Once Upon a Midnight Sea (2 page)

He stepped closer and examined the portrait, wondering if Ann Marie Montague had truly been as beautiful in life as depicted on canvas. The daughter of a meager tavern owner who married Edmund when he was still poor, she'd died when Adriana was only four.

"I wonder old boy," Christian said softly to himself, "are you as predictable as I suspect you are?" He felt along the edge of the painting until he found the latch. He nudged it free with his finger, and the painting swung open on a hinge. He clucked his tongue at what he found.
Edmund, you disappoint me. I'd hoped for a more cunning foe
.

He wouldn't waste his time opening the safe, what he sought would not be inside. He secured the painting and went back to the door. He listened carefully before slipping out and into the next cabin.

Adriana's suite. The spacious berth was as lavishly decorated as any of the wealthiest ladies' boudoirs he'd had the pleasure to burgle.

He found the same hinge and latch arrangement on a painting of a stormy seascape and discovered another safe. How predictable. It was identical to her father's; a US Safe Company strongbox with a triple tumble lock and lever release handle. It was hardly a challenge for even the clumsiest of thieves. He leaned close to listen as he threw the dial, a practice run to learn the combination so he could open it again quickly tonight as Adriana slept.

Christian laughed as he discovered he already knew the combination–six, seventeen, fifty-three; Adriana's birth date.

As he'd expected, it was empty. She was wearing the necklace.

Hot anticipation raced through his veins. He had worked so long and hard for this it didn't seem possible it would culminate this very night.

Female voices neared the doorway. He hardly had time to close the safe and secure the painting before the door's handle turned. He slipped into the first hiding place he found, a large, built-in wardrobe. It was a horrible spot, but only because he couldn't see Adriana through the louvered slats at the top section of its double doors.

He'd spent most of his life plotting and conspiring against the Montagues and knew almost everything about them, but he had never seen Adriana in person.

"I think you should reconsider," an elderly woman said. Her large, darkly clothed figure trailed behind a much smaller shape in powder blue.

Christian leaned forward, straining to see through the slats. At that instant the Lady Luck shifted, sending him off balance. He brushed against a reticule with a braided chain, causing it to rattle against its hook. Damn female frippery! He froze, holding his breath.

"I dare say it shan't be pleasant when Mr. Locke arrives in Baltimore."

"He doesn't frighten me."

The voice sounded younger and more fragile than Christian had expected. All these years his imagination had chiseled these people into something larger than they truly were. He bit down on a vicious smile. Adriana Montague was just a silly wench, and separating silly wenches from their riches was his forte.

"Adriana, it is important for you to attend functions such as these. Please, let us attend the Hawthorne's party tonight, and we will return to Baltimore tomorrow."

Baltimore! Adriana had obviously changed her plans at the last minute. Thank goodness he'd stolen aboard when he did.

The ship shifted again, and outside men's voices shouted from the bay side. Launch boats were towing them out of the harbor.

The delicate figure in blue sat in the parlor chair. He caught a glimpse of slender white shoulders. "I have had my fill of those ridiculous parties. I'm...I'm not comfortable at them. I would be quite content if I never had to attend another as long as I live."

Did he detect a note of regret in her voice? For a long moment the only sound was a drawn sigh from the other woman. Adriana's chaperone, he assumed.

Something heavy thumped overhead. The ship was definitely underway. Lady Luck came alive with rattles, bangs and creaks he hadn't expected of such a luxurious vessel.

"As Preston's wife, you'll be expected to attend them all the time. You must resign yourself to your future."

"Mr. Weiss wouldn't care a whit if I sailed off the end of the earth. He is only marrying me for my inheritance."

"Adriana!" The fat woman moved behind Adriana to help her undress, blocking Christian's view.

"It is the only truth in this charade and you know it. Preston Weiss would marry me if I were a pig mucking in a pen as long as he could still get his hands on Montague Shipping."

"You are certainly no pig mucking in a pen," the chaperone scolded lightly. "And you mustn't say such things."

Christian slid into the far corner just as the wardrobe door yanked open. A plump hand stretching a green woolen glove to its very limits retrieved a wispy yellow dress from a hook only inches away from his nose. Christian held his breath, certain the woman had seen him and would let loose a blood-curdling scream.

"Oh Mrs. Bailey, I cannot bear the thought of living in New York, so far away from home. I do not want to marry him."

"Now, now. You're just nervous. All brides worry before their weddings."

Fabric swished as Mrs. Bailey helped Adriana into her dress. The plump hand deposited the powder blue gown and slammed the wardrobe shut. Christian exhaled a silent whoosh of relief.

"It won't be so bad. Why, when I first met him, I thought Mr. Bailey was a brutish, inconsiderate clod, God rest his soul. Now, what I wouldn't give for just one more day with him. One more hour, even."

"I am sorry. I'm being insensitive." Adriana's voice grew soft. "I'm grateful for everything you've done for me and I won't let you down."

"That's a good girl."

If you only knew
, Christian thought,
I'm going to make your wish come true in a way you never dreamed
.

"I am going to lie down with a cool cloth on my head. You know how ill I get when I sail. Just call me if you need anything, dear."

Adriana remained at her vanity for a long time, brushing her hair in slow strokes. Christian leaned closer to the door again, hoping to get a better look at her. The downward angled louvers only allowed him a glimpse of her yellow dress and the ends of her long, dark hair before cutting off his view.

Scratching at the door caught his attention. A little dog snarled up at him through the slats, its lip curled back to reveal a mouthful of sharp teeth.

"Chauncy, stop."

The dog let loose an ear-splitting yip. Adriana rose and crossed the cabin, sending Christian's heart racing as she neared.

