Duke of Deception (Wentworth Trilogy) (20 page)

What could he say to her? That he thought she had other lovers and wouldn’t care if he consummated the marriage without regard to their agreement? That he thought she didn’t deserve to be treated with respect and tenderness? He could say nothing, he realized, nothing that would make up for the terrible thing he had done. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Lucy clung to him, drawing an uneven breath, and wiped her wet cheeks, not even sure why she was crying. It wasn’t from pain; it hadn’t hurt nearly as much as she had expected. And it wasn’t from fear. She had never really been afraid of him—perhaps afraid of what was to come, but never of him.

What then? Why was she crying? Was it from shame? Regret? Anger that he’d broken his word? She honestly did not know. She was no longer in charge of her emotions. If she were, she wouldn’t allow herself to feel this way.

Sad because she’d have no warm memories of making love with him to think back upon during the lonely months ahead. Sad because she had fallen in love.

Sad because he didn’t love her in return.

D
erek stood naked at the window, watching Lucy run to her lover. The pebbles raining lightly upon the windowpane had awakened him too, but he’d waited to see Lucy’s response. Jealousy snaked through him. She had left his bed for another’s.

Only a few hours ago he’d berated himself for his jealousy, angry for allowing it to dictate his reprehensible conduct, but now as he watched her fling open the door to the stable and hurry inside, those thoughts were dismissed. What did it matter that she had been a virgin? Obviously, she and her lover had avoided intercourse, but the fact remained that she was meeting the man in the middle of the night.

He battled with himself, making every effort to bridle his jealousy, but suspicion sneaked through his thoughts. Why would she go to the stable in the middle of the night? If something were wrong, would she not awaken him as well? Her soothing voice, softened by affection, came back to haunt him as he recalled her promise to her lover that once Derek was gone, she would be all
his.

He picked up his discarded clothes from the floor and threw them on, fuming all the while. He had deflowered her, making it easy for her lover, and the thought that someone else would be the first to bring her pleasure without that impediment chafed at him. It should have been him,
would
have been him, if he hadn’t allowed his baser emotions to get in his way.

He shoved his feet into his boots and went after her, determined to put an end to this business once and for all. He’d be leaving in the morning, and he wouldn’t have some stable boy taking in his absence what belonged to him.

I
nside the stable, Lucy ran to Kachina’s stall, fear clutching at her heart as soon as she saw Colin’s white face. “What’s wrong?”

“My lady, she’s in a bad way. She’s been straining, but nothing’s happened. Now she’s not even trying. I don’t know what’s wrong, but she’s in pain, that much I’m sure of, and she’s weakening.” Colin looked as though he’d been crying, and Lucy had a feeling that before the night was over, she would be crying again too.

She knelt in the straw beside the small mare, her anxiety mounting as Kachina stared back with glassy eyes. Five years ago she’d sat on this very floor while her father expertly turned a foal that was in the wrong position, and she suspected that Kachina’s foal was in the wrong position as well.

Desperately she sifted through the hazy memories of that day, but what little she could remember didn’t help. She’d watched her father with adoring eyes, never doubting for a moment his ability to manage the birth. He hadn’t explained anything to her; his words had been reserved for the mare, soothing her, calming her while he assisted in the birth. How she wished he were here now, not only for Kachina and her foal, but for herself.

Tears formed a lump in her throat, and she swallowed hard as she tried to ignore her emotions. Kachina’s life was at risk, and there was only one person who might be able to help. Why she thought that, she wasn’t sure. Derek hadn’t mentioned his experience with horses, but somehow she knew he would be able to manage this situation just as her father had. “Talk to her, Colin. I’ll be right back.”

She bolted outside, running headlong into Derek with enough force to knock them both apart. “Oh! I was just coming to get you. How did you know I was out here?”

“A better question is why are you out here in the middle of the night?” Derek growled.

“I need your help. Kachina is foaling and something is wrong. Do you know anything about it? Please, we’re desperate.”

