The Devil's Necklace (7 page)

“Let go of me.”

“Sorry, miss. Can’t do that—not till I get some answers. It wouldn’t be the right thing, you see.” He reached for the necklace, rolled the pearls between his fingers, his eyes glittering like the diamonds in between. “Tell the truth, now. Were you headin’ for shore?”

Her chin angled up. “So what if I was?”

“I might be willin’ to let you try…if you were willin’ to do a bit of tradin’.”

“What…what sort of trading?”

“The pearls, miss. You give me the pearls and I’ll let you leave. Your freedom for the necklace. Or I can turn you over to the capt’n. I’m sure he’ll know how to deal with you.”

A little shiver went through her. If Ethan found out she had tried to escape he might lock her back up in his cabin. He might sail directly back to London and hand her over to the authorities. If he did, she would be thrown into prison, perhaps even hang.

She couldn’t take the risk.

And looking at Willard Cox, seeing the determined glint in his eyes when he looked at the necklace, she didn’t really think she had any choice.

Reaching behind her neck, she tried to unfasten the clasp but the catch wouldn’t open.

“Here. Let me do it for you.” Stepping behind her, Cox unfastened the clasp, dropping the pearls into his callused palm. “You can go now.” His dark eyes brimmed with triumph, and she realized he meant for Ethan to think she had left with the necklace.

“Capt’n’ll be back any minute.” He glanced around to be sure no one saw them as he urged her toward the
rail. “Hurry up and get in or I’ll toss you in myself.” He threw her makeshift bundle over the rail into the water, a dark look on his face. For the first time, Grace realized Willard Cox didn’t believe she would reach the shore alive.

A shudder went through her. As she slipped over the side of the ship and into the frigid sea, she thought that the coast looked farther away than it had before. Perhaps Cox was right and she would drown before she got there.

Grace didn’t think so.

With long, even strokes, she set off for shore, towing her bundle behind her.

B
ucky Green and Shorty Fitzhugh, two
Sea Devil
sailors, pulled on the oars of the dinghy. Ethan sat in the stern, Angus on the gunwale in front of him. His first mate was trying out his shiny new brass spyglass, a recent purchase in the village.

“She’s a fine piece,” Angus said, fanning the glass along the shore, then out toward the ship bobbing at anchor. “Ol’ man Biggs is a real craftsman,” he said with a thick Scottish burr.

Ethan took the piece from his hand and examined the workmanship. He held the lens to his eye, then handed it back to Angus. “You did well. It’s a fine piece, indeed.”

Angus began to scan the coastline again, fanned it back out, and Ethan caught the hint of a frown.

“What is it?”

“I canna quite make it out. Some kind o’ white thing, movin’ through the water toward shore. It’s swimmin’ mostly on the surface. Doesna’ look much like a fish.”

“Here, let me take a look.” Ethan took the glass and focused it on the water, moving the lens back and forth until he hit the white object slicing through the sea toward
land. “It’s someone swimming. And he’s towing something be hind him.”

He handed the glass back to Angus. “Aye, so ’tis. Wonder where the man came from.” They both looked toward the ship at the same time. “The
Sea Devil?
Who would want ta…?” Angus looked at Ethan, whose jaw went hard.

“Turn the boat around. We’ll cut her off. Start rowing in a line about forty degrees starboard.”

“What is it, Capt’n?” asked Shorty Fitzhugh as he expertly used his oar to turn the dinghy in the right direction.

“I think our prisoner is trying to escape.”

Angus scratched his bushy gray head. “How can that be? The lass canna swim.”

Ethan eyed the swimmer slicing through the water. “Perhaps she can. Perhaps if she were wearing something other than a heavy dress, she could swim like a damnable fish.”

They started rowing, both Angus and Ethan setting oars in the water to give the boat extra speed. It took a while to catch up with her. When they did, she let go of her bundle and dived beneath the surface.

“Are ye goin’ in after her?”

Ethan smiled coldly. “As I recall, I’ve already done that. This time, we’ll just wait her out.”

She came up some distance away, saw them and ducked under again. Shorty fished out her bundle and threw it in the bottom of the boat. Ethan recognized his oilskin slicker and cursed.

They rowed in the direction she swam, waited for her to surface again. When she spotted them, sitting casually in the boat waiting for her, her head fell back in the water.

“Are you finished with your little swim?” Ethan called.

He saw her lips move, saying something he was glad he couldn’t hear. Grace glanced round in search of her bundle.

“It’s already in the boat.”

She gave up a resigned sigh and swam over to where they waited. “I suppose if I keep swimming, you’ll just keep following me.”

“I assure you, Miss Chastain, you will get tired a lot faster than we will.”

He reached down and took a firm grip on her hand. Hauling her over the side of the boat, he shed his woolen coat and settled it around her shoulders.

