The Notorious Lady Anne: A Loveswept Historical Romance (31 page)

“You’re mad.”

“Mayhap.” Most definitely. But he knew he was doing the right thing. There was more than one way to serve justice, and if Emmaline Sutherland needed one thing in her life, it was justice. And he was going to help her achieve it.

“Walk away. No one’s stopping you.”

She offered him freedom, but it wouldn’t be freedom he’d be running to. The life he’d known was no longer. Not now that he had met Lady Anne. He could lie to himself and try to convince himself that his life had sailed a different course from the moment he discovered Emmaline on his ship, but it wasn’t true. He had made this choice freely.

“I don’t want my freedom,” he said.

She stared at him for some time. One of the few times he saw her without words.

“Do you know what they do to captured pirates?” she finally asked.

“Yes.”

“They’ll hang you. But before they do, they make you sit under the hangman’s noose and wait. Sometimes for hours. Do you know how long that is when you’re waiting to die?”

He refused to answer, refused to acknowledge how much her words bothered him. This was not the way he expected his life to go, but neither was he able to walk away from her.

“You’re lucky if your neck snaps right away. If not, you’ll strangle to death with your arms and legs flailing about—” Her words faded to nothing. Her expression remained stoic, but her eyes betrayed her struggle to maintain her emotions.

“This is what you’re willing to face for revenge?” he asked.

“I have no other choice. You do.”

A few months ago, Nicholas would have said she had other choices, but what choices were they really? A governess? A prostitute? Living as a poor relation with her aunt Dorothy?
She’d made herself a wealthy woman by marrying James Sutherland, but even Nicholas understood it wasn’t enough. Money didn’t drive Emmaline.

Only pirating would grant her the revenge she desperately craved.

But did that make it right?

“They tar your dead body so the birds won’t eat you.” Her voice wavered, not as confident as before. “They put you in chains and hoops and hang you over the sea as a warning.”

“That’s a very detailed description, Emmaline. Do you lay in bed at night thinking of it happening to you?”

“I don’t care what happens to me,” she said softly. “As long as Daniel Blackwell is ruined.”

A primal need to protect this woman raced through him. God help him, he wanted to help her. “So what is it, Emmaline? Do I go or not?”

She hesitated. He waited, breath suspended, for what seemed like years.

“Tell me about the gold,” she said.

“Kenmar doesn’t know what it’s for, only that it’s leaving port and sailing east.”

Her eyes narrowed in thought. “What do you think it’s for?”

He shrugged, having turned this over in his mind many times. “Mayhap he wants to get in with the East India Company.”

She shook her head. “They’re a closed group of investors, although they aren’t completely against newcomers. It’s very hard to become a new investor, and with the attacks on Blackwell’s ships, The Company won’t even consider him.”

He could practically see her mind sorting through and rejecting possibilities. He loved her body and he loved her take-no-prisoners attitude, but he loved her nimble mind the most. Emmaline Sutherland was a very intelligent woman. More intelligent than most men he’d encountered.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

She sucked her bottom lip in and gnawed on it. “I don’t know, but something isn’t right about the shipment.”

He’d thought that as well, and suspected Kenmar was of the same mind, and that was the true reason Nicholas had been chosen for this mission.

“The gold makes no difference to my plans,” she said. “Whatever mischief Daniel Blackwell is involved in is inconsequential.”

“Let me go with you.”

She sighed in apparent frustration. “Why?”

He didn’t get an immediate “no.” That was a step in the right direction.

“Because I don’t trust Blackwell. I fear he’s into something bigger than even Kenmar thought.”
And I want to protect you
.

She laughed, the sound harsh and full of disdain. “Only now that you believe his actions are illegal are you concerned?”

“No.” But he couldn’t meet her gaze because, damn it, she was right. And she was wrong. He’d made his decision before she confirmed what he’d suspected, and while he still believed her form of justice was overly harsh, he could understand it. “Let me go with you as another sword arm.”

“I can’t let you risk your life.”

