The Notorious Lady Anne: A Loveswept Historical Romance (23 page)

Phin moved to make room for the chair Shamus dragged over without asking the inhabitants of the other table. They declined to argue with him.

A tankard appeared in front of him without his having to ask, and the barmaid scuttled away with a look of fear. Shamus had made a remarkable recovery, and he was now as loyal as a hound dog to Emmaline. Quiet and unassuming, he would do any task she asked. Nicholas suspected the man would willingly and without question lay down his life for her. In a way, the thought that Emmaline had such a man to rely on comforted him. She would need Shamus and Phin when he left.

Which would be soon.

Time passed. Tankards came full and left empty. People entered, drank and exited, replaced with others, equally disreputable, equally swarthy and equally dangerous. The feeble light that reached them from outside went from somewhat bright to dingy gray, heralding dusk. The hot air cooled to a gentler, but no less humid, temperature.

They were an unsightly lot, the three of them. Phin with his hair clubbed at his neck, and a dangerous glint to his eye. Shamus’s height and weight dangerous in its own right. And Nicholas, who hadn’t shaved in days, whose body was strung tight with the need for a good brawl. The creatures populating the Elegant Sword kept a wary eye on them and a fair distance from them.

Nicholas pushed his tankard away, and waved off the skittish barmaid when she approached with another. The ale he’d consumed was like a tidal pool of acid.

The door opened and a hush fell over the room. People moved to the darker corners, allowing Nicholas a view of the newest patron.

Beside Nicholas, Phin tensed.

“Peter Lansing,” Nicholas said quietly.

“The rat,” Phin muttered into his ale.

Lansing tucked a walking stick under his arm to pull his gloves off finger by finger while surveying the dingy establishment with a loud sniff. As if he were too good for such a place. Had Nicholas been like that? Had he once thought himself too good to sit with hardworking people?

Hardworking people? They’re rapscallions, cutthroats, murderers and thieves
.

A few patrons slipped behind Lansing and out the door, scurrying away.

“Tell me about him.” Nicholas kept his voice low, so as not to attract attention. Suddenly he wanted to know everything about this man who caused fear in Emmaline.

“Son of the governor of Barbados.” Phin’s body appeared at ease but Nicholas fairly felt the tension coming off him. Shamus, apparently sensing it as well, studied Lansing with narrowed eyes.

“I’ve heard of his father,” Nicholas said. “A decent sort.”

“The fruit fell far from that tree. The son is a snake.”

“I gathered as much.” No gentleman would accost a woman in the middle of the street the way Lansing had. That alone told Nicholas enough about him, yet he wanted to know more. What was the history between Emmaline and Peter Lansing?

“He first saw Anne a few years back, when she came into town to shop at the market. She caught his eye and he’s chased her skirts ever since,” Phin said.

The need to wipe the grimy floor of the Elegant Sword with Peter Lansing’s face rose in Nicholas.

Shamus muttered something about condemning Lansing and his family tree to perdition.

“He was quite insistent,” Phin said. “Arriving on her doorstep nearly every day, with flowers and sweets and declarations of undying love. It became dangerous. Our ships are well hidden, and the locals believe Anne travels to London frequently to visit family, which explains her absences, but we still have to be careful. The wrong word to the wrong person, and Anne’s house of cards collapses. We can’t chance it.”

Lansing made his way toward a vacant table and lowered himself into a seat. The barmaid, devoid of the skittishness she showed with the three of them, fluffed her hair and pinched her cheeks before approaching his table.

“He’s a threat,” Nicholas said.

“When we first came to this island, it wasn’t nearly as populated as it is now, and we
were fairly secluded. But things have changed. The town has grown. The area supplies quite a bit of sugarcane to England, although that is changing. The situation is not ideal. I’ve tried to convince her to move to a more secluded island, but Anne is hesitant to leave.”

“Why? Why risk everything to stay in enemy territory?” Enemy territory? Since when did he think of Englishmen as the enemy?
Lady Anne
was the enemy here.

“Because this is her home and was James’s home, as well.”

“James?” Nicholas’s fingers tightened on his mug.
Who the hell is James?

Phin eyed him speculatively. “She didn’t tell you how she became a pirate?”

