Once a Mistress Read online

“So that’s tae be the way o’ it?” Birk chuckled. “Verra well, lass, have yer own road. Yer acquainted wi’ a man called Chilton?”

  “Yes.” The name conjured up memories of Alex’s attempt to seduce information from her. Ice dripped from her words. “I am well acquainted with Lord Chilton. The man is a greedy snake.”

  “Aye, so ye ken the true man and no the noble face he shows tae the world. Fine. Then ye winna be surprised tae hear that the blackguard is involved up tae his fancy earbobs wi’ Marcus. Cut from the same cloth they are.”

  “That wretch!” Well aware of the facts just revealed, Diana continued to maintain her pretense of ignorance. “How he must have laughed at us.”

  “It was Chilton that had Marcus snatch ye,” Birk continued. “Have ye any idea what he might have done that for, lass?”

  Diana kept her counsel. Chilton wanted those ledger pages badly, and her father had threatened to take them to Morgan. How better to force her father’s hand than with a threat on his daughter’s life?

  “Lass? Have ye remembered something?”

  Diana blinked at him. “Chilton,” she said. “He wants to marry me. I believe he covets my fortune.”

  Birk looked doubtful. “There’s nae other reason?”

  She shook her head, her expression innocent. “None that I know.”

  “Hmmm.” Birk rubbed his chin. “He was certain there was more tae it than that,” he murmured.

  Diana leaned forward in her chair. “Who was? Alex?”

  “Alex, is it?” Birk hooted with laughter. “Aye, the lad must be in his dotage tae have made such a slip as that. When did he tell ye his name, lass?”

  She bit her lip and avoided his shrewd gaze. “It doesn’t matter. Just tell me what Alex has to do with Chilton.”

  “It isna Chilton. It’s Marcus. Alex has sworn tae see the bastard brought tae justice.”

  “Why is that?” she asked, intrigued despite herself.

  “I’m no at liberty tae say. Believe me when I tell ye that Chilton is a means tae an end. Alex means tae see Marcus hang…and all his cohorts wi’ him.”

  “You mean Chilton.”

  Birk gave her a look. “All his cohorts. Every last one o’ them.”

  Apprehension seized her. “Even if Chilton is as guilty as you say,” she said in a strained whisper, “you must believe that my father had nothing to do with any of this.”

  Birk shrugged and rose, glancing away. A long pause preceded his words. “Whether he is or no, I canna say. But Alex means tae capture Marcus and see him swingin’. Any that aided the cur will bend the gallows wi’ him.”

  “Not my father.” She came to her feet and grabbed his arm when he would have turned away. “Mister Fraser, please. My father is an honest man. I am certain he knew nothing of this.”

  Birk patted her hand. “It’s Alex ye have tae convince.”

  Her mind raced. “Tell me, how did Alex come to discover Chilton’s dealings with Marcus?”

  Birk just looked at her. “Alex makes it his business tae ken everything about Marcus.”

  Diana stared after the physician as he moved away from her. “My father is innocent,” she repeated.

  “Then yer father will certainly have some proof o’ his innocence, lassie.” Birk took up his medical bag. “Everything will work out as it should.”

  Proof. The word seared into her brain. Her father had the proof of Chilton’s dealings with Marcus. But could that same proof also implicate him by association? She hadn’t considered that until now. Perhaps that was why he had postponed giving the pages to Morgan. It had to be.

  Birk gestured to the bed. “Come on then. We’ll have a look at ye.”

  Distracted, she obeyed without a murmur of protest. Somehow she had to help her father outwit Marcus and Chilton, without being implicated himself. Her choices were few. Indeed, there was only one.

  Alex was the only man she knew who might actually be able to clear her father. Indeed, he had already captured Marcus. All that remained was Chilton. If she could convince him of her father’s innocence, perhaps he could bring the two to justice without involving her sire.

  He was her only hope to save her father’s life. And whatever the price, she would pay it.

  Chapter Seven

  Alex leaned against the rail of the quarterdeck and watched his ship slice through the ocean. The impact of water on wood sent a fine mist of sea spray shooting upwards, the salty scent tickling his nose. The sky loomed dark and forbidding as a prelude to the impending storm.

  He had already given orders to batten down both ships, for Caribbean storms had been known to take many a crew unawares. Now there was naught to do but wait, to forge ahead to Port Royal and turn in their hard-won captive.

  He inhaled deeply as satisfaction rushed through him. At last he had captured the bastard who had murdered his brother. After over a year of pursuit, his quest was finally over. He had checked on his prisoner less than an hour ago, and remembered with a grim smile how the pirate had looked, bound with his own chains in his own black and stinking hold. Marcus had spewed his usual venom, but the look in his eyes had been one of a trapped animal. Alex had left him imprisoned aboard the Renegade with his cutthroat crew, secure in the knowledge that the villain would pay for his crimes. All he had to do now was to bring Marcus to Morgan, and let the lieutenant-governor apprehend Marcus’s allies.

