Kiss From a Rogue (26 page)

She held her breath, waiting to see if Ruford called her bluff. Trent had never been aboard anything bigger than a fishing smack, and neither Corwin nor Monroe knew how to navigate.

His eyes widened. “You’ve gone mad from grief.” He slowly shook his head. “I am so sorry, my dear. I tried to prevent them from shooting your husband, really I tried.” He started to reach for Sylvia, but heard Doyle’s warning growl. He dropped his hand and continued in a tone so sincere, Sylvia almost believed he meant it. “He died bravely, with dignity, and I am persuaded he did not suffer, but was dead before he hit the water. Scant consolation, I know, but—” He stopped babbling at Sylvia’s growl.

“Toss him over,” she said to Doyle. She briefly shut her eyes against a fresh wave of grief. Tony was as gone as if he really had died.

“Wait, wait!” Ruford muttered some words that she was probably better off not understanding, then got to his feet and dusted off his hands. “I capitulate.” He cocked his head to one side. “I’ve never taken orders from a woman before. It could be quite interesting.” He lowered his voice. “Tell me, my dear, do you enjoy ordering men about? Does it give you a sense of power to make men submissive? I’ve heard of such appetites, but never before met a practitioner.”

Sylvia retrieved her dagger. “Give the commands
now,
or I’ll gut you stem to stern.”

With his index finger, Ruford pushed the tip of the blade to the side. “No need to get hostile, my dear.” He cupped his hands to his mouth and began shouting orders. His remaining crew sprang into action, and soon the ship began to move again.

Monroe ran to Sylvia’s side. “Beg pardon, my lady, but Teague is about to board us.” He pointed at the port side.

She dashed to the railing, where she was afforded some protection by the mass of rigging, and leaned over the side. “Your agreement with Captain Ruford has been canceled, Mr. Teague. I am now in command of this vessel.” She put away her dagger, to use both hands to steady the pistol as she pointed it at Teague. “Kindly move away.”

“I don’t bloody think so,” Teague growled. “Get up there!” he shouted. Two of his men leaped to the
Polly Anne
and began climbing up the side.

“They’re coming up the starboard side, too, my lady,” Sawyer reported.

“Call them off, Teague, or I’ll put a ball between your eyes.”

Despite the rocking of the skiff, Teague stood up and held his fists to his hips, barrel chest thrust out, shoulders back.

Bugger. Even if she aimed for his shoulder, she might accidentally shoot him between the eyes after all.

She gritted her teeth. She was a smuggler and now a thief, but she refused to cross the line to murderer. She would
not
be like Teague.

She aimed the pistol a little lower, squeezed her eyes shut, and pulled the trigger. Wood fragments flew up, and the skiff bobbed from her shot and Teague’s flinch. He lost his balance and fell overboard. Water bubbled up through the hole in the bottom of the skiff.

Teague’s men swarmed over the sides of the
Polly Anne
. Corwin, Monroe, and Sawyer engaged them, along with her other men. Even Jimmy and Trent still held their own. Ruford’s men climbed higher into the rigging, out of the way. They weren’t helping her men, but at least they weren’t helping Teague, either. A few of them called out, urging on the combatants. Coins changed hands.

“We are impartial observers,” Ruford called to his men, and gave an apologetic shrug to Sylvia. “I find myself conflicted, my dear. I’m not sure who I want to win. Teague only wants my cargo, not my entire ship.” He shouted more commands, which his crew carried out, and the ship began to head out to the Channel.

Sylvia saw another of Teague’s men swing his leg up over the starboard railing. Everyone else was already engaged. She darted across the deck and hit his fingers with the butt of her pistol, then smacked him on the forehead and sent him splashing back into the bay.

Before she could congratulate herself, she was accosted from behind, hauled up against the brick wall of a man’s chest, his meaty arm around her neck, the steel blade of his dagger just under her chin. Her hat fell to the deck. Breath froze in her lungs.

“I’ve had enough of your interference,” Teague growled in her ear. The cold from his wet clothes soaked into her back, chilling her to the bone. “Stealing your brandy, burning the boats, even shooting your husband wasn’t enough of a warning. Never thought I’d have to kill a woman, but you leave me no choice. Why couldn’t you stay at home, cooking and mending, like a proper female?”

“My cooking skills are abysmal, I’m afraid.” She had to raise her voice to be heard above the fight. Ruford’s men had been content to use their fists, but Teague’s gang were fighting with cutlass and dagger, forcing her men to do the same. She heard the clang and hiss of metal against metal, the occasional grunt and cry of pain as a blade found its target. Corwin, Jimmy, and the others were still valiantly holding their own.

Was this the end? She couldn’t even pretend to faint in order to slip out of his grasp, because Teague’s blade would slit her throat.

