Captured (41 page)

Cole rolled on top of her and pinned her wrists above her head, a reckless grin on his face as he said, “This brings back memories. It’s been too long since we had a good fight.” He leaned down, trailing soft kisses along the nape of her neck.

Trapped beneath him, Devon shivered as a tingle of pleasure raced down her spine. “Cole—”

“What?”

“This is supposed to be a fight, and you’re not cooperating.”

“I’m sorry, love, I’ll try harder.” He brought her nipple into his mouth, teasing the rosy peak with his tongue. Devon instinctively arched her back, offering herself up to him. He gave her other breast the same loving treatment, then reluctantly pulled away. “Is that better?”

“Yes. No‌—‌Cole, we can’t.”

“We are,” he murmured, pausing at her navel as he continued to trail kisses down her body.

“Well, all right,” she breathlessly agreed, “but only for a minute.”

He looked up at her and arched a tawny brow. “Only a minute?” he repeated with mock offense. “Surely you have me confused with someone else’s husband.”

She smiled. “I’m sorry, Cole, but I just remembered, Uncle Monty is probably downstairs waiting for us. He wanted to take a riding tour of the island this morning and was determined to make an early start of it. I hope you don’t mind.”

Cole immediately rose to a sitting position and tugged his hands through his hair, their teasing banter forgotten. “I see.”

Devon stared at him, stunned by the speed with which he abandoned their former pursuits. She’d fully expected him to tell her that Monty could go hang himself. Instead he turned toward her, his thoughts already focused elsewhere as he said, “You’d better get dressed then.”

Miffed by his abrupt dismissal, she climbed out of bed and muttered under her breath, “We may have that fight yet, Cole McRae.”

He gave no indication of having heard her. Instead he pulled on his clothes and left the room without a word. Devon stared after him, her irritation quickly turning to concern. Something was bothering Cole, and obviously that something had to do with Uncle Monty. She dressed as quickly as she could and followed him downstairs.

“There you are, my girl, looking lovely as ever,” Monty boomed as she entered the front parlor.

“Good morning, Uncle.” Devon brushed a quick kiss on his cheek and glanced around the room. “Where’s Cole?”

“Out saddling the horses. Fine-looking animals they are too. I’ve already been out to see them myself.”

She drew her brows together. “You have? Why?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

“Uncle Monty, what are you up to?”

“Up to? My girl, absolutely nothing. Is this what marriage has done to you? Now you’re suspicious of every move a man makes? If I’d known this, I never would have allowed—”

Devon drew in a deep breath, then slowly let it out. Though he was a decent rider, riding was definitely not something her uncle enjoyed. “Uncle Monty, you hate horses, remember? You refuse to travel anywhere unless it’s by coach or train, and now suddenly you’re aglow with excitement at the prospect of galloping around the island on horseback.”

Monty smiled. “Lovely day for it, isn’t it?”

Dull panic took root inside her. In all the years she’d known him, not once had her uncle put her off when she asked a question, or talked to her the way he talked to his marks. Yet that was exactly what he was doing now. She reached into the pocket of her riding skirts and removed the slim linen card that he’d sent with her wedding night flowers. Trust me. I have a plan. She’d completely forgotten about it until yesterday, when she found it while unpacking. “What are you planning?”

Monty turned over the card, read it, and crumpled it. “Ah, that’s all irrelevant now, my girl. Everything’s changed. Just trust your old uncle, and everything will be fine.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Devon said softly. “I don’t know what you’re doing anymore, Uncle Monty, and it scares me.”

Monty stared at her, his expression pained. “I’m doing what I’ve always done, my girl. I’m taking care of business. I’m taking care of you and me.”

“What about Cole?”

“The captain can take care of himself.”

Devon caught her uncle’s sleeve as he started to turn away. “I love him.”

Monty slowly smiled. “Do you think me blind, my girl? Anyone within ten feet of the two of you can see how you both feel about one another.”

“Then what—”

“Trust me.”

“Are we ready?” Cole called from the doorway.

Devon spun about, wondering how much he’d heard. It was impossible to tell from the closed expression on his face. She glanced from him to her uncle, then reluctantly nodded, knowing that she’d get no further answers. Cole tied the picnic lunch Elize had packed for them to the back of his saddle, then they mounted up. After a little while spent in the sunshine and fresh air, Devon began to feel remarkably better. She fell into the spirit of the outing, letting the natural beauty of the island soothe her worries away.

