her to this desperate act.”

Sarah shook herself and tried to stem the hysterical tide. “Calm yourself, Maude. There’s no call for this unseemly display.”

The maid ignored her. Determined to plead her mistress’s case, she clung to Blake’s knees.

“She’s good and kind and generous of heart, sir. She tended to Sir Cedric night ’n day all those weeks he lay a-dying, his bowels putrefying. Niver once retched or showed him a disgusted face, as did them so-called nurses what couldn’t take the stench. And after her papa and brother ran through every penny Sir Cedric left her, she always managed to scrape together the servants’ wages one way or t’other.”

“Maude, do be still!”

Too wrought up to stop, the maid rattled on. “Why, she even sold her gold locket to pay the
bonesetter when Cook fell and broke her leg. It was the one trinket of her mama’s her papa hadn’t yet pawned to pay his gambling debts.”

Sarah felt heat flame in her cheeks. She could only hope Maude ran out of breath before she spilled every sordid family secret. She couldn’t meet Blake’s gaze as he bent to help the maid to rise.

“Here. Let’s get you off your knees.”

Still Maude wasn’t done. Once on her feet, she clutched at his coat sleeves. “You must believe me, sir! M’lady wouldn’t so much as step on a spider were she not forced to it. She didn’t want to shoot you.”

Laughter danced in Blake’s eyes at being classed with an insect, but he kept it from his voice.

“I believe you.”

The solemn assurance acted like a spur on the distraught serving woman. She burst into noisy, sobbing tears and threw herself against Richard’s chest. If Sarah hadn’t been so agitated herself, she might have laughed at the look of comical dismay that crossed the captain’s face.

“Mr. Jenkins,” he said in a strangled voice. “Escort Mistress Maude above deck.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

The seaman peeled the sobbing woman off his captain’s chest and led her away. Heaving a hearty sigh of relief, Richard addressed his lieutenant.

“Mr. McDougal, you’ll see that the boarding party is standing ready to return to the
Seahawk.
Lady Stanton, Sir James and I will join you in a few moments.”

With a nod, the officer left. Nothing was left to Sarah but to offer a stiff apology.

“Please excuse Maude’s hysterics. She’s been with me a long while and tends to…to forget herself at times.”

“From the sound of it,” he said drily, “she forgets nothing.”

Rolling his shoulders, the American settled his uniform across his shoulders and ran a quick eye over Sarah.

“You’d best retie your garters before we go to fetch Lowell.”

She lifted the hem of her skirt an inch or two and saw her right silk stocking was bagged around her ankle. It must have come down during their wild coupling. She hadn’t noticed, her attention being rather taken up afterward with such minor matters as firing off a pistol.

Turning her back, she lifted her skirt. The lacy garter was twisted as well, but she managed to untie it and straighten the sagging silk. Her heart was thumping when she dropped her skirts and faced the American again.

His eyes held no trace of a smile now. “Are you prepared to face Sir James?”

No.

Not yet.

Not ever.

“Yes.”

She started for the door. A gentle tug on her arm stayed her.

“I’ll be taking the
Seahawk
back to Virginia so the men we’ve reclaimed can see their families. If you wish, I’ll take you and Mistress Maude, as well.”

Sarah’s heart knocked against her ribs. Once. Twice. In that infinitesimal bite of time, she actually considered his offer.

She could sail away with him. Leave Sir James behind.

Leave, as well, her father. Her brother. Her heritage, such as it was.

Leave everything and become the woman she’d let so many people believe she already was—a highborn wanton who lived only for the pleasure of the moment. Regret bitter in her throat, she shook her head.

“I can’t go with you.”

“Surely you don’t intend to marry Lowell after the way he’s used you?”

“No, I don’t.”

“What will you do, then?”

“Return to England,” she said with a small shrug. “My family is there. My home.”

What was left of it, anyway. Ceddie’s ancestral holdings had been entailed on a distant nephew and the elegant town house he’d purchased for Sarah had gone under the auctioneer’s hammer last year. She could always join her father at his ramshackle estate in Devonshire, she supposed.
If
James held to his promise to tear up the notes he held on her papa and brother, that is. If he did not, her entire family might soon take up residence in Newgate prison.

Sighing, she smoothed the wrinkles out of her gown as best she could and preceded the American from the cabin.

T
HE WHISKERED
petty officer was still at his post outside the captain’s door. While Richard exchanged a few words with him, Sarah tried to prepare herself for the ugly scene she knew would follow.

