Hart's Reward (Pirates & Petticoats #3) (10 page)

“Why, Twin Pines, of course. The commodore left it to her when he died, I heard. You did know it burned down, don’t you?” Annette pressed a dramatic hand to her bosom. “Most terrifying.”

“What brings you into town, Mrs. Camsby?” Or more importantly, when would she leave?

Annette waved her hand. “Oh this and that. Mr. Pratt is having a party tomorrow and I needed a new pair of gloves.”

“It appears we have much to catch up on. Have you had supper?” He gave Annette another charming smile. His eyes conveyed a sly innuendo, to which Annette returned seductively.

“I’d be delighted,” she said, giving Keelan one last smug look before smiling up at Landon. “I know the perfect place.”

This couldn’t be happening. Keelan shoved her hands into her pockets as far as they would go, torn between clawing Annette’s eyes out and fleeing as far and as fast as her legs would take her. A thick weight draped over her shoulders as the handsome, dark-haired couple sauntered away. Had she lost him for good? It was obvious that Annette still wanted him. Landon couldn’t possibly resist such a beautiful woman.
 

She was powerless. There was nothing else she could do.
 

Keelan drew a ragged breath and allowed Daniel to lead her into the tavern’s rear door.
 
It wasn’t much later before the kind tavern keeper’s wife had her in a small room off the kitchen with a copper tub full of tepid water. Keelan groaned out loud as she lowered herself into the bath and rested her head against the rim. Everything hurt and was either bruised, sore or sunburned. Was that peppermint? A small sachet steeped in the bath and she plucked it out and inhaled. Yes. Peppermint, Basil and Marjoram. Perfect. She dropped it back in and leaned her head back.

Heavenly.
 

She almost declined the jasmine oil for camphor oil instead. Her bones still ached from crashing to the deck beneath Landon and she was sore from her last training exercise with Daniel. She shouldn’t show up on the ship smelling like flowers. The only reason she took the chance was for Landon. He’d always loved the scent of Jasmine on her skin.
 

The thought that Landon and Annette were together at this same moment had her clenching her jaw and muttering several colorful curses she’d heard aboard the
Desire
. As badly as she’d wanted to pull Landon with her and Daniel into the Whistling Pig, she couldn’t draw attention to them on a public street. Remaining silent nearly made her explode.
 

Mrs. Schoen had clucked her tongue at the condition of the reopened slashes on Keelan’s back.

“I vill make you a salve to take. Yu must put on every day, ya?”

“I will try,” Keelan replied. Her wounds had gone untended since Landon’s accident, which had also apparently reopened some of them.

Mrs. Schoen shook her finger at Keelan. “No try. Do it. If your handsome man neglects dis duty, he vill answer to me.”

Keelan bit her lip and nodded. She would not tell Mrs. Schoen that Landon was no longer
her
handsome man. He was Annette’s.

Annette led Landon to her apartment off King Street. He was relieved when he recognized it. It was strange how he was constantly searching for the familiar, as if it could ground him and prevent him from flying though time, back into the blank unknown.

Rupert opened the door and nodded a greeting. “Can I bring you anything, madam?”
 

Annette slid her perusal over Landon’s frame. “I believe I have everything I need, Rupert. In fact…you may retire. I doubt I’ll need you the rest of the evening.”

Rupert had the grace to keep his expression stoic. He gave his mistress a slight bow and excused himself.

Landon followed Annette into the library where an open bottle of Madeira awaited them. She poured herself a glass and then prepared an Irish whiskey for him. The apartment had belonged to her late husband and the library had been designed and decorated using dark wood, leather furniture, deep gemstone colors and plush Persian rugs.
 

After handing him the drink, she sank to the long leather sofa and eyed him carefully. “So, you have already tired of your boyish wife? I can’t say that I’m surprised, only that I hadn’t expected it this soon.”
 

He did his best to hide the jolt of shock that reverberated through him all the way into his bones. He’d offered to escort Annette with the specific intention of gleaning whatever information she might have of his current state. In all honesty, he’d not expected her to instantly confirm his marriage; he’d been certain that Keelan had lied to him. In fact, he hadn’t even considered she was truly his wife. Everything he’d observed so far had supported his suspicion that she was a spy. Unless of course she’d been telling the truth about everything.
 

