Lady Pirate (21 page)

Valoree stiffened, her eyes narrowing to cold slits that were usually a warning to her men that they were treading a dangerous path. “His leg is broken. He needs to be kept flat. The carriage is too small for that. He must be returned to the docks in your wagon. What I am asking you, is whether you wish to do the driving and be recompensed for it, or whether you wish to stand here and watch it be taken. Now, which is it?”

The man's gaze slid from her to Bull, to Henry and Daniel, then lastly to One-Eye seated on the driver's bench. “Ah, hell,” he muttered, starting for the bench.

Turning to Bull, Valoree murmured, “Both you and One-Eye go with him. See he's paid when he gets you there.”

Nodding, Bull turned and hefted himself into the back of the wagon. The driver climbed up to join One-Eye, who had shifted to make room for him. The vehicle was off almost at once. Valoree waited until it had turned the corner before turning to move back to Thurborne's carriage.

The four of them were silent on the way back to the town house. Valoree was fretting over No-Nose. She almost asked Daniel to take them to the docks several times, but then changed her mind. It would just mean more questions. She already had enough on her plate what with having to explain about the ship to him, and she knew she would have to. The nobleman kept looking at her. Of course, he was always looking at her, but he was looking at her differently now. Now, he kept casting curious glances her way.

Sighing, she leaned her head against the wall of the carriage, relieved when they stopped at their destination a moment later. They trooped silently inside and went directly to the salon. Valoree moved to stand by the fireplace as Henry quickly fixed everyone a drink. He handed these out, then glanced at Daniel questioningly. “Are ye still hungry?”

Thurborne smiled wryly, but shook his head, as did Valoree when he glanced her way. Henry's gaze then moved to Meg, who sighed and set her glass on the table, then stood. “Actually, Henry, I think I am more tired than hungry. It has been a most eventful night. If you will all excuse me, I am going to retire.” She left the room to their murmurs of good-night; then Henry downed his drink and headed for the door as well.

“I'm going to talk to the men. Goodnight, Thurborne.” The door pulled quietly closed behind him before Valoree or Daniel could say farewell.

Now the questions would begin, Valoree thought. She lifted her glass to drink from it, but Daniel didn't ask questions. Instead he was suddenly behind her, his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs rubbing the bare flesh of her collarbones. He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. Swallowing the rum in her mouth, Valoree stood perfectly still, amazed to see that the hand holding her glass was beginning to tremble.

The shaking became much more violent when his hands slid down her arms, then beneath to reach around and cup her breasts. Twisting her head, Valoree sought his lips with hers, sighing into his mouth when he accepted the invitation. He kissed her passionately, one hand dropping down over her stomach, then lower, until it rested between her legs. There, he pressed gently. She groaned, barely aware of the splash of cold liquid on her skin as the glass she held tipped dangerously. Then he withdrew his hands, and his lips, and gave her a quick peck on the nose.

Eyes blinking open, she stared in amazement at his retreating back, then whirled toward the fireplace, throwing her glass in the fire with a vulgar curse. Leaning her forehead wearily against the mantel, she heard the front door of the town house open and close quietly. She was still standing there several moments later when the door to the salon opened again.

“Captain?”

Sighing, Valoree straightened, took a deep breath, then turned to peer at Henry. “Aye, what is it?”

He stared at her uncertainly for a minute, concern flashing across his face. “Are ye all right?”

“I am fine. Why shouldn't I be?” she snapped. “Is that all?”

“Nay, I wanted to talk to you about the carriage accident.”

Sighing, Valoree moved to one of the chairs and sank into it wearily, then gestured for him to sit in the other. “Have you heard from the ship? Is No-Nose going to be all right?”

“Aye. One-Eye and Bull returned with Skully just a minute ago. Scratchy is looking after No-Nose. Says it was a clean break and he might even keep his leg.”

Valoree relaxed slightly at that news. “Good.”

“Skully's going to arrange for another hack first thing in the morning. We paid for the other.”

“Also good.” They were both silent for a moment; then Valoree frowned.

“What is it?” Henry asked, waiting.

Valoree met his gaze, her thoughts shifting for a moment. “I want you to have a couple of the men go out tomorrow and talk to that wagon owner again.”