Derek grabbed Lucy’s arm and strode toward the open door, pulling her with him. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“Colin and I,” Lucy replied, struggling to keep up with Derek’s long strides. “He’s been sitting with her all night. When I came out before dinner, I thought she was having labor pangs, but it’s her first foal, and we weren’t sure how long the pains would last. But something is definitely wrong. Can you help?” Lucy’s voice broke as she tried to choke back her tears.

“No promises,” Derek said as they approached the stall, “but let’s see what we’ve got here.” He quickly washed his hands and forearms in a bucket of water and inserted a hand into the birth canal.

A million thoughts fired through his mind, but he tried to forget about them and concentrate on the mare. There would be time to think this through later. He hoped to God he hadn’t misinterpreted the earlier situation with Lucy in the stable. Surely he couldn’t have imagined she was meeting a lover when all she was doing was checking on a pregnant mare. It was unthinkable that he could have judged her so wrongly.

But, no, she
had
been talking to her lover. She said he was too big and she called him sweetheart. She’d said Derek would soon be gone and then she’d be all his. He’d never forget those words if he lived to be a hundred, but he had to put it aside for now. The horse needed his full concentration.

As Lucy had said, something was wrong; the foal was turned around. The presentation was normal for a breech, and if the mare weren’t exhausted, her condition wouldn’t be serious.

He glanced at the eyes of the mare. Though they were a little glazed, she seemed to be aware of her surroundings and she responded slightly to Lucy’s soft murmurings. Sometimes a mare perked up when the foal began to come out, and he hoped that would be the case here.

“Colin, I need some clean rope. Fetch it, separate a good strand and soak it in the water.” As he waited for the stable boy to carry out his instructions, he reached inside to check the foal’s position again. It was large for such a small mare. No wonder the poor mother was exhausted.

“I’ll need your help,” Derek told Colin as he tied a slipknot in the end of the wet rope. “When I tell you to, I want you to pull carefully with a gentle, constant pressure.”

Inserting his hand again, he pushed the loop over the fetlock and nodded toward the free end of the rope. As Colin took hold of it, Derek began to push the hock back into the womb. “Now, pull, but carefully and slowly.”

Colin did as he was told and within a few seconds, a tiny hoof appeared.

“All right, stop and let me slip the loop over the other hoof. There, let’s do it again.” A moment later a second hoof appeared.

“This is where we could use a little help,” Derek murmured softly to the mare. “Colin, take a leg and we’ll pull together. If Kachina has any energy left in her, she’ll help us along.”

Carefully, the two began to pull. Kachina raised her head as Derek had hoped, taking an interest in the proceedings. One giant effort issued from her, and a perfectly formed colt was thrust into Derek’s arms. He quickly cleared away membrane and mucus from the colt’s nostrils. The colt began to kick free, breaking the umbilical cord, and Derek let go as the colt scrambled to his feet.

Lucy scrambled to her feet too, her eyes shining bright with tears of joy. The look she gave Derek was one of awe and admiration, but rather than boost his ego, it only made him more ashamed.

“He’s a strong one, but we should stick around and make sure Kachina licks him and gives him his first milk,” Derek said. “She may be too exhausted to do it on her own. If you’d rather wait here without me,” he said quietly to Lucy, “I’ll understand.”

It wasn’t much in the way of an apology, but it was all he could come up with. If she didn’t want him around, could he blame her? He still needed to think things through. Had he overheard her talking to a lover, and had that lover been Colin? Looking from one to the other, it was an incredible thought. Colin seemed to have a childlike adoration for Lucy, and now it appeared that the boy’s worshipping gaze encompassed Derek too. Surely that wasn’t the look of a lover.

He hoped to God he hadn’t made a mistake, then realized how ridiculous he was being. He hoped to God he
had
made a mistake, for that would mean Lucy had met no lover in the stable. It would also mean he had no excuse for the terrible wrong he had done her, if he’d ever had one before.

