For the Love of a Pirate (29 page)

“No, no,” Constantine said. “Nothing that stupid. Anyway,” he said with a slight smile, “she'd kill me if I tried.”

“Are you going to do anything about her?” Blaise asked. “I thought all this had to do with her.”

“Perspicacious of you,” Constantine said with a tilted smile.

“Told you he wasn't drunk,” Kendall said. “Couldn't say ‘persip-whatever,' if he was.”

“I'm not drunk,” Constantine said. “I've just been thinking, and now I know what I have to do. I was never happier than when I was with Lisabeth. Only I was too stupid to realize it. I was raised to be prudent and cautious and proper, while all the time my inner self has wanted to be the opposite. My uncle was half right. Morality is next to godliness, and wildness should be shunned. But he was half wrong too. No good can come of being either thing completely. Wildness is not necessarily evil. Morality may only be cowardice, a fear of facing life.”

He rose from his chair and faced his friends. “A man needs balance: wildness and caution, excitement, and time to think. I'm not cut out to be a pirate or a highwayman; I know that. I wouldn't want to take what wasn't mine, nor would I prey on the helpless. Though I know now that if I
had
to, I could. That was hard to accept. I'm not running from it though. Acceptance of a thing doesn't mean you have to practice it.

“But now I also know that I'm not the sort of man who'd be happy spending my evenings talking nonsense at Society dos or sitting in a window seat all morning reading the
Times
until it's time to go to church. What I need is a chance to be myself at last. What I need most of all is another opportunity, and a woman who will give me one. Damn it all, but I need Lisabeth.”

Kendall clapped his hands. Blaise grinned.

“But I have to make it up to her,” Constantine said. “By God, I let her go! That must have been devastating for her. I know it was for me. She trusted me, and I let her down. I let myself down too, but that doesn't matter now. The worse of it is that I let her go thinking it was because I doubted her worthiness, when all the while it was because I didn't know myself, and so of course, what I doubted was myself. Kidnapping her is a lovely thought, my ancestors' blood races in my veins at the very thought.” He laughed. “But I don't want to steal her away. I want her to want me.
Me
, not my ancestors, good or bad. And I want to let her know she matters more to me than any gossip, rumor, uncle, person in Society, or any other female in the land.”

“Huzzah!” Kendall cried. But then he frowned. “Good idea. But not easy.”

“Hellishly difficult at this point, I'd imagine,” Blaise said.

“Yes,” Constantine agreed. “But the thing is, my vanity is such, or my instinct, or my faith in her, that I believe I can convince her. I just need to do something so different from what she'd ever think I'd do that she knows I'm finally accepting my true self, asking her to forgive me, and risking myself in order to show her I want her to join me as my wife, for life,” he said, grinning. “What I want to capture is her attention, her interest, and make her laugh. And then I have to plead with her to forgive me.”

“Excellent,” Blaise said happily. “What do you want us to do?”

“Be accomplices,” Constantine said.

T
he only clouds were shredded ones, scurrying across a waning sickle moon. The night was dark and filled with fading stars, the sea was calm, the hour was as close to midnight as it was to dawn. Three ragged, desperate-looking men, dressed in black and breathing hard, stood near some brush where the rocky beach began to tilt down to the sea.

“Perfect,” Constantine said, drawing a deep breath. He looked around the deserted beach. There were no shadows, no ships, not even a rowboat on the shore.

“You sure this is the place?” Kendall whispered.

“He's right,” Blaise said, low. “How can we be sure? We must have walked through miles of forest. This place is all bracken and stone, puddles, beach and hidden inlets. Gad! I'm glad you talked me into wearing these rags and oversized boots. Nothing fits, but when I think of the sand and earth and damp! It would have ruined my good clothes.”

“It would have ruined you if you'd come waltzing through looking like a gent on the strut on Bond Street,” Constantine said. “Even the foxes around here would have known you didn't belong. Now you look like every other fisherman in the village. Better still, you're all in black, and so the hope is you don't look like them, or anyone. The idea is not to be noticed.” He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from an inner pocket and studied it in the scant light. “No doubt, this is where we're supposed to be.”

