Starlight & Promises (25 page)

When Christian disappeared into the night, Garrett released the breath stuck in his throat. Now for Samantha, the little fool. His quick strides ate up the dock, following the direction the corporal had taken.

At the garrison gaol, the swinish sergeant stood, buttoned his uniform jacket, and smoothed his thinning hair when Garrett entered. He gestured to a wooden chair. Garrett settled gingerly on the shaky, sticky seat, and the sergeant offered him a tankard of ale.

“No thanks,” Garrett said. “I have no wish to waste your valuable time. Please bring out the lad so I can identify him. Should he be my cabin boy, I’m prepared to pay the fine”—he plopped a hefty purse on the desk, raising a dust cloud—”though I’m tempted to leave him with you for a few days to teach him a lesson.”

The sergeant’s eyes bulged at the size of the purse. He waved curtly to the corporal. “Get the lad.”

Corporal Brent escorted Samantha out of her cell and into the sergeant’s office. The sight of Garrett sent her pulse into a headlong gallop. Though relieved at her rescue, she dreaded the scene bound to ensue when she came into Christian’s clutches. Satan’s own bullocks had surely scattered their droppings over her path tonight.

As Garrett circled her with his hands clenched behind his back, she examined his impassive face through the screen of her lashes. Stopping in front of her, he lifted her chin on the edge of his hand. She cringed at his flinty glare, though his angel-like features remained as expressionless as rock.

“Well?” the sergeant asked, his bloated fingers toying with the pouch.

Garrett cupped his chin with one hand, resting the elbow in his other palm, and rubbed the hand over his mouth. “It’s he.” He exhaled heavily. “My apologies for the inconvenience.”

Sergeant Dobbins belched, his stinking breath sending out a cloud tinged with ale and poor dental care. He snatched up the pouch and dropped it into a desk drawer. “Were I you,” he said with a cruel smile, “I’d give the lad a taste of the cat. Take out the fine on his hide and teach him who’s master.”

Garrett caught Samantha’s gaze with a look that knocked the air out of her. “Perhaps someone will.” He turned to the two policemen. “I owe you my thanks for finding the lad. No telling what could have happened to him alone in a place such as Hobart.” His fingers sank into her elbow, and he pushed her out the door.

As soon as they hit the street, Garrett’s face grew taut with anger. Samantha suspected Christian was waiting for her not far away, and Garrett was taking her to him. If she was able to beat them to the dock, find the dinghy, and board the ship first, she could barricade herself in her cabin until Christian … Until Christian what? Forgot about the incident? That seemed unlikely, but she had no wish to face him at this moment when his anger was bound to be at its most virulent. She twisted her elbow out of Garrett’s hand and starting running as fast as she could. She was panting hard and fairly flying when a hand clamped on her collar, jerking her backward and up off her feet.

She closed her eyes, legs dangling in the air. The shirt collar cut into her throat, threatening to strangle her. But then choking to death might be her best choice at this point, before Christian had the chance to lay hands on her. Garrett held her high off the ground with one hand, like he would hold an incontinent puppy by the scruff of its neck, and shook her until her teeth rattled. She’d not realized the slim young man was so strong.

“Enough!” she croaked.

Garrett dropped her, and she fell forward onto her knees. She peered up at his censorious look and tight frown.

He reached down and brought her to her feet. “Why did you run from me?”

“From the look on your face, I feared you would do me an injury or that Christian was lurking in a dark alley where he could chop me into fish food with no witnesses.”

“Stop that, Sam. Your exaggerations become tedious. No one will do you physical harm, as you well know, unless Christian gives you the sound paddling you deserve. At any rate, you’re fortunate Christian has taken himself off to town. I vow you have naught but pudding between your ears. Where did you go tonight?” He shook his head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” He took her by the wrist and towed her to a bench by the waterside. His fingers clamped on her shoulder like a crocodile’s teeth, pushing downward and compelling her to sit. He settled beside her, turned sideways, and looked into her eyes. “For your own safety, it’s time you learned something about Christian’s past.”

A
t last!
Now, when it was too late, when she had tossed herself into a fine pit of snakes, Garrett would finally disclose what she had badgered him for so long to spill.

“First, I must tell you that I came tonight not because I sympathize with your irresponsible actions, but because Chris was so incensed,” he said. “I feared he would suffer an attack of apoplexy unless he was given some time to cool his head. My rescue was not for your sake. It was for his.”

She hung her head. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

“As you well should be. However, your apology is unlikely to pull much weight with Chris.” He paused and took a breath. “Has he divulged his background to you?”

She glanced up at the abrupt change of subject. “He told me his father was a reformer and gave up the earldom after losing everything in an effort to ease the plight of the poor. They then came to America.”

Garrett cocked his head. “That’s all he said?”

She slowly nodded. “Is there more I should know?”

He gave a little laugh. “I expect there is, if you truly wish to understand why Chris has been so harsh with you.”

She grabbed his hands. “Truly, I do. Please tell me.”

Garrett extracted his hands from her grip and combed one through his hair. “What he said about his father is true, though only a small part of the story. The formation of Chris’s character properly begins with his mother.”

“His mother? Chris never mentioned his mother. I assumed she died when he was young.”