“I’d like for you to stay,” Lucy said, her voice as soft as a whisper. “Will you stay, please?”

Derek nodded, glad for the chance to make sure Kachina expelled the afterbirth and regained her strength. “Thanks,” he said to the stable boy. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Colin shook his head. “No, thank
you,
sir. I don’t know what we would have done without you. It’s been a night I won’t soon forget.” The boy turned to Lucy. “M’lady, just in case you want to visit Ahote on your way out, I left a couple of apples for you.” With a lopsided grin, Colin spun on his heel and left.

“That’s right!” Lucy exclaimed. “As the proud papa, Ahote should surely get some reward.” She grabbed one of the apples, tucking it into a pocket. Immediately, though, she pulled it back out and shook her head. “Oh, no, this won’t do. He has a very naughty habit of nosing into my pockets for his treats. It’s bad enough when I’m wearing a gown with a larger pocket, but in this case, I shan’t even let him attempt it. His muzzle would never fit in this pocket. It’s much too big!”

She chuckled as she took an apple in each hand and headed toward the stallion’s stall, leaving a thunderstruck Derek behind.

I
t was dawn by the time they left Kachina and her new colt. Derek’s head had been reeling ever since Lucy left to give Ahote his treat, and now he had a terrible headache. The apology he offered when she returned from her visit to the stallion had sounded weak even to his own ears because he couldn’t, of course, tell her what had caused him to become so enraged at her protests that he was too big, and without doing so, he couldn’t explain his behavior.

Still, he asked that she forgive him for his conduct, that she try to put it behind them. That part of his speech, at least, had sounded sincere, and he meant every word of it. He did hope they could both put it behind them. The incident was regretful, not only because he was ashamed of his behavior, but also because she would probably be afraid of him from now on. She needn’t be. He hadn’t said as much, but he would not go to her again until she asked him to. He owed her that much.

She had merely listened, her blue eyes dark and somber, and then had agreed to forgive him. He only hoped he could forgive himself.

Lucy stole a glance at Derek as they neared the kitchen door. Even in his hastily pulled-on clothing with his mussed hair and a jaw shadowed from want of a razor, he looked incredibly handsome and infinitely masculine, and for the first time she wondered what her future would be like if he didn’t return to America. Wondering about that was pointless, though. When he had whatever he was after, he would be gone and she would be alone.

Still, the situation with Kachina had added another dimension to him, and she couldn’t help but feel a deep admiration. He’d been in such control, so strong and wise and patient.

He’d been kind with his apology to her too. She had no doubt he meant what he said, and she saw no reason to carry a grudge about the consummation of the marriage. An Englishman would never have agreed to her request to begin with. Her insistence on a month-long reprieve had been childish, spurred by fear; she had built up the consummation so much in her mind. In truth, she’d spent most of the evening wanting it to happen, had spent most of the past few days wishing it could, and even though it hadn’t been a pleasant experience, she felt only relief now that it was over. What he had called a grave injustice to her now seemed to be little more than another display of his bad temper, and if she knew him better, she was sure she would understand why that had happened.

It didn’t matter though. She would never have the chance to know him better. He was leaving in a few hours, and she would probably never see him again.

O
n the deck of the Siren, Derek watched in silent approval as Morgan led the men through the gunnery drill. This would be the last of such exercises, for they had parted with as much shot as Derek had a mind to. He was pleased with the results of it, though, just as he’d been pleased with the results of the sail exercises they’d conducted since their departure. He knew the value of men working together as one. He would not be caught unaware.

He inhaled the salty air, noting the clouds gathering on the eastern horizon. The exhilaration that usually accompanied him at sea was missing, and he realized it was because his life was no longer about building ships, about embracing the challenges of his business and taking pleasure from the knowledge that each new design showed an improvement over the last. Perhaps wrapped up in that satisfaction had also been the thrill of realizing his boyhood dream of sailing the seas, a dream that had cushioned him against the loneliness of his years at Harvard after he finally came to terms with the knowledge that his father had no desire to see him or to correspond with him at all.