“I say, Captain, when did you last have this horse shod?” Monty asked as they reached the outskirts of the city.

Devon and Cole pulled up their reins and turned back to Monty. “John told me he had them an attended to last month,” Cole answered. “Why?”

Monty shrugged and stroked his mount’s neck. “He seems to be favoring his left a bit, doesn’t he?” He nudged the horse forward, demonstrating as he spoke. The gelding pawed at the air, then moved in a halting, foundered step.

Cole frowned. “Probably picked up a rock.”

“Quite so,” Monty concurred. “Didn’t I see a stable nearby?”

“About a mile back.”

“Fine. I’ll have the smith see to it. It shouldn’t take more than an hour’s time.”

“We’ll go with you, Uncle Monty,” Devon volunteered.

“Nonsense, my girl. No sense in spoiling everybody’s outing. You two go on ahead and I’ll catch up.”

Devon turned back, fighting her unease. “Uncle, are you sure—”

Monty laughed. “Go, my girl. Off with you both. Just see to it that you save me my lunch.”

Monty dismounted and silently watched as Cole and Devon rode away. He crouched down and reached for his mount’s afflicted hoof. A blacksmith wasn’t necessary for what ailed the animal. All Monty had to do was unfasten the slim wire he’d attached around the fetlock earlier that morning. While not painful, the device was irritating to the horse and made it appear lame within a matter of minutes. He reached up and patted the gelding’s smooth nose. “There now, my boy, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

The horse tossed its head and stomped its foot in response. Behind him, Monty heard the soft neigh of another horse. He turned, watching as a rider slowly emerged from within the shadows of the alley. “Nice work, Mr. Teller.”

He glanced at Earl Finch and nodded. “You ready?”

Finch smiled. “Indeed I am.”

The men rode the short distance required to bring them to the Grand Hotel. They dismounted and stepped inside, moving quietly through the crowded lobby. Finch led the way to a private parlor off the main floor. He tapped on the door, then ushered Monty inside.

The small room was richly furnished. A deep red velvet sofa and matching chairs sat in the center of the parlor, surrounded by a clutter of fringed lamps and china bric-a-brac. The walls were papered with a heavy gold and black pattern. Thick wool rugs lined the floor, and dark silk swags hung above the windows. The lush opulence was heavy and oppressive against the tropical island heat.

Monty took it all in at a glance, then his eyes moved to Jonas Sharpe. The man stood at the far end of the room, staring out the window at the activity in the street. He looked exactly as Monty had remembered him. Tall and fit, impeccably dressed in the finest quality suit, as if anything less than perfection would not be tolerated. His dark hair was slicked back, his mustache perfectly groomed. The sweet, cloying scent of cloves emanated from him and drifted through the air.

“My time is limited, Mr. Teller,” Sharpe said, barely glancing over his shoulder. “Mr. Finch told me you insisted on meeting with me before I arrange the transfer of my ship to your captain. Very well, you may speak your piece.” He pulled a pocket watch from within his vest and clicked it open. “You have five minutes.”

Monty stepped from the shadows of the hallway and moved farther into the room. “My good friend,” he said, “I may need a little more time than that.”

Sharpe froze, then slowly turned around. He stared at Monty for a long moment. “Well. This is a surprise.”

Finch looked from one man to the next, his eyes wide with surprise. “You know Mr. Teller already—”

“His name’s not Teller, you idiot,” Sharpe hissed. “It’s Persons, Montgomery Persons. The swindler I met in Liverpool.”

Monty clucked his tongue. “Swindler is such a vulgar term. I prefer the title opportunist, myself. Much more pleasant, is it not?”

“What do you want?”

“Exactly what I told your man Finch I wanted: a brief meeting with you, Mr. Sharpe. I believe you’ll find what I have to say quite fascinating. If not…” He paused, lifting his shoulders in an indolent shrug. “If not, I’ll be on my way, and you’ll have lost no more than five minutes of your valuable time.”

“I see.” Sharpe stared at him for long, cool seconds. “Do have a seat, Mr. Persons,” he said at last, gesturing to the plush velvet sofa.

