The Pirate's Duchess: A Regent's Revenge Novella (9 page)

Pye, the man she remembered with the peg leg, drank a large gulp from a tankard, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Took a bullet to his side that day. Ol’ Woody’s harpies were waitin’ for ’em. The swine! Took the cap’n five months to recover.”

She covered her mouth to keep from crying out. Tobias had been injured that badly with no one to tend him? How many times had that happened? Her eyes filled with tears.

“And you expect us to wait here for Woody to strike the cap’n again? Mark my words, Quinn,” Pye said, “where will we be if’n we don’t have a cap’n?”

Quinn grumbled. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“Without jobs,” Pye said. “Which may still happen if you don’t do what you’re told.”

Prudence sheathed the knife in her coiled belt and inched closer to the pistol. Four yards. Three. Two. One.

“Stay where you are,” she shouted, moving forward to stand near enough to be lethal but far enough away that the men couldn’t rush her.

Pye spewed his drink all over the other two men. They cried out while Pye wiped his lips. “Sink and scuttle me, ye gave me a start, Duchess.” He leveled the cask, shook it, then tossed it aside. “There be no need in sneaking up on a man like that. Look at all the rum ye made me waste.”

“Move,” she said, levering the pistol toward the small boat. “Take me to my husband or I will shoot you in cold blood.”

Quinn looked at Pye, who raised his brow and looked at the stodgy fellow she couldn’t name. “You,” she said, pointing the gun at that man.

“Me?” he squeaked.

“Yes. What’s your name?” A plan was formulating in her mind. The one they called Quinn was large and strong enough to row her to the Downs. But she needed them all, in case Tobias was walking into a trap. Basil had never revealed any love for his father, but blood
was
thicker than water. She refused to believe the man she’d grown to love would turn his back on her when she needed him most. “Your name,” she demanded.

“McHugh,” the little man yelped.

“Pye, I want you, Quinn, and McHugh to get in that cutter and row me to the Downs.”

Pye smiled. “What’d I tell ’em?”

“Who?” she asked.

“I knew you weren’t going to allow the cap’n to face the earl alone.” Pye gave her a wink.

She scrunched up her face in confusion. “How could you possibly know that? I didn’t even know it myself until several moments ago!”

“I’ve been hoping you’d come down, Duchess. I’ve been given orders not to interfere, but you haven’t. If you were to instruct us to, say, protect our cap’n, how could we refuse, eh?”

A collective
Argh!
erupted behind her. She turned and startled when she found thirty pirates stood behind her. The Black Regent’s crew! A motley lot of calico, leather, and steel.

“The Black Regent is more than a name. He’s a way of life. And we protect what’s ours. As his duchess, that makes you his second-in-command.” Pye straightened his shoulders and slapped Quinn on the back. He bent down to grab something and lifted a bundle of red fabric into view, walking forward to hand it to her.

She inspected the fine red brocade gown, wondering where they’d gotten it.

“What be your orders, m’lady? After you dress, o’ course.”

“To the Downs!”

EIGHT

Revenue officers uncovered a SMUGGLING den riddled with cavernous HIDEAWAYS in the sandstone cliffs below PARSON AND CLARK.
Trewman’s Exeter Flying Post
has learned that the CONTRABAND exceeds all expectation, and if Lady O.’s speculations are correct, the find will surely lead to the CAPTURE of that devil, the BLACK REGENT, before he and his crew attack again.

~
Trewman’s Exeter Flying Post
, 28 March 1809

Tobias surveyed the open, grassy terrain of the Downs. It really was a strategically sound location for a duel, and it made sense that so many were fought here. He joined his hands behind his back and paced before his second, his childhood friend Lord Algernon Barrett. Underwood would come. Tobias was sure of it. It was only a matter of time.

Earlier this morning, Markwick had revealed that the marquess expected his son to deliver the killing blow, which made it all the more important for Barrett and Lords Thaddeus Standeford and Frederick Landon to witness the event. Like him, they’d borne the consequences of Underwood’s greed. Barrett’s father, the Marquess of Eggleston, had taken his own life rather than face financial ruin, and Landon’s father had died mysteriously after refusing to partner with Underwood during a dinner with the marquess. Standeford had lost the woman he loved due to Underwood’s pecuniary tactics.

Barrett, levelheaded and well versed in the law, walked forward, his hawk-like eyes focused on Captain Walsingham several yards away. “Are you sure you want to go through with this, Your Grace?”

Tobias peered at Markwick and Walsingham. “I have no choice.”

“You taught me there is always a choice.”

