Sparhawk's Angel (11 page)

"I'm sure of it, Mr. Hobb," said Rose wistfully, wishing now she hadn't used Lord Eliot as her reason for escape. Oh, it had seemed plausible enough when she'd concocted it, but that was before she'd asked Hobb, who truly did miss his intended, to risk himself for her and the sake of her own pale, passionless betrothal. Hearing him speak of his Annie made what she was doing seem far worse, and even more of a lie. "Look at what you're doing for her sake."

Hobb shrugged. "Eh, a spell o' privateering seemed th' only honest way I'd have to give the darling th' pretty things she craves." His face turned grave. "Now swear you have that navy cap'n o' yours leave Cap'n Sparhawk alone, like you said. If'n he catches th'
Angel Lily
, why, he'll string me up for a traitor for changin' sides, an' I don't want my Annie left
t' mourn an' marry some blunderhead from th' village."

"Of course you don't," said Rose unhappily. "I told you I would speak to my—my husband, and I meant it. I swear I shall do my best."

She'd swear to try, even though she'd no idea how much, if any, influence she'd have over Lord Eliot, particularly in regards to his command. Begging him to spare the Americans who'd captured her didn't seem like a very wise way to begin their marriage. She knew she should instead be pleading with him to recapture the
Angel Lily
both for her father's sake and for her country's honor, yet even the thought of Hobb and the other men being hung on her account sickened her.

And as for Captain Sparhawk, the wild Yankee who'd caught twenty-two English ships and taught her the passion to be found in a single kiss; the infamous Black Nick caught and hung because of her avenging bridegroom—Lord help her, she'd perish herself from the shame and dreadful guilt of it!

Unaware of her doubts, Hobb nodded with satisfaction. "You be a grand lass, Miss Everard. You'll bring that man o' yours a wealth o' happiness. Now come along, we'd best be joinin' th' others topsides 'fore th' shore-goin' boat gets too crowded."

Her head bowed, Rose followed him into the companionway. Dressed as she was, with her face and hands grimed with soot and her hair twisted up under her cap, she prayed no one would recognize her in the twilight. The boy's clothing felt odd on her body, the shirt and coat too loose after a lifetime of close-fitting bodices, while the breeches seemed shamelessly tight over her hips and legs. Below the knee she wore rough knitted stockings and thick-soled shoes that tied with leather thongs instead of buckles, the toes stuffed full of handkerchiefs that made her walk stiff and ungainly.

Adding to her discomfort was the sheer weight of the coat, for she'd spent all afternoon picking apart the lining and replacing it with as many of the gold guineas from her dowry sewn inside as she could manage.

But the guineas weren't all that she carried. Around her neck and beneath the rough gingham homespun of her shirt she wore her mother's pearl and sapphire necklaces, and on each wrist, hidden beneath the shirt's cuffs, were the matching bracelets, plus two others with pearls and another with opals. And finally, on a double-knotted ribbon around her neck, was her betrothal ring, hanging between her breasts with all the weight of her secret misery.

After so many days in the cabin, Rose almost gasped aloud with pleasure as the sea breeze ruffled across her face, cool and fresh with the scent of the saltwater. Moonlight washed the deck, just as it had the first night when, with Nick's arms around her, she'd felt Lily's presence so strongly. The memory was so vivid, so strong, that she could almost believe her sister was here again, and with a sudden pang of doubt she wondered if she should be trying to escape after all. Perhaps, in her way, Lily was warning her to remain here on the
Angel Lily
. Rose hung back near the hatch with her heart racing, torn between fleeing and staying.

"Come along, lad, no dawdling," warned Hobb loudly for the benefit of the other men already gathered near the side. He took Rose by the shoulders and gave her a gentle shove across the deck. "Cap'n, he says he don't mean
t' tarry here more'n two nights, an' I don't aim to spend 'em here waiting on you."

Rose had a fleeting image of the harbor, of the tall black silhouettes of other ships moored around them and the dark, irregular line of the city—the first land she'd seen since leaving Portsmouth months ago
—
punctuated by faint pinpricks of lantern light beneath the star-filled sky.

