For the Love of a Pirate (30 page)

“Fine kettle of fish, indeed, gentlemen,” Nichols said happily, reaching down into the boxes of bottles. “The finest port wine, brandy, and liquors, direct from France, and . . . yes, without so much as one tax stamp on them. A good haul, indeed, for me. Hands behind your backs, my lords, if you really are such. You'll need to be tied together for the journey back to my offices. I'm pleased to be showing you the accommodations we have for smugglers. Not so comfortable as those at Sea Mews, but I doubt you'd be welcome there. No one likes to be used. And for you, gentlemen, my lodgings certainly will do. Until, that is, you go to London again, in chains.”

The room was dank and dark, but never so dank or dark as Constantine's mood.

“How could they do this to us?” he said again as he tried to pace the little space with crablike steps, the best he could do with his ankles in chains. “They must be laughing their heads off. I
trusted
them.” He sank to the narrow bench on the side of the room. “I suppose I deserve it. She trusted me, didn't she?”

“Well, I don't deserve it, at least not this time,” Blaise said. “Blast, but I itch,” he added, as he wriggled on the bench. “Do you think I've picked up lice or fleas in this ghastly place?”

“Ain't bugs, I don't think,” Kendall said gloomily. “Dried salt water, and the damned itchy wool these clothes are made of would make a statue itch.”

“If she finds out she'll be amused, all right, but in all the wrong ways,” Constantine said, standing again. “I tried to emulate my daring ancestors, and didn't even do as well as my poor father. At least he was killed in his first endeavor. I just look like a dupe and a fool.”

“Better than dead, I'd say,” Blaise murmured, scratching his chest. “Or in prison. Do you think they've grounds for tossing us in Newgate, or sending us to the Antipodes? I suppose I could try to make a fortune there, as the Earl of Egremont and his wild crew did. But that took a generation to accomplish, and I don't care to leave my home. I'd lose it long before I got back—if I ever did. Even if we use influence and get off with fines and warnings, there go my chances of ever making a marriage that could save the estate. The one thing a fortune hunter doesn't need is a criminal past. That insures everyone will think he's up to even more than no good.”

“I thought you were investing as I advised you,” Constantine said.

“I am, I was, but it takes time for my ships to come in.”

“Don't care about making a fine marriage,” Kendall said sadly. “But I'll be tossed out of the four-in-hand club for this. Not to mention my other clubs. I'll miss fencing and riding, and—”

“There's no saying what will happen,” Constantine said, sinking to the bench again. “Except my dreams have been shattered. I doubt we'll go to Newgate, but I know I've been made to look foolish. A woman, especially one like Lisabeth, can pardon a man many things, but not being a dolt. And I don't blame her.”

He put his head in his hands.

“Gentlemen,” Nichols said.

They looked up. The customs officer stood at the door to their cell, and he looked about as happy as they were.

“You're to come with me,” he said.

“Where?” Constantine asked warily, visions of midnight hangings making him step back.

“To see your attorney at law, and to make another inspection of the craft we caught you in,” Nichols said.

Constantine frowned, as did his friends, but no one said a word. What attorney? Constantine's law firm was an old one, firmly lodged in London. And no one had sent word to anyone since they'd been arrested.

“No need to get back in the cart,” Nichols said. “We confiscated, then towed your vessel to the harbor at the foot of this street. It's under guard. Your attorney only wants us all present when he sees the goods so he can see what you're charged with. Come along, step smartly.”

“Difficult to do,” Constantine said, as he shuffled forward, his chains clanking.

“Do it,” Nichols snarled. “I'm not risking anyone diving into the water and trying to get away. With chains on, do you jump in, I doubt you'll be able to come up again, much less swim off.”

Nichols, his guards, and their prisoners clanked and shuffled out of the customs office, and out the door.

Constantine squinted up to see the sun rising over the sea. The fresh winds of the night had blown the clouds away; it bid to be a fair day, the night mists already drifting off. They made their slow passage to the little harbor at the end of the village street. The tide was out; all the boats anchored there lay crooked in the mud. Only the smart little custom's cutter sat in the sea, looking as though it were ready to chase anything anywhere to the end of the world.