Dammit. He wouldn’t have married again. He would not have. Not ever. How could he even have considered it? What was it about her that had completely removed every grain of common sense he’d ever had? Had he been coerced? Forced at gunpoint? There. There was a question he hadn’t thought to ask. What were the circumstances surrounding their vows? Had Conal demanded it? Had something else happened between him and Keelan that had forced them to marry?

But there’d been no wedding, no priest to sanctify their union. Had they even consummated their marriage? A small feminine cough reminded him where he was. Annette had asked a question of him.
 

He swirled the amber liquid in circles around his glass. “Why would you think that I’ve tired of my…wife?” The word almost refused to leave his mouth. Further confirmation that marriage was not a suitable pastime for him.

She shrugged a delicate shoulder and huffed a humorless laugh. “You made it abundantly clear, when we were together last, that you no longer desired my company.”

“I did?” Landon gulped a swallow of his whiskey. The question on his tongue begged to be asked. Was he ready to expose the weakness of his memory so soon? There appeared to be no other way to broach the subject other than simply asking the question. “When did you learn of my marriage?”

He caught a flicker of confusion in Annette’s dark brown eyes. He shouldn’t have asked it in that manner. “The moment you introduced her to me as your wife,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her words. Annette left her seat on the couch and came to him. She ran her hands up his forearms and over his chest as she studied his face.

He struggled to keep his expression one of nonchalance. Could she see the turbulent uncertainty in his eyes?

She ran a hand over his shoulder and behind his neck then pulled his head down and kissed him. Her lips tasted like wine; the scent of roses surrounded her. Her other hand slid down over his belly to his crotch and cupped him.
 

This room was familiar. Her scent was familiar. The way she kissed him— boldly thrusting her tongue in his mouth and then nipping his lip—was familiar. By this time, he should have been hard and throbbing and impatient to rid her of the hindrance of her clothes. They should both be naked on the cool leather of the couch, Annette clawing at his back while he plunged himself into her.

Unfamiliar, was the apathy he had toward the woman now. He wasn’t aroused. The kiss bored him. He had a need to find a pub and sit alone to contemplate everything that he’d learned since waking up from the accident.
 

He put his hands on her shoulders and gently broke the kiss. She grasped his hand in hers and pulled.

“Come,” she whispered in a sultry voice. “Let’s continue this in my bed.”

Landon reached up and threaded his fingers around a strand of her sleek black hair. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, held it for a moment then released it.

“I’m sorry, Annette, I can’t stay.” He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. “But you knew I wouldn’t, didn’t you?”

She gave him a sad smile. “I had hoped you would.” She turned her face to stare at the unlit fireplace. “But yes, the way you looked at her when you introduced us, I knew then I’d lost you.” She refilled her wineglass. “Why are you here? Was it to test your resolve, or my charms? Maybe both?”

This was vexing. Why do women seem to have an uncanny ability to guess a man’s intentions? “I thought I had questions to ask.” He set his empty glass on a side table. But instead of answers, he had more questions.

“Do you still?”

“I think not.”

“I see.” She stared at him for a long moment. “Since I’ve dismissed Rupert, you’ll have to show yourself to the door.” She left and less than a minute later, he was on the street, heading back toward the wharf. He wandered along King Street a while, unable to return to The Whistling Pig. He entered a small pub. He needed to think things through.
 

He needed to
think
.

Annette had confirmed he’d taken Keelan to wife. Even if he had wanted to ease his lust with his mistress, he would not have. He’d experienced the pain of Lenita’s infidelity. Although he didn’t care for the chit he’d apparently wed, he wouldn’t intentionally thrust that kind of humiliation on her.

The dark and sparsely populated tavern suited his needs perfectly. A thick, leather-faced bar keep walked over and nodded a greeting. “What can I get you, good sir?”
 

“An ale and two fingers of Bushmills,” Landon straddled a stool nearest the door.

The man poured the whiskey first and placed it in front of Landon, then pulled a tankard of ale. “What brings you to our fine city?” He pushed the tankard across the worn planks of the bar.