His mind registered what his past decisions cost hi
m—
Prudence. If Barrett knew what he had planned, though, he would not try to persuade Tobias to flee. “There are some things a man has to do whether or not his gut wars against it. This is one of them, Barrett.”

“If you left now, no one would accuse you of cowardice, only of a purposeful mind.”

Tobias put up his guard. It was too late to take Barrett’s concern into consideration. “Why would I do that?”

“Do you not owe it to Lady Blackmoor? You have only just returned.” Barrett’s voice carried with unique force. “By the by, where did you say you’ve been?”

“Sailing, old boy.”

Markwick’s startling laughter filled the air. They both turned to consider the man with his second. “He appears confident. You haven’t fenced in years. Are you sure you’re up to this?”

Tobias smirked. “You speak as though I’m incapable of defeating Markwick.”

“One can never underestimate one’s opponent, no matter how high the stakes.”

Tobias clapped Barrett on the back. “Your fate is solid, my friend. Have no fear.” He clicked his tongue and Manfred walked forward to his master. “Not too long from now, we shall all sit around a table, the five of us, and ponder our days at Eton.”

“Those were simpler times.” Barrett dabbed his nose.

Aye, happier times when fathers freely plotted their son’s futures. The reminder of Underwood’s treachery cut to the quick.
Their
fathers were gone. “Come. The sooner this is over, the better victory will taste.”

They moved as one toward the solemn faces of Markwick and Walsingham. Nearby stood the physicians who’d be responsible for this morning’s duel: Egbert Ransford and Stewart Crosley.

“That’s close enough,” Markwick warned.

Barrett came quickly to Tobias’s defense. “You challenged a duke with legal rights to his wife. Are you prepared to go through with this, Earl?”

“I am, though I cannot say I’m surprised to see you siding with that conniving bastard.”

“How dare you commit blasphemy against a duke!” Barrett shouted, charging Markwick.

Captain Walsingham shouldered his way between Barrett and Markwick. “You and I are here only to measure fairness, not cast blame.”

Barrett inhaled deeply. “Of course.” He turned to Tobias. “Think about this. Markwick challenged
you
. You have the power to put an end to this before any blood gets spilled.”

Markwick’s gaze searched the perimeter, then slowly returned to Tobias. He shook his head, signaling to Tobias that Underwood had not yet arrived. “As His Grace put it yesterday, there is only one way to end this.”

“You were once friends.” The strain on Barrett’s nerves began to show. “Surely that counts for something!”

Markwick’s rapier glance turned lethal. Was this the game they’d agreed to play or had Underwood achieved his goal and turned his son on Tobias?

Astonished that he couldn’t find a way to end the deadly battle between them, Barrett sighed, then nodded to Landon and Standeford several yards away. The two men escorted the physicians to safety.

“Are you not going to introduce us?” Tobias asked Markwick, meeting Walsingham’s icy, penetrating stare.

“Forgive me. In my current state of mind, I forgot my manners. Captain Walsingham, allow me to introduce you to a
ghost
.” Markwick’s expression of cold triumph appeared, and it was exactly what they’d talked about. They had to put Walsingham and the others off guard. “The Duke of Blackmoor, a man once thought dead but is no more.”

A frown flitted across Walsingham’s face as he clicked his feet, then bowed his head. “Your Grace.”

Tobias returned the gesture. Since Underwood had yet to arrive, they needed to stall. “Have we met, Captain?”

“I cannot say, though I believe you know my sister, Lady Chloe.”

The corners of his mouth twisted upward. Of course he did. Prudence and Chloe were almost inseparable. “Fine young woman.”

Introductions made, Barrett handed Tobias’s sword to Walsingham for his inspection. Walsingham returned the favor, handing Markwick’s sword to Barrett.

Pleasantries and the official inspection of weapons observed, Tobias clicked his tongue. “She is very fond of you.”

“Who, Your Grace?” Walsingham asked with pained tolerance. “Ah, yes. I do hope my sister will not be called to console your wife again.”

Walsingham’s good-natured humor intrigued him. “Let’s not be hasty. I don’t intend to end up in a box, which is why we will go at it with swords, instead of guns. It will be more pleasurable to best Markwick with the weapons we enjoy best.”

Markwick watched Tobias critically. “Prepare to be disappointed.”

Barrett squirmed uncomfortably. “It isn’t wise to be overly confident. According to your Eton record, the two of you are ten for ten.”

“I was much younger then,” Markwick said, testing the tip of his sword. He moved backward, then slashed the steel blade side to side in the air.
Swish. Swish.
“I’ve been practicing ever since. I’m much improved. Can you say the same?”