A plump little man, dressed soberly and well, stood pacing on the dock. Constantine had never seen him before.

“Welcome, my lord, it's been a long time,” the man said to Constantine, offering his hand. “Tsk!” he said when he saw how Constantine's wrists were bound. “Chains for a gentleman? Come, Mr. Nichols. Surely this isn't necessary, I give you my word. As I'm sure the gentlemen do.”

Nichols hesitated.

“Come, my good fellow,” the man added angrily. “Have I ever lied to you?”

“Often,” Nichols said gloomily.

“But always legally,” the man said, shaking a finger in the customs officer's face. “Now, off with the chains, if you please. It will make it easier for us all to inspect the evidence. And easier still, when I show you that my clients are innocent, and you have to let them go.”

“Innocent?” Nichols yelped. “I caught them with the goods. I don't know who called you, Mr. Makepeace, or who's paying you for your work, because I doubt Lord Wylde ever clapped eyes on you before, neither him, nor his men. But I tell you the goods are there. Brandy, champagne, port wine, the best. Unstamped, untaxed, and unreported . . . until now.”

“Very good,” Mr. Makepeace said. “Now, if you will be so kind as to unchain my clients, we shall all go see for ourselves.”

Nichols had his prisoners unbound, and did it with bad grace. But he was smiling when he let them follow him aboard the fishing smack. The attorney, Nichols, Constantine and his friends, and three somber guards, all walked carefully on to the ship. It was mired in mud, and tilted, so they had to walk uphill to the back of it. The tarpaulins were still in place.

Nichols went straight to them and, bending, whisked them off again.

Mr. Makepeace held his nose. Constantine blinked. Kendall grinned. Blaise let out a deep sigh. And Nichols raged.

They saw a mound of half-rotted fish: fins and tails and heads.

“Who did this?” Nichols shouted. He kicked at the fish and then, in a fury, bent to dig under the stinking pile of guts and pieces, using both hands to do it. He only uncovered more of the same.

His men looked at each other.

“Weren't there guards here all night?” Nichols demanded, straightening, his hands dripping slime and coated with scales.

“Two,” one of his men said. “I were one of them. I didn't hear nothing, nor see a thing. Why, look for yourself, Mr. Nichols. There ain't even a footprint in the mud, sir.”

“I see,” Mr. Makepeace said comfortably. “These fish, you claim, Mr. Nichols, are filled with fine port wine, brandy, and champagne? Do tell me, my lord Wylde, I should like to catch some of those. Pray, what was the bait you used?”

“My secret, Mr. Makepeace,” Constantine said, because he was as numbed and shocked as Nichols.

“I fear you'll have to let my clients go, with an apology,” Mr. Makepeace told the customs officer.

“I know what I saw. I don't know how this was done,” Nichols said through tight lips. “They can go. But I'll be listening and watching close to find out what happened.”

“Everyone needs a hobby,” the attorney said sweetly. “Come now, gentlemen, I can provide transportation back to where your fishing trip was so rudely interrupted.”

Blaise grinned. Kendall raised his head. Constantine looked to the end of the dock where two coaches waited. There was also an open carriage there. Constantine winced. The open carriage was driven by a lovely young lady, dressed in sunrise pink and gold to match the growing day. And she was laughing at him.

C
onstantine sat silently, as Lisabeth raised the whip and set her horse trotting back up the hill, following the other two coaches. Kendall and Blaise were in one, Mr. Makepeace in the other.

“Your friends are going straight to Sea Mews,” she said, as they drove on through the little village. “They need baths, and rest, and good food.”

“And me?” he asked dully.

“Oh, you and I have to talk.”

“There's nothing to say,” Constantine said. “I tried a stupid trick. It was to win your admiration. No, it was supposed to be amusing, so you'd forgive me. No, why lie? It was supposed to remind you of my great-grandfather and my uncle. They were the ones you found dashing. I'm not. Try as I might, I'm still a stick. I met with your fishermen friends, borrowed their craft, and was going to persuade you to come with me for a daring night of sailing, while I tried to convince you of what a fool I'd been and how much I regretted it. What I did was to show you what a fool I still am.”

