Surrender the Dawn (45 page)

L
uke paced across Noah’s library, the thump of his boots on the oak floor hammering his guilt deeper and deeper into his gut until he felt he would implode.

“You did what?” Noah leapt from his chair behind his desk, his eyes blazing, his hand reaching for the sword strapped to his hip. “Are you drunk?”

Luke shook his head. He wished he was. He wished all that had transpired was merely a rum-induced nightmare.

Mr. Reed, standing by the cold hearth, turned with a groan, his dark brow furrowed.

Luke halted, still not believing he’d finally said it out loud. He’d admitted to being a traitor to his country. Yet instead of feeling relieved, all remaining hope dissipated beneath the look of disgust and disappointment on Noah’s face. “They captured John.”

“John,” Noah repeated, his voice spiked with shock. “Your brother?”

Clawing a hand through his hair, Luke took up a pace again. “Yes.”

“Upon my word, how did the British get ahold of your brother?” The enemy’s accent throbbed in Mr. Reed’s voice.

Grinding his teeth together, Luke faced Noah. “Does
he
have to be here?”

One brow of censure rose over Noah’s sharp eyes. “He is my houseguest
and engaged to Miss Rose. And you will treat him accordingly.” His captain’s voice gave no room for argument.

“Engaged?” Luke stared at the British lieutenant. “I thought you were reporting back to your ship.”

“God had other ideas.” Mr. Reed gave a slight chuckle then grew serious and took a step toward Luke. “I’ve joined the Americans.”

Before Luke could process the information, Noah’s harsh voice blasted over his ears. “And exactly
whose
side are you on, Luke?” His friend circled the desk, sliding his hand over the walnut top and landing inches from his pistol.

Pain seared Luke’s heart at the thought that his friend would ever use the weapon against him. But how could he blame him? “Shoot me if you wish. Turn me in if you want. But I had no choice. They would have killed John.”

The tight lines around Noah’s eyes softened. A hint of relief freed the breath in Luke’s throat. But it caught again when he remembered he had yet to inform them about Cassandra.

“How long has the boy been there?” Mr. Reed asked.

“A month.” Luke shook his head. Fury fisted his hands, and he fought the urge to punch something, anything, if only to release the rage within him.

Noah sat on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “And you’ve been supplying them ever since?”

“What other choice did I have?”

Mr. Reed’s mouth quirked in disgust. “The choice to not be so rash, sir. To seek aid instead of putting others at risk with your own self-pitying stubbornness.”

Enough from this pompous Brit! Luke charged the man, raising a fist in the air. Taking a step back, Mr. Reed raised his own, preparing to fight. But Noah darted between them, grabbed Luke’s wrist in midair, and shoved him back.

“Confound it all! Fighting is not the answer. Mr. Reed is right. You should have come to me sooner.” Noah’s face flamed. “We could have figured something out.”

Seething, Luke retreated. He should leave. If Noah would even allow him to, now. Unclenching his fist, he rubbed the scars on his palm. “Yes, of course,” Luke said with a smirk. “We could have sent my schooner and your brig against a Royal Navy frigate. Even if we managed to fire
a broadside at them, my only brother is on board.”
Not to mention the woman I love.

“Instead, you chose to suffer alone and betray your country,” Noah growled. “Blast your pride, man!”

“Don’t you think I’ve been trying to get him back?” Luke snapped.

Noah’s eyes narrowed. He shook his head in disdain.

Perhaps, Luke had made a mistake in coming here. Perhaps, friend or not, Noah would summon General Smith immediately and have Luke hauled off for treason.

Tugging on his coat, Mr. Reed took a stance of authority as he’d often done when they’d been his slaves aboard the HMS
Undefeatable.
“So, why now? What has humbled you enough to seek help?”

Luke backed away and sank into a leather chair. “Something else happened. I met the frigate four days ago to offer the captain my entire hold full of supplies for free if he’d release my brother.”

Mr. Reed frowned. “Unlikely any British captain would agree to that.”

Luke swallowed. “As I discovered. But it was my last hope.”

“And?” Noah studied him, apprehension on his face.

“Turns out I had an unexpected stowaway.” Luke prepared himself for the pain it would cause him to simply say her name. To admit what he’d done. “Miss Channing. They took her.”

Mr. Reed released a moan that—based on his intimate knowledge of the happenings aboard a British warship—did not bode well for Cassandra’s future.

“Cassandra?” Noah winced. Eyes wide, he stumbled backward. “What was she doing on board your ship?”

Luke grimaced. “I imagine she suspected my activities.”

“I cannot believe it.” Noah pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “We must not tell Marianne. It would vex her overmuch.”

Luke dropped his head into his hands. “This is my fault. I don’t know what to do.” He raised his gaze to see Mr. Reed, hands fisted at his waist, staring into space as if in deep concentration.

“Do you know this Captain Raynor?” Luke asked.

“Only by reputation.” Mr. Reed rubbed his chin. “If it helps, he isn’t the erratic ogre Captain Milford is.”

Luke drew in a deep breath. “You offer me little consolation, sir. Now, offer me a way to get Cassandra and John back. These treacherous
mongrels are your people. You know how they think. I beg you”—Luke hesitated, wondering if Reed would help him after Luke had nearly assaulted him—“tell me you have an idea.”

“I do.” The Brit’s eyes sparkled.

“Egad, Alex! Let’s hear it.” Noah’s tone was anxious.

“I still have my uniform.” Mr. Reed grinned. “All we need is a small ship, a British ensign, and forged papers ordering Captain Raynor to release the prisoners into my custody.”

“Will that work?” Luke asked, afraid to entertain the hope sparking within him.

“With courage, wit, and God’s help, it just might,” Mr. Reed replied.

