The Rogue Pirate’s Bride (24 page)

Unless she saved him. Unless she found the man who could save him, the duc de Valère.

It was next to impossible for Bastien to escape from the brig, and even if he did, there was nowhere to hide on the ship. But once they reached the shore, escape was another matter entirely. And he might not even have to hide long if she could quickly find the duc, his brother. A powerful man like the duc could surely find ways and means to, if not exonerate Bastien, see him safely out of the country.

And when Bastien left the country, she would go with him. Unless… unless he stayed. What would she do then? She was no aristocrat. She would never be accepted by the
ton
.

She shook her head, unwilling to think of that possibility now. Right now she had to save Bastien. That was all that mattered.

Raeven stared at the open sea and formulated a plan.

***

Bastien knew when they’d reached the Thames because he could smell it. Even in the dank, musty brig at the bottom of the
Regal
, the stench of the Thames permeated. He’d never been in London, never sailed up the Thames. He would have liked to see it, but he supposed there were many things he’d like to have seen before he had his neck stretched at the end of an English rope.

Not that he’d given up. He had nothing but time to formulate an escape plan. He would implement it when they docked, but as he didn’t know the ship and didn’t know the city, he had little hope he’d be successful.

But his main worry was for Raeven. If he knew his cabin girl, she wouldn’t be content to allow him to handle things on his own. She’d want to meddle, to save him, and that would only ensure her own death. Aiding and abetting a criminal were serious charges.

And that was why when, on the night he felt the
Regal
dock, he was not surprised when Rummy handed him a note.

Bastien took it with a sigh.

“I think we both know who that’s from,” Rummy said, eyeing the note as though it were a snake. “If you’re caught with it, I didn’t give it to you.”

“I found it in my coat,” Bastien said, rubbing the parchment between two fingers. Rummy and he had struck up a sort of friendship, as prisoner and jailor often do. Bastien liked the man, but he was not sorry to leave the brig and Rummy behind, even if it meant the prospect of another jail.

“Are you going to read it?” Rummy asked. “She went to some trouble to get it to me. Threatened me, too. She’s a wild one.”

“That she is,” Bastien agreed. He looked at the note and back at Rummy. “You know it’s an escape plan.”

“Well, it ain’t a poem professing her undying love. Not if I know Raeven Russell.”

Bastien sighed again and broke the seal on the paper. The handwriting was the same he remembered from the note in his chamber pot all those months ago. It seemed years now since they’d shared that first kiss, and he’d thought to punish her by making her his cabin girl.

The note was short and simple:
Look under the seat.

There was only a small bench in his cell, and Bastien went to it now and peered underneath. Nothing but dirt and mouse droppings.

“What’s it say?” Rummy asked.

Bastien shrugged. There was no harm in telling the man. “Look under the seat.” Bastien indicated the bench. “Nothing there.”

Rummy scratched his chin. “She might mean another seat. You’ll be taken to Newgate in a carriage—not a fancy one, but it’ll have seats. Maybe she means those seats.”

She undoubtedly did. “Do you think if I asked you to tell her not to risk it, she’d abandon whatever plan she’s concocted?”

“No. I’ll tell her if you want, but I’ll probably get punched in the jaw for my efforts.”

“Far be it from me to be the cause of a scratch on your pretty face, Mr. Rummy.” Bastien sat on the bench and stretched out his legs. Rummy was still watching him. “How much time do I have?” Bastien asked.

Rummy shrugged. “Hour. Maybe two. You’ll watch out for her, won’t you?”

“I’ll protect her with my life,” Bastien promised. “But you and I both know that may not be enough.”

Three hours passed before two armed British soldiers marched into the brig. They were escorted by the admiral, who oversaw Bastien’s removal from the cell. One was short and blond, the other tall, obscenely thin, and dark. The blond soldier held up shackles, but Bastien spread his hands in entreaty. “Gentleman, those won’t be necessary. I am unarmed. I promise to go quietly.”

The soldiers exchanged glances. “We’re supposed to shackle prisoners,” the dark one said.

Bastien shrugged and held out his hands. “If you must.”