“Where are those others who are supposed to be here too? And the boat?” Blaise said, shivering.

“
That
is a problem,” Constantine said, frowning.

“Didn't trust that Frenchie above half,” Kendall said darkly. “That oily Henri. He didn't like you above half neither, Con. Just like him to send you to the wrong place and make a fool of you.”

“It was William who drew the map, and he's honest as the day is long. And, I might add, he was delighted to see me,” Constantine said.

“Yes, he and Francis. They like you, and thought it was a jolly good idea,” Kendall said. “But that Henri was giving you a cold and fishy eye.”

“They're the only ones he has,” Constantine said. “Still, if they don't arrive by sunrise, we'll leave.”

“Another tramp through the underbrush,” Blaise groaned in hollow tones. “At least a fishing smack, however odiferous, would have been preferable.”

“If they let me down I'll think of something else,” Constantine said, as he settled himself, crouched on his haunches, looking out to sea. “Arriving unexpectedly on Lisabeth's doorstep, tossing pebbles at her window to wake her, taking her for a sunrise ride on the sea, was a good idea. Still, if it can't be, there'll be something else. But we'll have to act quickly, before word of my arrival spoils the surprise.”

“William was right though,” Blaise said, hunkering down beside him, careful that the damp sand didn't touch anything but his high boots. “She might be so angry she'll refuse to go with you.”

“I don't think so. She's a reasonable person. But if she is, I'll carry her back with me anyhow. Not quite a kidnapping. Not quite an invitation either. I'll let her go when the sun rises, and I'll tell her that too. That's what you're here for. You, Kendall, steer the craft. You, Blaise, assure her of my worthiness. I'll do the rest.”

“And if she denies you?” Blaise asked.

“I don't know what I'll do,” Constantine said, all laughter gone from his voice.

There was a sound, not of the sea, at the edge of the beach. All three men stilled, and tensed. They heard an eldritch cry, not human, or any animal they knew. And then they heard it again. They waited.

“Blast!” a harried voice whispered. “Don't you London gents know an owl?”

“You shoulda have done a sparrow, Will,” another voice said. “That, they'd understand.”

Constantine rose to his feet. “Welcome,” he said, as he strode down the beach to the two men he could now faintly see. “We've been waiting.” He shook hands with the men. “I see you've the same fishing smack. Excellent. Shall I pay you now, or later?” The tallest man shook his head, but before he could speak, Constantine went on. “I know I'm taking away a day of your fishing, and I know it's your livelihood, so please don't protest.”

“Well, then, later,” William said in an embarrassed voice. “Now, Henri's still aboard. When your friends have got the smack in hand, he'll leave. Just set him down after you board Lisabeth. It's you who'll be the pilot, isn't it, Sir Kendall?” he asked as Constantine's friends joined them. “You know about sailing?”

“I do,” Kendall said. “Just give me the bearings.”

“Done,” William said, handing him a crumpled map. “Now sail close to the shore, hug it without hitting the rocks. I've drawn them on the map. Go due north by northeast, five miles, exactly. The wind's rising, and it's with you. Two rocks that look like fangs mark the inlet you want. Remember them, Lord Wylde?”

“I do,” Constantine said.

“Good. When you reach them, anchor near the shore. There you can be put down, you know the way to Miss Bigod's house from there.”

“Yes,” Constantine said.

“And, oh,” William said casually. “We may be there as well, so don't be surprised. The thing is, we owe the Bigods and I want to be sure Miss Lisabeth takes this in the right spirit. If she don't, we'll be there to take her home. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Constantine said, taking his proffered hand.

“And don't mind Henri,” William added, before he and Francis disappeared into the stunted trees at the edge of the beach. “He's always fancied her, much good it did him.”

Henri scowled at them when they boarded the fishing smack. Blaise gasped, and covered his nose with a handkerchief.

“It's the memory of fish,” Constantine said. “I didn't think they did night fishing. But maybe they do. What's under there?” he asked Henri when a cloud tore off the face of the moon to show a heap of tarpaulins at the end of the smack.