How ironic that she, the one who had warned the villagers what a dangerous path they’d chosen when they decided to return to smuggling, should be the first to fall.

Could she somehow get to her own dagger? And then what? She had never tried to harm anyone on purpose before. She had always tried to heal, to end the suffering of others, not to inflict it. Besides, Teague was twice her size, with hands like hams and arms like tree trunks.

Then again, this was the man who had shot Tony, the only man she had ever truly loved.

She would cut off Teague’s ballocks and slit his throat.

“Let her go.” Doyle aimed his pistol at Teague.

Sylvia’s heart beat even faster. Doyle was a genius when it came to fixing carts and wagons, but everyone knew he couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn. Well, perhaps not everyone. With any luck, Teague didn’t know.

“Sails ho, astern!” someone shouted from the topsail yardarm.

Teague turned his head to investigate, and loosened his hold on her. Sylvia stomped on his instep and kicked the side of his knee. He grunted in pain and swore. His grip shifted, allowing Sylvia to reach the dagger in her boot. She slammed the blade into Teague’s thigh.

He howled in pain and let go of her to clutch at his bleeding leg, and fell to the deck, swearing.

She jumped back, well out of his reach, her breath coming in harsh pants.

“Sylvia!”

She looked up, startled to see another ship had pulled alongside the cutter. Its crew had tossed grappling hooks into the
Polly Anne’
s rigging and heaved on the ropes, pulling the two ships together.

“Oh, not again,” Ruford groaned. “We’ve already been boarded twice today,” he shouted. “Come back some other time, won’t you?”

T
he fight going on around Sylvia was still fairly evenly pitched, no one was down, and the deck was not yet covered in blood, as Ruford had predicted with a moan. She looked back at the new ship.

It had pulled closer and furled her sails. Individuals on board were now discernible, including…No, it must be her imagination. Could it be?

“Sylvia!”

“Tony!” Laughter and joy bubbled up within her.

He stood high in the ship’s rigging, wind tousling his hair, holding on to a rope with one hand, a cutlass in the other. He pointed beside her. “Look out!”

Teague had regained his feet. He roared and lunged at her with his dagger.

She parried the blade aside, but lost her balance and her dagger. She sprawled on the deck. Her knife skidded away, through the scuppers and over the side.

Teague staggered but stayed upright. She rolled onto her back and fumbled for the pistol in her sash. He stared at her, pure hatred in his eyes. “Now I’m going to finish you, you damn bit—”

With a cutlass clenched between his teeth, Tony swung aboard, feet first, and slammed into Teague.

Teague crashed to the deck, face-first, and was still.

Tony let go the rope and dropped lightly to the deck beside her, and reached a hand to pull her to her feet. With the cutlass in his right hand, he pushed her behind him with his other, shielding her with his body.

He nudged Teague with the toe of his boot, and rolled him over.

Teague’s shirt and right leg were covered with blood. His own dagger handle stuck out of his chest, right over his heart, if he’d had one. Even in death, his face was frozen in an angry snarl.

Sylvia tried to dredge up some sense of loss for a human life, but couldn’t find it. Not for this life.

Tony reached back for her hand and laced his fingers with hers, and gave her a squeeze. Looking into his warm brown eyes, very much alive and real and
here,
she managed a shaky smile. He raised their joined hands and dropped a kiss on her knuckles.

Shouts and thumps on the deck nearby yanked them back to the ongoing conflict.

“Cease and desist!” Tony shouted. Only a few men paid him any attention. Tony waved his cutlass in a signal to the brig, and seconds later its starboard bow cannon fired. At such close range, the explosion of powder was nearly deafening, but harmless since there was no cannonball.

The fight stopped immediately. As though frozen by the dissipating smoke, men were still holding each other by the lapels, fists drawn back to strike, or cutlass held high, ready to swing downward. They all looked at Tony and Sylvia astern.

“Cor blimey!” one of Teague’s men shouted, and quickly made the sign of the cross.

Ruford sputtered. “But—but I saw you get shot! You’re dead!”

Tony shifted his stance, and Sylvia heard the smile in his voice. “I’m feeling much better now, thank you.”

Still holding his hand, she darted out and picked up the captain’s hat, put it back on, and stepped forward. “This ship is under my command.” She glanced over at the captain of the brig, then gave a nod to Tony. “Thank you for your assistance, kind sirs.” Raising her voice, she continued. “Those of you who worked for Teague, kindly absent yourselves.” She gestured at her men. “Please assist any of those who are in need of help in disembarking from my ship.”

With a little encouragement from Sylvia’s gang, there was a brief flurry of activity as men jumped over the sides or climbed down the rope ladders, and joined the others already swimming or rowing for the shore. Ruford sputtered a protest at the term “my ship,” but soon quieted after a threatening rumble from Doyle.