Luke shook his head. Though warmed by the Brit’s offer to help, it was too much to ask. “No, I cannot allow it. You risk too much.” He glanced at Noah. “Both of you.”

“You risked the same for me,” Alex said. “When you arranged for me to see Rose at the ball.”

Noah gripped Luke’s arm. “Allow me to choose my own risks.”

“But if we are caught, we’ll quite possibly all be hanged as traitors.”

“Perhaps.” Noah’s brow rose. “Or perhaps we’ll be hailed heroes for rescuing an innocent American woman and child.”

“And I’ll be hanged when the story is revealed of how they came to be captured.” Luke released a ragged sigh. “But that is no more than I deserve.”

“God will decide such things, Luke. Will you take the risk? Will you trust Him?” Noah asked.

Luke’s eyes burned at his friend’s loyalty. “Trusting God, I cannot promise. But laying my life down to save my brother and Cassandra, that’s a risk I’ll gladly take.”

Lieutenant Abner Tripp poured more brandy into Mr. Keene’s mug. “I daresay, I do admire a man who can hold his liquor.”

Mr. Keene laughed and lifted the mug to his lips. “And I, sir, admire any man who buys me a drink.”

The door to the tavern opened and three rugged-looking fellows entered. Wind snaked in behind them and stirred the flame of the candle on the table. It flickered in Mr. Keene’s glassy eyes as he took another sip.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of such a distinguished officer’s
company?” Mr. Keene’s words finally began to garble.

Finally. Tripp had been buying him drinks and telling him jokes for nearly an hour. The stench of tallow, sweat, and alcohol burned in Tripp’s nose. He doubted he’d ever get the smell out. Yet still the fop avoided answering questions about Mr. Heaton. Unable to converse with Mr. Keene at the Fountain Inn Ball before he’d left, Tripp’s search of the city’s taverns the past two weeks had finally paid off when he happened upon the ostentatious fat wit here at Payne’s Tavern engaged in a game of Gleek.

Now, the bumbling fool insisted on flirting with every doxy who passed by while drinking away Tripp’s meager wages without giving him a scrap of information in return.

“Another one, Mr. Keene?” Tripp grabbed the bottle and poured another swig into the glass. “I find privateering absolutely fascinating. What exactly is it that you do aboard
Destiny
?”

“I’m a boatswain. Directing the sails and such.” He sipped his drink, slumped back in his chair, and waved a jeweled hand, framed in lace, through the air.

“Indeed? I assumed a man of your years and intelligence would be the captain or at least the first mate.”

Mr. Keene smiled then hiccupped. “Kind of you to say, sir.”

“Privateering agrees with you and your captain, I’d say. Word is you’ve had plenty of coin to spend on every gentleman’s pleasure available in the city.”

“Indeed I have, sir. Easiest coin I ever made.” A tavern wench sashayed toward the table and deposited another bottle of brandy in the middle. Though it was Tripp who dropped coins in her outstretched palm, her eyes swam over Mr. Keene.

“Still meeting me later tonight?” she asked, her painted lips forming a red bow.

Grabbing the edge of the table, Keene struggled to his feet, swayed for a moment, then leaned over to whisper something in the woman’s ear. Giggling, she darted off, blowing a kiss at him over her shoulder.

He plopped down into his chair with such force, it nearly tipped. Waving his arms through the air like a demented bird, he steadied himself.

Tripp restrained a groan of disgust.
Ah, the vermin Mr. Heaton surrounds himself with!
But what did Tripp expect? He leaned in with a wink. “I admire any man with enough business sense to make money during wartime.”

“I quite agree, sir!” Keene’s expression grew serious. “If we must fight a war, let the wisest and shrewdest of us profit.”

Now Tripp was getting somewhere. After glancing around them for prying ears, he gave Keene a sly look. “I, for one, intend to use this blasted war to line my pockets with gold.”

“Aye, we are of the same mind.” Keene tossed the remaining brandy to the back of his throat. His eyes shifted over the dark tavern but seemed unable to focus.

“Here’s to ill-gotten gains!” Tripp lifted his mug.

Mr. Keene blinked in slow motion. Grabbing his drink, he managed to strike empty air three times before finding Tripp’s mug. “To ill-gotten gains.”

Disgust bittered Tripp’s mouth.

Nearly dropping his cup, Keene settled it on the table and leaned forward on his elbows. His gaze wavered over Tripp as if he couldn’t determine which one of him to focus on. “Let me tell you about ill-gotten gains, sir.”

Pressing down the folds of the oversized silk gown that the captain insisted she wear, Cassandra made her way down the companionway to the stern of the ship. Flickering lanterns perched at intervals afforded the only light in the otherwise gloomy narrow hall, making Cassandra feel like a mouse trapped in a maze. Raucous male laugher blaring from behind the door halted her, but the marine behind her nudged her forward with the barrel of his pistol. Why the man thought he needed the weapon was beyond Cassandra. Standing at just over five feet, she couldn’t do much damage to anyone—well, unless she had a brick in hand.

Or her parasol, of course. She smiled.

The marine brushed past her, their bodies touching. A lecherous smirk lifted his lips before he knocked and opened the door at the gruff “enter” that came from within. Then all but shoving her inside, he closed the door behind her. The smell of roasted duck and sweet butter instantly filled her nose as the flickering of a dozen candle flames struck her eyes. An oblong wooden table centered the captain’s quarters, upon which perched two silver candelabras, platters of steaming food, pewter mugs and plates, silverware, and glittering goblets filled with some type of drink that contained nutmeg. The eyes of seven men lighted on her
above smiles, some salacious in nature, others filled with hate, while a few held nothing but casual admiration.