Shana Galen (21 page)

“Freddie!” Charlotte gasped.

“Ah, I see you remember my name after all, madam. Please don’t tell me you were going to leave without saying good-bye.” His tone was light and mocking, but he kept his gaze hard and steady on Pettigru. When the spy shifted slightly,
Freddie stepped forward. “Go ahead. Reach for your gun, Pettigru. I want to shoot you.”

Pettigru sneered. “Pampered English aristocrat. Is your aim as weak as your ale?”

“Cade, no,” Charlotte said, and the concern in her voice cut Freddie more than the sharpest rapier to his heart. “Freddie, please. Don’t hurt him,” she begged.

He gave her a hard look. “Was it all a lie, Charlotte? Was it just a fabrication in the name of money and patriotism, or was there some truth in what we shared?”

Charlotte gaped at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but he couldn’t give her the chance. His reflexes took over and he fired, the bullet deadly and accurate, hitting Cade Pettigru in the heart.

C
harlotte couldn’t believe what she’d seen. One moment Cade had been standing beside her. Freddie and she had been talking. And the next moment, there was a loud bang and blood was soaking the carpet beneath Cade’s chest as he lay on the floor and labored to suck in air. Charlotte knelt beside him, cradling the head of the man who truly represented the last of her family. His breath rattled in his chest once more, and then he was silent.

She was alone.

“Miss Charlotte,” Addy said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You come away from there. There ain’t nothing else you can do.”

She knew Addy was right, and yet a fury she had stored over the years, an impotent, festering
thing, boiled up inside her. “
You
,” she spat at Freddie, rising to her feet and pointing a bloodstained hand at him. “You killed him.”

Freddie looked nonplussed. “It was him or me,” he said, indicating Cade’s limp fingers, which were clutching the butt of a pistol she hadn’t noticed. “And while I’m certain the outcome was not to your liking,” Freddie went on, “I really had little choice.” He reached down, flicked open Cade’s tailcoat, and removed an envelope stained with blood. “The codes,” he said, holding it up. “Your friend would have sold them to the French, and ensured the deaths of thousands of my countrymen. I daresay, in my position, madam, you would have done the same.”

“No,” Charlotte said, though she knew he was right. “No, I wouldn’t have killed Cade. I could never—”

“Then you would have preferred I die?” Freddie said, his voice raw with anger. He crossed to her and grabbed her sleeve. Behind Charlotte, Addy made a low moan. “Have I killed your lover, Charlotte? Have I been an even bigger fool than I thought for believing even for one instant that you could have ever loved me?”

She stared at him. Had he known how she felt? Had he known all along?

“I—I did—I
do
love you,” she said, her lips numb and clumsy. She paused, waiting, hoping, pleading for him to tell her he loved her, too. If he
loved her, she’d do anything for him. She waited, and the silence dragged on. She would not beg him to love her back.

Finally he gave her a rueful smile. “Do you, Charlotte? Do you love me? Or was it all a ploy to save Pettigru? Or perhaps it’s my money you love.”

“Stop it,” she said, tears blurring her vision. “You’re angry right now. You’re not seeing clearly.”

“I see quite clearly.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew several notes. “Here’s a hundred pounds. Tomorrow I’ll go to my solicitor and arrange for the remainder of the thousand pounds I promised you. Maybe the blunt will fill the hole in your cold heart.” He stepped past her and opened the bedroom door. Charlotte could see several of the servants were standing outside, undoubtedly alerted by the sound of the gunshot. “Go call for a Bow Street Runner,” Freddie said to one of the footmen. “Tell him I’ve shot an intruder.”

Charlotte dropped the money on the floor and wanted to follow it down. She wanted to sink to the floor, curl up, and die with Cade, but Addy came up behind her and whispered, “Stand strong, sugar.”

Charlotte listened. She would be strong, and she would not stand for Dewhurst’s accusations.

Later Charlotte would marvel at how easily
they had slipped away. Not that Addy had made things easy with all her arguing and protesting, but with the house drowning in investigators, surgeons, and Freddie’s colleagues from the Foreign Office, no one had even noticed when she dragged Addy to the front door, calmly opened it, and walked out.

No one had told them to stop or ordered them to turn around when they flagged down the hackney and directed the jarvey to the docks. No one had blinked when Charlotte bought the tickets for passage back to Charleston via a change of vessels in the Caribbean islands, and no one blocked her way when she boarded the ship. A few hours later, they were under way, and as the gray light of dawn peeked over the water, Charlotte said good-bye to England and Freddie Dewhurst.