It wasn’t a casual question. There were many layers of Charleston society that went beyond class levels. Many were underground and Landon’s response might hint his place in it. He pondered the question a moment before he responded. He needed more information about Keelan, but he’d tighten the man’s lips if he asked in the wrong manner.
 

“I’m a simple merchant captain,” Landon said. “We made port late this afternoon and will be here only as long as it takes to deliver and pick up our cargo.” He tossed down the whiskey.

The man thrust his hand across the bar. “I’m Willy Kennedy, proprietor of this fine pub.”

A faint tingle along his spine sent the hair on the back of Landon’s neck twitching. He grasped Willy’s hand. “Ian Shepherd,” he lied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Willy gestured to the whiskey bottle and Landon nodded his thanks. “What are you carrying, if you don’t mind my asking?” Willy said casually, refilling the glass.

Ah. Now the tricky part. Landon smiled. “Currently, rice, indigo and several barrels of spices and port wine. As we’re heading north, I’ll do my best to add items from the Low Country coveted by northern ports.”

Willy braced his large hands on the smooth wooden bar and tilted his head and pondered for a second before asking, “Are you familiar with Fritz Schoen? He owns the Whistling Pig.”

Landon nodded, aware the man’s eyes keenly studied him. “Yes, I’ve known him and his wife for several years. I usually rent a room there when I’m in port.”
 

The man nodded. “I heard he’d like to send some things to his sister in Philadelphia, if you’ve space in your hold.”

The Schoens must have some new runaways hidden. It wasn’t part of his plan, but he’d ask Fritz about it when he returned to the tavern. “I have a small amount of room. I’ll be sure to speak with him about it.” Landon took a deep drink of his ale. A couple stout men, by their dress, dock workers, sat at the other end of the bar sharing a platter filled with chunks of meat, cheese and bannocks but by the angle of their bodies, had been listening intently to the conversation.

Landon leaned forward. “There was talk down at the wharf about a fire-haired woman with a steep price on her head.” The bar keep paused for the briefest second before continuing to polish the glass in his hand. “Do you know of whom I speak?”

The closer man of the two shifted his gaze to Landon, then to Willy, who caught the man’s stare and raised a brow. The dock worker gave him a slight shrug.
 

“Well, yes sir, I think I might know who they were talking about.” He scratched the bristles on his cheek. “Her name is Keelan Grey, and she was last seen with a merchant captain named Landon Hart.”

Landon leaned back, raised his brows and said, “So, it’s true. What crime has she committed?”

A low gravely voice responded, “Murder.”

Murder! Landon turned his very real expression of shock to the dockworker who’d been eavesdropping. “The sheriff must have a hefty reward for her capture, if she’s wanted for murder.” Sometimes playing a bit at being naive made people drop their guard a little.

Landon’s tactic worked and the dockworker snorted in derision before he answered. “Ain’t the sheriff who’s wanting her. It’s a personal vendetta. She killed a man’s first mate and cousin—a man whose ire you don’t want to stir even the tiniest bit.”

His friend added, “Word is that she’s back in town. The
Desire
made port less than a day ago.” He took a long swallow of his ale. “And we knows now that she disguises herself by wearing britches instead of skirts.”

All eyes were on Landon, now. A sick feeling of dread seeped into his stomach.
 

This was trouble.

Landon entered the Whistling Pig and nodded to Fritz, who handed him a key.

“My wife has a message,” he said. “If you knock on der kitchen door, she vill give it to you.”

“Thank you.” Landon did as instructed and Mrs. Schoen gestured him into the kitchen.

“We have Simon hidden upstairs,” she said, wringing her apron. “Mr. Pratt somehow found out dat he vas moving your cargo and tried to trap him. Tankfully, he vas warned in time to run.” She let out a heady breath. “He worries for his wife und boy.”

Landon clenched his jaw. Simon, had been a house slave at Twin Pines, which was now, according to Annette, owned by Keelan. Interesting how Keelan hadn’t mentioned to him that she was a slave owner. What if she worked for Pratt? Could she be trying to infiltrate Fynn’s alliance as well as spy for the British? If she was, then this mission was in even greater danger.