The Pirate Captain (98 page)

“Diggie!” Lady Bart pressed a hand to her bosom. “You gave us such a start, skulking about! You ought to announce yourself…”

In dishabille and wigless, his short hair tousled, Harte still presented an imposing figure. As he stood now, shirt hastily tucked into his breeches, features obscured in the half-shadows of the doorway, he was thoroughly ominous. Barely acknowledging the elder, he stepped further into the room and swiveled his attention on Cate with an intensity that reminded her of Artemis spotting a rat.

“Mistress Harper, our little refugee from the pirate ship. Escaped
again
?” he said to Cate under Lady Bart’s rambling.

Cate gulped and forced her frozen lips into something that she hoped resembled a smile. “Roger, what a surprise.”

She strained to recall if the windows were opened or closed, envisioning a leaping escape. Air stirring against her arm gave hope. So faint, however, it might have been only the result of someone moving. If the room had been stuffy before, it was now stifling.

“My regrets if I have discommoded you lovely ladies, in any manner.” Harte’s voice took a condescending dip. He took another step, bringing his humorless smile to light. “Were we looking for someone? Lost something, perhaps? Or might this be a social call?”

Given the hour, he knew damned well it wasn’t that.

“Whatever are you doing down here, Diggie?” Lady Bart demanded, insinuating herself between him and Cate. She briefly squeezed Cate’s arm, but if it was meant as a signal, or only another of her maternal gestures Cate couldn’t tell.

“I thought you retired for the night,” the elder woman said. “Oh, pray put away those weapons. One would think we’re about to be attacked.”

“Aren’t we?” He arched a questioning brow at Cate. “Are we about to have unwelcome visitors?”

He broke his stare to address Lady Bart. “I heard voices and was alarmed for your safety, m’lady.”

Lady Bart completed her indignant parade around the room and alit in a chair, like a hen settling on her nest. “I declare, there certainly are no dangers here. If you were to ask me, I would say you’ve over-reacted. It’s only Cate, come to see that Prudence is safe. She learned Prudence was here and—”

“Yes, I would imagine she’s quite aware of the whereabouts of our Miss Collingwood,” Roger mused dryly.

A green-eyed look cut sideways to Cate. “I had feared perhaps you were indisposed, Mistress, when you failed to offer your compliments the other day.”

“What I do hardly matters,” Cate stammered. A trickle of sweat began a slow march down her ribs.

“On the contrary.” The green eyes flickered to Prudence, then back. “May I assume you’ve come in some feeble attempt to right the damage already done? A little tardy in your concerns, aren’t you? The time to help would have been before the despicable act took place, not after.”

“I don’t understand what—” began Cate.

“Oh, I think you do,” he cut in. “I don’t know who you are, but I do know you are not as you represent. Of that, I am entirely sure.”

There was little sense in arguing the point; Harte had obviously come to his own conclusions. How much he had overheard was the larger issue. His bland countenance showed nothing. Had he heard enough to know of Prudence’s deception, or only arrived in time to learn of Cate’s grander scheme? The more chilling prospect was, if he knew of Prudence’s hoax, would he chose to ignore it, and use her supposed abuse as one more excuse to see Nathan hung.

With a small—very small—bit of relief, Cate noted he made no mention of the warrants against her. Her familiarity with the finer points of British law was foggy, but she believed kidnapping and defilement to be lesser offenses than murder and treason. It was a small consolation to know that at her execution, she would only be hung, not drawn and quartered.

Harte tilted his head slightly in consideration. ”You’re too fine to be one of Blackthorne’s whores, but neither are you a hostage, for you are unscathed.”

“Compliance has its rewards,” she said evenly. Containing her dislike for the man was becoming a task.

“Indeed,” he said distantly, deep in his speculations. “Clearly he has yet to tire of you, for he would have sold you for his next rum.”

She winced at his conclusion being so near to her own.

Harte regarded her with the same air as one would regard a new horse. “Although you’re fair enough, he could make whoremongering worthwhile. And now he’s using you, hiding behind a woman’s skirts, sending you to do his dirty work.”

“No differently than you sought to use me,” Cate shot back in equal coldness.

“Upon my word, Diggie,” exclaimed Lady Bart. “You’re being rather boorish, playing silly questions.”

He gave his hostess only the briefest of glances.