Tobias raised his brow, enjoying the repartee between them. “I can.”

Walsingham handed Tobias’s sword back to Barrett. “It pays to prepare for any eventuality.”

Here was Tobias’s chance to prepare Walsingham for their plan without revealing it. The moment also availed him an opportunity to discover how close the officer was to catching the Black Regent. “Do you expect foul play?”

Walsingham posed defensively. “Should I?”

“Forgive me if I’m wrong.” Tobias assumed nonchalance. “You do hunt pirates. That is your occupation, is it not?”

“My job is to safeguard free trade and to stop anyone who thwarts it. Men like the Black Regent fall into that category.”

“The Black Regent, you say?” Markwick’s expression turned serious as a shiny black carriage approached.

Underwood deigns to show his face at last.

Tobias attempted to stall longer. “Have you caught the pirate?”

“Smuggling is rampant in Devon and Cornwall.” Walsingham straightened his sleeves. “If the Regent reappears, you have my word that I will not rest until I’ve run him completely out of business.”

“Since my return, I’ve heard strange tales about this pirate. Stealing from the rich? Giving to the poor? Reminiscent of the heroic outlaw Robin Hood and his jaunt through Yorkshire, is it not?” Tobias kept his composure as the cagey old marquess smacked away a servant’s hand and shuffled across the grass toward Markwick.

Walsingham’s color reddened. His brows drew together as he waited for Tobias to finish. “I see no connection whatsoever.”

“Wouldn’t that make the marquess a surly King John? The Black Regent has certainly targeted the marquess’s investments.”

Underwood was within hearing range now. Markwick went on the defensive as planned. “My father—”

“Is capable of speaking for himself,” the marquess snapped.

Tobias wasn’t intimidated. He steered the conversation back to the Regent to arouse the man’s anger. “And what does lofty Lord Underwood have to say about the Black Regent?”

Underwood’s gnarly fist tightened around the handle of his cane. “He will get his comeuppance, as will you for ruining my son’s happiness. Pray, explain where you’ve been all this time?”

Tobias accepted his sword from Barrett. He stepped back and swished his blade through the air. “I owe you no explanation, and my lady is no longer your concern.”

“Be that as it may,” Markwick said, “you deserted her.”

Tobias aimed the tip of his blade at Markwick’s chest. “Careful, old friend.”

Underwood thumped his cane on the grass. “Where have you been, Blackmoor?”

Markwick was calm and held still. With his sword still aimed at Markwick’s chest, Tobias said, “Trying to stay alive.” He cut the button off Markwick’s waistcoat.

“Enough!” Underwood shouted. He turned to Walsingham and Barrett. “Is this not supposed to be a duel? A fair fight?”

Barrett conferred with Walsingham, then offered instructions. He ended with, “Take your places, gentlemen.”

Tobias lowered his sword. Markwick nodded. They both turned their backs.

Walsingham shouted, “Ready! Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.”

In the stillness of the Downs, a lone whimbrel sang and waves crashed against the shore not far away.

Barrett nodded to both men. “You may turn.”

Prudence’s heart thundered in her chest as Pye, Quinn, McHugh, and another brawny pirate named Lucky Ned, navigated the river and rowed the longboat ashore. Dawn had already begun to rise over the Downs by the time they arrived.

Was she too late?

“There. Ahead of us,” Pye said, pointing across the bow.

Prudence strained her eyes against the bright prism of light cresting over a sloping hill. There, dark silhouettes blotted out the intensity as two men pummeled each other in a retreating-and-advancing path of steel, blades clashing and sparking. Nothing about the duel suggested Tobias and Basil were merely playing their parts in a scheme to ensnare Lord Underwood.

“Hurry,” she ordered, keeping her voice low.

Within moments, the longboat’s keel struck the riverbed terminating all forward motion. Oars plunked quietly against the hull as Quinn eased over the side and into the water to secure the boat to shore. Beside herself with worry, Prudence chose not to wait for a dry foothold. She hiked up her gown and slipped into the icy, knee deep water, slogged ashore, dropped her skirts, then ran as fast as her feet could carry her. The blundering fools were going to kill each other. And for
her
!
They deserved what they got for acting so childish, though it pained her to imagine the outcome.

One of the figures—Tobias, if his size was any indication—bowed backward, then rallied to push Basil away. Her heart clenched, ice hardening in her veins, tightening her chest more than any corset, and still she ran, giving no heed to the men behind her who labored at the river’s edge.

The choreography of muscle and bone, the sheer verve and vitality of Tobias and Basil gained her a new respect for how honor and glory were embraced on the field.

Dear God in heaven, protect both of them!