He lifted a hand. “Allow me to continue without interruption, Sam. The tale is sordid enough without having to backtrack.” When she nodded, he went on. “Lady Jane came from the bluest of the blue-blooded aristocrats. She was beautiful, the toast of the Ton, and the most notorious strumpet in London.”

Samantha gasped.

Garrett gave her a warning look. “I daresay the path to Jane’s boudoir was deeper than a carriage rut in April. After giving birth to Chris, she suffered through numerous pregnancies, none of which she allowed to come to term. As she had left the earl’s bed after Chris’s birth, all were the progeny of her various lovers. She spent money like it was water and flaunted her affairs as though they were badges of honor. Through it all, her husband worshipped her, denying her infidelities and defending her reputation, such as it was. Then the day came when her philandering came to an abrupt end. A jealous lover whom she spurned murdered her before killing himself.”

“How awful!” Samantha said. “How old was Chris when this happened?”

“Fourteen. Old enough to understand his mother’s nature but too young to take up the mantle of the earldom from his father.”

She wrinkled her nose. “What do you mean? Why should Chris have to—?”

“Quiet,” he said, laying a finger across her lips. “The shock of Lady Jane’s death drove the earl to madness. He retreated into a childlike state and became unable even to care for himself. Circumstances forced Chris into the role of father and head of the family, his sire having become the child. Between the earl’s generosity and Jane’s profligate spending, the estate was soon destitute. Chris sold what they had left, which amounted to a pittance, and took his father to America, where he built a cabin in Massachusetts with his own hands and cared for his father until the earl’s death three years later.” Garrett gazed earnestly into Samantha’s eyes. “Since the day his father ceased to be the man he once was, Chris has struggled to maintain strict control over his own life and circumstances. He fears that should he ever let go, allow himself to weaken to another’s will, particularly a woman’s, he will share his father’s fate, his madness.”

Samantha pressed her hands to her mouth, mind spinning with the implications of Garrett’s revelations. “Oh, my. I can now see why he has such an aversion to aristocratic ladies and why he insists on having his own way. Had I been privy to this information earlier, I might have done things differently.”

Garrett stood and, with a dubious smile, offered his hand to Samantha. “I very much doubt that, Sam. You and Chris are much alike. You both have strong characters and obdurate personalities. I consider it a blessing you haven’t thrown each other overboard yet.”

Steven Burnett strolled to the tavern door and walked outside. From the doorway of the Blue Boar Inn, he watched Samantha’s retreat. Leaning against the rough wall, he lit a cheroot, and chuckled at her encounter with the military watch. He would not go to her aid as he could ill afford to bring attention to his interest in the girl, especially to the military authorities. She would extricate herself from her predicament, and he would find her again. Hobart was still a small town, for all its worldly pretensions.

After the watch departed with Samantha and headed toward the garrison, two men passed by the tavern on the opposite side of the street. In the oily glow from a streetlight, Steven recognized one. Professor Christian Badia. Steven had seen him only once before in Hong Kong, but the tall figure with light-streaked dark hair and chiseled features made an unmistakable impression. Steven knew Badia’s credentials and his reputation, his success in tracking down species impossible to find, and the events of the night dropped into place.

He chuckled at judging the situation correctly. They were pursuing the Smilodon. Christian Badia’s presence, along with that of Samantha Colchester, confirmed it. Now, if he could only be certain of the fate of Richard Colchester and James Truett.

As Christian walked down the street, and Steven’s gaze followed him, Steven recalled the meeting nearly a year ago.

The
Manta Ray
returned to Tasmania battered but still afloat, and Steven received a message from Miggs to meet him at the Blue Boar Inn. He assumed the pirates had extracted the cat’s location, disposed of the two Englishmen, and now expected final payment.

Steven had entered the silent tavern on that long-ago morning in a swirl of fog to find a scarcely populated room. The proprietor, Ian Mickles, was setting up the bar and wiping down the counter in preparation for the day’s trade. Sleepy barmaids wandered among the tables, sweeping trash-strewn floors and swabbing sticky tabletops. They blinked at Steven through red-rimmed eyes, their worn features caked with runny face paint from the previous night’s revels.

Mickles nodded to Steven and inclined his head toward a door behind the counter. “Yer party’s waitin’ fer ye in the back room. Keep it short. I ain’t runnin’ no boardin’house.”

“We shall take ale, if it is available this early,” Steven said.

“Always got ale.” Mickles wiped his hands on his dirty apron and drew two tankards of ale, thrusting them into Steven’s hands as he passed by.

The captain of the
Manta Ray
slouched in a chair behind a battered table. Three burly, unshaven men dressed in sailor’s togs lolled against one wall. Eyes as dead as those on a week-old mullet in a fish market peered out from grim, hard faces.

Even compared to his minions, the pirate captain was a fright, and Steven suppressed a shudder of revulsion. A scar ran from the man’s hairline to a puckered hole at the site of his missing right eye. His filthy frock coat gapped open over a barrel chest furred with coarse red hair. One arm rested in a sling, and a host of new scars crisscrossed his chest and face, adding to the fearsome countenance.

Anxious to be away quickly, Steven slammed the tankards on the table, ale sloshing over their sides, and straddled a wobbly chair. He reached into his pocket, withdrew a bag of coins, and tossed it onto the table. “You have favorable news for me, I presume?”