Falling for the Pirate (16 page)

There hadn’t been time to process that fact before. She’d been caught up in the euphoria of his presence, of his all-consuming physicality. Even here, growing further away with every minute, she could feel him in the carriage, an echo of rough-edged charisma.

She smiled. She would be near him for the rest of her life. Near him and protected and safe. It felt like a dream—an actual dream, a trick of the mind. In a few minutes, she would wake up and find herself on the streets again, at the bazaar, with nothing but the clothes on her back.

Chapter Sixteen

Nate breathed a sigh of relief as the carriage pulled away. The docks were too exposed right now, too uncertain. He wanted her under armed guard and locked away.
He wanted to keep her
. A mixture of possessiveness and protectiveness rose up wherever she was concerned. It tied him up in knots, both sides of him warring—one to hold onto her, the other to let her go.

He still wasn’t sure which was for her benefit.

He stalked through the crowds on the dock, having come ashore after Juliana left. His men were questioning the people with little luck. A few claimed to have seen someone, but the descriptions were drastically different. No doubt some of them were drunk or hoping for an easy reward. None of the information so far brought them any closer to finding the culprit.

“Captain?” one of the men asked as Nate walked by.

“Continue questioning,” he said.

The men knew they were at a standstill, like a ship without wind. However, something told him to continue the search this night. The air was steeped in anticipation. It rang through his blood, promising vengeance.

And not only for the fire.

He stopped to consider. If someone wanted a prime seat for viewing the effects of the fire, where would he go? The best view was directly beside the gangplank, where the crowd had gathered, but that would have been too obvious for even the most brazen criminal.

Then Nate remembered that night he’d met Juliana, looking out of his porthole and seeing a nimble thief climb the crates beside the shipping offices. There was a straight line of sight from the roof to the ship—and most people wouldn’t think to search there.

He looked up—and caught a blur of movement over the edge. “Stop!” he shouted.

There was a clambering noise. The culprit was trying to escape. Nate yelled to his men, who scrambled up the roof using the crates and an escape ladder. If the man was still on the roof, he would be apprehended. But if he wasn’t—

Nate darted through the crowd and around the building. A dark figure made a jump from the warehouse roof of onto the next building—and fell short. The man caught the edge of the building and hung there. His hands slipped, but he managed to hold on. Barely. The fire escape on that building was only six feet away, but too far for him to reach. By the looks of things, his hold was slipping fast.

Necessity became speed as Nate scaled the stairs to the second floor. He reached out his hand. “Take it.” He almost slipped when he saw the face staring back at him. “Wilson?”

“Get the hell away from me,” Wilson spat out.

“Jesus.” Now wasn’t the time for condemnation—though that would come. “Take my hand.”

“I can’t trust you!”

“You don’t have a choice.”

Wilson stared at his hand balefully. He slid down a centimeter, and his eyes widened. On a sudden surge, he gripped Nate’s hand as his hold on the ledge released. Wilson’s body swung, heavy and unruly, banging into the brick wall. Gritting his teeth and shouting the effort, Nate somehow kept him from falling the two-story drop.

They managed to get to the ground safely—and with Wilson still in custody—with the help of his men, who came running at the sound of their commotion.

Surrounded, Wilson panted and rubbed his arm. “What are you going to do now?”

Wasn’t that the question? Nate had a lingering sense of violation, an ancient desire for violence as a preferred form of revenge. But not on this angry young man, whom he’d known as an angry boy. This was Nate’s failure, too, he knew—his failure to reach Wilson in a meaningful way.

The young man began laughing. It sounded almost maniacal, sending chills over Nate’s skin. He regarded Nate with narrowed eyes. “You threw
me
out and left the fox in the henhouse.”

Wilson was clearly baiting him, not to be trusted. Still…

“Explain,” Nate said through gritted teeth.

“That fool boy. Bennett. You should know better than to trust him.”

“And why is that?”

“Oh, I’d find him all around. Sneaking around the map room or your cabin with no reason to be there. He’s a spy, can’t you see? But you’re too caught up in your damn ship. And your whore.”

“Get him out of my sight,” he said through clenched jaw.

His men dragged Wilson away, while Nate remained rooted to the spot.

