The Devil's Necklace (4 page)

“We received the signal, sir. You can see the lantern, there, off the starboard bow.”

They were close enough to shore to see the glow of yellow light. He’d been expecting the signal. Tomorrow in Odds Landing he had a meeting with a man named Max Bradley. Bradley worked for the British War Office. Along with Ethan’s cousin, Cord Easton, earl of Brant, and an other of his best friends, the duke of Sheffield, Bradley had been responsible for Ethan’s narrow escape, after nearly a year, from a filthy French prison.

“Return the signal, Mr. Cox. Tell them the meeting will take place as scheduled.”

“Aye, sir.” Cox made his way back down the ladder and Ethan thought about tomorrow’s rendezvous.

He had agreed to a final mission for the British government. For years, there had been concern about the strength of Napoleon’s naval forces, but lately that concern had in creased. The military believed the Little Corporal was amassing an even larger armada and that once the ships were completed, the fleet would be used to invade English shores.

It was Ethan’s job to prowl the coast, to search for information until he could discover the truth of the matter, one way or another.

He glanced toward the coastline, saw tiny lights flickering in the windows of the distant town of Odds Landing, and thought of Grace Chastain. For the second night in a row, he would sleep in his first mate’s cabin. He
imagined the purchases he would make on the morrow and the concession he intended to receive in return for them, and vowed it would be the last night he spent in a bed other than his own.

“I want to go with you.” Grace faced the captain as he collected his things and prepared to leave the ship. “I can’t stand another day confined to this cabin.”

He glanced her way. “You would prefer a prison cell, perhaps?”

She blanched but pulled herself together and held her ground. “I need some sort of exercise. I am unused to this kind of confinement.”

“I thought most women preferred to stay in out of the sun.”

“Yes, well, I am not most women.”

One of his black eyebrows went up. “That is more than clear.”

Grace ignored the note of sarcasm. “If I promise not to try to escape, will you let me go with you?”

He scoffed. “How much is the promise of a traitor worth?”

Her heart started pounding. “A traitor? That is what you think? That I am a traitor?” Dear God, she had never considered her crime would result in such a charge! For God’s sake, they hung traitors! As Grace knew only too well.

The captain frowned. “Your face has gone pale. You did not realize that helping a traitor escape might lead you, yourself, to be viewed as a traitor?”

She swallowed, shook her head. “No, I… He was…” She couldn’t tell him that Harmon Jeffries was her father, the man who had sired her, but not the one who had raised her. The viscount, her biological father, had a wife
and children, and there was her mother and her husband to consider. The scandal would be unbearable for all of them. She had vowed to keep the secret to her grave and she intended to abide by her word.

“He was a friend,” she said. “I couldn’t stand by and let him hang.”

She couldn’t miss the hint of disdain. “He must have been a close friend, indeed, for you to take such a risk.”

For the first time it occurred to her that she had just admitted her crime. Dear God, what had she been thinking? Ethan Sharpe was hardly a man to trust.

She walked toward the row of windows above the bed, trying to calm her fears. The ship was anchored some distance offshore. She could see the tiny village on the hillside above the cove. “I should still like to come along. I am desperate for a little fresh air and a chance to stretch my legs.”

“I can’t take the risk. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. From now on, at least once a day, I’ll take you up on deck. Will that make you happy?”

She hadn’t really expected him to let her go ashore, not after the trouble he had gone to in order to get her aboard in the first place. She should be happy for the concession. “I suppose that is better than nothing.”

He finished loading his gear and left the cabin, and Grace looked back out the window. A handful of crewmen settled aboard a pair of wooden dinghies and began to row for shore, undoubtedly to refill the ship’s larders. The captain sat in the stern of one of the boats and Grace wished again that she could have gone with them.

Still, the fact that the ship was stopping gave her hope.
Sea Devil
had anchored in the cove to restock supplies. The vessel would certainly make other stops along the way to wherever it was headed. Eventually, the captain
might agree to take her ashore. If he did, she might find some means of escape.

It was obvious she couldn’t go back to London, but Lady Humphrey knew her circumstances and had agreed to help her. Perhaps the baroness could arrange a way for Grace to leave the country.

Grace’s mother had explained that Lady Humphrey, Harmon Jeffries’s widowed aunt, had raised her father after his own mother and father had died. She loved him like a son, and though the viscount had never claimed Grace as his daughter, he had told his aunt about her. Grace wondered what the baroness would say when she discovered Grace had been taken from the
Lady Anne.

She sank back down on the captain’s berth. Whatever happened, she had survived thus far and she refused to give up hope.

