The Rogue Pirate’s Bride Read online

  And she should definitely not compare him to Timothy, though looking at the portrait again, she saw there was little to compare. Timothy had been fair with light brown hair, doe brown eyes, and a round face. He was handsome but not striking. His gazes had never taken her breath away, the way one look from Bastien’s cobalt eyes could.

  Bastien is gone. She shook her head, willing her mind to put him away as easily as she placed Timothy’s picture back in the drawer and closed it tightly.

  Ten days passed, during which Raeven was largely confined to her quarters. For once, she didn’t mind the confinement. She wanted to be alone. Her father came every day to visit her, and after the first three days, had stopped lecturing and scolding. Raeven didn’t have the fire to argue with him, and she supposed he grew tired of berating her when she did not fight back. There had been times she wanted to argue with him, justify her actions, but now that she’d spent time away from him, she saw how ill he’d become. His cough was worse, and he’d lost weight. He told her they were bound for England again, and she was grateful. A few months on land, eating good food and resting, seemed just the thing for her father’s ailing health.

  And then one night she couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned in her berth, unwanted memories of Bastien plaguing her dreams. Finally she rose, dressed, and opened the door to her cabin. She expected to see the guard posted there, but no one stood outside. The deserted companionway invited her, and without a backward glance, she stepped outside and within moments made her way on deck.

  The wind blew strong and cool, and she stood in the shadows and allowed it to slap her face and toss back her hair. The salt spray of the ocean splashed her arms and face, and she closed her eyes and tried to banish unwanted dreams and memories.

  “What d’ye think will ’appen to the poor bastard once ’e arrives in London town?”

  Raeven turned at the sound of the voices. She’d known she was not alone on deck. It was late, but the men of the watch were on duty. Undoubtedly, some of them had seen her, but she did not think they would rush to tell her father if she only stood and looked at the water. Still, she’d kept in the shadows, and these two seamen must not have seen her. She had no intention of making her presence known. She turned back to the rail and leaned her elbows on it.

  “’E’ll be ’anged sure as my name is Tom Skippy. Tried and ’anged. I’d pay a farthing to see it.”

  “They say ’e ain’t said a word since being brought on board. Just sits in the brig, like ’e’s some sort of fancy gentleman.”

  Raeven’s breath caught in her throat, and she had to stop a gasp from escaping. As far as she knew, there were no prisoners in the brig. When had one been brought on board? They’d had no interaction with other ships since they’d left the Shadow.

  “Some say ’e’s a fancy gentleman,” the first seaman said. “But I say ’e’s a pirate, and ’e should be ’anged for his crimes.”

  “No.” She gripped the rail tighter then pushed back and ran for a companionway that would take her all the way to the lowest deck and the brig. She scurried down the steps, feeling her way past decks dark and crammed with men sleeping in dozens of hammocks. She didn’t need a lantern. She knew the ship as well as she knew her own body. She could find her way blindfolded.

  It’s not him. It’s not him. It can’t be him.

  When she reached the orlop deck, the smells of rotting wood, vinegar, and oakum assaulted her nostrils. They were familiar scents, almost comforting. She arrowed straight for the brig and was met by a large sailor, who stood blocking her path. Beyond him she could see the small cells. The Regal had three. She stared hard at the dark cells, her heart pounding in her throat.

  “Your father said you might run down here,” the sailor said, grabbing her arm when she tried to push past him. Raeven shook him off and glanced at him long enough to place his face and name. Everyone called him Rummy because he could drink any man under the table, and his beverage of choice was—what else?—rum.

  “Let go of me, Rummy. I’m going back there.”

  But he blocked her way and grasped her by the arms. Fury bloomed in Raeven. “Get your hands off me, and get out of my way,” she hissed.

  “I can’t do that, Raeven.”

  She glared at him, and he cleared his throat. “Miss Russell. The admiral said you weren’t allowed down here. Go back to your cabin.”

