The Ransom (2 page)

So, her rescuer had come for his reward, after all. Juliana gathered her breath. And her wits. She wiped her sweaty palm on her skirts then tightened her grip on the knife. Ramming it in front of her, she attempted to slip by the man while he sheathed his sword. But he spun on her, saw the blade in her hand, and began to chuckle.

Which only made her thrust it farther toward him. “I warn you, sir. I’m not afraid to use this.”

“I have no doubt, milady.” He contained his laughter with difficulty. “Though I fear it will be to no avail.” Before she could retort, he gripped her wrist with one hand and snatched her knife with the other.

“How dare you? You have no right!” She forced indignation into her tone as she inched away from him. He was naught but a shadow in the darkness—a rather tall shadow. A rather intimidating shadow.

One thing—mayhap the only thing—her father had taught her was never to appear weak in front of your enemies. No matter the fear that gripped her. “Very well, you may keep the knife.” She kept her tone curt. “If it pleases you to steal from a helpless woman.” Turning, she clutched her skirts and started for the street.

“Helpless?” He matched her pace and they soon stepped into the light of a street lantern. “Nay, I would never call you such.”

She faced him:
the same man from The Cat and the Fiddle who had kept the wolves at bay. The same coal-dark hair tied behind him in a queue, the same dark stubble. The same piercing blue eyes. Yet standing so close, he seemed much taller, much larger. More ominous. Wind raked a strand of hair across his cheek as he gazed at her with impunity.

Her heart thundered in her chest, and she retreated a step. She took in his white billowing shirt, his leather jerkin, black breeches, knee-high boots, and the cutlass at his side that winked at her in the light.

“You are a pirate.”

He gave a mock bow with all the flourish of a courtier. “At your service, milady.”

Her breath came fast and hard as she scanned the street for Mr. Pell. This man was no ordinary pirate. He commanded the respect of other pirates—a man who could send the most cutthroat brigands scurrying away with a single word. He must be the Pirate Earl whose reputation had flooded the city. A leader of pirates. A man of great strength and wit with a penchant for cruelty, women, and rum.

Gathering her cloak about her neck, she brushed past him. “I bid you good eve, Mr. Pirate.”

“Milord Pirate, if you please.” He slid beside her.

She glanced his way, noting the amusement flickering in his eyes. It infuriated her. “The two words side by side reek of profanity, sir. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way.” Easing her hood back over her head, she dashed onward, silently praying for the pirate to leave her be—for
everyone
on the streets to leave her be. She no longer recognized her city. Darkness had forced the good citizens into their homes, while luring out the riff-raff to roam the streets with abandon. A man sauntered by, doxies on each arm. Juliana shifted her gaze from the women’s revealing necklines. Ahead, a band of men, mugs in hand, sang a ribald ditty that scalded her ears. A pistol shot cracked the night sky. Juliana jumped. Shouts and curses blared atop the clanging of an organ bellowing from a brothel across the way. Footsteps scuffed behind her. She dared not turn around.

Oh, fie, where was Mr. Pell?

Three men approached. A white periwig sat askew on the first man’s head, while the other two wore colorful bandanas beneath plumed tricornes. All three were armed with pistols and knives. Juliana stiffened. She lowered her head. Her heart leapt in her chest like a galloping horse.

Not two yards away, the men suddenly halted, nodded at her—or over her—then hurried past without saying a word.

She didn’t have to look to know that the Pirate Earl had not abandoned her.

“I told you to leave me be,” she said loud enough for him to hear.

“Nay, I believe you merely implied you would be on your way.” That deep, husky voice again, authoritative with a hint of humor. It jumbled her insides. He appeared beside her, one hand resting idly on the pummel of his sword.

Halting, she faced him. “What is it you want,
Mr.
Pirate?”

He seemed to bristle at the title. “Merely to inform you that you shouldn’t venture near the wharves at night. Nor enter such an ignoble place as The Cat and the Fiddle.” He rubbed the stubble surrounding his mouth with forefinger and thumb. “Regardless of the name, a kitten does not fare well in such a place.”

“Forsooth! I am no kitten, sir. And oddly, I find myself unscathed.”

One dark brow rose. “Yet not of your own doing.”

“Regardless.” She spotted her carriage. “Ah, there’s my footman.” Taking the opportunity, she darted between a horse and wagon, several inebriated men, and a wild pig, hoping the annoying pirate would give up his pursuit now that Mr. Pell was found.

But Mr. Pell lay unconscious on the driver’s perch. Even her hard shaking did not arouse him. The smell of alcohol hovered over the man like a dismal cloud—a cloud that threatened to storm over Juliana’s safety. She should have known better than to trust him. The unreliable footman was always into his cups.

What was she to do? Oh foolish girl! Why did she never think of the consequences before running off on some errand of mercy? She’d put her entire family at risk: her shipping business, her father’s health, her brother’s future.

The Pirate Earl appeared beside her.

And her own virtue.

“Ah, at last we know what has kept your footman.” He chuckled.

“
We
don’t know anything, sir,” she snapped, staring at the besotted servant. She would have to move him in order to drive the carriage. And since her strength forbade the act—and she refused to ask a pirate for help—she gathered her cloak about her and started down the street.

He clutched her arm. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” She tugged from his grip, her ire rising. “I have no money if that’s what you want.”

He grinned. “I have more than enough wealth, milady.”

She stopped and glared at him. “If you intend to ravish or murder me, please be about it. Otherwise I grow weary of our exchange.”

Was that a spark of surprise, mayhap even admiration in his eyes?

Without saying a word, he retraced his steps to the carriage, hoisted poor Mr. Pell over his shoulder, and laid him across the passenger seat in the back. Then leaping onto the driver’s box, he grabbed the reins with one hand and lowered his other to her.