It simply wasn’t her nature.

A damp, chill wind blew across the water as the small boats drew up beside the dock at the end of High Street. A cloudy, gray, overcast sky hung over the tiny village that morning, keeping people indoors, out of the in clement weather.

With the collar of his woolen coat turned up against the wind, Ethan stepped out of the boat and left the men to complete their assigned duties. His first priority was his scheduled meeting with Max Bradley and he started walking up the hill toward their rendezvous spot, a tavern near the end of the main road called the Pig and Slipper.

As he shoved through the tavern door, entering the smoke-blackened, low-ceilinged taproom, he spotted Bradley sitting at a battered wooden table in a corner near the hearth, finishing the last of his breakfast.

Ethan crossed the room, pulled off his jacket and
tossed it over the back of a chair next to one he pulled out for him self.

“Good to see you, Max.”

“You, as well, my friend. I see you have finally put some meat on your bones. Have you had breakfast? The steak-and-kidney pie is excellent.” Max was as tall as Ethan, with the same black hair, though Bradley’s was straight, not wavy, and grew well over his collar. He was perhaps ten years older, somewhere near forty, his face weathered, his features harsh and gaunt. All in all, he had the look of a man other men avoided.

“No, thanks, I ate before I left the ship. What news do you bring?”

“Not much. No word of Jeffries, if that is what you are asking.” Max worked mostly on the Continent. His French was flawless and he moved like a wraith through the taverns, gaming halls and brothels of the French underworld, collecting information useful against Napoleon’s army.

“The man’s a clever bastard,” Ethan said. “Probably tucked away, leading the good life in some château somewhere.” He considered mentioning Jeffries’s mistress, a prisoner aboard his ship, but Bradley was a government man, and the matter of Grace Chastain was personal, and not yet resolved to Ethan’s satisfaction.

“What about you?” Max asked. “Have you run across anything new in regard to the growing French fleet?”

“Nothing so far. I’m heading toward Brest. Rumor has it there is some shipbuilding going on down there.”

“Word also has it there are ships moving toward the south, possibly as far as Cadiz.”

“I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Be careful, Ethan. Jeffries may no longer be a threat, but that doesn’t mean the French are uninformed. They
have their spies, just as we have ours. You’ve enemies in France. Your escape made them look like fools. If they catch you again, they won’t let you live till sunrise.”

“
Sea Devil
is the fastest ship I’ve ever sailed. She’s light and incredibly maneuverable. Still, I’ll not ignore your warning.”

Max rose from his chair and clapped Ethan on the shoulder. “If you need me, leave word here. The owner is a friend and completely trustworthy. I check for messages as often as I can.”

Ethan just nodded. He watched Max Bradley slip quietly out the door and disappear into the street as if he had never been there. Though Ethan would heed his friend’s warning, he needed to discover how many ships were being built and where they were headed.

Once his mission was complete, he would return to London to take up his duties as marquess of Belford, and Grace Chastain would face judgment for what she had done. In the meantime, he had his own personal score to settle with Grace, one that required a different sort of mission than the one he was currently involved in with Max.

Walking down High Street, he surveyed the row of shops along the lane, Dalton’s Meat Market, Emory’s Bakery, a hatmaker’s shop with the sign, Blue Bonnet, on the other side of the street. At last he spotted the dressmaker’s abode, The Apparel Shop. Ethan strode in that direction.

The bell rang above the door as he stepped up to the counter in the tiny receiving room and a buxom woman with too much rouge on her cheeks waddled out to greet him.

“Good morning, sir. How might I be of service?”

“I’m looking to outfit a lady. Her trunk was lost and
she has only the dress she was wearing. I was hoping you might be able to help me.”

“Well, of course. If you bring the lady in, we can have her outfitted in no time. In a couple of weeks—”

“I’m afraid that won’t do. We’re sailing this afternoon. I need the dresses by then.”

The pink circles in her cheeks turned a bright rose. “Why, that’s impossible! I couldn’t possibly fashion even a single gown in such a short time.”

“I realize it’s a good deal to ask, but I’m willing to pay for the inconvenience. I’ll give you double what you usually charge.”

“It isn’t a matter of money, Mr…?”

“Captain Sharpe. My ship,
Sea Devil,
is anchored just offshore.” He still wasn’t used to using his title, marquess of Belford, though it occurred to him it might come in handy right now.

“Well, Captain Sharpe, such a sum would certainly be useful…” She cast a glance toward the curtained room be hind her. “I’m sure the lady must be frantic, without even a change of clothes.”

