The Notorious Lady Anne: A Loveswept Historical Romance (39 page)

“Aren’t you?” He tipped his head and eyed her. “You were angry I denied you all those years ago, and you set out to destroy me. My denial ’twas merely for self-preservation. My current wife could never find out about you.”

Emmaline found it hard to breathe through the pain of his words. It was like he was stabbing her over and over and over. “She waited for you. She believed you would come back for her.” The words were thick in her throat.

Blackwell spread his hands wide. “I can’t help that she fell in love with me, now can I?”

“You bastard.”

Nicholas’s hand settled on her arm, holding her back. She wanted to run Blackwell through with her cutlass and watch the life drain out of him. She wanted to erase this moment from her memory and forget any of this happened. Nicholas had been right. She should have given up her fight long ago and sailed to England with him.

She hadn’t ruined her father. Her father had ruined her.

“We can’t let you go,” Nicholas said.

Blackwell raised his brows. “My, you are brave. And so sure of yourself.” He raised his cutlass. “But again, you don’t know me well. I won’t be bested by a woman. And certainly not by my daughter.” He sneered the last as if it tasted foul in his mouth.

All the emotions from the past eleven years, from years of watching her mother grow frailer and frailer, from the lies her family told her, to the love she could never show Nicholas, all that boiled inside her. Emmaline cried out, lifted her cutlass and charged.

“Emmaline, no!” Dimly, she heard Nicholas, but her mind was focused, her attention only on the man who fathered her. He was a traitor to his country, a man with no emotions, who used who he could and discarded them when he was finished. He was a blight on the Earth and on her soul.

She slashed out, letting anger control her muscles, knowing that was not the way to win a fight, but uncaring. What did it matter now? She was lost to Nicholas. Lost to herself. A bastard-born daughter with no future and a badly scarred past.

Blackwell easily stepped out of her way. He parried and thrust, and unlike her, met his mark. The cutlass sliced into her side. She spun and cried out. Blood spurted, splattering Blackwell.

Her sword arm lost its strength, and in what seemed like slow motion her cutlass fell. Surely the sound of it hitting the boards was loud, but she heard nothing.

Nicholas pushed her aside, his mouth open in what she supposed was a roar. He charged Blackwell, who stepped back, his face an ugly mask of an evil smile. Emmaline fell to her knees and looked down at her stomach. Her shirt was coated in blood. It dripped on the floor, puddling around her knees and running like a small river toward a gold piece.

Slowly she lifted her head. Nicholas was like a vortex, all smooth movement, slashing and advancing, pushing Blackwell back. Sweat dripped down Blackwell’s face, the smile replaced by a grimace. He was fighting for his life and he knew it. She blinked, but must have
closed her eyes for longer than she thought, because when she opened them she was lying on her side, staring at the dancing feet of the two men locked in battle. She tried to call Nicholas’s name, but no sound escaped. She reached for him, but had only the strength to unfurl her bloody fingers.

Nicholas raised his cutlass far above his head and swung down. Blood sprayed and Nicholas stepped back, his cutlass dripping. Daniel Blackwell lay at Nicholas’s feet, his head nearly cut from his body. Those evil, soulless eyes stared upward at a heaven she prayed he would never see.

She closed her eyes and the world shrank, then disappeared, while her father’s words went with her.
But you, my daughter, you I admire
.

Nicholas sat beside Emmaline’s bed, his booted feet spread out before him, hands on stomach, eyes heavy and scratchy. He’d had very little sleep since the attack on Blackwell’s ship. He, Phin and the crew sailed the ships, full sail and full of gold, to England because it was far closer than Barbados. He thanked God the winds were on their side and the weather held steady.

Emmaline clung to life the entire voyage. Nicholas and Phin patched her up as best they were able with rough stitches that would leave a nasty scar, but he didn’t care. As long as they stopped the bleeding.