  She stood ramrod straight and gave him a hard, direct look. “If you don’t get your hands off me, I swear by all that’s holy, I’ll cut them off and feed them to the sharks.”

  Rummy took his hands off her.

  “Good.” She nodded to the cells behind him. “Now get out of my way.”

  But he shook his head. “I can’t, Miss Russell. Your father—”

  She held up a hand. “I don’t care what my father said. Move, or I’ll move you.”

  He grinned. He was easily two feet taller than she and weighed three times what she did. “How are you going to do that?”

  In one smooth movement, she extracted the dagger from her boot and pressed against his throat. “This is how. Now move.”

  But the stubborn man didn’t budge. “You wouldn’t do that to me, Miss Russell. I’m only following orders.”

  She bit her lip. “You’re right. I don’t want to kill you.” She pulled the dagger from his throat and swung it considerably lower.

  Rummy emitted a high-pitched squeal.

  “But I’m not opposed to maiming you.”

  Their gazes met, and she let him see she meant it. “You know I’ll do it,” she whispered. “Run. Go get my father, if you must, but get out of my way.”

  He nodded and began to edge away from the cells. “Slowly now,” she cautioned. “You don’t want my hand to slip.”

  He stepped carefully away from her, and when there was enough distance between his body and the dagger, he turned and went straight for the ladderway. Raeven knew he would probably fetch her father, but she didn’t care. She turned and stepped into the brig.

  The first cell was empty.

  The second cell was empty.

  And Bastien stood, arms crossed over his chest, brow cocked, in the third cell.

  Seventeen

  She looked as beautiful as he remembered. Perhaps more beautiful, standing there, hands on her hips, hair falling brazenly over her shoulders and tumbling over her breasts, chin notched high, green eyes blazing.

  Bastien couldn’t stop smiling.

  Bastien had told Russell his daughter would realize he was a prisoner, but Raeven’s father had assured Bastien he’d keep his presence on the ship a secret and Raeven away from the brig.

  “Ten days,” Bastien said. “I thought you’d find me sooner.”

  Her mouth—that lovely ripe-cherry mouth—worked silently. “You thought… you thought…”

  He leaned a shoulder against the cell bars. “You’d better speak quickly. Your friend—what was his name? Rummy? Unfortunate sobriquet. Rummy will be back momentarily, and he’ll bring your father.”

  She moved to the cell, wrapped her hands around the bars. “What are you doing here?”

  He lifted his brows. “Don’t you know?”

  She gave him a bewildered look, and he shook his head. “Come now, Raeven. I thought you more intelligent than this.”

  “You’re not here for me.” She said it almost as a challenge, as though she wanted him to argue with her. He didn’t. He watched her face and could almost see her consider and discard one idea then the next.

  “Your ship.” Her gaze met his. “You traded yourself to save it. Bastien…” She reached for his hand, and he gave it to her. “I told you my father wouldn’t fire on the Shadow with me on board.”

  “No, he wouldn’t have fired while you were on board, but once you’d been taken aboard the Regal, he would have blown us out of the water.”

  “Not if he gave his word. You could have used me for leverage. You could have—”

  “Your faith in your father
is touching, Raeven, but your father is also an admiral. If he left the Shadow with nothing to show for it and not a shot fired, what would he tell his superiors in England? He couldn’t fire because he gave his word to a pirate? Come now. You’re not that naïve.”

  “And so you agreed to go as his prisoner in order to save your ship. I should have realized before. I should have known you would have to do this.”

  “It wouldn’t have changed anything.” It wouldn’t have meant he could keep the Shadow. He could either sit in the brig of the Regal or sit on the bottom of the ocean floor. There had been no choice, really. He’d given the ship to Ridley, and after they hanged him in London, he’d promised to haunt Ridley if the man didn’t take good care of her. “I have nothing to lose,” Bastien told Raeven now. “No wife, no children, no family.”

  She gripped his hand tighter. “You don’t know that. You were going to search for your brothers.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be.”