“She is quite unhappy about it, as you have rightly guessed.” He held his hand up to demonstrate Grace’s height. “The lady is fairly tall, about this high, and slender—except for her breasts.”

The dressmaker blushed, making the pink circles brighten again. She smiled knowingly. “I see. Well, I suppose any sort of clothing would be better than doing with out.” She leaned over the counter, shoving her pendulous bosom nearly out of the top of her gown.

“I sew for an assortment of different patrons,” she said confidentially. “There is a lady of the evening who purchased a number of items several months back, but ran short of the funds necessary to pay for them.”

A lady of the evening.
A hard smile curved his lips. Grace
was
Jeffries’s mistress. It seemed perfectly fitting.

“The gowns won’t be exactly her size, but with a little alteration, she might make do.”

“I’ll take them.”

He sat down on a damask-covered settee to wait until his purchases could be readied, and a few minutes later, the dressmaker pushed back through the curtains and walked in carrying a stack of boxes. Ethan paid the bill, noting the double amount as he stacked the boxes against his chest.

“It’s been a pleasure,” she beamed at him. “Do come back any time, Captain.”

“I’ll do that.” Though he doubted he would ever again have use for the clothes of a whore.

It was late afternoon by the time the crew had finished transporting fresh kegs of water, salted herring, ale and myriad other foodstuffs back aboard the ship. Ethan was tired but eager to get there. Eager to see what Grace’s reaction would be to the clothes he had brought her.

Thinking of the red satin gown trimmed with black lace he had glimpsed in one of the boxes, somehow he didn’t think the bargain he’d had in mind was going to be as easy to strike as he had hoped.

G
race paced the cabin. Twice she had left the room and climbed the ladder to the deck, only to find the weathered old Scot, the captain’s first mate, Angus McShane, standing at the rail. Each time he had looked at her and simply shook his head.

“Sorry, lass. Capt’n says yer ta stay below in his cabin.”

“And no one dares to disobey the captain’s commands, is that right?”

“Aye, lass. No’ unless he wants ta wear a set o’ strips across his back.”

Grace turned around and marched back down to the cabin, slammed the door, and sat there silently seething. This constant confinement was driving her mad. If she didn’t get out of the cabin soon, she couldn’t be held accountable for her actions.

It was another hour later, the afternoon fading, when the cabin door swung open and the captain strode in. She tried to ignore the way his presence filled the room, the way her heart started to clatter the moment she saw
him. He set the stack of boxes he carried down on top of the bed.

“This was the best I could do. They’ll probably take a little alteration, but I imagine you can manage.”

“You brought me some clothes?” she asked excitedly. “Oh, thank God.”

“I’ve a couple of things to see to. I’ll be back a little later.” He left her with the clothes and she hurried over to lift off the lids.

The first box held several white lawn chemises. The woman who wore them must have been taller for when she held them up, they barely covered her breasts. But she could shorten the straps without a problem. Odd though, once she did, they would barely cover her behind. There were long black gloves in the box and a red feather boa, along with several pairs of lacy garters. One set was black, the other red. She frowned. She had never seen garters those colors before.

She took the lid off the box underneath. A swatch of scarlet satin glowed up at her. She caught a handful of fabric and lifted it out of the box, saw that it was a gown fashioned of red satin with small black satin sleeves and black piping.

It was the ugliest, gaudiest gown she had ever seen.

Grace tossed it onto the bed and opened the next box. There were two gowns inside, one of sapphire silk edged with black lace, the other of orange crepe also edged in black. There were hideous little orange puffed sleeves and when she held it up, she saw that the scalloped bodice was so low it would expose the edge of her nipples.

Grace shrieked in outrage. How dare he! She tossed the orange gown on the floor and stomped on it, twisted it beneath her feet. She picked it up and started tearing
out the silly looking sleeves, her satisfaction growing at the sound of the ripping fabric.

He had bought her the clothes of a whore!

She would die before she would wear them!

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

She marched toward him, shoved the orange dress under his nose. “These might be the fashion for the other women of your acquaintance, but they do not suit me!” Reaching for the opposite sleeve, she brutally ripped it out of the arm hole and tossed it in his face. When she reached for the neckline, the captain caught her arm.

“I told you these were the best I could do. It cost me a bloody fortune to get them for you.”

“These are the clothes of a whore. Find someone else to wear them.” She caught the neckline between her fingers and started ripping the bodice of the dress in two.

“Put it down.”

“I’ll be happy to put it down.” She tossed it onto the floor, stomped on it several times, then marched over and grabbed the red-and-black satin.