He’d been beyond panicked when he picked her up off the floor of Blackwell’s hold. Blood covered her, pooling beneath her. Her face lost all color, her lips almost blue. She’d been like a rag doll in his arms as he raced up the steps, calling orders to the crew. No one questioned his sudden command, the job falling effortlessly on his shoulders. It wasn’t until he reached England that it even occurred to him he was commanding a pirate ship, but it made no difference. All he focused on, all he cared about, was saving Emmaline.

They’d anchored the ships at the Isle of Wight. Shamus, of all people, showed them a perfect hideout for their ships. Apparently, this was where Shamus hailed from, and much to the crew’s surprise, Shamus opened his home to them. He had few neighbors and they lived far enough away that if they kept quiet during the day, no one noticed their presence. And he had a beautiful, petite wife that had Shamus blushing every time she was near, which caused the rest of the crew to jest with him unmercifully.

Nicholas and the crew carried Emmaline into Shamus’s home in the dark of night, not willing to risk being seen by anyone. They’d called a doctor, a man Shamus promised would keep quiet because he was Shamus’s cousin. The doctor finally admitted he couldn’t do much
else. It was up to God and Emmaline now.

Nicholas sat forward and rubbed the stubble on his face. Bleary-eyed, he stared at Emmaline’s still form, willing her to open her eyes.
Come back to me
. How many times had he said that out loud and to himself over the past four days? Hundreds? Thousands? She was in there, somewhere. He clung to the thought, the hope, with everything inside him.

She didn’t stir, didn’t so much as flutter her eyelids, but he knew in his heart she was in there, locked in her own world. Why wasn’t she coming back to him? What was keeping her there?

He touched her hand, curling his fingers around hers, and hung his head. Tears clogged his throat, burning the backs of his eyes, and he laid his head on her hand to feel its warmth.

If his presence would only give her the strength she needed to come back. With a curse, he surged off the chair and paced the room. Prayers jumbled in his head, words clashing together until they made no sense. He’d never felt this desperate and alone before. Not even when he was recovering from his own wounds. Hell, he’d rather it’d been him injured than her.

He stopped his pacing and turned to look at her flushed face. She’d been running a fever for days now, her body burning with a heat so hot he merely had to stand near her to feel it. He tried sleeping beside her in the hope she would find comfort in his presence, but her fever drove him from the bed.

He sat beside her, wrung a cloth out in the basin and mopped her brow.

“Come back to me, love.”

But as always, his words had no effect. Despair threatened to consume him. He had to fight it daily, hourly.

A soft knock on the door had him lifting his head. The doctor entered, and for the hundredth time Nicholas couldn’t help but feel that the man, Jacob Harper, was so young, younger than Nicholas. But he’d been kind and gentle with Emmaline, never asking how a woman acquired such a wound, or who the tough-looking men were who hovered around the house, waiting.

Harper nodded to Nicholas, then set about examining her. ’Twas the same routine every day and Nicholas was grateful for Harper’s time, but nothing came of the visits. Harper would only shake his head in bewilderment and say he didn’t know why she wouldn’t wake up. Surely the fever wasn’t helping matters, but she didn’t receive a blow to the head to explain the deep sleep.

The doctor lifted the sheets, his eyes going wide. He shot a quick look at Nicholas, who jumped up. “What? What’s wrong?”

Slowly, Harper lowered the sheets and faced Nicholas. “Is there a possibility she is with child?”

Nicholas’s body went cold. His skin prickled and his heart skipped a few beats. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. With child? He didn’t think …

“Yes,” he finally managed. He’d pulled out those times they’d made love before they married, but even he knew that method wasn’t foolproof. Good God, was Emmaline with child? He looked down at her pale face, the brows relaxed in sleep, the expressive mouth lax.

“I’m sorry,” Harper was saying. “But I’m afraid she’s losing the child.”