“She told me about sailing to the colonies and confronting her father.”

“On her return trip to England, we were on the same ship,” Phin said. “I was a working as a swabby. It was the worst position possible, and the captain was cruel, the working conditions no better than slavery and the pay abominable. Right away, I noticed Emmaline was alone. She wasn’t as strong as she is now. She was frightened, although she never admitted to it. My crewmen weren’t the most noble. I took it upon myself to be her protector.” Phin smiled, putting Nicholas’s teeth on edge.

His reaction was absurd. What did it matter how they met? He was leaving soon, and this would all be a distant memory.

“Our ship was attacked by a privateer named James Sutherland,” Phin said, caught up in his nostalgia.

Sutherland. The same last name as Emmaline’s. So this was her husband?

“He took our cargo and most of our supplies, but left us with enough to limp back to the colonies. I was intrigued. Captain Sutherland took me aside and asked if I wanted to join him. I was only seventeen, but already tall and strong. He promised far more gold than I could make in a lifetime working a merchant vessel. I agreed to go with him.”

The barmaid approached to take away their empty tankards.

“And Emmaline?” Nicholas asked once she left, then wanted to take the words back.
It doesn’t matter. Let it go
.

“She suddenly appeared, though I’d specifically told her to keep to the cabins below. But there she was, demanding to go with us. I argued with her, but you know how she can get. She implored Captain Sutherland to take her, as well. He agreed.”

The images rising to Nicholas’s mind turned his stomach. Women on board ships were considered bad luck, and weren’t treated kindly. A ship full of seamen who more than likely hadn’t seen a woman in months? He shuddered at the thought.

“So she became a pirate,” Nicholas said, trying desperately to erase the images.

“Simple words, but the process was far from simple,” Phin said. “I knew I would have to protect her, but was surprised when Sutherland did as well. In a way, she became the daughter he and his wife could never have. He taught us everything we know, and we owe our lives to him.”

At least she’d been treated well. Yet, what kind of man allowed a young girl to turn to piracy? Phin seemed to believe this Sutherland was a good man, but anyone who willingly trained a female to become a pirate should hang by his bollocks.

“And she carries his name?” The words tasted foul in his mouth. How did Emmaline Blackwell come to be Emmaline Sutherland?

Phin grinned. “A tale for her to tell.”

Nicholas ground his teeth together. He shouldn’t care. It was in his best interest not to care. And yet, he did. And he hated himself for it.

“And where is this hero of hers?”

Phin shot him a dark look. “He died about eight years ago.”

“My apologies.”
May he rot in hell
.

“For Emmaline, it was like losing a father. Her real father. Not the man who sired her. She was devastated.”

Nicholas looked away. He may not approve of Sutherland’s tactics, but for Emmaline, his death was yet another loss and another man who left her. He understood a little better why she doled out her trust sparingly.

Lansing’s entourage, a handful of simpering dandies, rose from their table. Lansing
turned and locked gazes with Nicholas. A corner of his mouth lifted in a mocking smile, turning Nicholas’s sluggish, ale-soaked blood cold. He couldn’t help but feel Lansing saw through him, and knew the truth of his betrothal to Emmaline.

Shortly after, Nicholas, Phin and Shamus left as well, all of them drunk, but none willing to admit it. They stumbled back to the house, leaning against on another.

But when Nicholas returned, he wasn’t yet ready to sleep. The other two made their way to their beds, while Nicholas stayed behind. Too much ale, too many revelations, too many thoughts kept him more alert than he wanted to be.

He rubbed his aching leg and looked around the library. Maps were strewn across a large mahogany desk. A sextant rested next to them, as did a quill and inkwell. All tools of his trade. And tools of Emmaline’s trade.

If she’d been a man, and she’d chosen the right path, she would have been a great captain.

Too bad she’d chosen the wrong path.

And what path would you have chosen?

He touched the sextant, his thoughts returning to his conversation with Phin. Thoughts that veered to a young Emmaline, her dreams destroyed by the selfishness of a father who loved wealth and prestige more than his daughter. She had to have been frightened as she headed back to London. Frightened, and knowing Emmaline, furious. Furious enough to board a pirate ship. Furious enough to marry the pirate?