  She shook her head. “Will you really give up so easily? Will you really go so gently to your death?”

  He was facing death. Certain death. He’d persuaded Russell to take him prisoner instead of hanging him from the Regal’s yardarm. Russell was canny enough to realize the glory he’d receive when he brought the much-vaunted Captain Cutlass to London to face trial and punishment. It was a risk, though. Pirates were known for their tricks and deceptions. The admiral had made sure Bastien was locked up tightly and had no interaction with the crew—less chance he’d be able to sway any of Russell’s men or cause a mutiny. Less chance he’d be able to persuade one of them to help him escape once on land.

  But Bastien sure as hell would not go to his hanging without a fight, even if he had little hope he’d be able to escape. The British Navy didn’t make a habit of losing prisoners. “I have a few tricks yet.”

  “Perhaps I can help you. Perhaps—”

  “No.” He all but crushed her hand in his. “This is no game. If you’re implicated in aiding my escape, you’ll be imprisoned as well. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “What a touching sentiment,” a voice said from behind her. “Coming from a rogue. I hope you don’t believe that drivel, Raeven.”

  Bastien met the admiral’s eyes, squeezed Raeven’s hand a last time, and released her. But she didn’t step away from his cell. Instead, she stood in front of Bastien, as though she were shielding him. Bastien shook his head. He really should have married the girl while he had the chance.

  “Father, I demand an explanation. Why is Bastien imprisoned on the Regal? He’s done nothing wrong.”

  Her father’s brows shot up. “Nothing wrong? Is this the man you wanted to hunt down for the death of Captain Bowers? Is this the man you urged me to pursue because you were certain he carried arms for Spain? He’s a pirate and a rogue. He’s responsible for the death of Percy Williams. And now you dare defend him to me?”

  “I’m responsible for Percy’s death, not Bastien. Percy went aboard the Shadow with me only because I pushed and cajoled him.”

  “Be that as it may. If nothing else, the man has the crime of piracy on his shoulders. He’s attacked British ships, stolen British cargo, killed British sailors. And I’m not going to allow those misdeeds to go unpunished because you’re smitten with him. Now, go back to your cabin. If you’re found down here again, the prisoner will receive fifty lashes.”

  She balked. “Father!”

  But he’d turned his back and was headed for the ladderway. Raeven started to go after him then turned back to Bastien. “I’ll speak to him. I’ll try and help.”

  Bastien nodded, knowing she’d not budge the man an inch. “If I don’t see you again…” he began, uncertain how he would even finish the sentiment.

  “You will. I promise. I’ll find a way to help you.”

  He cocked a brow. “I could do without the fifty lashes.”

  She gave him a quick scowl. “Have some faith.” And then she was gone.

  Bastien smiled. He had nothing but faith in her. Too bad in the British Navy she’d finally met a foe she couldn’t best.

  ***

  Raeven argued most of the way back to England for Bastien’s release, but her father would not listen. As soon as she broached the topic of Captain Cutlass, he cut her off and turned his back. On one of the last occasions she tried to reason with him, she caught him in his cabin. “Father.”

  “Do not start, Raeven,” he said, not even bothering to look up from the charts on his desk.

  She plopped in the chair across from him. “I have never seen you so unwilling to hear me out. What are you afraid of? That I might convince you Bastien is a good man?”

  He glanced up and back down. “I would like to be convinced he’s a good man, Raeven. Tell me. What is so good about him?”

  Raeven opened her mouth, but her father cut her off.

  “Is it all the times he’s attacked British ships or those under our protection?”

  “No, but—”

  “Was he good when he killed Captain Bowers?”

  “No, but that wasn’t his—”

  “Or did he become good when he sailed away with my daughter and returned her to me thoroughly debauched and now arguing for the bastard’s life?” The admiral stood, red-faced, and glared at her.

  Raeven was wise enough not to answer. She still worried for his health and did not want him too upset.

  “If your mother could see you now…” He trailed off.