Nicholas’s legs gave out on him and he fell back into the chair. “But …” He’d been a father? A father and then not a father? Pain pierced his chest so that he actually rubbed the spot. He looked back at Emmaline, so peaceful, so calm, while her body expelled their child. What had he done? What had he allowed to happen?

“Now I understand a little better why she isn’t waking up. Her body is trying to heal and provide enough energy for the child. Unfortunately, it was too much and the child didn’t survive. I’m sorry, my lord.”

Nicholas nodded absently, clutching Emmaline’s hand.
My God, Emmaline, what have we done?

He didn’t know how much time passed, only that he couldn’t release his hold on his wife. The doctor left. The sun was beginning to set. Someone brought in a tray of food that Nicholas ignored. The moon rose high in the sky, and still she didn’t awaken. He kicked off his boots and
crawled into bed beside her, gathering her limp body against his, careful of the wound that Harper said was healing nicely.

“Where are you, love? Why won’t you return to me?” He whispered in her ear as he’d done every night since her injury. He told her of Blackwell’s death, of the smooth sailing to England. He described the ocean and the cliffs her bedchamber overlooked. And still she did not respond.

Did she remember what her father told her? Nicholas would never be able to forget the look on her face when Daniel Blackwell told her he admired her. That she was like her father. And that her parents never married. She’d been stunned, outraged and hurt. But most of all, she’d looked at him with a lost expression. As if nothing mattered anymore.

It was as if she’d given up. On him, herself and a marriage that had barely begun.

He longed to tell her she wasn’t anything like the man who sired her. She was kind and gentle—something he’d never thought he’d say about a pirate. He wanted to tell her that the circumstances surrounding her birth didn’t bother him, and didn’t change anything between them. But he never got the chance.

Later that afternoon, Phin joined Nicholas in Emmaline’s room. The man didn’t look any better than Nicholas felt. Emmaline’s injury and subsequent unconsciousness was taking a toll on all of them. A houseful of men walking around as ghosts, feeling useless and helpless.

Phin spent much of his time with the ships, making the final repairs they’d been unable to make before they left, compounded now by the repairs necessary after the last battle.

He sat in the chair by the bed and rested his elbows on his knees, staring at Emmaline while Nicholas leaned a shoulder against the wall. The two were silent for a long time as they listened to Emmaline’s breathing.

“She’ll fight this like she’s fought everything else,” Phin said.

Nicholas stayed silent, praying Phin was correct. Emmaline fought many battles in her
life, but he couldn’t help but think that this might be the biggest fight yet.

Phin looked up at Nicholas, more somber than usual.

“You have to return to London with the gold.”

“It can wait until Emmaline is safely able to travel.”

“We’ve waited longer than we should. If that gold is discovered by the authorities, there will be an investigation that will lead back to us. There will be questions.”

“I’m not leaving.” Nicholas pinned Phin with a look that dared him to argue.

“Think about this, mate.”

“I’m not going.” No way would he leave Emmaline while she was so vulnerable. Phin spoke softly. “I know you want to stay with her but you have to think of the others. Shamus’s wife is innocent of any of this, yet if the gold is traced back to us she’ll be swept up in it, too. If that’s not enough to convince you, think about Emmaline. If they trace the gold back to her before you reach the king, her entire past will be revealed.”

“I don’t give a damn about the bloody gold,” Nicholas growled. But he did care about Emmaline’s reputation. Phin sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You need to return it to London and tell Kenmar and the king what Blackwell was about.”

“Since when do you care what the king thinks of Blackwell?”

“I care what the king thinks of Emmaline. This is your chance, Addison. Clear Lady Anne’s name.”

“You take the gold to Kenmar. I’ll write you a letter of introduction.”

Phin’s eyes widened. “Me? I’m a pirate. They would never allow me through the servants’ entrance, let alone their front door to tell them some story about a traitor.” He looked away, his expression serious. “Never mind that I have a price on my head. If I could do it, I would. But I can’t. You’re the only one with the connections to get to the king and clear her name.”