Then abruptly Hobb was pushing her around and over the side, guiding her fingers to the tarred lines on the ladder as her turn came to climb down to the waiting longboat. Clumsy in their borrowed shoes, her feet fumbled for a toehold on the swinging ladder, and her fingers went white as she clung desperately to the rungs. She had always used a bos'n's chair before, or walked aboard a plank from a wharf, but never had she hung on a swinging, swaying ladder like this. Her coat with its heavy golden lining thumped against her back as the ship rocked. If she fell into the black water now she'd sink like a stone, and as the panic swallowed her she closed her eyes.

Lily, oh, Lily, if you're here somewhere, please, please help me now!

"There now, lad, no need to whimper," said Nick as he helped the frightened boy take the last step from the ladder to the boat. "You've done well enough."

The boy tumbled into the boat with a surprisingly heavy thump that made the men at the oars guffaw, and though Nick smiled, too, he couldn't help but feel sorry for the lad, scurrying shamefaced to the bow to sit beside Hobb. Probably another of the English turncoats, like Hobb himself, for Nick didn't recognize him as one of the Rhode Island boys. No wonder he'd been so clumsy dropping into the boat; it might well have been his first time, considering this was the
Angel Lily
's maiden voyage.

But as Nick settled in the stern sheets of the boat himself, he soon forgot the boy and lost himself in his own thoughts. He had spent the day seeing to his affairs here in Charles Town, calling on his bankers, lawyers and the officials of the prize court. As a whole, they were neither more nor less corrupt than most, and with a few judicious bribes, Nick had managed to have the
Angel Lily
simultaneously condemned and transferred to his name. The
Commerce
, too, had been knocked down and sold the previous week without a single protest, and in the dockyard, the much-damaged
Liberty
's repairs were nearly done.

And he'd even managed to keep his surprise to himself when he learned that everything belonging to Rose taken with the
Commerce
had been set aside in a warehouse, exactly as he'd ordered. His orders, ha. Lily might not be able to watch over her sister directly, but she'd certainly mastered the ways of doing it through him.

With an impatient sigh he brushed a bit of spray from the sleeve of his dark green dress coat. He'd agreed to make an appearance this evening at a collection given by the governor's wife and then, tomorrow, the day would be all his to squander as he wished.

His, that is, and Rose's. He'd planned it to the finest detail, from gallantly bringing her breakfast tray himself to carrying her off for a day's driving through the lush countryside around the city, the carriage's hamper filled with fresh fruit and pastries and wine and, of course, the most elegant draughts set he'd been able to find in the Charles Town shops. He wanted to make her smile and hear her laugh, and he wanted those silver-gray eyes to gaze only at him.

At last he'd take her to a favorite lodging house of his, very genteel and very, very private, where after a suitably seductive meal, he meant to spend the night making extravagant love to Miss Rose Everard and call Miss Lily Everard's bluff once and for all. No wonder he was smiling as the boat cut smoothly across the water toward land.

Smoothly, evenly, and then without warning, the boat lurched wildly to starboard with a turn so sharp that it nearly capsized. The men at the oars toppled from their benches, oars swinging and crashing like jackstraws and oaths filling the air.

Grasping the side, Nick swung around to glare furiously at Stark, the man at the rudder.

"I—I don't know what's happened, Cap'n," he said miserably as he struggled to move the tiller, throwing all his weight behind it. "It's like she's froze solid in one place."

Unperturbed, Lily sat on the tiller, holding the rudder immobile with one slippered foot. "Forgive me for being so dramatic, my dear captain," she said, "but you did say your life was plagued by tedium."

"Not like that, you little fool!" sputtered Nick. "You could have dumped us all over the side!"

"Aye, aye, Cap'n." Stark hung his head with shame. He wasn't the largest man in the crew, true, but for the captain to call him a "little fool" proved how badly he'd erred. Once again he fought to move the frozen tiller.

"For God's sake, Stark, I didn't mean you," began Nick, then stopped when he realized too late that every eye in the boat was watching him expectantly. "That is, it's not your fault, it's—it's—oh, hell!"

Lily smiled indulgently at his frustration and wiggled her toe against the tiller. "You've been so inattentive this evening, that you left me no choice. If I hadn't acted when I did, you would have let my sister slip entirely through your fingers, and as bad as
you
are, heaven only knows what would become of her alone in this wild place."

He didn't answer. With this much of an audience, he didn't dare.