  Raeven waited, but it appeared he would not speak again. “If she could see me now?” she prompted quietly.

  He shook his head, took his handkerchief, and coughed into it.

  “What would she say, Father? What would she do? Would she not be happy to see that I’m in love? Would she not want to save the man I care for?” She lifted a hand when her father would have spoken. “Very well. He’s not a good man. He’s a privateer, and he’s not what you wanted for me. But he doesn’t deserve to die. If you let him live—”

  “How?” The admiral placed his hands on his hips. “How can he live? He’s wanted by the Crown. When we dock, he’ll be sent to Newgate, tried, and hanged for his crimes. I can’t change that. I don’t want to change that.”

  “You could help him escape.”

  He glared at her. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that traitorous statement.”

  “Father—”

  “No. No more! Forget him, Raeven. You’ll find another man. I know you will. I have dreams for you too.” For the first time she saw a flicker of pain in his eyes. “When I retire, I want to take my grandsons fishing. I want to see you happily settled.”

  “As do I.”

  “And I do not want to hear another word about Cutlass.”

  “Please, if you’d just listen to me.”

  “Not another word.” He coughed, waved a hand. “Get out! Go back to your cabin and leave me in peace.”

  Hurt and dejected, Raeven obeyed.

  She was not allowed to return to the brig to visit Bastien, and for the remainder of the voyage, she had only one brief glimpse of him. She happened to be on deck at the same time he was brought up for air. She was quickly dragged back to her cabin, but not before she was able to see he was well and healthy. He looked paler than she remembered, but he was not suffering.

  At least she had that comfort.

  Because she was no longer trusted, she spent hours alone in her cabin. Day after day, she tried to think of ways to save Bastien, but she knew even if she could help him escape the ship, he’d not be a free man. He’d be a wanted man with a price on his head. It would be next to impossible for him to escape the country by ship, as every captain would be on the lookout for him. She had no money, and if Bastien had untold riches hidden somewhere, she did not think they would be accessible in London.

  And every one of her schemes would require funds. Who had funds? The aristocracy, of course. But she did not know any of the ton. She was a sailor’s daughter.
/>   Bastien’s family was of the aristocracy. Perhaps if she could travel to France and find them, they might give her money to help Bastien.

  A few days later, she spotted Mr. Wimberley on deck. Fitzwilliam Wimberley was fourteen and the third son of a marquess. He was the closest thing to the aristocracy she knew, and she stopped him as he passed her.

  “Yes, Miss Russell?” He had the clipped, formal accent of the aristocracy, and even at fourteen, looked as though he’d be more at home in a musicale than inspecting the rigging on a mast.

  “Mr. Wimberley, I wondered if we might have a word in private?”

  His brows shot up in surprise. She couldn’t blame him. This was probably only the third time she’d ever spoken to him. “I think the wardroom is empty this time of day. Do you have a moment?”

  “Yes, Miss Russell.” He indicated she should lead the way, and she did so, her thoughts churning as she walked. When they’d settled in the wardroom, Raeven seated across from him, she said, “Your father is an aristocrat, correct?”

  Now his brows knotted together. “He’s the Marquess of Huntleigh,” he said slowly. “Is that what you wanted to speak about? My father?”

  “No. But I wondered if, because of your upbringing, you might be familiar with another aristocratic family.”

  He nodded. “I know my Debrett’s as well as anyone, I suppose.”

  “It’s a French family. The name is Harcourt, but the title is the duc of Valère.”

  “Duc de Valère. Yes, I know of the duc. He made an interesting marriage shortly before I signed on to the Regal. I remember my mother speaking of it.”

  Raeven stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment. “The duc is alive and in England? I was given to think he’d been guillotined.”

  “Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Russell. The duc was guillotined. This is his oldest son. I believe his given name is Jacques or—”

  “Julien,” she offered slowly. Julien Harcourt, Bastien’s oldest brother, was alive and well—and apparently married—in England. Her head was spinning.