She bent and picked up the dog. Sliver-like glimpses through the slats flashed like lightning strikes; peaches and cream skin, delicate hands, hair like burnished copper.

For a frozen-in-time moment, only inches separated them through the wardrobe door. The thinnest wisp of roses and orange slipped through the louvers, bringing with it a nearly forgotten boyhood memory of a spring meadow in France.

"Shush now. That's a good dog, my sweet little Chauncy."

A warm, unfamiliar sensation spread through his limbs as Adriana's voice deepened into a foggy whisper.

"There now, you go topside and visit with Henri. Good boy, Chauncy."

That wispy dress swished as she moved to the cabin door. With a clicking of toenails on the polished floor, the dog trotted away, leaving Christian alone with Adriana for the first time.

A jumble of emotions deluded his senses. Damn the Montagues for their unwavering luck. She'd really thrown his plans into a mess with her quick change of itinerary.

Christian clenched his fists, fighting the uncomfortable sensation brought on by Adriana's seductive voice. He dragged his long awaited scheme to the forefront as he struggled to ignore the alluring magic clouding the room like smoke.

The Montague luck wouldn't save her tonight; he wouldn't let it. He would simply seize the ship and turn it south before they reached Baltimore.

The wardrobe door wrenched open, blinding Christian with light. A rush of air sent that delicate, flowery scent whirling around him. When his eyes focused, he discovered the gleaming silver barrel of a derringer pointed at his heart.

Chapter Two

"Who are you, and what do you want?"

Starry Night, the necklace he'd traveled nearly three thousand miles to steal, glittered upon the exposed skin of her bosom.

Christian hardly noticed it. He was trapped by brilliant blue eyes as vibrant as a winter sky.

The painting of Ann Marie depicted her perfectly. Adriana was her spitting image, only more beautiful. The incredible softness of her features gave her a deceptively innocent appearance, contradicting dangerously with the gun held solidly in her hand.

A barely-there tint crept into her cheeks. Narrow, delicate brows drew together. She wasn't as confident as she wanted him to believe. From the corner of his eye he saw her hand begin to shake.

"Could it be I have captured the infamous Nighthawk?"

He caught his breath. No one in America had ever before suspected he and the Nighthawk were one and the same.

One corner of her mouth twitched into a wry smile. Her brows drew upward and she glanced over him as though he were covered in mud. "No, you could not possibly be. The Nighthawk wouldn't allow himself caught so easily. Revealed by a small dog, no less."

He took a step forward, emerging from the wardrobe. Adriana withdrew two. Fear washed the haughty arrogance from her features.

"Stay where you are."

Christian glanced at the necklace. Starry Night was every bit as stunning as he'd heard. Seven 3-carat sapphires hung from a silver chain, each ocean-blue gem circled with a fringe of glittering diamonds. The necklace wasn't daywear, but he expected she probably never took it off when traveling, despite the safe in her cabin.

"You aren't the first to try, and you shan't be the last," she said, seeing him glance at it.

"You won't shoot me."

"Ah, he speaks. Perhaps I was correct. It is rumored the Nighthawk is a Frenchman."

Her gaze turned mocking, a look Christian was sure she learned from her arrogant father. At the same time, her hand now trembled violently and those creamy cheeks held their scarlet stain. "And pray tell, why will I not shoot you?"

He advanced on her another step. This time Adriana held her ground. "Because the heiress doesn't have it in her. She wouldn't shoot a man over a trinket. She's refinement, sophistication, a true blue-blood."

A flicker of something dark passed through her eyes. "I am afraid you have me all wrong."

"No," he growled. "I do not." He glanced down again, not to look at the necklace, but at the luscious bosom rising and falling with each heated breath. "You are too dignified to shoot me. You've been educated at the finest schools, are welcomed by society's elite at the grandest parties. I do not believe you have it in you to spill a man's blood over a necklace."

"That is where you are wrong, Nighthawk. It is very valuable to me, a gift given to me by my father."

The mention of her father sent his rage flaring. He considered tearing Starry Night from her throat. "Has no one ever told you guns are dangerous?"

He seized her wrist and wrenched her aim away. She squeaked out her surprise as he spun her around and yanked her against his chest. He squeezed her wrist until she cried out and dropped the derringer.

"You brute! Unhand me!" She struggled valiantly as he wrapped his arms around her and drew her into a crushing hug.

"I was right. You didn't shoot me."

"Given a second chance, I would."

She jabbed at him with her free arm. He suppressed a gasp as her sharp little elbow caught him just under the ribs.

"Just because I was tutored in a ladies school does not mean I won't claw your eyes out!"

White-hot sparks of arousal erupted in his groin and raced through his limbs. She felt even more delicate than she appeared, yet was surprisingly strong. Her shoulders fell just below his, a perfect fit against him. He found it strange such a thought would enter his mind, stranger still that none of his many conquests had ever stoked such glowing heat inside him.

Ruining her is going to be more entertaining than I'd thought
. He tucked her under his chin and pressed one hand to her throat. Adriana fell still.

"Give the necklace to me nicely or I'll take it...
not
nicely."

"Never. Let go of me!" She thrashed against him, pressing her derrière into the tremendous stiffness at his groin as she screamed for Henri.

The old man must have heard the commotion because he appeared in the doorway at that instant. "What's this all about?" He stooped to pick up the derringer. "
Mon Dieu
."

"It's hers, not mine," Christian ground out as he fought to hold her steady.

Henri turned it over in his palm. "Adriana, where did you get this?"

"Mr. Dupree, shoot him! This is the man who attacked Father!"