“I find a touch of brandy always helps the words flow smoother,” Monty said once they were both seated.

Sharpe glanced at Finch. “Two glasses.”

Finch jumped at the clipped command, rushing across the room to a tall cabinet. He removed a bottle from the shelf, splashed the amber liquid into thick tumblers, then set the drinks on a table between the two men.

Monty reached for his glass and took a deep swallow. “Privacy is also nice,” he said.

Sharpe looked at Finch once more. “Get out.”

Finch scurried to obey, rattling the door shut behind him.

“Quite an impressive economy with words you have there, Mr. Sharpe.”

“What do you want?”

Monty smiled. “I believe you and I have some unfinished business to attend to. You remember my lovely niece, do you not?”

“Of course. According to my man Ogglesby, she found herself in a bit of trouble down in Charleston. Such a shame, really. She and Ogglesby would have been a good match.” He paused to take a sip of his drink. “Certainly you realize that I had nothing to do with what happened.”

“Of course, of course. How could I blame you? You weren’t even in the country when it happened.”

Sharpe’s eyes narrowed. “That’s quite magnanimous of you, Persons.”

“Grudges are inappropriate in my line of business. Particularly when there are more important matters to settle.”

“Such as?”

“As fate would have it, my niece was able to escape from her captors. She ended up marrying the captain of the blockade runner that Finch told you about.” Monty paused, a slight frown on his face. “Unfortunately it’s not a marriage that I approve of as I can’t say that I truly like the man. Call me sentimental, but I’ve always had greater aspirations for the girl. I rather fancy Devon with an earl, or possibly even a duke. Someone who could give her lands and a title. Quite coincidentally, that would set me up as well. With the right amount of money, I believe an alliance of that sort would not be out of reach.”

“Your niece and a duke,” Sharpe sneered. “An alliance of that sort would take a prodigious amount of money,”

Monty ignored the insult. “Yes, it will.”

Jonas Sharpe rose to his feet. “As you promised, this has all been fascinating.” He removed his watch and glanced at it once again. “You’ll excuse me now if I have more important matters to attend to.”

“You’re the one who’s going to give me the money.”

Thick silence filled the space between them. Jonas Sharpe’s face flushed with anger. “Why in hell would I give you a bloody cent?”

“Because I have information you need, sir. Information you desperately need. And I promise you it won’t come cheap.”

“I’m not interested.”

“What a shame. Though I understand completely, of course. I suppose you’re too busy preparing to hand that frigate over to my darling niece’s husband, are you not?” He shook his head. “By the way, your man Finch‌—‌remarkably ineffective as an agent.”

Sharpe glared at him. “If you have a point, Persons, I suggest you make it.”

Monty leaned back against the sofa. He took a deep sip of brandy, then set the glass down, smiling broadly. “My good friend,” he said, “let’s talk about Captain Cole McRae.”

Devon ran her hands over Cole’s shoulders as she helped him into his shirt. She frowned as she lightly traced the folds of the crisp white fabric. “Are you sure you’ve thought of everything?” she asked for the fifth time in as many minutes.

Cole caught her hands in his. “Sweetheart, there’s nothing to worry about. Sharpe wants me to come aboard and give the frigate a test run, just to make sure I can handle her.”

She nodded and glanced down at his hands, noting the thick ring he wore. “I’ve never seen that before,” she murmured absently.

He glanced at the gold band and shrugged. “For luck,” he replied, then resumed the task of buttoning his shirt.

They’d returned from their picnic a short while ago to find Sharpe’s note waiting for them. The picnic, Devon admitted, had not been a sterling success. Monty had caught up with them, his horse no longer limping, but by then the outing seemed to have gone flat. The day had proved too warm to enjoy riding, and they were all too preoccupied with their own thoughts to truly enjoy the beauty of the island. The food Elize had packed for them went untouched.

Finally Devon suggested they return to the house. Monty and Cole both gratefully acquiesced, making it all too clear that they’d gone on the excursion just to please her. Devon shook her head. Had she known there would be a note from Sharpe waiting for them upon their return, she would have tried to delay them forever.

“But why now?” she pressed, fighting back her fear. “Why not tomorrow, or the next day? Why does he have to see you now?”

“I imagine he’s anxious to have her leave port. According to Finch, the ship’s been docked here in Nassau for over a week.”