He turned away from the desk and headed with unsteady legs toward his bedchamber, where no rest awaited him. His decisions lay heavy within him, but they were the right decisions. Regardless of her past, Emmaline couldn’t continue to attack Blackwell’s ships. It was illegal, and she needed to be stopped.

Yes, her story was sad, but there were other sad stories, and the people affected didn’t turn to piracy to make a living. They found different paths, more honorable paths, and lived as good citizens should live.

Emmaline made a choice that fateful day her ship was attacked by Sutherland. She hadn’t been taken against her will, as he’d feared. She’d consciously chosen piracy as her revenge, and it disappointed him more than anything.

But, good God, he didn’t want to be the one to put the noose around her neck.

One foot on the bottom step of the staircase, a hand on the banister, he stopped and closed his eyes against the pain piercing his stomach. His actions would kill her, but that wasn’t his fault. He was merely doing what was right, in the eyes of the king and England.

His fingers tightened around the smooth wood.
Don’t do this. Don’t do this to her, and don’t do this to yourself
.

He opened his eyes and deliberately made his way up the stairs. He wasn’t doing anything to himself, other than honoring his oath to His Majesty’s Royal Navy and to the king. And as for what he was doing to her, well, he wasn’t doing anything any other honorable man wouldn’t do.

Emmaline woke with a start, but remained still, her senses searching her bedchamber. There had been no sound to wake her, but something alerted her she wasn’t alone. Another’s quiet breathing. The certainty the room wasn’t quite empty.

Eyes closed, breathing even and deep, she slowly moved her hand toward her pillow and the stiletto she kept beneath it.

“Relax. It’s only me.”

Her eyes flew open and she rolled over. Nicholas sat in the chair beside her bed. Moonbeams fell over his face, bathing him in an eerie, bluish light. His hair was mussed, his shirt untucked from his breeches, and he was barefoot. For some reason, she couldn’t pull her gaze from his naked feet. It wasn’t uncommon for a sailor to shed his boots while sailing. She’d seen many a pair of naked feet before. These shouldn’t snag her attention. So why did they?

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Checking on you.”

She blinked the sleep away. Checking on her? He’d never seen the need to check on her before. Since her mother died,
no one
had checked on her.

He sat back and kicked his legs out, crossing his ankles and settling in. His brows were pulled down, his tight muscles belying his relaxed pose. It was as if he were angry, but she didn’t get anger from him. More confusion and contemplation.

Of course, it’d been a confusing day. His abrupt announcement of their betrothal bothered her, until she’d convinced herself it was made merely to divert Lansing. Of course it wasn’t a
real
betrothal.

“I’m well, as you can see.”

His angry gaze raked her body, causing her nipples to pucker into points, and a low hum to center in her nether regions. Her breathing quickened, but she controlled it. This man would
not
do this to her. She wouldn’t let him.

Her gaze skipped to his feet again, up to the wet hem of his breeches, detouring around his lap until she was looking into his eyes. Without the benefit of light, they were black, bottomless pools. Unreadable, and therefore disconcerting. But his smirk told her he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. She quickly looked away.

“What does a pirate wear to bed at night, Emmaline?”

She scooted up, pulling the bedsheets with her, covering the overly large, well-worn shirt, very much conscious of her bare legs beneath the covers. Even though he couldn’t see her legs, she still felt exposed.

“It’s none of your concern what I wear to bed at night.”

“We’re betrothed. That should make it my concern, shouldn’t it?”

His words were slurred. She sniffed and wrinkled her nose. By the smell of him, he’d apparently been at the Elegant Sword—the only decent pub on the island.

“You’re drunk.”

A shoulder rose, then dropped. “Mayhap. You didn’t answer my question.”

She’d never seen him so out of control and yet controlled at the same time. Her mind slid to the one memory she couldn’t erase, the one that continued to pop up when she least expected it. Of him kissing her in his cabin, right before Alphonse’s attack. He certainly hadn’t been in control then.

A delicious sensation swirled through her, making her cheeks flame hot. She looked at his lips. Did he want to kiss her again? Is that why he was here? Did he think their false betrothal would earn him extra benefits?