Or perhaps it was simply as Stephen had said as they finished checking the last of the crates in preparation for setting sail: He was too preoccupied with a pair of sapphire-blue eyes.

He remembered those bright blue eyes filled with wonder and joy as the new colt had struggled to its feet, and the way they lit up with shy humor over the stallion’s nightly antics. He grimaced at the memory of those blue eyes, dark as midnight and shining with tears as he took what he wanted with no more thought than a rutting bull. Lucy hadn’t deserved the kind of treatment she’d received at his hands, and he would make it up to her when he returned.

A tussle started up in the larboard doorway that led to his quarters, and just as he began to move toward the commotion, he saw something—a
child
—break loose from the knot of men and scramble several feet away, only to be tackled by Morgan. As the boy struggled furiously, arms and legs flailing, a stream of oaths and curse words came from Morgan, who was putting forth his best effort to end the fight.

Just as it seemed Morgan would win, for the child had almost stilled his frantic movements, Morgan yelled and released his quarry, falling to the deck and grabbing his side.

“The little bastard bit me, he did!”

Only a few yards away now, Derek stood implacable as the bundle of movement hurled itself in his direction and landed flat and hard against Derek’s body. He reached down to seize the errant boy and lifted him up to inspection as though he were a bug.

“I thought as much. What’s
he
doing here?” Derek asked.

“Cap’n, it weren’t our fault,” Morgan began. “He stowed away in America and by the time we found out, it was too late to drop him off anywheres. But he was told to stay in London. I swear, Cap’n, it were made clear.”

Derek stared down at the dirty, tear-smudged face of the boy he’d rescued from poverty in the streets of Baltimore, rescued after the lad had robbed him. The boy, who hadn’t expected to be chased so exhaustively by his victim, had been thin enough to slip through the bars of an iron gate of a factory only just built, but the size of his head prevented his escape. Before he realized his error and backed himself out, Derek had caught up with him, lifting him out and demanding back the expensive timepiece.

But as he had looked into the lifeless expression of opium-dulled eyes, and had felt the lightness of a body that should have weighed twice as much, something had happened to Derek, something he couldn’t explain even to himself. He had ended up offering the child a job as his part-time cabin boy and full-time errand boy, muttering something about the boy’s fleet feet.

Jimmy proved to be a good investment of Derek’s time, after he quit lifting items from Derek’s business acquaintances. Once the child realized he wouldn’t go hungry again, he even quit stealing food from the garbage.

Derek had been steadfast in his resolution that Jimmy not accompany the volunteers on this voyage, for there was no way to know what would happen. The men were being paid a fortune, for a man who could be trusted in all things was worth a fortune. His crew made their own decisions, knowing the voyage would be an uncertain one, fraught with dangers even Derek could not foresee. Jimmy, on the other hand, was a child, and he could not possibly understand the risks.

“Well,” Derek growled as he released the child who hadn’t yet known eleven years, his stern voice making the boy flinch, “what have you to say for yourself?”

Tears leaked from the corners of the boy’s eyes. “I couldn’t stay in London, Cap’n. Them press gangs, they don’t care who they take,” he said with a small sob, fitfully wiping the telltale signs of his cowardice from his cheeks with grubby fingers. “I had to run from ’em twice, and I almost got it the second time. I’d rather die with you, sir, than be taken by them. Please, don’t be angry with me, Cap’n.”

It was one more worry, Derek thought, but there was nothing he could do. “You smell like the rats in the hold,” he grumbled. “Fetch a tub to the deck and take a bath, and wash your clothes while you’re at it. I won’t be having that stench in my cabin for the next two months.”

It was the closest he could come to agreeing to keep the child on as his cabin boy without sounding softhearted, but glancing quickly about the deck, he could see the men weren’t fooled. His pilot, Williams, bit back a smile, one crewman elbowed another, and Morgan’s face sagged in relief.