It was the hardest farewell yet. Her mother, her father, her brother—those partings had battered her heart, but leaving Freddie was tearing it in two. But could she really have stayed? Could she have lived with a man—lived with herself—if she’d stayed and he didn’t love her? She waited and prayed, but Dewhurst hadn’t confessed his love to her. The simple fact was, he didn’t love her. He wanted her. He desired her, but he didn’t love her.

She leaned against the ship’s rail and stared at the miles of sea between her and home. Yes, Freddie had killed Cade. He’d also defended her
country to a group of his acquaintances and paid the price. But that wasn’t love. That wasn’t sacrifice. How could she give up her home, the life she’d fought so hard to rebuild, for a man who didn’t love her enough to make the same sacrifice he expected of her? She closed her eyes until she heard Addy come up beside her.

“Now, Miss Charlotte, it’s getting cold. You come down below and have some hot tea.”

Charlotte glanced down at the black mourning dress she’d donned before leaving London. She hadn’t thought to bring a wrap, and she was cold and her skin was stinging from the harsh wind, but she was not ready to go down. She needed the numbness the cold brought. “No, thank you. I need the air right now.”

Addy frowned but didn’t argue. She turned to go, but Charlotte caught her arm.

“Addy, do you think I made the right decision? Do you think it’s right for me to go home? With—without him?”

Addy gave her a sad smile. “Sugar, I known you from the first second you was born, and this is the first time I ever heard you ask such a question. You ain’t one to question. Right or wrong, you always know your own mind, and I’m not goin’ presume to tell it to you now.”

“That doesn’t help me, Addy.”

Addy smiled. “You too old for my help now, sugar. You don’t need me anymore.”

“Yes, I do,” Charlotte protested. “You’re not going to abandon me when we get back to Charleston, are you? I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Suddenly there was a commotion and several sailors rushed aft. Charlotte and Addy were midship, starboard side, and with a curious exchange of glances, they made their way aft with the rest of the passengers.

Several sailors were passing a spyglass among them and gesturing to something in the distance. “What is it?” Charlotte asked.

“Another ship, ma’am,” one of the sailors answered.

Charlotte tensed. Though she’d booked passage on a merchant ship headed for the Caribbean, there was a war on. If the French or the Americans ran across the British ship and captured her, they could all be taken prisoner.

“Who is it?” Charlotte asked.

“Not sure,” the sailor, a young freckle-faced boy, answered. “She’s hoisting her flag right now.”

The ship was too far away for Charlotte to make out anyone on board, but when she squinted, she could just make out the flag unfurling in the wind. The ship was British. Charlotte sighed along with the rest of the passengers. There would be a hundred near misses like this in the days to come, and Charlotte hoped her nerves could withstand the tension.

The freckle-faced sailor was smiling and relaxed now. “One of ours, probably hoping to sail with us for a bit. It’s a small ship, not made for the open sea like this. Would you like to take a look, ma’am?” He offered the spyglass to Charlotte.

“Thank you,” she said, exchanging an excited look with Addy. Charlotte raised the glass and peered out over the ocean. At first there was only a blur of flat blue water, then sky, but gradually as she gained control of the glass, she focused on the ship. It was indeed a small yacht, one she would not expect to see this far from land. It looked familiar for some reason, but she could not place it. In any case, it was moving at a fast clip and would soon overtake them. She studied its sleek lines, noting very few sailors on deck. She scanned past one, then trained her glass back. The poor man looked to be violently seasick. His head was hanging over the side of the ship, his blond hair dangling in his eyes, and the ends of his cravat dancing in the wind.

Charlotte let out a shriek and stared harder. No wonder she recognized the ship. She’d sailed the Thames on it. With Freddie—the man hanging his head overboard.

Beside her there was another commotion, and she turned again to the freckled sailor. He indicated the flag the yacht had just raised. “They’ve just signaled to us that they want to pull alongside, and the captain’s allowing it.” The boy shook
his head. “I don’t know who’s on that vessel, but he’s mighty important. Our captain doesn’t pause for no man.”

But the whole world seemed to stop when Freddie Dewhurst said the word. George knew, he’d turned her entire existence upside down. But could it really be he? And if it was, what did he want? Did he intend to drag her back to England? Try her for treason? She shivered, thinking of the cold look in his eyes when she’d pleaded for Cade’s life.

She could not bear to see him look at her so coldly again. She’d rather be drawn and quartered. It wouldn’t hurt half as much as the loss of Freddie’s love.