“You rip that dress and I swear you will wish you hadn’t.”

She gave him a vicious smile. “Oh, I think not. I think I will be extremely glad to be rid of it!” She held up the sleeve, taunting him with it, ready to rip out the offending puff of black satin.

“Don’t do it,” he warned softly.

She thrust out her chin and took a firmer hold. The fabric ripped loudly and a ragged hole appeared where the sleeve of the gown had been.

“Damn you!” The captain charged forward. Grace shrieked as he gripped her arm and started dragging her to ward the bed. She pulled free of his hold, drew back and
slapped him across the face as hard as she could. Instead of fear, she felt a glorious rush of satisfaction.

The captain looked stunned. For several seconds he just stood there with his mouth agape. Then his jaw clenched and his eyes turned the color of a frozen sea. “You’re going to be very sorry you did that, Grace.”

Eyes widening at the fury in his face, Grace bolted for the door. He was on her in an instant, dragging her back across the room and over to the bed. He sat down on the edge and hauled her over his lap. She was tall and fairly strong but he controlled her easily. Grace shrieked at the sting of his palm, coming down hard on her bottom, the sharp blow penetrating the thin fabric of her aqua silk gown.

“Let me go!” White-hot fury engulfed her. Another stinging swat landed before she regained her wits enough to grab hold of his leg and bite down hard on his calf.

“Bloody hell, woman!” Surging to his feet, he jerked her up beside him. He was breathing hard, his eyes full of fire.

Grace faced him squarely, her breath coming fast, every bit as angry as he. She had been itching for a fight since the night he had dragged her off the
Lady Anne.
She wasn’t about to back down now.

“I vow you are the damndest woman I have ever met! I am twice your size and you are my prisoner! God’s breath, woman—don’t you know enough to be afraid?”

“I am afraid! I am also sick and tired of your high-handedness. And I am sick unto death of being trapped in your bloody cabin! I think I am going mad!”

Ethan stared at Grace in disbelief. His cheek still stung where she had slapped him. He could feel the imprint of
her teeth on his leg. There wasn’t a man on board this ship who would have the courage to fight him as she had.

His mouth twitched with unexpected amusement. He took in her dishevel, the slightly wild, utterly determined look in her eyes, and thought he had never seen a more beautiful creature. He could still remember the shape of her lush curves as he had dragged her over his lap, the warmth of her bottom beneath his hand. He was hard and aching for her. He couldn’t remember wanting a woman so badly.

“I can’t decide if you are the bravest woman I have ever met, or the most foolish. Do what you will with the clothes. Perhaps you can salvage enough to come up with at least something to provide yourself a change. I’ll see you have needle and thread, if you are interested.”

In their struggle, her hair had come unbound and now hung in thick curls around her face. Her gown was wrinkled and stained and yet she faced him regally, her head held high, looking more like a duchess than the criminal she was.

He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of authority. “Perhaps later on, if you wish, I’ll come and get you, escort you round the deck.”

Her shoulders remained stiff, but he could see the relief in her face. She managed a nod. “I would appreciate that.”

Ethan made a slight bow of his head, turned and left the cabin. Once outside, he took a deep, steadying breath. If Grace Chastain had confused him before, she had done an even more thorough job this afternoon. She had fought him like a tigress, as few men were willing to do, and yet some how retained her dignity.

He found himself smiling one of his rare, sincere smiles. He couldn’t help admiring her courage. Or enjoy
ing her fierce display of passion. If only he could harness that passion, put it to a far more pleasant use.

It seemed even more urgent that he do so. The idea he had been mulling over the past several nights returned with even more clarity. As much as he desired her, he wasn’t the sort to use force. As he came to know her better, to appreciate her spirit, the idea appealed even less.

Seduction, however, was an entirely different matter.

He hadn’t forgotten her response when he had kissed her, or the sight of her nipples stiffening beneath the cloth when he had caressed her in the tub. The more he thought about it, the more the notion of seducing her appealed to him. In the end, the lady would warm his bed and having her there willingly would make the victory all the sweeter.

And there was the added possibility that once he had gained a little of her trust, she might confide the viscount’s current location.

His decision was made. He had promised her a stroll round the deck. Ethan intended to keep his word.

It would be the perfect time to put his plan into motion.

At the knock on the door, Grace sat up straighter in her chair. She had been working on the sapphire silk, using the black lace from the orange crepe, which matched the lace on the blue, to modify the neckline, adding a fichu and narrowing the silly puffed sleeves, making small capped sleeves that were much more flattering.