“Any other surprises?” Derek barked. “Anything else I should know about? Then what are you waiting for? Get back to your posts!”

T
he days passed uneventfully as the Siren sailed toward the West Indies, but Derek couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding. He spent more time than usual on deck, catching sleep at odd hours and only when he was so fatigued that sea and sky blurred together in the telescope.

On one of those days, when his eyes were scratchy from lack of sleep, he had just drifted off when he was awakened by the sound of the cabin door being flung open. Before Jimmy finished telling him of the approaching French corvettes, he was halfway to the door, stomping into his boots as he went.

French corvettes! The Siren flew an American flag, though she could just as easily fly an English flag since Derek held a Letter of Marque from the Crown, but the French wouldn’t care whose ship it was. It was a beauty, his finest design, and there wasn’t another like it. Tall, with acres of canvas, a knife-edged bow and the widest beam over halfway back, it could outrun any ship on the seas. The French would be fools not to go after such a prize.

As soon as he reached the helm, he took the spyglass from Morgan, noting the grim set of the older man’s face.

“There’s three of ’em, sir, comin’ from all directions. And they appear to be headin’ straight for us, almost as if they knowed in advance we’d be here.”

Snapping open the telescope and looking to the north, Derek felt the first wave of apprehension as he took in the sight. The French frigate carried twenty-eight eighteen-pounders on its gun deck, six more carronades on its fo’csle and two bow chasers. He didn’t need to examine the other ships to know they would be armored the same, but he did, and his trepidation grew.

He scanned the eastern skies. The storm that had been heralded by the clouds a little earlier was much closer now. The winds were whipping up, and heavy, dark clouds filled the sky, absorbing the weak golden glow of the sinking sun.

The sliver of a moon would afford little light, and he said a silent prayer of thanks. Attacked in daylight on calm seas, his lightly armed ship would be no match for the corvettes, but the Siren excelled in maneuverability and speed, and its perfectly balanced design could withstand the fiercest of storms. As heavily armed as the French ships were, they would have a tough time of it when the storm hit, at least that’s what he was hoping, and by the look of the black clouds rolling in, that would be any minute.

“Furl the sails,” he ordered, waiting while Morgan shouted out the order. “Tell the men to lash themselves to the ship!” There was no sense in trying to outrun the French now, not with their ships closing in from all sides and the storm but minutes from impact. And what a storm it would be. The rain came down in thick sheets and the foamy waters churned. His men stumbled about, their movements twice as slow as usual due to the roll of the ship and the gusty winds.

He knew about these summer storms, storms that could bring swells of over twenty feet with wind gusts too fast to be calculated. He made sure that every man was lashed to the ship, then he tied a length of rope around himself, one that was long enough to allow movement without letting him slip overboard, and he secured the other end around the base of the main mast.

The two closest corvettes were only now beginning to shorten sail. They’d been within firing range for a few minutes and their attack was imminent, but there was nothing Derek could do. The French would get off shots before the worst fury of the storm hit, and he could only hope the pitch and roll of their ships prevented good aim.

“That one’s not going to make it, Captain,” shouted Morgan above the howl of the wind, pointing to the ship to the east.

Derek nodded as he looked through the pelting rain toward the ship. It was indeed in trouble; the sea and winds tossed it about as though it were a stick. As the Siren’s crew looked on, a giant wave pooped the frigate’s deck. Without a chance to recover, the ship rolled onto its side and within moments split apart into pieces, disappearing as though it had never been.

Not one hundred yards to the west, the flash of a fuse announced the first shot, the French captain’s decision spurred by desperation. A deafening explosion followed, but the shot that might have cut a swathe of death and destruction through the Siren overshot its mark, plunging into the roiling seas far off the bow. Another explosion followed, this time a round of grape shot that rained on his deck with bloody fury. As he was thrown backwards, attacked and bleeding from the force of flying splinters, he heard screams from his men and smelled the charring of flesh. Struggling to his feet, mindless of his own pain, he tried to make it to the nearest man downed by the exploding shot.