“Two counts co-conspirator to kidnap, misrepresentation, fraud, wrongful doing: all hanging—”

“Cate had nothing to do with that. She wasn’t there when I was taken,” Prudence said, darting protectively to Cate’s side.

“Really?” Harte’s voice arced with doubt. “And where, pray tell, would our dear Mistress Harper have been, if not on the famed
Ciara Morganse
?”

“Well, I…” Cate was at a loss. The day she met him, she had confessed to being on the ship. Any further denial or explanation would only incriminate Thomas.

“It’s beside the point. You can explain it all to the magistrate.” Shoving the pistol into his waistband, he crooked a beckoning finger. “Come along, my dear. I’ve arranged for—”

He took Cate by the arm, but instantly went stiff and frozen.

“Hold off, mate.”

Cate couldn’t see behind Harte, where the voice and the metallic click of a pistol being cocked came from, but she immediately recognized the voice.

Harte stiffened and drew Cate against him. “Well, well, Nathan Blackthorne.”

Nathan slipped around Harte to come further into the room. The muzzle of his pistol shifted with him, going from the back of the Commodore’s head to the side. The women gasped upon seeing Nathan, and scurried behind the settee. With Harte between them, Cate could only see Nathan’s hat and eyes. They flicked in her direction, assuring that she was so far unharmed.

Nathan clucked his tongue with what only the most desperate could call sympathy. “
Captain
Nathanael Blackthorne. Disappointing you can’t retain that bit. Gone feeble, have we? And at such an early age.”

Roger held Cate so close, his pistol gouging her ribs. It was a miscalculation on his part, for now she blocked both his pistol and his sword.

Nathan pressed the muzzle harder into Harte’s temple. “Leave ’er go.”

“Rest assured, I will add this to your charge sheet,” Harte said, coolly.

“An extensive and weighty document already,” Nathan replied lightly.

Harte gave a short, humorless laugh. “You’ll be arrested before you reach the front gate.”

Nathan rolled his eyes thoughtfully. “I see it different. By my way o’ thinking, you’ll let us go, easy like, since the young miss over there will be with us—insurance, as it were. Her safety being your main charge and concern, you’ll not desire to endanger her with something so unfortunate as a stray bullet.”

“A fool’s mission,” Harte sneered. “There are guards just outside, in the hall. They’ll—”

“Not anymore.” The smile in Nathan’s voice couldn’t be missed.

Harte’s confidence faltered a fraction. “Where are they?”

“Not here.”

Harte’s fingers dug deeper into Cate’s arm. She felt him shift, evening his weight, readying himself. Her instincts screamed for her to do something, yet she stood, unable to breathe, afraid to move lest she distract Nathan.

“I’ll have you shot before you clear the grounds,” Harte said, his confidence regained.

“Mebbe.” Nathan said agreeably. “On the other hand, ’twould be a mite embarrassing to find it necessary to inform Lord Creswicke of the shooting of his betrothed, during your attempts to apprehend someone who had bested you
again
.”

“Pray, don’t—!” cried Prudence.

The outburst gave Harte the diversion he needed. He flung Cate aside with a force that sent her to the floor, and whipped around with his elbow. A move intended to smash nose and teeth, or dislocate or fracture jaw, caught Nathan in the side of the head. Nathan sprawled backwards on the floor, his pistol skating off into a corner. Harte drew his sword and spun. He came down with its heel, aiming for Nathan’s head. Nathan rolled, taking the blow in the shoulder, instead.

Cate came up from the floor and lunged at Harte built up for another blow. Hitting his elbow, the momentum took her back to the polished planks. At the same time, Nathan bound to his feet, and tried to draw his sword, but was impeded by a chair. Harte kicked it from his hand to send it skittering out of sight.

Now unarmed, Nathan backed around the room as Harte slashed at him. Nathan came near enough to the fireplace to snatch up the poker and wielded it as if it was a weapon, sparks flying at every collision of steel. Nearly a half a head taller, Harte should have had the advantage of reach and weight, but the furnishings seemed to have joined Nathan’s side, hindering him time and again.

“Pray, not the silk!” Lady Bart cried querulously from her sequester behind the settee when Harte skewered a chair, “Mind the wood!” when a table was knocked over, and “Have a care with the crystal!” when a cabinet was hit.

