Run Wild (43 page)

She smiled at him, then ducked her head before he could see the tears glistening in her eyes. He cared about her. Even if he couldn’t say the words, he cared. “Nicholas, please don’t leave me again.”

“You deserve better, angel,” he said roughly. “Better than an impoverished ex-pirate and a small house on a swampy island, where it’ll be a daily damn struggle to earn some kind of living from the land. You deserve your dream. Jewels and velvets and Venice.” He stroked her cheek. “But I’ve taken that from you, too. Along with your innocence. And I can’t even bring myself to say I’m sorry. Because I’m not. Selfish bastard that I am, I want you with me.”

She closed her eyes, sliding her arm around him to hold him tight. If she had to spend the rest of her life trying, she would help him see that he was worthy of the gift of her love. She didn’t care how long it might take. “Then come with me. Don’t send me away with Masud,” she pleaded. “Nicholas, you and I have both spent too many years alone, thinking we had to live that way to survive. Trying so hard to be strong. But strong only takes you so far.” She held him fiercely. “Love has to take you the rest of the way. I can face anything as long as I’m with you.”

It was true. And she would stay with him for all the days of her life, whether or not he ever said the words she longed to hear.

“I love you, Samantha.”

She gasped, lifting her head, gazing down at him in wonder. It was as if he’d read her mind. The words flowed through her like sun and water, warm, precious, life-giving.

He raked his fingers through her hair, drew her mouth to his, kissed her long and hard.

“Then come with me,” she said when they came up for a breath. “Leave England with me—spare Foster’s life.”
And save your own
, she thought. “You’ve proven that you can care and give... and love. You can spare his life. Let him go.”

“But there’s no way of knowing when or where Foster might show up again,” he countered. “I want to get you
out
of danger, not take you into danger with me.”

“I’m not leaving without you.”

“Stubborn lady. You’d think we were shackled together or something.”

“We might as well be,” she said firmly. “Because you’re not getting rid of me. And no blacksmith in the world is going to break that vow.”

He smiled at her. But still, he hesitated. “It would mean spending our life running.”

“I’ve always wanted to travel.”

“I’m serious, Samantha. If I let Foster go, I won’t be able to go back to South Carolina.”

“I hear Venice is nice.”

His smile broadened and he chuckled. “
Una villa sul mare Adriatico?
”

“Yes, a villa on the Adriatic.” She nodded. “Where
did
you learn Italian?”

“Home, when I was small. My father was Irish, but my
mamma
was Italian.” He stroked his thumb over Samantha’s cheek. “All right,
mio angelo.
My angel. Let’s go to Venice and find your dreams in the sun.”

~ ~ ~

London was a shadow on the horizon, a jagged silhouette in the light of dawn, and Sam had already discovered just how little she knew about ships.

She did her best to stay out of the way as Nicholas and Masud worked the rigging and the wheel, trimming the sails, speaking to one another in what sounded to her like a foreign language—made up of words like “leeward” and “spritsail yard” and “thirty degrees on the port quarter.”

The ship was barely larger than a fishing schooner. In fact, it might
be
an old fishing schooner, she thought, gazing down into the glassy waters of the Atlantic slipping by. She liked the wind in her hair, and the smells of wood and canvas, the sea-spray in her face.

Clarice had been happy to bid them farewell—and not merely because Nicholas had said she could send word to her rich banker that the coast was clear and all pirates had abandoned ship. She had hugged Samantha, whispering in her ear, “You’ve got a chance, the two of you. The kind of chance most people don’t get in this or any other lifetime.”

Remembering, Samantha grinned, her suspicion confirmed that beneath her worldly-wise, sophisticated exterior, Clarice was a genuine romantic.

Standing up, Sam grabbed a pole-like piece of wood overhead to steady herself—only to have the opposite end connect with something solid.

“Ow!” Masud rubbed his head, looking at her with a mournful expression.