With Teague’s men routed, the enormity of what they had just done began to sink in. The back of her dress was still cold and wet where Teague had pressed up against her. Sylvia started to shiver, and struggled to take in enough air.

She was suddenly enveloped in a warm embrace. Tony had taken off his coat and wrapped it around her. She hugged herself, drawing in his strength, inhaling his scent.

“Once again, your timing is impeccable,” she said through her chattering teeth. Tony had his arm around her shoulders, standing there in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves, the cutlass in his free hand. “By what miracle did you arrive in the nick of time?”

Tony was suddenly yanked away, pulled backward.

“Did someone say Nick?” The brig’s captain was pulling on a rope tied around Tony’s waist, tugging him closer to the railing, taking him away from Sylvia.

Tony slashed the rope with one strong swipe of his cutlass and pointed the tip of the blade at the other gentleman. “I’m warning you, Nick…”

Nick laughed and thumped his companion on the shoulder. Sylvia was startled to recognize the other man, Alistair.

Seconds later both of them had swung aboard the
Polly Anne
and stood on the deck. “I’ve never met a female pirate captain before,” Nick said. “Won’t you introduce me to your lady love, Tony?” He straightened the knot in his cravat. The gold ring in his left ear glinted in the sunlight.

Lady love?

“No.” Tony wrapped his arm around Sylvia’s waist and pulled her back a step. “You stay away from her.”

Nick was jesting, teasing his friend in the way that boys do. His words had no deeper meaning. But Tony was standing with his arm possessively around her waist, in full view of the world. She glanced up at his face. His jaw was set, his expression that of grim determination. If he had tender feelings for her, he was hiding them well at the moment.

“I have the honor of already being acquainted with the lady.” Alistair gave an elegant bow. His blue eyes were sparkling with humor when he straightened.

“I must confess I never expected to see you again. But I’m very glad of the fortuitous timing in your return.”

Nick pointedly cleared his throat.

“You wouldn’t have gotten here in time without his help,” Alistair said softly to Tony.

Tony gave an inarticulate growl. “Fine. Lady Sylvia Montgomery, may I present Nicholas, Viscount Sheffield.”

“Enchanté.”
Nick gave an elegant bow. “I have heard the most marvelous and fantastic things about you, my lady.”

From the corner of her eye, Sylvia could have sworn Tony was blushing. “You’re the one responsible for getting Tony drunk and tattooed.”

“Just so.” Nick’s blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “After all, what are friends for?”

“Will you stop?” Tony placed the tip of his cutlass against one of Nick’s waistcoat buttons.

While they had been talking, Nick’s crew had been removing the grappling hooks from the
Polly Anne’
s rigging. Nick shouted for his men to tidy things up, then turned back to Sylvia. “May I inquire where we are sailing?”

“Beg pardon, my lady.” Doyle stood a few feet away. “Are we actually sailing for Cherbourg?”

“No, not yet. We’re headed back to Lulworth Cove. Please pass that along to Ruford.”

“Did y’hear that, Jonesy?” Nick shouted to his brig. “Meet us in Lulworth Cove.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Sail all the way back to the cove?” Tony gestured at the receding beach with his chin. “We could just row ashore right here, and walk to Lulworth.”

“You’ve made it this far, chum,” Nick said, as serious as she’d heard him so far. “Less than an hour now, we’ll have you on dry land again.” Alistair murmured similar reassurances.

Of course. It couldn’t be pleasant for Tony, being on the ship where he’d almost died just two days ago. She shuddered. When the breeze was just right, it lifted the hair at his temple, revealing his wound. He should still have a bandage on it.

“Beg pardon, my lady.” Doyle had returned. “Capt—er, Mister Ruford says his limit is three boardings per day, and he’s not going to pilot us anywhere.”

She glanced over at Ruford, who was sitting on a locker, arms folded, roman nose stuck high in the air. Now what? She couldn’t pilot so much as a skiff. Perhaps Trent or one of her other men really did know how to operate a large ship with so many sails.

Then again, the brig alongside them had just as many sails as the cutter, and its captain was standing on the deck beside her. “Sheffield, could I impose upon you?” She gestured at the wheel.

“Me, take the helm?” Nick preened. “I’d be honored, my lady.” He slapped Tony on the shoulder. “I’ll have you on solid land in no time at all.” After only a slight hesitation, Ruford’s men responded to Nick’s commands and they got under way.

Tony grabbed Sylvia’s hand and led her toward the bow, away from Teague’s corpse. “Doyle, would you be so kind as to wrap up the rubbish?” Tony said.