From where she laid on the floor, Cate spotted Nathan’s pistol in a corner. She lunged to seize it. Rising to her knees, she took aim at Harte, but hesitated. Granted, the fight was noisy, but the sound of a gunshot would bring everyone in the household, including the guards. A worst risk was, she might hit Nathan. She lowered the pistol and hovered, desperate to do something, the poker having been knocked from Nathan’s hand. She snatched up a small footstool and hurled it at Harte’s feet. It tangled there for a moment, and then skittered within Nathan’s reach. He grabbed it just in time to use it as a shield against a vicious swipe from Harte.

Cate whirled in search of another weapon, when Sally shot out from behind the settee. A fringed satin pillow poised high, she set to beating Harte about the head. Confused, Roger tried to defend himself with one arm while going at Nathan with the other, driving him further back with each blow. Satin only able to endure so much abuse, the pillow split with an explosion of feathers.

Nathan came up against a chair. Now trapped, he hurtled the stool at Harte. It hit Harte in the right shoulder and his arm fell limp to his side. Weaponless again, Nathan dove behind the settee, his belt buckles scraping the wooden floor. Lady Bart gave a startled screech as Nathan wove under her skirts, popping up finally at the opposite end.

Feathers stuck in the sweat streaming down his face, Harte staggered as he furiously rubbed feeling back into his arm. When his back was to her, Cate took the chance and launched at him, intending to…hold him down? Tackle? Distract? Anything! Somehow, Harte sensed her coming. He sidestepped and swung with his left arm, bellowing “Away!”

Cate was sent tumbling, the corner of a cabinet catching her in the ribs. She cried out in pain. The wind knocked from her lungs, her knees buckled and she crumpled to the floor.

“Leave off!” Nathan roared and launched up to drive a ringed fist into Harte’s jaw.

Both men now unarmed, they resorted to fists. His right arm still useless, Harte staggered, and then swung his left fist. Nathan ducked and drove his shoulder into Harte’s midriff, sending them both to the floor in a writhing heap.

Cate lay curled on her side, straining to force her spasmed lungs to move. The sounds of the two men fighting, grunts and curses, fell flat in her ears. Through a swirl of black spots, she watched them amidst the wreckage of furniture and feathers. Nathan got an arm around Harte’s throat and squeezed, but Harte threw him off. Both men rose to their knees. The cords rigid in his neck with the effort, Harte drove a fist into Nathan’s gut that sent him sprawling face down. Dazed, Nathan braced his head on the floor as he struggled to rise.

Cate watched in horror as Harte snatched up his sword and, with a double-fisted grip, rose behind Nathan poised for a killing blow. She wanted to scream—needed to scream—to warn Nathan, but her airless lungs managed only a wheezing gasp. Fearing the sickening sound of a blade slicing flesh and shattering bone, the spots before her eyes grew to a frenzied dance as she floundered to rise.

There was a sound, but not the one expected. Shattering, yes…but it was glass.

Amid the female shrieks, Cate’s breath came back in a wrenching gasp. With it, her vision cleared enough for her to see a round-eyed Prudence standing over Harte’s hunched figure, shattered china scattered at her feet. Harte staggered, then collapsed on top of Nathan.

Grunting and swearing came from the swirl of feathers as Nathan struggled out from under Harte’s limp weight. Cate unsteadily rose her feet and stooped to help Nathan to his.

Eyes rolling, Nathan managed a lop-sided grin. “Nice shot, luv.”

“It wasn’t me,” Cate said. She braced a shoulder under his when he swayed. “It was Prudence.”

Nathan's unfocused eyes traveled the room, until they came upon Prudence, standing nearly at his side.

“Nice shot, darling,” he said, blinking wide.

He sagged against the back of a chair and braced his head there, his shoulders heaving as he caught his breath. Cate scooped up his hat and pistol, and guided his fumbling hand to tuck the latter into his belt. He cautiously settled his hat back on his head, wincing.

Seeing Nathan was safe, Cate’s anger surged. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to wait outside.”

Nathan touched his temple, checking for blood, and then glared down his nose at her. “I came looking for you.”

“We agreed you would wait.”

“
You
didn’t come back.”

“I wasn’t finished.”

The shouting of guards—strident with alarm as the raced down the hallway—cut them short. With a small “Eep!” and a swirl of skirts, Sally ran out to meet them, Lady Bart close behind.

“Thank heavens!” Sally exclaimed. Her feigned breathlessness was muffled by as she pulled the door closed behind her. “They went out through the back.”