“What about you? What about your life? Who will protect you?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“True. So far. But your luck can run only so long. Eventually you will be caught and hanged, your body put on display as a warning to others.” He ruthlessly used her words against her, knowing they hit their mark when she flinched.

“And how can
you
protect
me
?” she asked.

“I’m a damn fine sailor.”

She grinned at his arrogance. “No. You will not go with me.”

“Then you don’t get the information you need, and you don’t get your revenge.”

She straightened, a dangerous gleam in her eye. “Oh, make no mistake, I’ll get my revenge.”

Emmaline stared in the mirror and sucked in a breath, tempted to touch her reflection. ’Twas almost worth the hours and hours of torture she’d endured with the modiste and Cook. She stepped closer, peered intently.

She almost looked …

Dare she say it? Dare she even think the words?

She looked like a lady. A lady worthy to be on the arms of a gentleman of Nicholas Addison’s stature.

Her gown was a deep emerald that shimmered in the candlelight. She wore no adornment other than a wide ribbon at her throat. Cook offered to loan her an emerald and diamond necklace, but she declined. The Widow Sutherland would never wear such an obvious token of wealth. Besides, Emmaline was unsure where Cook had procured it, and feared someone would recognize it.

She touched her tightly fitted bodice, amazed she was still able to breathe, but woman enough to admire her small waist. Box pleats fell from her shoulders to trail along the ground. This definitely wasn’t a gown a woman could do much in other than look pretty. It was not functional in the least, and she wasn’t sure where she was going to secure her stiletto.

“ ’Ere.” Cook handed her a leather sheath with strings. “Tie this around yer …” He gestured vaguely to her legs, his cheeks turning pink.

“Ah. I see.” Not at all convenient, considering she’d have to lift the voluminous skirts to retrieve the weapon, but it was better than being weaponless.

“ ’E’s waiting.”

Emmaline assumed Cook meant Nicholas. There was still no love lost between her crew and Addison, although she’d begun to witness grudging respect.

It’d been a week since their interlude at the waterfall. Neither had brought up their conversation
concerning the gold, although it hovered between them like a third person. Ignored but not forgotten, and never far from her mind. Damn him for making her think of the future. A future she’d carefully ignored for the better part of her life. He’d been correct in one aspect—she tried not to plan or think beyond the last mission that would destroy Blackwell. She was afraid of what life held for her.

She turned from the mirror and offered Cook a bright smile. He scowled back. “Better ’urry or ye’ll be late.”

She nodded and left the safety of her bedchamber, more self-conscious than she’d ever been before.

Nicholas was waiting at the bottom of the stairs and Emmaline had to grasp the banister tightly while sucking in a lungful of air when she saw him. Magnificent didn’t even come close to describing him. Of course, she’d seen him in formal attire before, but the memory paled in comparison.

He was dressed all in black, except for a crisp white shirt and white cravat, elegantly but simply tied. His black hair, now long enough to touch his collar, was brushed back from his face, highlighting his chiseled cheekbones.

His blue eyes flashed with admiration. “You’re beautiful.”

“My thanks, Captain. And you are … stunning.”

He smiled and held out his arm for her to take. “Shall we attend a ball, Mrs. Sutherland?”

She grimaced. He laughed, and together they made their way out of the house. She hadn’t given any thought to transportation. Usually she walked into town, but Nicholas had apparently made plans of his own, for a coach and four stood outside, and what a handsome four they were, too.

“Where did you get these?” she asked.

“I have my ways.” He handed her up and she caught a glimpse of Shamus on the box. He tipped his hat, and she laughed at the incongruous picture he made, so tall and big, and trussed up in such finery.

She settled into the squabs and moved her skirts out of the way to make room for Nicholas. Instead of sitting across from her, he settled beside her. The coach took off with a jolt that had her grabbing the first thing she could reach, which happened to be his thigh. His muscles bunched and she snatched her hand away.

“Forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive.”

With no light, she had to go by the tone of his voice, which was deep and sultry, promising things she longed to do but dared not.

“May I ask where you procured such fine clothes?” she asked, before her thoughts could turn to deeds.