“Aye, sir.” Doyle dislodged Ruford from his perch in order to retrieve a spare sail from the locker. Corwin and Sawyer helped him roll Teague’s body up in the canvas.

Holding Sylvia’s hand, Tony ducked under the unfurled foresail and pulled her after him, giving them some measure of privacy as they stood in the bow of the ship. Once he’d secured his cutlass in the belt at his waist, he patted her shoulders and down her arms, and lifted her chin, inspecting both sides of her neck. “Are you all right? Unharmed? Uninjured?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “The only thing injured when I fell was my dignity.”

Tony had taken a step back, and was examining her gown. “But there’s blood.” He pointed at the large stain on her gown, at the side of her leg.

Her heart skipped a beat. One couldn’t draw another’s blood without expecting to get covered with it, as well. Tony started to lift her skirt. “It’s not mine.” She pushed his hand away. “I stabbed Teague in the leg.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he groaned. He pulled her into his arms, wrapping her securely in his embrace.

Her hat slipped off backwards and fell to the deck, unheeded. She buried her face against his chest, knowing instinctively that his anguish was remorse for what she’d gone through, not recrimination for her actions.

The cool linen of his cravat quickly warmed to her touch, and she felt the reassuring beat of his heart beneath her cheek. She thought she’d never experience this again.

She sniffed, and blinked back a tear. “Not that I’m not overjoyed to see you, but why are you here? I sent you away.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily. I had an idea, and came back to share it with you.”

That was it? “You came all this way on Nick’s ship to share an idea with me?”

“Well, there was this, too.” He cupped her cheeks and claimed her lips in a long, deep, mind-dissolving kiss that left her gasping for breath, her heart pounding. He kissed his way along her jaw toward her ear and nuzzled a kiss under her earlobe. “Oh, how I missed you, sweetheart,” he whispered.

Sylvia tilted her head back, allowing him better access. “I missed you, too,” she whispered. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his back, not too tightly, mindful of his myriad bruises.

The ship started to come about, heading into the cove. As Nick ordered the crew to adjust the sails and strike the foresail, some of their privacy went away. Sylvia reluctantly took a step back from Tony. “Well, what is it?”

“What is what?” His eyes were still glazed from passion, and he looked more than a little perplexed.

Sylvia took some pride in having put that dazed expression on his face. “You said you had an idea to share with me.”

He nodded. “Right. It’s about the—” The ship rolled slightly, and Tony clutched the railing with one hand.

“Are you all right? You look a little unwell.”

The ship righted itself, and Tony groaned. “I’ll be fine as soon as we get ashore.” The ship broached the breakwaters just outside the cove. As the bow lifted, Tony groaned again. He grabbed her hand and led her back to amidships, keeping his free hand on the ship’s railing. When they were at the midpoint, he leaned against the railing and pulled her in close. He held on to her tightly, as if someone were trying to take her away from him.

She hugged him back, not caring who saw.

“Well, I’ve never seen
that
used as a cure for mal de mer before,” Nick said from his stance at the wheel.

“Shut up,” Tony said.

Sylvia leaned back in his embrace. “You’re seasick?”

“Can’t even set foot in a rowboat without getting violently ill,” Alistair offered.

“Shut up,” Tony repeated.

“But you came in the
Wind Dancer
—”

“Do you like it?”

Sylvia glanced over Tony’s shoulder, at the ship following just off their stern. “I’m sure it’s a very nice boat.”

“It’s yours.”

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t want you to steal a ship. Still don’t. But you needed one to continue your smuggling operation. So I bought the
Wind Dancer
from Nick. She’s a brig—very fast, Nick claims—and now she’s yours.”

She put her hand over her pounding heart. “I—I don’t know what to say. No one has ever given me something so valuable. I’m not sure I can accept it.” She stared at the brig. “It must have cost a fortune.”

Tony shrugged. “Nick and I were still discussing terms when we spotted Ruford’s sails, and thought we might be needed to help in the fight. You and your men acquitted yourselves quite admirably, by the way.”

Sylvia grinned. “They did well, didn’t they?” She grew more serious. “And the only casualty was Teague.”

Nick gave the orders to heave to, and the anchor splashed into the water. Crewmen began lowering the longboats so they could row ashore—the Lulworth Cove beach was now just a hundred or so yards away. The
Wind Dancer
hove to nearby.

Tony moved out of the crew’s way, pulling Sylvia with him. “With Teague no longer a threat, everything’s changed.”

She looked up in surprise. She’d been so busy, so focused on the fight and then Tony’s return, she hadn’t even thought of the implications of Teague’s death. There was a chance things could return to the way they were.

But did she want that? Give Ruford back his ship, and buy their brandy from him just as before. Would a smuggler such as he forgive the affront of taking over his ship, however briefly?