The blond shackled him and led him up the ladderways until he was standing on deck. It was full dark, and that was a surprise. A glance at the sky told him it was close to midnight. Docks always stunk, and the London docks were no different. He was careful not to take a deep breath, careful not to look for Raeven, either. He didn’t expect she would be standing about on deck, watching him being led away, as some of the ship’s crew was doing. He wished she were.

He was led down the gangplank to an old, sturdy carriage. Its curtains were drawn, and a coachman armed with a blunderbuss stood beside the open door. It appeared as though Bastien would be traveling alone. When he reached the conveyance, he looked at the soldiers. “Need I be shackled while inside?”

“You might as well get used to it,” the thin, dark soldier muttered.

“Then give me one last taste of freedom.” Bastien held out his hands.

The blond soldier nodded. “All right. One last taste, but if you try anything…” He unlocked the shackles and pushed Bastien into the carriage. Bastien settled on the poorly sprung seat, crossed his arms, and looked bored. He waited until the soldiers mounted their horses and the coachman hoisted himself into the box before he parted the curtains for a quick look. The soldiers were in position, one in front and one behind, but there was no other escort. No sign of Raeven either.

He heard the coachman call out to the horses and he reached under the thin squab covering the seat. His fingers touched metal and, slowly, he withdrew a pistol. A quick glance told him it was primed and ready to be fired.

“Thank you, Raeven,” he muttered. “Now stay the hell out of danger.”

Bastien sat quietly for several minutes, listening to the sounds of the city, waiting for the carriage to turn into a quiet street. After a time, he could tell they had left the docks behind, but despite the late hour, the city was busy. He heard voices and the sounds of other carriages passing. Still, he bided his time.

Finally, the carriage turned again, and the noise dimmed. Bastien gripped the pistol he’d hidden under his coat and took a deep breath.

“Halt!” a voice called. “Stand, or we’ll blow your heads off.”

Bastien heard the soldiers swear and the horses protest loudly before he heard the first shot from a pistol. He couldn’t tell if it came from the soldiers, the coachman, or one of the attackers, and he didn’t wait to find out. The carriage was still moving, and he had to get out before it stopped and the soldiers could secure him. He aimed both feet at the carriage door, kicked, and watched it slam open. He rolled onto the floor, his head landing near the doorway, and he saw the ground rush by.

Another shot sounded, and someone screamed. Bastien still had the pistol in his hand, and he rolled to his belly and peered into the dark night. The short, blond soldier was riding up beside the carriage. Bastien aimed, fired, and watched the man go down. Another horse approached, and Bastien prepared to throw the used pistol at him when he saw the ribbon of ebony hair down the rider’s back.

“
Merde
. Get back!” he yelled. “You’re going to be shot.”

“The coachman is down,” she called back. “I need to get control of the horses.”

Another shot rang out, and she ducked. The look on her face when she rose up again told him it had been close.

“You take care of him,” she ordered. “I’ll slow the horses.” And she rode forward.

Bastien wanted to ask just how she expected him to protect her and dispatch the dark soldier, when the carriage careened wildly, and he almost tumbled out. He caught the edge of the door but lost the pistol. He watched it bounce on the road and tumble away. With a curse, he levered himself up and crawled across the carriage to peer out of the curtains on the other side. The dark soldier was right beside the conveyance and gaining ground. He had his musket aimed for what, Bastien imagined, was Raeven’s head. With a roar, Bastien slammed the door open, hitting the soldier’s horse and startling the beast so it veered off course. The thin man tried to control the beast as it knocked over a cart sitting beside a building. Bastien now saw they were in a narrow lane, but he glanced ahead and noted the lane opened into a larger street. There were other carriages about, and if he could stall the soldier or knock him off the horse, Bastien and Raeven might disappear in the crowds.

When Bastien looked again, the dark soldier had the horse back under control and was gaining on the carriage. Bastien kept one hand on the door and crouched. As the soldier neared, he sprang, He didn’t know what he’d intended, perhaps some acrobatic maneuver whereby he knocked the soldier from the horse and seated the beast himself.