“With a little help from Phin, it was not difficult. Besides, I had money stashed among my belongings you saved from Alphonse. Thank you, by the way, for returning them to me.”

“I’m disappointed in my crew for not finding the money. Usually they can sniff a farthing out at ten paces.”

Nicholas chuckled, the warm sound surrounding her.

“Where did you find a maid to do your hair?”

She gingerly touched the curls pinned high on her head, woven with emerald ribbon.

“Cook did it.”

Nicholas choked. “Please tell me you jest.”

“No jest. He says weaving hair isn’t so different from weaving ropes.”

She touched her hair again and sent up a silent prayer the whole mess wouldn’t tumble down in the middle of dinner.

“Have you thought any more about our last conversation?”

Emmaline stiffened. For a time, they’d recovered the camaraderie that had been absent since their interlude at the waterfall. She wished Nicholas hadn’t brought up the one argument they couldn’t settle.

“There is nothing to think on,” she said.

He leaned back. She couldn’t see him, but she felt his movements. A brush of a leg against her skirts, his arm pressed against hers.

“So you’re determined to keep me from helping you.”

I am determined to keep you safe
. There wasn’t much a female pirate such as herself was able to give someone like Nicholas, except his safety. By not allowing him to go on her last mission, she was saving his head. Surely he could see this “bargain” he wanted to reach was life-threatening.

“I need no help.”

He sighed, a gusty, noisy sound meant to convey his frustration. “Emmaline—” She placed her hand on his arm. “Please, Nicholas, not tonight.”

He fell silent, but she felt his anger vibrating between them. In this she would not capitulate. In this she was right and he was wrong. To sail with her would label him a pirate and that she would not allow.

“What is the plan tonight?” she asked, mostly to divert the conversation, and also because she wasn’t comfortable with the idea of parading in front of the very people she’d carefully avoided. She needed a battle strategy to get her through the evening.

She hated balls and she hated gowns and she hated the false smiles. She could much more easily navigate a deadly squall on the ocean than the proprieties and sly innuendos of a ball.

“The plan tonight is to put Lansing’s suspicions to rest. To pretend”—he emphasized the word—“we are madly in love.”

Her hands tightened in her lap. ’Twould not be such a far stretch to pretend such a thing. She shook the thought from her head. Even if she were in love with Nicholas—which she wasn’t—nothing good would come of it. If her calculations were correct regarding the repairs, she would set sail next week. Except, she had no idea what or where she was setting sail for. If this shipment of gold was leaving soon, then she was far too late to sail to Boston to determine which ship it was on and which port it was leaving from. Roaming the seas, hoping to stumble across the ship was silly. She needed a plan. She needed a shipping route and the name of a ship.

And the man next to her had all the information.

Her back teeth came together as reality crashed around her. She needed the information and the only way to get it was to accept Nicholas’s proposal. Yet, she loathed the idea of him sailing with her. She carried many a man’s death on her soul, but she would not carry Nicholas’s death with her.

That left only one other option. Give up pirating. And that scared her just as much.

“You’re awfully quiet over there,” he said into the darkness.

“Merely thinking.”

“About?”

She shook her head, unwilling to tell him her thoughts, for he would find a way to twist her around until she agreed to everything he said. “About this ball and making a fool of myself.”

His hand touched her thigh, her wrist and finally settled on her bunched hands. He carefully unfolded her fingers, wrapping them in his large hand to bring them to his lips so that he could kiss them. “You will do fine, my love. You’ve done this before. You know the rules.”

My love
. It was the second time he’d called her that. The carriage rocked to a halt, the door opened and there stood Shamus, looking very uncomfortable decked out in matching breeches and coat, the shoulders a little too tight, the sleeves a little too short.

Nicholas released her hand. She ignored the urgent need to grab for him and beg him to forget this dangerous scheme. He ducked out of the carriage and stood to the side, offering his hand. She placed her fingers in his and exited, knowing her arguments were futile, and praying she wouldn’t trip on her overlong train and fall on her face.