“Why go to all that effort?” she asked calmly, as the carriage moved up the street, out of the village, and into the open countryside again.

“I didn't know if you could forgive me my hesitation to marry you immediately, out of hand,” he said. “I didn't know because
I
couldn't forgive myself. How could I have let you go? Because, I suppose,” he said sadly, “the truth is that I'm not daring, or dashing. I may feel stirrings, but I can't defeat my upbringing. Can you imagine a portrait of Captain Cunning sitting in a prison cell? He was bold. I'm cautious to a fault.” He laughed. “But as it turns out, not cautious enough. Why, by the way, did your friends switch their cargo from fish to alcohol when they lent me their craft?”

“They thought Nichols wouldn't stop you, and that if he did, you could get out of the snare. You did.”

“I didn't,” he said. “Who did?”

“Oh, changing the wine into fish? It wasn't a minor miracle,” she said, still smiling. “We have many friends. Poor Mr. Nichols. He has none.”

“And Mr. Makepeace?”

“Grandfather's man-at-law. A very good man.”

“Yes, I will, at least, recompense him for his efforts,” Constantine said stiffly.

“No, Grandy wouldn't hear of it.” She turned her head. “You are a little ripe, my lord.”

“The wind changed,” he said. “Even I can smell it.”

They drove out into the countryside, following one of the coaches they had left the village with.

“So,” she finally said, carefully, “the plan was to take me out for a moonlight sail, and convince me that . . . ?”

“That I loved you,” Constantine said, looking down at his hands. “That I didn't want to contemplate life without you. That I wasn't the man you wanted to fall in love with, but that I'd try to be, for you. And I confess, for me as well. Because the time I spent with you was the happiest of my life, and I didn't want to go on without you.”

“And you needed to look like a pirate for that?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I honestly don't like stealing. So I couldn't hold up a coach for you. Though I confess, I thought about it. But I knew it would have to be your coach; how else would you know about it? And if I did, you'd shoot me dead before I got a chance to explain. So a night's sailing seemed right. I look more like my ancestor in the dark.”

She looked at him steadily.

He noticed how the rising sun turned her brown eyes gold. He looked at her face, and felt his heart ache. He'd never seen a lovelier face.

“Nonsense,” she said, and he realized he'd said that aloud. “You're a London gentleman, you've seen the greatest beauties in England. Only I must admit,” she said, grinning, “Miss Winchester certainly wasn't one of them.”

“I wanted to apologize for that too,” he said.

“For not picking a prettier fiancée?” she asked with a show of innocence.

“For her, entirely,” he said. “For how she upset you.”

“Why, did you send her?”

“No, but she wouldn't have come to see you if I hadn't gone back on my own word, and kissed you when and where I shouldn't have.”

She turned the carriage off the high road, and they drove on in silence for a while longer.

“Why did you do that?” she finally asked. “Kiss me where and when you shouldn't have?”

“Because I couldn't help myself. I may not be bold, but you make me forget that.”

“I see,” she said. She wrinkled her nose. “You know, my lord, you really do smell bad. Not as bad as poor Mr. Nichols must, but very bad indeed.”

She slowed the carriage, and stopped it under a willow tree.

“I understand,” he said, as he rose, and stepped down from the carriage. “You want me to get out and walk. I don't blame you. I'll go straight to the inn near Sea Mews, if you'll point me in the right direction.”

“Oh, they wouldn't let you in!” she said, wide-eyed. “Not as you're dressed, and certainly not as you smell.”

“Then what?” he asked, looking up at her.

“There's a pool here, and a fresh running stream. I suggest you rip off those clothes, and beat them on the rocks, and then wash until every last fish scale and bit of prison stench is off you.”

He nodded.

She smiled. “Don't you remember?”

He looked around. And then whipped his head around to look at her.

“Yes,” she said. “We were here that day. Go,” she said, waving her hand. “I want to talk, but only when I can't smell you.”