“That’s called a ‘boom,’ Samantha.” Nicholas laughed, standing a few feet away, securing the anchor. “For obvious reasons.”

“I bruise easily, miss,” Masud protested. “And I try to keep from bleeding more than once a week.”

“Sorry, Masud,” she said meekly. She glanced at his bandaged arm. “And I really am sorry about that, too.”

“All right, all right,” he said gruffly. “I’ll agree to a truce if you promise to stop apologizing.”

“Done.” She smiled.

Nicholas came up beside her and kissed her cheek. “Why don’t you go below and wait for me in my—in our—cabin.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” She gave him a salute and followed orders, though if there were only going to be the three of them manning the ship all the way to Venice, she would have to learn a little seamanship sooner or later.

She clambered down the ladder that led into the dark belly of the ship, heading toward the back.
Aft
, she reminded herself, her mind and heart filled with thoughts of Nicholas and Venice and sunsets over the Adriatic. She opened the door to their cabin.

And didn’t notice she wasn’t alone until the door slammed shut behind her.

She whirled to find a tall, slender figure stepping forward from the shadows.

A dark-haired young man with only one arm.

“We meet again, Miss Delafield,” he said coolly, the gun in his hand glinting in the pale morning light. “Did you think you had seen the last of me?”

S
am felt cold terror pour through her. “Foster!”

He smiled. “I was waiting for Brogan to come below—but this is much better. You’ll make an excellent shield.”

Her eyes on the gun in his hand, Sam backed away, toward the porthole. If she could just call for help...

“Please stop right there, Miss Delafield. And don’t scream. Even if you’re bleeding from a bullet wound, you’ll still be useful to me.” He motioned her toward the door. “After you.”

She froze. “How did you—”

“I told you once before, I know a great deal about Brogan. Including who some of his old friends are. It wasn’t difficult to locate that doxy’s house.”

“Clarice,” Sam gasped.

“Have no fear, Miss Delafield. She’s alive and well and she’ll stay that way. Though she should choose her friends more carefully. I’ve been watching the house for several days. I followed the African when he went to the docks one morning, thinking he might lead me to Brogan. Instead he was checking on this ship. Apparently it was in need of repair, which proved fortunate for me. It was fairly easy to sneak aboard with one of the repair crews and stow away. I knew Brogan would show up eventually.”

“I thought it was money you wanted. Not murder.” Moving only her eyes, Sam glanced around quickly, desperately looking for some weapon she might use.

“The bounty is good for Captain Nicholas Brogan dead or alive—and after all he’s put me through, I’ve decided that dead will be safer. I’m going to do what I should have done in the first place.” He smiled. “Rather appropriate, isn’t it? A nice funeral at sea for England’s most infamous pirate. I think I’ll let the African live, so he can testify as to his captain’s identity.”

“You told me once that you don’t kill without reason!”

“I’ve got ample reason,” he snarled. “And you’ve got your own life to worry about, Miss Delafield. Cooperate with me or you might not live long enough to be thrown in gaol.”

“You can’t kill us. You’ll never make it back to port.”

“Don’t judge me by appearances.” He nodded toward his empty right sleeve. “I spent half my life at sea. I’ve enough experience to manage a ship this size quite well.” He motioned her toward the door with a flick of the gun. “Now move.”

“You can’t do this,” she pleaded. “Nicholas isn’t what you think. He never was. You don’t know—”

“I know all I need to know.”

“But he’s no threat to you. He’s leaving England because he was willing to spare your life! And the reason he didn’t pay your blackmail demand is because he doesn’t
have
any money to pay you. He’s not rich. He has nothing. Nothing but this ship and... and me.”

“How sweet. And how creative. Save your lies—”

“But he’s not a ruthless killer! He was only a boy—”

He cut her off with a vicious curse. “Shut up.” He pushed her toward the door. “Let’s go above and find him. And keep your hands where I can see them.”