"She's running away, in this very boat," Lily continued, "and I couldn't let her do that. Rather, I couldn't let
you
let her. There, the boy up front, the same one you were so kind as to help. The one in the cap ducking his head so you won't notice him. That's Rose."

Nick looked to where she pointed, and wondered why he hadn't seen it before. Even by moonlight alone there should have been no mistaking the delicacy of Rose's face beneath the coarse knitted cap or of the fine-boned hands clasped anxiously before her.

He couldn't believe she'd do this to him. He thought of all the pretty, foolish plans he'd made for tomorrow to please her, from the wild strawberries he'd ordered to the imported draughts board inlaid with ivory and silver wire, while the only ones she'd been making were to flee him as soon as she could. It wasn't the loss of the ransom money that concerned him. It was Rose herself, so eager to run away without another word to him.

Hadn't she felt the same magic in the kiss they'd shared? Had it meant that little to her when inexplicably it had seemed the world to him?

"There we are, Cap'n," said Stark with a final oath of sheer relief. "She's workin' right at last."

"Very well, Stark." Nick settled back on the bench as the men began to pull at the oars again. He didn't bother looking for Lily again. She'd done her mischief for the evening, and now he was left to settle it.

He looked again at Rose. She had turned in her seat to gaze at Charles Town, her face in profile and her lips parted in eager wonder. Without friends or family in a city where she was the enemy, where did she plan to go? The reality of what could happen to a small, young and very pretty woman alone amid the taverns and brothels that crowded the waterfront appalled him. But for her, apparently, it was a better fate than remaining with him, and the truth of her rejection cut cleanly through his pride and anger straight to his soul.

He wouldn't let her go. He couldn't. Lily had been right enough there. But now there would be no wild strawberries in fresh cream, no riding beneath ancient oaks in dappled summer sunlight, no elegant private chamber filled with the flowers that bore her name. Thank God at least he'd been spared making a fool of himself that way. Now instead he'd be the rough, ruthless Yankee pirate she'd expected from the first.

He stared unseeing at the nearing wharves, his face impassive while his emotions roiled within him. Strange how one sister believed he was so much better than he was, and the other so much worse. Tonight he would prove one of them wrong, and it wasn't going to be Lily.

The boat glided alongside the wharf, and as the oarsmen tipped the oars upward, the blades dripping silver droplets, two of the others caught the rings with boat hooks to hold them steady for mooring. Though Nick as captain was first to climb ashore, he waited on the end of the wharf while the crewmen followed, in laughing jostling groups or pairs. Last ashore came Hobb and Rose, her head bowed and her shoulders hunched as she tried to hide herself on the far side of the Englishman.

"Where are you bound, Hobb?" asked Nick mildly. "I heard there's a red-haired wench at Mrs. Smedley's tavern who juggles flaming candles for sport, all the while singing songs in praise of General Washington. Could make for pretty tales for the village."

Hobb shrugged nervously, tugging at the red shore-going kerchief around his neck. "Aye, sir, thank'ee, me an' th' boy will consider it."

"Oh, aye, the boy." His arms folded over his chest, Nick leaned forward to see Rose, who shrank even farther behind Hobb. "He must have come with your people, for I don't recall having seen him before myself. What's your name, lad?"

Rose's mind went blank. Why, why, did he have to have stopped them at all?

Nick cleared his throat ominously. "Speak up, boy. I like to know the names of those that serve with me. Your mother must have called you by something."

"Henry, sir," she muttered at last, the first name she could think of. "It's Henry."

"Henry, eh?" Nick chuckled. "A king's name, boy, a tyrant's name! Why, a whole slew of Henrys have sat on the English throne! Not the best of names for a boy on a Yankee vessel, but since your mama chose it, I'll let it stand."

"Thank'ee, sir," said Hobb with a quick duck of a bow. "We won't trouble you further, Cap'n, nay, we won't. Come along, Henry."

Rose had already turned to scurry away when she felt the wide, heavy hand on her shoulder and her heart plummeted. She didn't have to look to know the hand belonged to Nick, not Hobb.

"Not so hasty, Henry," he said softly. "Considering this is your first time in my country, I warrant you deserve something finer than that wench with her tumbling candlesticks. I've a fancy to take you with me, so you can have a taste of how the gentlemen entertain themselves here in Carolina."