“We don't feesh by night, m'lor,” Henri said with a mocking bow. “But we have got to have that with which to keep feesh in.”

“Right,” Constantine said, as Kendall strode to the wheel.

Kendall instructed Henri to raise the anchor and the sail. Constantine stood at the prow as the sail caught the wind and the smack began to move with the winds that now smelled of incoming rain.

Constantine hoped she'd be amused. He prayed she'd be amazed. He thought of his long-rehearsed speech, and ran through it one more time, just to be sure he'd touched on all the points he had to make. He was sorry, he'd been a fool; he needed her to forgive him. He couldn't think what he'd do if she laughed at him, not with him, and stalked away. He refused to consider it. He was no pirate bold, nor any kind of highwayman. But he was desperate, and hoped this foolish escapade would remind her of the men she'd hoped to find an echo of in him.

The fishing smack sailed on up the coast, running silent and smooth even in waters that began to rock, the ship as steady as Kendall's hand at the helm. Even Blaise was enjoying himself.

“You get used to the stench,” Blaise told Constantine. “Or else, the sea wind brushes it away. No worse, and actually somewhat better, than that of a gentleman's gaming hell at dawn. At least it's fresh. And the fish have bathed recently.”

“Shh!” Henri suddenly whispered. “Not another word. I hear something.”

They fell still, listening.

They heard nothing. But Henri was scowling. He peered into the shadows. Constantine saw nothing. But Henri did.

“We go!” Henri shouted. “Spread the sail, we run for it!”

And then he jumped overboard.

Constantine stared at Kendall, while Blaise looked down into the water, dumbfounded. Henri went under, and came up in front of the fishing smack he'd just abandoned. And then, his arms stroking hard, he disappeared into the vanishing night.

“Heave to!” a booming voice shouted. “We'll fire if you don't.”

“Might as well,” Kendall told Constantine. “I'm sailing into ink, I don't know these waters. But whoever is at the helm of that cutter does.”

Constantine looked round to see a long low cutter approaching them faster than the wind, on their leeward side. “What the devil!” he said. “That's an official-looking craft. By God! I think it's that revenue officer . . . Nichols. Yes, that was his name. He had a
tendre
for Lisabeth. Do you think he found out what I'm up to and is out to stop me from speaking to her?”

The sound of a pistol shot rent the night.

“I know he's out to stop us,” Kendall said, then shouted, “Hold your fire, man. We're stopping!”

“Well, he won't stop me,” Constantine said grimly. “I mean, he can stop the ship, but not me. I have a pistol too.”

“But he has the law, and four men, with him,” Blaise commented as the cutter threw a line to them, and the man in the bow of the boat pointed to the shore.

The fishing boat was dragged to a rocky beach by the cutter.

“What is the meaning of this?” was all Constantine could say as he stepped ashore.

“Well, if it isn't the fine London gent?” Nichols said. “I recognize the voice, if not the clothes.”

Constantine's eyes narrowed. The customs agent seemed to be gloating.

“You don't look so fine now, my lord,” Nichols said, circling around him. “In fact, you look exactly like a moonraker.”

Moonraker? Constantine thought the fellow would say he looked like a fisherman.

“And these must be some gents from the House of Lords, no doubt?” Nichols asked with barely controlled elation. “Times must be hard if you fellows come down here to make the money to pay off your gambling debts. Poor Miss Bigod. I believe she really thought you were interested in her, and not in the riches to be gained by plying your trade right at her doorstep.”

“What,” Constantine asked, his hands on his hips, “are you talking about?”

“I'm talking about your cargo, my lord,” Nichols said.

“Fish,” Blaise said. “Actually, the last remains of stinking fish.”

“Oh, yes?” Nichols asked gleefully. He strode to the fishing smack, lightly leaped aboard, and beckoned for his men and Constantine and his friends to follow.

As they all stood in the fishing smack, Nichols bent, and then with a theatrical gesture, swept back the tumble of tarpaulins at the back of the boat.

Constantine stared. Blaise, for once, was speechless. Kendall groaned.