Freddie had been furious when he’d discovered she was gone. Dash it if the woman wasn’t slippery as an eel. He turned his back for one moment!

And perhaps he was well rid of her. A woman who left after all they’d shared, after he’d opened his heart to her—well, perhaps he hadn’t exactly opened his heart. He’d wanted to, but in that moment, while she knelt beside Pettigru and begged Freddie with her eyes to love her back, he could not say the words.

He could not give up those last vestiges of control to her. And so he’d lost her—and when he’d realized it, that was even more terrifying than baring his heart to her. It was even worse than board
ing a ship for a dashed sea voyage. If he survived, he would never let her go.

Stomach roiling at the very thought of what was to come, Freddie had called for his coach.

Now Freddie felt his stomach lurch again, and he made a valiant effort to keep the contentious organ inside his body. He was so green with sickness, he was even seeing green. Then he noticed that the green haziness before him was wearing boots. With effort, he looked from Sebastian’s green pantaloons, past his cousin’s orange waistcoat, to his smug face. “‘My love is like a fever, longing for that which longer nurseth the disease.’ Still feeling diseased, coz, or want something to eat? We’ve got greasy sausage or eel—”

Freddie practically flung himself back over the ship’s rail. When he’d heaved up his liver, he growled at Sebastian, “What do you want?”

“We’re ready to board the ship. If you have the strength to walk, that is. If not, perhaps we could play pirate and kidnap Charlotte?”

“No,” Freddie moaned. “I have my legs under me now.”

Those legs were wobbly and uncoordinated as a new colt’s, but with sheer determination of will, he crossed to the ship carrying his wife. That dashed ship was larger and not rocking as much as Sebastian’s yacht, so Freddie was able to survey the crowd gathered on deck. There were a few warmly dressed passengers and a gaggle of uni
formed sailors. Everyone stared at him in wonder.

But Freddie only cared for one person. He scanned the faces turned toward him, the lines of rigging, the polished deck. There, rising above the uniformed sailors and the pale travelers, was Addy, and then his heart tumbled into his stomach.
She
was there, standing a bit behind Addy, hidden by one of the masts. But her hair gave her away. The copper locks were caught by the wind and streaming out behind her.

Freddie took a step forward, and the people standing on the deck moved aside so that his path to Charlotte was clear. Seeming to sense that she’d been discovered, Charlotte took a small step forward as well.

She wasn’t hiding from him, and for that he was truly grateful. He didn’t know if he could have survived a long search for her.

“What can we help you with, my lord?” the captain asked. Freddie tried to hone in on the man’s voice, but he was unable to focus.

“I need passage on your ship,” Freddie answered, swallowing another bout of nausea. “I’ll pay my way.”

“You’ll be dead in two days. You’ve got the worst spell of seasickness I’ve ever seen.”

“No matter,” Freddie forced out. “I’m going to the col—America.”

He’d kept his gaze on Charlotte, hoping the sight of her would settle his stomach, and he was
ready for battle when she pushed through the crowds to stand before him.

“What are you doing?” she said, managing to sound both concerned and exasperated.

“Going with you.”

Her jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.”

Freddie looked about him. “Are you certain?”

“But—but why?” she stammered. “You won’t like it in Charleston.”

“I am not convinced. I know a lady who waxes poetic when she speaks of the place.”

Charlotte shook her head in frustration. “But just because I like it doesn’t mean you will. The fashions are always behind, and my set doesn’t care half as much for all your silly social etiquette, and—and you just won’t like it.”

Freddie raised an eyebrow—or at least made a valiant effort to make any expression other than a grimace. “Will you be in Charleston?” He took a step forward—close enough to smell the scent of honeysuckle that always seemed to cling to her—and just for a moment, the dizziness and nausea subsided.

“Yes, I’ll be there, but what has that to do with it?”

“I am willing to brave even the wilds of the colonies to be with you, Charlotte. If you’re there, I’ll love it.”

Charlotte blinked, stared at him, and for the
first—and he suspected only—time, he had a moment’s enjoyment on the seas.

She swallowed. “But you don’t love me.”

“You seem to know quite a bit about my feelings,” he said, taking another step toward her, and catching her arm when she tried to scoot away. He drew her closer and spoke quietly. “But you don’t know everything. Marry me, Charlotte. I want you to be my wife.”

“But—but you don’t mean it,” she whispered. “You’re only saying this because you feel obligated.”

“Obligated?”

“Yes, because we—” She gestured feebly.