The storm was completely upon them now, its high winds and biting rain making it almost impossible for him to take a step toward Joseph Leadley, who lay moaning and clasping his leg. Then a huge swell washed over the deck, taking Leadley, whose lashing had been burned through by the grape shot, with it toward the rail and certain death. Derek propelled himself forward with all his strength and seized the man, managing to hold them both down while the water washed over the rail and into the sea. He cut himself loose from his rope, tying it around Leadley, and made his way to the center of the ship again.

Checking the corvette to the north, Derek saw a burst of wind fill its heavy, rain-soaked sails, flicking the foot-wide mizzenmast off the deck as though it were a splinter. Sodden canvas whipped about uncontrollably as the French crew was forced to forget their attack and save themselves, not only from the storm but from the cannons rolling back and forth across the decks, their five-hundred-pound weights annihilating everything in their paths.

Though the two damaged French ships might survive the storm, Derek knew they would not be able to resume their attack against his ship, not before he had the chance to get away, at any rate. And get away he would. The worst of the fast-moving storm was already behind them.

“Prepare to make sail!” he shouted to Morgan, who in turn signaled to the men, the howling wind still too loud to allow a verbal command. The men cut through the lashes that had saved their lives through the storm, and carefully took their places.

At the wheel, Williams maneuvered the ship into its proper position to make full use of the wind. The rigging shrieked as the Siren’s sails caught and billowed out, putting quick distance between Derek’s ship and the French.

A cheer went up from his crew, and Derek felt a dizzying sense of relief, though he knew they had not come through the adventure unscathed. With a bleeding body and grimly set jaw, he helped carry the wounded below.

D
erek turned over in his makeshift cot, unable to sleep. The summer heat was almost unbearable, but it wasn’t the heat that kept him awake. It was his conscience.

Joe Leadley would live, thank God, if his wound was properly taken care of, and it would be, even if Derek had to tend it himself.

But he hadn’t counted on Jimmy.

Jimmy lay a few feet away in Derek’s bed, unconscious, his wounds from the grape shot festering. By the time Derek learned of Jimmy’s injuries, the boy was delirious, ranting about how he’d wanted to save Derek. Jimmy had taken to the deck, though he’d been told to stay below, his sole purpose to look after the man who’d been everything to him for as long as he could remember.

The knowledge of Jimmy’s loyalty sickened Derek. Here was a boy who thought him a hero, and he’d hardly given the lad a thought since leaving America. And it wasn’t only Jimmy he had to answer to.

He thought of the injured crew who’d been told of the danger but had come willingly anyway, wanting the money that was offered, yet more likely because they trusted their captain to see them through. He thought of Lucy, awaiting his return, who had agreed to forget his past bad behavior, to start their relationship anew. He thought of Stephen, who had supported him from the beginning in his masquerade and whose own reputation might be sullied or even ruined because of it.

He was responsible for endangering the lives of all these people because of what could very well be a foolish need to live up to his father’s expectations. A father who, as Stephen kept reminding him, was not alive to appreciate his efforts. A father who might not even deserve them.

Derek wondered if the gossip Stephen hinted at was true. In reality Derek knew nothing of his father’s character. Derek had barely been tolerated as a child, and the hurt he’d felt had most likely kept him from any logical deductions when it came to his father’s behavior. He had received no communication from the man in the fourteen years of their separation, and the journal told him little indeed since it was mostly about the suspected smugglers. Even that information was puzzling. A few names, many suspicions, some clues, most of them ambiguous. None of it told him anything about his father, except that his father had been obsessed with proving the guilt of the smugglers, whomever they were. Everything else he knew about his father came from his mother. His sweet, tolerant mother who found no fault with anyone.