But he landed on the animal long enough to grab the soldier’s boot before he slid down and was dragged along the road. He held on just until the carriage wheels were no longer a threat, and then he released the soldier and tumbled onto the hard lane. As soon as he came to a stop, he raised his head and watched the carriage speed away. The thin soldier was fighting to seat his horse once again, and Raeven was fighting to slow the carriage’s horses.

With a sigh, Bastien stood up and raced after them.

***

Raeven had one of the horses by the reins, and she was pulling with everything she had. But there were four of the beasts, and even though the one she held was considering slowing, the other three were not so obliging.

“Devil take you!” she yelled, turning when she spotted movement behind her. She frowned. Hadn’t she told Bastien to deal with that soldier? And then her heart thudded. What if the soldier had dealt with Bastien?

She chanced a look over her shoulder and saw a man lying on the road. “Bastien!” But she had no time for concern. She had to get rid of the soldier before she could go back to Bastien. A glance ahead told her she was about to enter a busy street. But if she could maneuver the carriage into cutting off the soldier before she did so, she might be rid of him long enough to go back and collect Bastien.

She measured the distance to the street and decided she had about two minutes. She released the horse’s reins and began screaming at the beast. She pushed her own horse closer to the animal and cursed her poor horsemanship. She was just as likely to tumble from her beast as she was to encourage the carriage horses to veer right. She screamed again and waved her arms as she saw the soldier come up on the other side of the carriage. He was almost level with her.

Another glance forward, and she saw she had about thirty seconds left. She kicked her mount hard, jerked his reins, and brought him closer to the carriage horses. The one beside her shied, screamed, and veered away.

Yes!

The others began to follow the lead horse, but to be certain, she screamed again and pushed her mount as close as she dared. The horses and carriage veered hard right, trapping the soldier and his mount between the conveyance and a building. Too late, the soldier tried to slow his animal, but horse and rider were caught in a tumble of horses and carriage.

Raeven didn’t stay to watch the debacle. Instead, she whirled around and rushed back to where she’d left Bastien. To her relief, he was hobbling toward her.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

At the same time, he called, “Are you mad?”

She slowed her horse and offered him a hand. “I might be. Get on. Hurry.”

He didn’t argue. He took her hand, swung up behind her, and grabbed on to her waist. Warmth flowed though her when his hands were on her again. It had been so long since she’d felt his touch. But she pushed down the stabs of arousal and spurred her horse back the way they’d come. She didn’t think the soldier would be any threat to them, but she didn’t want to take any chances. As soon as she saw a narrow alley, she cut through it and emerged on a busy street on the other side.

She slowed the horse to a walk and hoped they didn’t look too conspicuous. The last thing she needed was to try and explain herself to the watch.

“Might I ask where we’re going?” Bastien said in her ear. She shivered and gripped the reins tighter.

“Berkeley Square.” Wherever that was. Wimberley’s coachman had given her directions, but those were from the docks. Now she was hopelessly turned around.

“What is in Berkley Square?”

She wanted to see his face when she told him, so she turned in the saddle and smiled. “It’s where your brother Julien resides.”

His face remained perfectly blank for three long seconds, and then he blinked. “What did you say?”

She had to turn forward again, but she was still smiling. “I said it’s where your brother Julien resides. I have it on good authority he and his wife live at Fourteen Berkeley Square.”

Bastien’s grip on her waist tightened. “Is he expecting us?”

“No. And, I have a confession.”

“
Merde
.”

She couldn’t stop grinning. It was so
good
to have him with her again, even if it was only for an hour or so.

“What’s the confession?” he asked.

She turned to face him. “I have no idea where Fourteen Berkeley Square is, and I’m afraid if we don’t find it soon, half the soldiers in London will be after us.”

To his credit, Bastien only closed his eyes and muttered, “
Merde
.”

Julien was alive. Not only was his brother alive, Bastien thought, but he was alive and had been living in England for all these years. Bastien had asked a jarvey to point them in the direction of Berkeley Square, and if they’d followed the directions correctly, he and Raeven were only a few blocks away.

In a few moments, he would see his brother again.