“Are you now to steal my carriage?” she asked.

“I intend to take you home.”

“So you can rob me?”

“Again with the money, milady?” He grinned. “You cut me to the quick.”

“By your own admission, sir, you
are
a pirate. Why should I trust you?”

“You shouldn’t.” He shrugged. “But either way, I intend to escort you home. On foot or in this carriage, ’tis your choice.”

She stared at the imposing man, wondering at his purpose. But what choice did she have? She could scream, but no honorable man would come to her rescue in this part of town. She could run, but he’d quickly overtake her. She was completely at his mercy. And she hated that fact more than anything.

As if he could read her mind, one dark brow lifted. “I mean you no harm.”

Sincerity shone in his eyes. Regardless, she had no intention of leading this ruffian to her home. She could, however, appeal to a passerby for help should they enter a better part of town, mayhap even her neighborhood, where she knew many who would come to her aid.

With no other recourse, she slid her hand into his and allowed him to lift her onto the seat beside him. Even through her gloves, she felt the strength and warmth of his callused fingers. Their legs touched and she shifted away. He smelled of salt and tobacco and a hint of cinnamon. Nothing like a pirate should smell. He flicked the reins, and the carriage lurched forward.

A dozen reasons filled her mind for his interest in her. None of them good. All of them sent blood dashing through her veins until her head felt light. “Mr. Pell has an affinity for drink, I’m afraid,” she said nervously, filling the silence.

He turned the carriage onto Queen Street. “Ah, yes. That explains why you ventured into the most perilous section of town during the night and brought your cupshotten footman for protection.”

“You forget I also brought my knife, Mr. Pirate.”

He laughed and glanced her way. “Humor amidst fear, a trait that will serve you well.”

“Fear?” She raised her shoulders and glanced at the passing shops and houses, a blur of brick mortar and in the darkness. “I am not afraid,” she said emphatically.

He snorted.

The carriage clanked and bounced down the street as the sounds of revelry faded behind them, replaced by the call of a night heron and the lap of waves against pilings. Sounds that normally soothed her, but this night, sitting next to this man, going to a place of his choosing, her stomach twisted in knots. Oh, fie, why was there no one out tonight? The street was as empty as a church on Monday.

“Why do you not release him?” the pirate asked.

“Who?”

He jerked his head behind him. “Your footman.”

“That is none of your concern.” She wouldn’t tell him that the price of Mr. Pell’s employment was his silence.

Flicking the reins, he turned onto High Street. “What could be of such importance that you risked your life by venturing to The Cat and the Fiddle?”

Juliana clasped her trembling hands together and searched the street for anyone taking a stroll. “I was helping a friend.”

“A trollop for a friend?”

Juliana despised that term. Particularly when associated with Abilene. The lady hadn’t always been in
the business
. But the loss of her family, subsequent poverty, and an evil man’s deception had driven her to the streets to survive. Pride had kept her from receiving help from anyone. Including Juliana. Regardless, Juliana visited her as often as she could, bringing her extra food, clothing, and medicines, all the while trying to convince her to come home with her. But Juliana had not found her today. And that worried her most of all.

Her home was fast approaching on the right. Mayhap her butler, Mr. Abbot, was up and about. Surely he would have waited for her return as he normally did. Or her brother might be coming home from one of his posh parties. “Does it shock you that I associate with soiled women, Mr. Pirate?”

“Milord Pirate. And I am rarely shocked, milady.”

“I beg you, do not refer to me as such. I am not titled.”

He stopped the carriage before her house, set the brake, and leapt down to assist her. “Regardless, you have the manner and mien of nobility.”

Taking his hand, she stepped down beside him in the light of a street lamp and glanced at her dark house. Where was Abbot? Thinking to make a dash for the door, she tugged her hand from the pirate’s grip. But he refused to release her. Her eyes were level with his chest—a rather wide chest encased in leather and crossed with a thick brace, buckled in silver. Her pulse took up a pace again, but she hid her fear behind a playful tone. “Nobility, you say? Idle flattery does you no credit, Mr. Pirate.”

He leaned toward her. A strand of dark hair tumbled over his jaw as his breath wafted warm across her cheek. “Pray tell, what would do me credit in your eyes, milady?” He released her hand.

Emotions awhirl, she stepped back, unsure of his next move. “That you leave me be.”

“As I always intended.” He smiled, those piercing blue eyes of his searching her own, studying, absorbing her as if he knew her most intimate thoughts.

Unsettled, she lowered her gaze.

“What of your Mr. Pell?” he asked.

“Leave him.” She inched toward the front steps. “He’ll awake soon enough.”

Reaching within his jerkin, he withdrew her knife, spun it in the air, caught it expertly, then flipped it—handle extended—to her. “I believe this is yours, milady?”

Swallowing, Juliana took it. The feel of the weapon in her hand gave her some measure of comfort. Mayhap this man truly intended her no harm.

Grinning, he dipped his head. “Sweet dreams, milady.” Then turning, he strolled down the street.

Juliana hurried up the steps to her front door before the man changed his mind. Once inside, she locked the bolt tight and peered out the window at his retreating form. She caught her breath and leaned her forehead against the glass, when an alarming thought prickled her skin.

How did the Pirate Earl know where she lived?

Chapter 2

A distant moan echoed through Juliana’s head. A raspy cough etched the air. Coughing… coughing … always so much coughing. Her head bounced against the mattress. She opened her eyes. Nothing but red embroidery filled her vision. Another cough. Jerking, she sat up on the seat beside the bed, ashamed she had fallen over asleep. A moan brought her gaze to her father lying prone on the mattress, his face white, his cheeks sunken, feverish sweat gleaming on his brow. The smell of sickness and soiled sheets added to the gloom in her heart. He coughed again and tossed his head in his usual disturbed state of slumber.