Bennett, a spy? Impossible. He hadn’t been with Nate that long, that was true, but he had plucked the boy directly out of a whorehouse. Bennett owed him loyalty, if nothing else.

But no one knew better than Nate—every man had their price.

It stood to reason that every boy did, as well.

…

In the few minutes it took to reach the brownstone, Bennett fell asleep in Juliana’s lap. She had not had the chance to observe the house at a distance before, and she watched with quickening breath as they approached.

The buildings on this street looked the same, with only small differences. An extra step or a missing cornice. The carriage slowed to a stop. She peered at the front door, with its brass knocker, before turning to rouse Bennett.

He woke with a mumble, unsteady on his feet as she helped him down. The carriage pulled away, the guards quick to return to their fellow sailors. Well, that was fine.

She used the brass knocker as the carriage pulled away. No one appeared.

She tried again, but still no one came to the door. The street was empty of all other persons or carriages. In a respectable neighborhood, no one would loiter in the street at this hour of night. And, apparently, no one would let them inside. Bennett looked exhausted, half asleep where he stood.

With a forced smile, she said, “We’ll just go around to the back.”

Unfortunately, the back door was also locked.
Confound it.

She knocked vigorously, earning a crash and curse behind the door. “Aha,” she muttered. “Found you.”

The door opened a crack, revealing only a sliver of shadow…and the barrel of a pistol. “Who’s there?” a man’s voice demanded.

Juliana gasped and moved to stand in front of the boy. Before she could even guess at the identity of the questioner, she blurted, “Nate sent us.”

“Ma’am, if I am to believe that, you’d have to tell me your names.”

“I’m Juliana.”

A sharp laugh emerged. “I don’t plan on letting any Julianas inside this house. Or anywhere.”

“Look here, I don’t know who
you
are, but Captain Bowen sent us here to rest for the night. And if you’re not going to let me in, then at least let the child in. He works on
Nightingale
and had quite a scare earlier.”

There was silence for a moment. “All right, then. Come inside.”

The man’s voice was gruff and almost…approving. Juliana didn’t much care what he thought of her, as long as he let them into the warm comfort of the house. The door opened wider, and to her surprise, Mrs. Wheaton was there. In her nightgown, with her hair rumpled and a frown on her face.

“I could have told you to let her in,” Mrs. Wheaton said.

“And I would have done my duty, all the same,” said the stranger. He wore an old-fashioned suit and held a walking cane, a rather unassuming figure, and yet she had no doubt he was a formidable enemy, even without the pistol he had now pocketed.

Juliana moved to allow the footman entry. “Bennett can sleep in my old room.”

Mrs. Wheaton nodded. “Yes, it will be fastest. You poor dear. Follow me, if you please.”

Of course, this left Juliana alone with the surly older man. No dull grey for him. His hair was coal black with streaks of shiny silver. The weathered skin and wary light in his eyes spoke of a full life. The way he had looked at Mrs. Wheaton…and her rumpled state…he may not
be
a servant, but he was certainly on intimate terms with one.

“What’s this about a scare on the
Nightingale
?” he asked.

“There was a fire.”

“A fire? On the ship? Confound it, why didn’t you say that? Is Nate hurt? Is—”

“Nate is fine. Everyone is perfectly well. But they had work to do and needed us out of the way.”

It didn’t matter. The man was already halfway to the door, muttering about being the last to know. He turned back to her at the last moment. His expression was grim, his voice gruff. “Bar the door after I go.”

She bristled at his autocratic tone, but nodded. “All right.”

“Let no one inside until Nate or I arrive. And do
not
leave. Understand?”

Definitely not an ordinary servant. “Yes, I think so,” she said dryly.

His glimmer of a smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. He slammed the door, and she moved quickly to follow his instructions. The neighborhood was safe, but it wouldn’t do to tempt fate on what had already been an inauspicious night.

What if the attack on the ship wasn’t a prank, after all?

What if it had been a targeted attack? A small one, to be sure, but damage had been done. It would have been much worse if a spark had reached the sails. People could have died. She could have died. Nate could have died, and that seemed the worst tragedy of all.