Bastien hoped he didn’t bring half the British Army down on Julien. By now, the soldiers at the prison would have noted Captain Cutlass was late in arriving and would be searching for him. When they found their compatriots and heard the story—assuming the two men were able to tell the story of Bastien’s escape—they’d scour London looking for him. Bastien knew his time with his brother would be short. He intended to search out a vessel as quickly as possible and return to Gibraltar. The
Shadow
stopped there yearly, and he would surely see Ridley and the rest of his crew again soon. As long as he steered clear of the British Navy, he’d be free to carry on as before.

In front of him, Raeven turned her head to peer at him. Her hair brushed against his cheek, and he smelled cherries. He tightened his hands on her waist and thought how hard it would be to leave her. But this life of running and hiding was not a life he wanted for her. She belonged somewhere safe. Her father would keep her safe. Perhaps he’d marry her to some respectable Englishman, and she’d have a dozen children. He’d like that for her. He’d like to know she was safe and well, married and a mother.

He couldn’t give her that life.

“That’s it,” Raeven said. “That’s Berkeley Square, and I believe that’s number fourteen.”

The house was an enormous tower of white. Lights blazed in the windows, making it appear a beacon in the darkness. Bastien realized he was holding his breath as Raeven stopped the horse in front of the town house. The trees in the park were bare, but the last of winter was behind them, and Bastien could imagine the place when surrounded by verdant leaves and a rainbow of flowers.

Raeven glanced back at him, and he forced himself to breathe.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“As I’ll ever be.” He dismounted then helped her down, as well. She felt warm and soft in his arms. He’d missed holding her. He would miss holding her.

He’d wanted to marry her, but he realized now how selfish an idea that had been. He was a pirate with several prices on his head. He could never give her a family and home like the one they stood before.

He started up the walk and felt Raeven hesitate beside him. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

She glanced down at her black breeches and the belted black shirt she wore. “I look a fright.” Indeed, her hair was streaming down her back, and she had scrapes on her hands, dirt on one cheek, and there was a tear in the material on her thigh.

She looked beautiful.

“We make quite a pair.” He glanced down at himself—his torn coat, his dusty breeches, his bloody shirt. He wasn’t sure if the blood was hers or his or one of the soldier’s. He took her hand. “Come on. Let’s scare the servants.”

She shook her head but followed him with a laugh. At the door, he lifted the ornate lion’s head and banged three times. Bastien could have sworn he heard the echo of the knocker in the silence. A moment later, the door creaked open, and an equally creaky butler stood in the entryway. “May I help you?” The butler’s eyes skimmed over the pair of them, and the disdain showed clearly on his face.

“We’re here to see the duc,” Bastien said.

“The duc and duchesse are not home at present. If you’d care to leave your card”—his tone indicated he doubted they possessed cards—“I will give it to His Grace at the first opportunity.”

“What’s your name?” Bastien asked.

The butler raised his brows. “Grimsby, and yours?”

“Bastien. I suggest, Grimsby, you go get the duc. We’ll wait for him in the parlor or the drawing room. Better yet”—he pushed his way past this Grimsby—“we’ll wait in the dining room. Miss Russell and I are famished.”

“Sir!” Grimsby argued. “You cannot shoulder your way into this house. I will call the footmen and have you bodily removed.”

Bastien stood nose to nose with the butler. “And what will Julien say when he hears you’ve had servants lay hands on his brother?”

“Brother?” Grimsby sputtered. “You are not the comte!”

Bastien’s eyes narrowed, and he grabbed Grimsby’s shirt and jerked him close. “Armand. Is Armand alive? Is he here in London?”

“N-no!” the butler squeaked as Bastien lifted him off the ground. “His lordship is at his estate in Southampton.”

Bastien’s fingers slipped, and he released Grimsby and turned to Raeven. She looked as shocked as he felt. “Did you know about this?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No.” She reached out, touched his sleeve. “Bastien, both of your brothers. They’re both alive.”

Bastien heard a sharp intake of breath and turned to see Grimsby staring at him. “You… I didn’t see it before. But you look just like the comte.”

Bastien nodded. “I’m his twin. Now, where is Julien? I don’t have any time to waste.”

Grimsby swallowed. “He is not at home. The duchesse and your mother—”

“My
who
?”