Still, it was a gown one would wear for evening, not day. Fortunately, at the bottom of the last box, she had discovered a simple gray muslin skirt and white cotton blouse, some thing her benefactor might have worn round
the house when she wasn’t working. The hem would have to be let down but the waist fit perfectly. And the blouse had a draw string, making it somewhat adjustable. She had donned the change of clothing with some relief and done her best to freshen the aqua silk.

Dressed in the clean skirt and blouse, Grace set her needlework aside and went to answer the knock at her door, wondering who it might be. She knew Freddie’s light knock and the captain did not bother.

She was surprised to find her nemesis patiently waiting in the corridor, as if he were a suitor instead of her jailor.

“I promised you a walk. The clouds have lifted and the stars are out…if you are still interested.”

She had already finished a heavy supper of roast mutton, cabbage, pudding with gravy, and ale. Getting out of the cabin sounded divine.

“Thank you, I would like that very much.” If he could be formal, then so could she. When he presented his arm, she placed her fingers on the sleeve of his coat and let him guide her up the ladder to the deck.

“I see you found something to wear, after all.”

She smoothed the front of the skirt, reminding herself not to be grateful. If he had brought her trunks along, she wouldn’t have been without clothing in the first place. “Not exactly high fashion, but they are better than nothing.” There was also a serviceable woolen cloak that at first she had not seen. He took it from her hand and draped it over her shoulders. “I suppose I should thank you, after all.”

He smiled, reached down and rubbed the spot on his calf where she had bitten him. “I only wish you had opened that box first.”

Her lips quirked reluctantly. He was teasing her—she
could scarcely believe it—and she couldn’t help being amused. “I suppose it would have been better. In truth, it was the confinement not the clothes that was mostly the problem.”

“Then I’m glad I came to help in that regard.”

They strolled the deck, Grace on the captain’s arm, cir cling the perimeter of the ship at least three times. It felt good to stretch her legs, to feel the salt spray on her face and breathe the fresh sea air.

She studied the man beside her, taller than most of the men she knew. With his slashing black brows, straight nose, and sensuous mouth, she had to admit the man was incredibly handsome. His limp was barely noticeable as they walked companionably along, and she wondered how he had got it.

There were dozens of questions she wanted to ask. Who was he? How had he discovered her part in the prison escape? What was he going to do with her?

But she was afraid that if she did, they would argue and she would wind up back down in his cabin. She wasn’t yet ready to return.

“Freddie says you’re a privateer.”

They paused next to the rail. “Freddie talks too much.”

“A privateer is a ship or a man approved by the government to pirate enemy ships. Is that not correct?”

“I work in the interest of Britain, yes.”

“You’re a pirate, then.”

A corner of his mouth edged up. “Of a sort, I suppose.”

“Freddie worships you. He thinks you are incredibly brave.”

“Freddie’s a child.”

“I was surprised when I first met him, surprised you would have a young boy aboard with such a disability.”

He shrugged those wide shoulders. “The lad does his work. That is all that matters.”

But she thought that few men would take on the care of a handicapped child and wondered if there might be a side of the captain that wasn’t as hard as he seemed.

She looked up at the stars, determined to keep the conversation light, hoping to gain as much time on deck as she could. “Lovely night. Do you see that constellation there?” She pointed to the right. “That is Taurus, the bull. In Greek mythology, the bull is Zeus in disguise, swimming through the Hellespont to fetch Europa, his lady love.”

One of his dark eyebrows went up. “You have an interest in Greek mythology?”

“Only as it pertains to the stars. The heavens have long been an interest of mine. Believe it or not, I even know how to navigate using a sextant.”

“How did that come about?”

“My father’s brother was the navigator aboard a ship called the
Irish Rose.
” Not her real father, but Dr. Chastain, the physician married to her mother, the man who had raised her. “The ship carries passengers along the Irish coast. At any rate, Uncle Phillip taught me when I was much younger.” Her uncle, kinder to her than her father ever had been. It was only these past few months that she understood the reason why. Understood that another man had actually sired her, and that because of it, her mother’s husband had resented her all her life.

“If you know the stars, then you recognize that group there.” He leaned close and her gaze followed the direction he pointed.

“Perseus.”

“Yes…” he said softly. “He lies close to his future mother-in-law, Cassiopeia.”

She smiled, oddly pleased that he knew. “And also Andromeda, his future bride.” She could feel him beside her, tall and lean, exuding unmistakable power and strength. He was standing so close she could feel the heat of his body, see the gleam of moonlight on the inky hair at his temple.