James would have heard the shot. The slap of running feet. The shouts. She didn’t doubt he was all astew to learn what had happened and would be bitterly disappointed to discover she’d only wounded Blake. Dragging in a deep breath, Sarah entered his cabin for the second time that fateful night. Blake followed.

James swept her with a single cutting glance before turning his gaze on the American. The blood
stained handkerchief sent as clear a signal as any flag flown from the yardarm.

“May I assume my intended put that hole in you, Blake?”

“You may.”

“How unfortunate her aim was off.”

“Yes, wasn’t it?” He made no attempt to conceal his disgust. “Perhaps next time you’ll fight your own battles instead of allowing a woman to wage them for you.”

Fury flared in James’s face at the insult. “I told you I would meet you above decks, sword in hand. I’m still prepared to do so.”

“You had your chance. It’s too late now for swords. You may thank your lady, though, and be glad that I admire courage whenever and wherever I find it. Hers saved your ship and your own sniveling hide.”

It was a lie. He’d sworn he hadn’t intended to harm either the
Linx
or her captain. Yet he spoke so convincingly that Sarah had to clench her fists and stare straight ahead to keep from throwing him a look of gratitude. Maintaining her icy demeanor became even more difficult when he scraped a hand over his chin and smiled ruefully.

“I can only wish she’d followed through with her noble offer to give herself to me before pulling the trigger. Perhaps next time, lass?”

Sarah wanted to weep. Instead, she lifted her chin
and stared down her nose at him. “There will be no next time, Lieutenant.”

He gave her a look of warm approval before turning to Sir James. Instantly, the warmth left his eyes.

“I’ll have your parole, sir, or I swear I’ll have you put in irons and parade you in front of your men like the shambling shim-shanks that you are.”

The threat was so low and fierce that even Sarah believed it. She held her breath while James considered his choices, now narrowed down to two. He could surrender his ship or his pride.

His lips pressed tight. His cheeks reddened. With a churlish nod, he conceded. “You have my parole.”

“Very well. Let’s join our men topside.”

T
HE MOON GLOWED
bright and full when Sarah poked her head through the hatch. A brisk breeze tossed the ends of her hair. Holding her skirts up with one hand to keep from tripping over them, she climbed the last few stairs and stepped onto the deck.

The first thing she saw was the
Seahawk.
No longer a ghost ship, the American brig blazed from stem to stern with lanterns. Sleek and trim, she bobbed only a few dozen yards off the starboard side of the
Linx
and rode the waves with the grace of a gull. Her gunports, Sarah noted with a gulp, were all raised.

Gingerly she stepped over pieces of debris and made for the waist of the
Linx,
where the frigate’s crew was lined up along the rail. The officers stood to the fore, grim-faced and stiff-shouldered. Having given their parole, many of them had been allowed to retain their weapons.

That wasn’t the case with the seamen and marines. Evidently their word of honor wasn’t sufficient surety of their conduct. They stood in ranks behind their officers, many still blurry-eyed and groggy from the sleeping draught they’d been administered. Those who’d fully awakened scowled at the Americans standing guard over them.

Sarah searched the assemblage anxiously. To her relief, she spotted Maude off to one side, still under the protection of Carpenter’s Mate Jenkins. As she and James moved to stand with his officers, she saw that a number of British seamen had joined the ranks of Americans. Far more than the twelve James had reputedly taken off the
Seahawk.

James spotted them, as well. His voice taut with anger, he promised retribution. “I’ll see you men hung for desertion. Every last one of you.”

One of the turncoats hacked up a gob of spit and launched it through the air. The mess landed on the captain’s boot with a loud plop.

“I’d rather take me chances with the ’angman than with you,” he said scornfully. “At least ’is rope does its work quick and clean.”

“We ought to give
him
a taste of the cat,” the sailor beside him growled. “See how well he wears his stripes.”

Others fell in with the idea and voiced a chorus of eager suggestions.

“Soak the whip in seawater first so it burns more, like he ordered done for us.”

“Grab ’im, boys. Let’s tie ’im to the grate.”

“I want first cut!”

Several started for their former captain, only to be stopped in their tracks by a stern command.

“Hold where you are!”

Richard strode forward and put himself between the angry deserters and the captain of the
Linx.

“Sir James has given his parole, as have his officers. We honor such pledges in the American navy. If you’re to sail with me, you will honor them, too.”

Only one of the deserters dared challenge that flat ultimatum. “You don’t know what he done to poor little Billy, the lad what waited on his table last voyage,” the burly seaman protested. “We buried the boy at sea.”