Grimsby jumped back even as Bastien reached for him. Grimsby stuttered, “The dowager duchesse, sir—er, my lord. They have all gone to Lord Astley’s ball. They left the little boy at home, of course…”

Bastien reached behind him, searched for a chair, and when he didn’t find one, sank down onto the floor. “My mother. And I have a nephew.”

Raeven knelt beside him.

“I don’t know what to say,” he told her. “I don’t know what to do.”

She nodded. “I do. We go to this Lord Astley’s and find them. We know the soldiers are looking for us, and we might be able to trust this butler, but we might not. I’d rather keep moving than sit here and wait for the soldiers to turn up.”

“Madam,” the butler said stiffly. “I do not know what kind of trouble you are in, but I assure you, I would never betray one His Grace’s family members. I—”

“All the same, Grimsby.” Raeven stood and faced him. “Tell us how to reach Lord Astley’s ball. We’ll see the duc for ourselves.”

Grimsby’s gaze swept over her. “Madam, you cannot attend Lord Astley’s ball dressed in this fashion.”

“It’s no good, Grimsby.” Bastien stood. “You won’t talk her out of it, and I agree with her. We’ll go to the ball.”

Grimsby sighed. Loudly.

“Give us the direction,” Bastien ordered.

***

Raeven could hear the strains of the orchestra even as they stood outside the glittering town house. She had thought the Valére house enormous, but this was even larger, even more ornate. She stood beside Bastien on the lawn and watched the carriages pull into the drive. Women dressed in silks and velvet, jewels sparkling in the glow of the torches, stepped regally from each conveyance.

She looked down at her men’s clothing and blew out a breath. “Perhaps this was not such a good idea.”

“We have little choice,” Bastien said. “We can’t trust the butler, and I want to see my family before I have to go into hiding. Maybe they can help hide me.”

Raeven nodded. “You’re right.” She bit her lip as another well-appointed carriage clattered up to the house. “How should we do this? Walk in the door there?” She gestured to a door where two liveried footmen were assisting a woman in a white gown and diamonds from her coach.

Bastien considered then shook his head. “I think we go in the back. Perhaps there’s a terrace.”

Raeven smiled. “Good idea. One other problem. Once we’re inside, how will we find your brother? You haven’t seen him in years. Will you recognize him before we’re spotted and thrown out?”

“I’ll know him,” Bastien said. She glanced at him, and his expression was pure confidence. “And we’ll move quickly.”

They scaled the gate and entered the back garden. Fortunately, the terrace was well lit with Chinese lanterns strewn in long lines. Several couples walked arm and arm, and several had veered off the path. Bastien and Raeven almost stepped on one amorous man and woman. Raeven apologized profusely before Bastien grabbed her arm and pulled her away.

They climbed the stone steps to the French doors leading into the ballroom. Raeven was thankful for the dark because it masked their tattered appearance, but they still garnered more than their share of curious looks. Raeven ducked her head. Bastien took the steps two at a time, and Raeven hurried to keep up, but when they stood before the French doors and she glimpsed the dazzling ballroom, she balked.

She had been to balls before. She had worn pretty gowns and her mother’s jewels. She had spent an hour pinning her hair and applying subtle rouge. But she had never seen a ball like this one. The men and women looked as though they were kings and queens. The ladies’ dresses alone awed her. She had never seen so many rich fabrics or sumptuous styles. Jewels flashed, fans waved lazily, and the women all but glided across the ballroom floor.

The men were almost as impressive. They stood straight and regal, their navy coats brushed to perfection, their cravats stiff, and their gazes imperious. She wanted to shrink rather than walk before those imperious glances. She had never felt so much the sailor’s daughter as she did now.

“Raeven, let’s go,” Bastien urged. When she looked at him, she saw no trace of worry on his handsome features. But then he belonged here, among these gods and goddesses. One glimpse of him, even in torn breeches and a dirty coat, hair loose about his shoulders and a smear of dirt or blood on one cheek, and he looked a part of the ensemble before her. Even in disarray, he was regal and imperious.

But, of course, he did belong. He was no pirate’s son. He was the son of a duc—he was a marquis—and when he stepped through the French doors, he would only be reclaiming what was rightly his all along.

