Heather Graham (30 page)

And they hadn’t let a single Spaniard escape. Every man had his value, Pierce knew, and they had grown very wealthy demanding ransoms.

They were also somewhat famous for their cavalier treatment of prisoners. There was one Spanish beauty who had cried when she had been returned to her father.

He had earned his reputation as a fierce fighter upon the seas easily enough. But since they were so careful of human life, he began to fear his very reputation for fairness would work against him one day.

So he picked upon one poor Spanish captain and tied him to the mainmast. He told him all the fine, exquisite tortures he could think of, walking slowly around the man with his arms folded across his chest. He could have put his eyes out with hot pokers, he told the man. Or have lashed him, cut off his fingers one by one and fed them to the sharks, and then give the frenzied fish the whole of him to finish off. But he was going to let him live. Just so long as the
capitán
let it be known to others that the Dragonslayer would not hesitate to do these things.

It worked like a charm. Before Pierce knew it, his reputation was made.

Maybe he voraciously raped his women prisoners, viciously plundered the ships, and heinously murdered the seamen.

Who could really say?

Now Pierce pushed his ledger aside and idly held his quill between his thumb and forefinger, leaning toward them. “Well? Tell me the news. I crave to hear it! Have I been cleared in England?”

Jay shook his head sadly. “No, milord, I’m sorry.” He was silent for a moment, then he cleared his throat, hedging.

Pierce sat back, amazed at the strength of the bitterness that washed through him. “I’d have thought my dear wife—or should I say widow—might have seen to the clearing of my name for her own benefit! If she wasn’t in league with that wretched Jerome …”

“Milord,” Jay reminded him wisely, “that’s still not to say that the lady was involved in any way!’

Sean wasn’t so generous. “She’s taken over your ships, milord!” he said incredulously. “She’s been here in Virginia, running your business from this side of the Atlantic!”

The quill snapped between his fingers. Jay jumped back.

“Well, milord, she’s doing a good job of it, so it seems.”

“Well, now, that is consolation!” Pierce murmured. His voice tightened. “So tell, gentlemen. How can I get to her?”

Sean smiled. “Ah, this is the good part. She’s leaving next Monday on the
Lady May
for Bermuda. Seems there’s some talk of another marriage—”

“What?” Pierce snapped.

“Rumor, rumor!” Jay said quickly, looking at Sean with a certain amount of exasperation. He decided to finish the story himself. “She’s to do business with a Sir Harold Wesley. I’ve heard of the man. He has a big plantation on Bermuda. All we know for sure is that she’s going there. Now, if something more is to happen once she gets there—”

“I don’t think so,” Pierce interrupted softly, sitting back in his chair, his eyes flashing silver. Dear God! After all this time! He was almost there … almost touching her.

She’d plagued him night and day in his memory.

She had become an obsession.

All this time! Nothing else had haunted him like his remembrances of her.

And now. Now he was so damned close …

He smiled. Oh, God, it was going to be sweet! He was going to savor it! The little witch hadn’t even tried to clear him! She’d been biding her time in Virginia, playing mistress of what had once been his life!

“Nothing more is going to happen,” Pierce said firmly.

Sean scratched his chin. “Milord, ’tis hard to tell—”

“No, my friends, it’s not hard to tell. Nothing is going to happen in Bermuda. Because she is never going to reach Bermuda! Gentlemen, I swear it!”

Monday …

He had waited so long. He had bided his time so carefully, making good use of it. Waiting, waiting …

But his wait was nearly over.

The blood burned inside him. Then he eased back. So old Niemens was the captain on the
Lady May
! He smiled suddenly. It was a slightly cold smile.

But then, he had always heard that revenge was best when taken cold.

“I don’t like it! I don’t like it! I do not like it!” Ashcroft Woodbine said firmly.

His daughter appeared not to hear him.

“I think that it will be quite easy to make Sir Wesley see the benefit to our shipping his goods from his estates on the island,” Rose told her father, leaning low over a ledger book, a small frown knitting her brow. “He is ill prepared to deal with the volume of cargo he is beginning to produce. Between the Woodbine ships and the DeForte fleet, we’ve all the traffic he could desire.” She sat back, studying her father. “Father, we don’t want him going into the shipping trade himself! He might take away our business, but if we convince him to stay with us, we’ll just add his to ours. I’m sure I’ll be able to make him see that clearly.”