“Why? What is it ye want to know? Do you not think it was an accident, pure and simple? The fellow stole the wagon and in his excitement to get away, went too fast and lost control.”

“Maybe,” Valoree murmured, then shrugged. “Just
have them find out everything the owner can tell them about the fellow he saw steal it.”

Henry nodded slowly; then they both fell silent for a moment. At last he asked, “Have ye made up your mind yet?”

She peered at him in surprise. “About what?

“About which one to marry,” he answered. “Scrantom was the last of 'em on your list. Ye've visited with all of them now.”

Valoree looked away toward the fireplace. “Nay. But I've narrowed the list.”

“Aye, ye've done that, all right. Ye've only got Hawghton and Beecham left on it.”

“Aye,” Valoree agreed.

When she didn't say anything else, Henry said, “Should I send a letter around to those two, inviting them by for ye to have another gander?”

Sighing, Valoree let her head fall back on the chair and closed her eyes. “Aye, aye. Go ahead.”

“I'll write 'em up before I go to bed so one of the men can run them around first thing in the morning. Good night.”

She didn't hear him get up, but she did hear the door open and close. Sighing, she turned her head toward the fireplace and stared into it for a moment, picturing Hawghton and Beecham in her mind.

Hawghton was a handsome man, mayhap even more handsome than Daniel. He was also a charmer like Daniel. But, unlike Thurborne, who Henry told her had spent most of his time out tending to his estates since inheriting, Hawghton neglected his affairs and lived in London, where he could enjoy the high life. Gambling appeared to be his downfall. He, unlike most of the others, was not a second son. He was a firstborn son who had inherited a great deal of wealth with his title when his father had died three years earlier. He had also gambled most of it away in the short time since.
Or thrown it away on some mistress or another. Henry had seen to looking into each man. Hawghton liked gambling, women, and drinking. Between the three vices, he couldn't seem to hold on to a coin. Still, that didn't bother her much. Once the child was born and he was no longer necessary, she could set him up in town on a nice allowance that he could gamble away as he pleased.

What bothered her was that during their appointment, when they had gone to the theater—the only appointment she had managed without Daniel being there—she had glimpsed a flash of fury in the man. It was as they were leaving Drury Lane. Someone had jostled him and he had turned in a rage, his face suddenly beet red and looking as if he meant to strike the unfortunate passerby with his cane. Valoree had shifted then, drawing his gaze, and Hawghton had forced himself to relax and immediately release one of his charming laughs. All as if the incident had never happened. But the moment had stuck in her mind. The man had a temper, and a second appointment was only to assure herself of that. She would not marry a man who might raise his cane to her. She'd have to kill the bastard then, and she had enough troubles without that.

That left Beecham. He was a perfectly nice man, unlike Daniel, who was an evil, irritating bastard. He was smart, unlike Daniel, who didn't know enough to take a woman when she offered herself. He was also good with money. In fact, from what Henry could find out, he had absolutely no need for her money, so she was not quite sure of his motives for offering to marry her. That was bothersome. He had taken her to a coffeehouse for his appointment, and Valoree had enjoyed herself. Daniel had shown up, of course, but he had not done anything at all to emphasize any faults Beecham might have. She supposed he didn't really have any. He didn't rattle on about himself endlessly, or talk
snidely about others. In fact, he was a very quiet man. He didn't sniffle or whine as Haversham had…or had that been Griswold? He did not waste his money on gambling like Hawghton, and he certainly had not tried to slip his foot under her skirts like Scrantom. He was just a nice man who would make a fine husband.

But there would never be any passion there. She was positive of that. Beecham had not tried to kiss or touch her in any way during his appointment, but she knew despite that, his kisses would be just as mild and unassuming as he was. Unlike Daniel's kisses, which curled her toes and singed her insides.

Sighing, she leaned her head back on the chair, closing her eyes again, her mind drifting. She heard the men moving about, talking quietly as they made their way to bed, but she was suddenly too tired to bother getting up to go to bed herself. She knew she was falling asleep right there in the chair, but couldn't seem to rouse herself enough care.