She, however, had no place here. And when Bastien stepped through those doors, she knew she would lose him. She’d thought to hold on by rescuing him from prison. She’d thought to hang on by bringing him to his family. But now she could see she had only widened the chasm between them. She had known it was there, but she had never acknowledged it until now, when it gaped, wide and inaccessible.

“Perhaps you should go alone,” she said, aware her voice trembled slightly. She cleared her throat. She was not afraid—not of the
ton
, not of Bastien’s brother, the duc, not of losing Bastien. She would go on.

Bastien scowled at her. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to leave you here.” He grabbed her arm. “Hurry.”

And with one yank, he pulled her into the glittering ballroom. She squinted at the bright lights from the chandeliers and lowered her head again, feeling strangely self-conscious. At their sudden appearance, she could hear the hum of conversation dim then hush. From the corners of her lowered eyes, she saw heads turn, women lean to their partners to whisper, and muffled exclamations.

Oh, how she wanted to disappear!

Instead, she raised her head and looked directly in the eyes of those they passed. Let them stare. Let them whisper. She didn’t live her life in stuffy ballrooms. She had seen the world. She tried to let them see her defiance in her gaze. She wanted them to know she didn’t care if they mocked her.

A man stepped out before Bastien, and before he could speak, Bastien said, “The duc de Valére. Where is he?”

The man looked surprised then gestured toward the house’s interior. “I believe he’s with Lord Astley in the library. Some matters of business to discuss.”

“Good. I’ll join him.” And Bastien, still holding her hand, plunged onward. The orchestra was still playing and people were still dancing, but Raeven was very much aware they were the main entertainment at the moment. Like the Red Sea before Moses, the guests parted as she and Bastien made their way across the ballroom.

But one woman stepped into the breach. She was smiling tenuously. “Armand?”

Bastien stopped, and Raeven felt the tremor of shock course through his body. “No,” he managed.

The woman stepped closer, and Raeven studied her. She was beautiful—tall with dark hair coiled elaborately on her head, dark eyes, and full lips. She was slim, her willowy figure accented by the wispy white gown she wore. And, like the other women, she sparkled. No one would ever call the diamonds at her neck and ears garish, but they whispered wealth and taste.

She nodded and moved closer, almost touching Bastien now. “No, you’re not Armand. He’s… you’re… You must be Sébastien.” Her eyes glowed, and the smile she flashed was as bright as the lights in the chandelier. “Oh, I cannot believe it!”

Bastien’s fingers tightened on Raeven’s, and then he released her.

So soon, she thought. She’d hoped he would hold on just a little longer.

Raeven watched as the lovely woman in white offered her hand and Bastien took it, kissed her gloved knuckles. He looked as though he’d been born to do such things. “I am Bastien,” he said. “And you are?”

“Sarah, the duchesse de Valére. I’m Julien’s wife.” She spoke quickly, her voice a little breathless.

If Bastien was surprised to meet his sister-in-law, he didn’t show it. He drew Raeven forward. “Your Grace, this is Miss Russell.”

Raeven took the woman’s gloved hand, and Sarah squeezed her fingers reassuringly. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Russell.”

Raeven watched as Bastien casually took the duchesse’s arm and give her a charming smile. “Would you take me to your husband? I’m in something of a hurry.”

Sarah nodded. “Trouble?” She waved a hand. “Of course there is. It seems to follow you brothers like a hungry puppy. This way…” She gestured for them to follow then turned back and gave Bastien a quick hug. “I’m sorry, but I simply can’t believe you’re here. I’m so thrilled. Your brother will be—oh! But your mother. She will want to see you. We
must
seek her out.” She looked from guest to guest. “Can someone find the dowager…?”

“No.” Bastien shook his head firmly. “My mother will have to wait, I’m afraid. We haven’t any time to waste.”

The duchesse nodded, her expression more grave now. “Very well. But I’m going to have to answer for this later,” she said as she led them past the staring guests. No one made any pretense of not watching them now. At some moment Raeven couldn’t pinpoint, the music had stopped and the last vestiges of the ball halted. She could feel heat creeping up her neck and cheeks, but she ignored it and held her head high. So what if she looked like a street urchin?