~ ~ ~

“Samantha?” Nicholas called curiously, glancing up from his work as a familiar blonde head appeared in the companionway that led up from below. He smiled. “What are you doing? Have you come back to—”

“Nicholas, it’s a trap!” she cried, scrambling up the last two steps in a rush.

Someone caught her from behind and shoved her aside with a violent push. She struck her head against a boom and crumpled to the deck.

Nicholas lunged toward her.

And froze when he saw the gun pointed at him.

“Hold it right there, Captain.” The intruder swung the pistol to encompass Masud. “And you, as well. Nobody move.”

“Who the hell are you?” Nicholas snarled, his eyes still on Samantha. She moaned and sat up, apparently unhurt.
Thank God
.

“I’m wounded that you don’t remember me. I certainly know you. I’ve been hunting you down for years. Step by step. Piecing your life together.”

Nicholas finally turned his full attention on the intruder—a slender young man with dark hair.

And only one arm.

“Foster,” he spat.

“Indeed. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Again.”

Seething with rage, Nicholas grabbed the first weapon at hand—a knife he used for cutting rope.

“Stay where you are,” Foster warned. “I’ve got enough bullets for you and your first mate and your little blonde mistress here.” He pointed the pistol at Samantha, who sat very still. “You’re not going to leave this ship alive, Brogan... but I could let them live. I haven’t decided yet.”

Nicholas leashed his anger. He slid a glance at Masud. Together, they could take him, but neither of them would risk Samantha’s life.

He returned his gaze to Foster. The gunman facing him was barely more than a lad. He could hardly believe that the blackmailer who had made his life a living hell was no more than eighteen or twenty. “If it’s money you want—”

“Oh, I’ll get money and plenty of it. Ten thousand pounds. And probably a commendation from the admiralty for bringing you in.”

“How did you find out I was still alive?”

“I didn’t have to
find out
,” Foster retorted hotly. “I was there! I was on the ship that went down. I saw you escape, saw your African friend here helping you to safety. And I swore right then that if I survived, I would devote the rest of my life to bringing you to justice. I vowed I would make you pay if it was the last thing I did.”

Nicholas frantically searched his memories of that night. “I don’t know you.”

“Of course not. Why should you? I was only twelve. I was a cabin boy on the navy ship you attacked that night. I worked for Captain Eldridge.”

Nicholas stared at him in stunned silence. The deck suddenly seemed to shift beneath his feet. The horizon tilted dizzily. The wind felt unnaturally cold against his face.

Sweet Jesus, it all made horrible sense. That was why it had taken six years for the blackmailer to make his demands...

He had been growing up.

But even in shock, Nicholas felt another, unexpected emotion: relief. The innocent life he
thought
he had taken had in truth been spared.

But the final irony was that in order to save himself, he had to kill Foster now.

And he wouldn’t do it.

He threw his knife aside. “Go ahead and shoot.”

“No!” Samantha cried, scrambling to her feet.

“Stay back,” Nicholas ordered her.

Foster looked from one of them to the other, his gun swiveling left and right, his expression confused.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Nicholas said forcefully. “I won’t do it.”

“How noble.” Foster raised his gun, aiming right between Nicholas’s eyes.

“No, please!” Samantha threw herself between them, sobbing. “Don’t do this. Don’t you see? You’re
him
twenty years ago.”

“
Samantha
—”

“Get out of the way, Miss Delafield.”

“No. You can’t do this! He was just a cabin boy, too. He was as innocent as you were. He spent years seeking vengeance, just like you. You’re the same!”

The lad’s eyes burned. His jaw clenched.

“When does it stop?” Samantha’s voice softened to a whisper. “When does all the killing stop?”

A second passed. Another.

“Foster, I’m sorry,” Nicholas said with genuine feeling. “I can’t make you believe that, but it’s the truth. I can’t make up for all the losses and pain I caused, but I can give you what you want—”