 

She wasn't sure what it was that woke her. Perhaps it was a sound that disturbed her dreamless rest, or perhaps it was her neck, which was stiff and sore from nodding off in the chair. Whatever it was, she woke abruptly, her eyes darting around the dark room. The fire had gone out while she slept, but the smoky scent of it was still in the air.

Grimacing at the pain in her neck, she rubbed at it irritably and forced herself to get up. Bed was where she belonged. She stumbled toward the line of light beneath the salon door, thinking she would have to cuss out the men in the morning for such foolishness. They were obviously getting lazy on land if they were not even bothering to put the candles out before retiring. The last thing they needed was a fire.

The wave of warm, thick smoke that rolled over her as she opened the door was enough to wash such
thoughts from her mind. The light had not been from candles at all, but from across the hall. The library door was open, and showed the fire licking its way up the drapes covering the window inside.

Bellowing at the top of her lungs for her men, Valoree hurried into the room, taking in the situation at a glance. The drapes were ablaze, and the fire was spreading from there. Running forward, she snatched at the curtains, ignoring the pain that shot through her fingers as she did, and ripping the drapes from the window. She let go as soon as they fell, then grabbed up her skirts and proceeded to try stomping on the flames. Someone grabbed her from behind and moved her out of the way.

“Get out of here! Your skirts'll catch fire. Go wake the others!” Henry shouted, pushing her toward the door.

Valoree hesitated, then left him to it and charged up the stairs, roaring at the top of her lungs as she went. One-Eye met her as she reached the upper landing.

“What's going on?” he asked, still half-asleep but waking up quickly.

“Fire,” Valoree snapped, pausing to push Meg's door open without knocking. “Get up!” she yelled, hurrying in to shake the old woman awake. “Move it, Meg. We've got a fire below.”

“What?” the woman muttered, sitting up groggily, then immediately began coughing. The smoke had followed Valoree upstairs and was now rolling across the ceiling in large, billowing waves.

“Come on!” Valoree tugged the woman out of bed, grabbed a wrap off the chair, tossed it around her shoulders, and bundled her quickly out of the room. She was just in time to see Bull and Skully head down the stairs. Hurrying the older woman along, Valoree ran her down the stairs and pulled the front door open.
She was about to shove Meg through when Henry shouted, “It's out!”

Pausing, she whirled to stare through the smoke-filled entry toward the men coming out of the library. “What?” she asked in amazement.

“It hadn't got far,” he explained, waving his hand in front of his face and moving to join her where she and Meg now stood in the open door. “I managed to get the drapes put out, and your shout woke Petey. He came out of his room off the kitchen, grabbed a pail of water on the way, and threw that over the rest.” He shrugged. “That was the end of that.”

Sighing, Valoree sagged against the door frame, breathing in the fresh air that was rushing into the entry even as the smoke drifted slowly out. “What happened? What started it?”

Henry shook his head, pausing to cough, then spat out through the door before saying, “There was nothing that could have started it accidentally. I put the candle out after I finished writing them invites to Beecham and Hawghton.”

“You're sure?” Valoree asked sharply, then took in the affronted look that immediately covered his face. Of course he was sure. Despite her thoughts on seeing the light under the salon door, she knew none of the men would make a mistake like that. Thirteen years had trained them well. You had to be extra careful about things like that on board ship. You couldn't run out a door, or climb out a window to escape a fire on a boat. Your only options were burning to death or jumping ship, then either drowning or being shark bait.

“Aye, I'm sure,” he said testily. “Besides, it looked like the fire started with the drapes at the window behind the desk chair, and there ain't even a table there, let alone a candle that might have sparked it.”

“It's a curse, that's what started it,” Skully muttered. “Someone's put a curse of bad luck on us for sure,
'cause that's all we've had since we came to London.”

“There's no curse,” Valoree said impatiently as the men began to shift. There could never be a more superstitious lot of men than pirates. And the last thing she needed right now was for the men to start harping on bad luck, curses, and such. “As far as bad luck goes, aye, we've had some, but we've had good luck, too. We haven't lost a single man in five years of pirating. What other crew can claim that?” she snapped, then sighed and went on. “As for these ‘accidents?' calling them a curse is foolishness.”