Ashcroft sighed. He’d always wanted to involve Rose in his business. Now she had her own DeForte ships—and she was very nearly running both businesses! Well, she had a fine head, and she was good at it, but he still worried about her. “Daughter, have you heard a word that I’ve been saying? I don’t like you sailing alone! There are pirates in these waters—”

“Our ships have their own guns. And all I’ve heard tell about lately is this Dragonslayer. He attacks Spanish ships, Father. Please. Am I not right about Sir Wesley? We must have his business before he begins to take ours away from us!”

“Oh, aye!” Ashcroft stroked his chin, watching his daughter. She had the logic of it. And she was exceptionally beautiful when she was so involved with a project. It seemed the only time that she really came alive, except when she was with his grandson.

She was certainly involved with this project. He had wanted her to be so. Good friends had told him not two weeks ago that Sir Harold Wesley had built himself a fine plantation on the island of Bermuda. Not so close as Ashcroft would have liked, but he thought that it would do. The other things he had heard about Sir Wesley had been equally appealing. He was a sound businessman, well liked by the king, wealthy in the extreme from his enterprises in the colonies, and more. They said that he was young and handsome and charming, devoted to his younger brothers and sisters, and in need of a wife to help manage his estate.

Ashcroft wanted to see his daughter married again. Once she married, of course, she would lose some of the DeForte prestige; but with the birth of her son, she had become the “dowager” Duchess of Werthington anyway. The little scamp dragging upon her skirts and trying to stand on his own was the nine-month-old duke himself, Lord Pierce Woodbine DeForte, tenderly called Woody by his daughter, and then by all those around them. She had an aversion to calling him by his given name, almost as if she could deny his father’s demise and shame by keeping silent.

Thank God the fellow had served the king so wisely in his time, Ashcroft thought, for it might have been easy for the crown to have confiscated his estates and title with such charges as those which had been leveled against him. But as it stood, little Woody would one day be a great duke.

Ashcroft sighed. Aye, life would be good for his grandson. He would have the DeForte fortune behind him, and his own as well. He loved the little scamp, and he was anxious to watch him grow.

But he was deeply concerned for his daughter. He had tried to tell her that he needed help with his business to bring her out of her depression in which nothing had seemed to matter but Woody. So he had begun to teach her about her ships, and she had suddenly bitten hold of every piece of information he gave her. Too late, he realized, she was going to use it all when she returned to England. Not long after her return, she had written to a man named Garth back at DeForte Castle, and through him, she had begun to grasp the reins of the DeForte estate. Now, he knew, she was planning on going back to England just as soon as Woody was one year old. Ashcroft didn’t want her to go.

He wanted her to marry again. He had discovered, in a very painful way, that titles were not nearly so important as happiness. He didn’t want her returning to England, he wanted her much nearer. He wanted to see her laugh again, her emerald eyes sparkling.

He had originally been very encouraged about this voyage to Bermuda. She would surely entrance Sir Wesley, and if Sir Wesley was as young, handsome, and charming as they said, he might just be the man to entrance her in turn.

Except she was so very involved in the business! It might prove unattractive to Wesley to see a woman so very concerned with finances.

“Perhaps I should be going with you,” Ashcroft said. “I could explain some of these things more thoroughly. I’ve been in this all my life, daughter, while you’ve just come into it lately.”

Rose sat back, pulling little Woody up onto her lap. The child immediately reached out chubby little fingers to find whatever he could upon the desk. Rose quickly pushed aside the important papers and reached for the wooden rattle her father had whittled for the child from a piece of hard wood. He had dropped seeds into it and sealed it over, and it made a fascinating noise when the child shook it.

He was a handsome boy. His eyes had remained blue-gray with a touch of silver, and he had a headful of curly dark red hair, even at his young age.

Rose nuzzled her chin against her son’s soft head and smiled. “Father, there’s no need for you to go. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“I know that, daughter—”

“You also know that Harold Wesley is seeking a bride. You’re trying to do some matchmaking again.”