Mrs. Wheaton appeared at the kitchen door, eyes sharp. “Where is Santiago?”

“He went to see if Nate needs help. There was a small fire on the ship, but don’t worry. Everyone is fine.”

The housekeeper’s eyes were dark, alert. “I’m sure Santiago will be of service.”

“Does he work for the same shipping company, then?”

Mrs. Wheaton gave her an uncertain look. “No, not exactly. He is employed by Captain Bowen directly.”

“Oh, I see.”

“I’m not sure you do.” She seemed to choose her words carefully. “Captain Bowen isn’t merely a ship’s captain. You do know that, don’t you?”

“He’s not?” Juliana was momentarily taken aback. What else could he be? He couldn’t have lied about his position. The men all called him Captain. “What is he, then?” she asked in confusion.

“An owner. Captain Bowen is a partner in the shipping company. He was one of the founders.”

A vise around Juliana’s chest. Dimness all around. Nate did not work for the company that had ruined her father.
He owned it
.

She’d known he was part of the company, of course. He had been in the Hargate Shipping offices when they met. But a captain only did the bidding of the owners. He would have no say in the decisions. No blame.

Instead, he had seen the floundering company and swooped in to snatch it up. Or if she believed her father’s rants, he was the one who’d stirred up the rumors and accusations that had caused the company to fail.

Losing the floundering company had not caused the indictment against her father. The lies and the resulting investigation had started months before the company went under. The creditors had lost all faith in her father’s management, and demanded immediate repayment. The debts had been extensive. Not a farthing had been left to pay a solicitor, or any of the bills.

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Wheaton said, dismayed. “I assumed— He should have told you himself.”

“No, I—” Juliana felt lightheaded. “He doesn’t owe me an explanation. A woman in my position would not require one.”

A mistress. A courtesan
. That was what Juliana implied.

Because a wife deserved the truth.

She tried to smile, to alleviate the worry on the housekeeper’s face. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell him you said anything.”

Indignation passed over the lined face. “I’m not afraid of him, miss. I’m angry. I never did like the way he kept you here. He’s usually a fair man, a reasonable one. Except when it comes to—”

“When it comes to what?”

“I’ve said too much already.” Mrs. Wheaton shook her head, her expression faintly tragic. “But know this. If you need to leave, I have a few coins set aside. Not as many as a man such as the captain could give you, but enough to take you out of London.”

Juliana’s throat grew tight. Mrs. Wheaton was offering her something even Nate had never done.
Freedom
. Juliana clasped her hand. “Thank you for that. It means more than you can know. Unfortunately, I believe I’ve fallen in love with the foolish man. I would like to stay and hear his side.”

Mrs. Wheaton looked distinctly pleased, though she tried to hide it with a severe expression. “Then stay and talk to him, for all the good it’ll do you.”

The housekeeper made tea and offered to make up a separate bed chamber. But Juliana refused to trouble her when she could just as soon use Nate’s. Besides, she had no intention of sleeping before she found out the truth.

The
entire
truth, this time. Even if it killed her. She would find out whether Nate was responsible for ruining her family. For ruining
her
. In more ways than simply stealing her virtue.

She wandered into his study, with its shelves of expensive trinkets. She sat down at his desk and looked at the room from his perspective. Rain pattered against the window. A few minutes ago it had been dry.

She turned back to the room. It reminded her of a dragon’s lair, a haphazard collection of shiny things. A gilt letter opener sat on the leather pad of the desk. She toyed with the encrusted bone handle before reaching to put it away. She pulled open the drawer, revealing a silver locket.

Her
locket.

She suddenly recalled the last time she’d found it in her search. She’d had no idea at the time that it belonged to her.

Picking up the thin chain, she held it so the pendant hung down. Her heart panged at the familiar sight. An unremarkable piece of jewelry, important only to herself. Her father had tried to persuade her to exchange it for something new and prettier, but Juliana preferred the locket that had been passed down from her mother.

Why had Nate hidden this from her? But she already knew. The room not only held treasures—it held trophies. Mementos for the conquering army.

Was her locket also a trophy?

And here she sat, herself a living trophy. Looking around with a growing sense of horror, she realized she was exactly what he collected—something important, taken from his enemy.