“Time to go home, lads,” he said to the men, tossing her a reproving look. As they started rowing toward the
Sea Devil,
he sat down on the gunwale beside her.

“I had to try,” she said softly. “I don’t want to go to prison.”

Something tugged at him. He knew what it was like in prison, knew the violation, the utter humiliation she would suffer. He couldn’t imagine sending Grace to a place like that.

“We’ll talk about it later, once you’re warm and dry.” He cocked an eyebrow in her direction. “You’re beginning to make a habit of trying to drown yourself, Grace. I hope from now on you will try to restrain yourself.”

She leaned down and picked up her bundle, set it carefully in her lap. “I wasn’t trying to drown myself and I would have made it if you hadn’t seen me.”

“You may blame that bit of good fortune on Angus’s new spyglass. It performs extremely well.”

Grace said nothing. He could see the despair that settled on her shoulders. Part of him wished he could say
something that would make her feel better, but it was too soon to make promises.

They reached the ship and climbed the rope ladder to the deck, Grace dripping water all over the holystoned wood. Long-boned Ned was there to greet them. Freddie stood nervously a few feet away.

“She all right?” Ned said with obvious concern.

“None the worse for wear.”

“We’ve another sort o’ problem, sir.”

“What is it, Ned?”

“’Tis Mr. Cox, sir. We caught ’im trying to lower the extra dinghy. When one o’ the men asked ’im what ’e was about, ’e swung a punch that nearly kilt the poor bloke, sir. Took three of us to bring ’im down. When we did, we found these.” Ned held up the pearls.

Ethan took them from Ned’s bony fingers and turned to Grace. “Cox didn’t know where I was keeping them. How did he get them?”

Her chin inched up. “I gave them to him. We made a trade. He got the pearls. I got to leave. And don’t you dare accuse me of stealing. The necklace is mine, if you recall. I merely removed it from your keeping.”

Noting the set of her shoulders and the tilt of her chin, under different circumstances he might have smiled. Instead, he turned to Ned. “Where is he?”

“Tied to the bunk in ’is quarters, sir. Took all of us to get ’im there.”

“Bring him up on deck. Mr. McShane will accompany you.”

Angus appeared from below and walked over to where they stood. “Aye, that I will.” The Scotsman pulled out the pistol he had stuffed into the top of his breeches. “We’ll see if he wants to fight wi’ this.” He thrust the
pistol out in front of him, brandished it a bit, and along with Ned and two other crewmen, set off to fetch Willard Cox.

Ethan turned to Grace, who stood there clutching her bundle. “Let us hope those clothes are dry enough to wear. I suggest you go down and change.”

Her fingers tightened on the oilskin. “I wish I could tell you that I am sorry. But I believe, were circumstances the same, you would have acted no differently.”

He looked at her, wrapped in his coat, her auburn hair wet and plastered against her neck, dripping water all over the deck, and felt a tug of admiration for her courage. “Perhaps not.”

Head held high, she turned to leave.

“I compliment you on your swimming, Grace, a bit of a surprise, though it was. Still, the water is extremely cold and the shore some distance away. Even Cox hadn’t the courage to try it.”

For an instant, she remained where she stood, then she started walking. He watched her till she disappeared down the ladder. She’d been nothing but trouble since the moment he had brought her aboard.

He wished he knew what he was going to do with her.

Grace stripped away her sodden clothes. Disappointed and disheartened, she dried herself with a linen towel and went to unwrap her bundle. Her skirt and blouse, she discovered, were wet in several places so she changed into the aqua silk gown, which remained mostly dry. She unbraided her hair, brushed out the tangles, and dried it as best she could in front of the tiny fire in the hearth.

When Freddie’s light, familiar knock sounded at the door, she walked over and pulled it open.

“Afternoon, miss.” Schooner swept in between Freddie’s legs, raced over and jumped up on the bed. At home now in the cabin, the cat began to bathe itself, its long, rough tongue sliding over its thick yellow fur.

“Capt’n sent me down to see if ye need anything. ’Fraid we ain’t had rain enough for a bath.”

She managed to muster a smile. “In that case, I’m fine, Freddie. Where is the captain now?”

“On deck with Mr. Cox.”

A chill went through her. “What is the captain going to do with him?”

“Why, he’ll be flogged, miss. Good and proper. Capt’n’s ordered fifty lashes.”

Grace’s stomach knotted. Flogging a man was barbaric, something out of the Middle Ages. But then Ethan Sharpe was a barbarian, wasn’t he? He had the necklace back. He had his
prisoner
back. She had believed he would put Mr. Cox ashore for the constables to deal with.

Marching past Freddie, she stormed out of the cabin. As she climbed the ladder, she spotted Ethan on the quarter deck near the big teakwood wheel. The entire crew had assembled, standing with their hats in their hands, in a semicircle around the mast.