Ashcroft stiffened with great dignity. “You forget!” he said, wagging a finger at her. “I am the kindest and most understanding of fathers. I could have signed papers to marry you off without giving a fig about your feelings, and instead—”

“Instead you sent me to England to catch a duke. And somehow I caught him by default, but he is lost to me now. Father, you’ve got your grandson! And you know that I’m going back to England the very moment I feel that Woody is ready. And you are very welcome to come with me. I have to handle matters for the husband I no longer have before trying to catch a second one!”

Her eyes were sparkling again. He was glad of it. Perhaps there was hope for the future. “Bah! You’ve no intention of finding another husband, Rose!”

“Not now,” she agreed softly. “Father, I have to—”

“Aye, aye! You have to prove DeForte innocent! Why now, girl? The king has left you alone! My grandson will receive his full inheritance. The world will forget if you just let it lie!”

She shook her head. “The world will never forget, Father. If you think so, you have been hiding away here in your little kingdom in the colonies far too long. And I’m convinced that Jerome killed Jamison, if not the Lady Anne as well. And he is living extremely well, Father, or so Garth has written to me, using up his sister’s funds! How could I let that man get away with murder and everything else he did to all of us?”

“How do you plan to prove him guilty?” Ashcroft asked.

She sighed. “I don’t know as yet. I will have to figure out just how to trap him once I’ve returned to England. There will be a way. God will see to it; I know that He must.”

Ashcroft sighed again. He stood. Little arms suddenly lifted from Rose’s lap to him. Serious blue-gray eyes studied his. “Granpa!”

Oh, how this little scamp could catch his heart!
Granpa.
It had been the first word Woody had said, right after he learned to mouth “Mum.” Actually, it was all that he really said at the moment, but it was all that he needed. Ashcroft reached down for the little boy, taking him into his arms. Immediately he started squirming. He was ready to get down. Ready to crawl. Stubbornly determined to walk.

“She wouldn’t let you down, and you thought that I would, eh, my fine boy? Well, you might be the great arrogant duke one day, but for now, you’ll obey your grandfather!”

Watching him, Rose smiled. In seconds Woody had managed to wriggle his way back down, and was using Ashcroft’s leg as a prop to try to stand and walk.

He was a very determined child.

So much like his father …

“Well, Sir Woodbine,” she said, “I’m sailing to Bermuda, and I’m sailing alone. Is there anything else you’d like me to say to Sir Wesley?”

“No, daughter,” he said, watching her. Then he wagged a finger at her fiercely. “You may sail alone because I have given you permission to do so!”

Rose smiled, looking down at the desk again. Ashcroft looked down to his grandson, tottering at his feet, then over to his daughter, a secret smile curling her lip.

When had he lost control?

That night Mary Kate watched Rose with her baby, the two of them playing on a fur rug before the fire in Rose’s beautiful room. Ashcroft’s was truly a fine house. At great expense he had imported all manner of beautiful glass from Italy, and beautifully draped windows looked right over the river. Rose’s room was huge, with a fireplace that seemed to take up an entire wall, but though it grew cold here, Rose’s room was always warm because of the draperies and furs set about it. The one that was before the fire was big and white, a bear taken in the far North.

Ashcroft had paid a great price for it, too, Mary Kate knew.

But Ashcroft would consider the price worth it, Mary Kate thought, if he could just see his daughter and the boy now. Rose was in a soft cotton bedgown, as was Woody. They rolled and stumbled and played together, laughing. Firelight caught the magic red in Rose’s hair, and therein her son’s.

The hour was growing late. The babe needed to be put in his bed. “Come now, Rose!” Mary Kate chastised gently. “I’ve got to get him to sleep. It will be hard on me once you’ve gone if I can’t get him to bed as I should now.”

Rose sighed, hugging her son closer to her. “I don’t know if I should leave him for so long, Mary Kate! It’s true enough that he’s sipping from his cup and eating quite well, but he still needs me!”

“He’s nursing less and less, which is a godsend,” Mary Kate said flatly. “Keeping up with him is a rare drain on the body, it is! Now, you’ll not be gone for more than two days. It’s a fine way to start weaning him completely.”