Her heart began to clamor. As she climbed the ladder to the quarterdeck, her gaze lit on Willard Cox, strapped to the foremast, stripped to the waist, the side of his head resting against the mast. The scar on his cheek stood out in stark relief as he waited for Angus McShane to wield the cat-o’-nine-tails he gripped in a big, gnarled hand.

Grace took a breath and strode toward the captain. The minute he saw her, his jaw went rock hard. “Get back down to the cabin.”

“I need to speak to you.” She walked directly up to him.

“Not now.”

She flicked a glance at Cox. “What is his crime? I told you he didn’t steal the necklace.”

“Mr. Cox was derelict in his duties.”

“Surely he doesn’t deserve a barbaric punishment like…like that.” She thrust her finger toward the evil-looking whip.

Ethan gripped her arm and hauled her over to the rail, out of the hearing of the rest of the crew. “This is none of your affair, Grace. The man committed a crime. As the captain of this ship, I have ordered him punished.”

“You’ve ordered him flogged.”

“That’s right. Fifty lashes.”

“Dear God.” Her stomach felt leaden. She could almost see the skin being ripped off Willard Cox’s back. She gathered the last of her courage. “I beg you, Captain Sharpe, send the man ashore. Let the authorities deal with him.”

“Has it occurred to you Cox never expected you to make it to shore? You could have drowned, Grace!”

“Is this about him, Captain—or me?”

A muscle jerked in Ethan’s jaw. He took a breath, fighting to control his temper. “I don’t like this any more than you do. I know what it feels like to have the flesh stripped off your back. But there are rules aboard a ship. If this man doesn’t receive the punishment he deserves, the other
men will begin to disobey, as well. That is simply the way it is.”

“But—”

“Mr. Fitzhugh!”

One of the crewmen who had been in the dinghy stepped forward. “Aye, Capt’n?”

“Take the lady back down to my cabin. See that she stays there until this business is finished.”

“Aye, sir.” Fitzhugh turned a pleading look in her direction. It was obvious he didn’t want to use force but would if needed.

Grace lifted the skirt of the aqua silk gown up out of the way and started for the ladder, Mr. Fitzhugh at her heels. Once they reached the corridor, he opened the door for her to go in, then closed it firmly behind her. She thought that he was probably standing guard outside in the passage.

Grace sank down on the bed. It was quiet aboard the ship, as quiet as she had ever heard it. Only the faint sound of the wind in the rigging and the creak of the timbers in the hull. Then the crack of the lash began. She could hear every stroke clearly. Silently she began to count. She didn’t want to imagine what the man’s back must look like, but the image appeared, thin red lines where the leather strips bit into flesh. Broader lines as the lash continued its work, the blood beginning to ooze from under his sun-darkened skin.

That he deserved it did not matter, only that another human suffered an agony that wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for her.

Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.
Tears burned her eyes, began to slowly trickle down her cheeks.
Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-five.

She held her breath, waiting for the next blow to fall,
but no sound came. Instead, she heard the shuffle of feet as the crew disassembled and began to move around the deck. A faint knock sounded, then the door swung open and Ethan walked in.

She turned away from him, quickly brushed the tears from her cheeks. She heard his boots on the floor as he walked up behind her, felt his hands gently resting on her shoulders, turning her to face him.

“I’m sorry this happened. I dearly wish it hadn’t.”

“I counted. There were only twenty-five.”

“I told Cox you interceded on his behalf, though he didn’t seem all that grateful. I cut the sentence in half and had him put ashore. I don’t think there is a man in the crew who didn’t just fall a little in love with you. Except perhaps Mr. Cox.”

She looked into his face, saw that he had been as affected as she, that he hadn’t wanted to carry out the sentence any more than she had wanted him to.

“Ethan…” She went into his arms and they tightened around her.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” he said against her cheek. “I don’t think I ever will again.”

She started to cry then, not certain why, only that she felt safe in his arms, able to set aside, at least for these few moments, the burden she had been carrying—worry for her father, fear that she would be imprisoned, guilt that she might have made the wrong decision in arranging the viscount’s escape.

“It’s all right,” he said softly, tucking a strand of hair be hind her ear. “You don’t need to cry. Everything’s going to be all right.”

They stood that way for what seemed hours, Grace holding on to him, her head nestled against his shoulder, Ethan’s arms wrapped protectively around her.

She wasn’t exactly sure how it happened, how she looked up at him and her eyes slowly closed and then he was kissing her. He smelled of the sea and tasted faintly of ale, and the hands that held her were gentle. His mouth moved over hers, softly at first, almost tenderly, then the kiss began to deepen, his tongue sliding in, pleasure rising, floating out through her limbs.

His hands found her breasts, cupped them over the fabric of her gown, moved back and forth over her nipples. They hardened beneath the silk, began to swell and ache, and she pressed them more fully into his palms. He kissed her again and she felt a tremor run through him. She was surprised and a little disappointed when Ethan stepped away.