  He was certain that Chilton was involved, but not as sure about Frederick Covington. He hoped for Diana’s sake that her father had been merely a dupe in a dastardly scheme.

  Diana. God’s blood, but she was beautiful. She was the type of woman a man dreamed of when he’d been too long at sea. Unblemished skin, fiery hair and those smoky eyes clouded with passion…she was his most sensual fantasy brought to life.

  Even now he could taste the sweetness of her on his lips. Both times, putting his mouth to hers had ignited the passion that he kept so carefully banked inside him. For over a year no woman had succeeded in distracting him from his quest for vengeance. Indeed, nothing had. Yet this lovely temptress had the ability to make him forget everything.

  It wasn’t just her beauty. It was the way she moved. Her spirit. Especially her spirit. Her temperament matched his own and excited him in a way few women ever had. She threw down the gauntlet at every turn, as if daring him to do his worst.

  And he wanted to. He wanted to take her to his bed and keep there until neither of them could walk.

  But he couldn’t. The girl claimed to be a maid, and he steered clear of innocents. He had a woman on Besosa who saw to his needs. Rosana was a hot-blooded Spanish wench who near exhausted him whenever he visited her. So why did he feel this craving to tumble his lovely captive into the nearest bed? She was well-bred, and so was he. He could not in good conscience take from her that which should go to her husband.

  God’s teeth, there was no excuse for his behavior in the cabin. He had been provoked, true, but never in his life had he treated a gentlewoman so. Had he been chasing Marcus so long that he was becoming like him? Had he indeed become El Moreno, the black-hearted scourge of the Indies? No! He was the Earl of Rothstone, and this pretense would end when he gave Marcus over to Morgan. As appealing as an adventurous life at sea might seem, he had a duty to uphold. Until the time arrived when he would take on the title and all the responsibilities involved, he would play out the charade with as much honor as possible. And that included keeping his lust to himself.

  A boot heel scraped on the deck behind him. He turned his head as Birk joined him at the rail. “Well, Birk? How fares our guest?”

  “The lass has a nasty lookin’ bump on her head. She says one o’ the bastards clouted her when they snatched her. Apart from that, she’s fit enough.”

  “Someone struck her?” Alex clenched his hands on the rail.

  Birk quirked a brow. “Och, man, ye’ve got it bad. The lass is in better shape than many we’ve taken from Marcus, yet a lump on the head has ye ready tae fight a duel.�
�

  “She should never have been involved in this.”

  “It’s neither here nor there,” Birk said. “Ye have tae decide what yer goin’ tae do wi’ her now that ye have her.”

  “What’s there to do? We sail for Port Royal and turn Marcus over to Morgan. And Diana will go home to whatever awaits her.”

  “And do ye mean for her to arrive there yet a maid?”

  “Of course.” Alex shrugged off the encroaching guilt of lingering desire. “‘Tis true that I want her. Were she any but who she is, I would no doubt indulge myself.”

  “Ye talk o’ her like she’s the bloody queen.” Birk snorted and leaned his back against the rail. “She’s just a woman, Alex. I’m thinkin’ there’s more tae yer feelings than ye suspect.”

  Alex scowled. “Do not speak to me of love, Birk Fraser.”

  Birk barked with laughter. “Love! I’m the last man tae be prattlin’ o’ love. I’m sayin’ that yer well-meanin’ ideas come more from what yer wife did tae ye than from yer own sense o’ honor.” He held up his hands. “I’m no sayin’ yer no honorable,” he added hastily.

  “Bianca has nothing to do with this.” Saying her name was like choking on a fish bone. “She is long dead, and my feelings for her died with her.”

  “I’m no sayin’ that yer pinin’ for yer wife either.”

  “Blast you, Birk, then what are you saying?” he snapped. “Cease your rambling and say the words.”

  “My point is that ye have no so much as glanced at a lassie o’ Diana’s class in all the years I’ve kent ye. The wenches ye take tae yer bed are more o’ Rosana’s ilk. I’m thinkin’ that Bianca ruined ye for marriage.”

  “Marriage!” Alex spat the word. “Do not speak to me of marriage, Birk. I have no intention of taking a wife.”

  “Ye dinna have a choice, man. Ye’re the earl now. Ye need tae marry and sire an heir tae carry on yer title. As ye says afore, ye’re the last o’ the Rawnsleys.”

  “Then the title will die with me.”

  Birk barked out a laugh. “Ye think ye can escape yer own fate, do ye? If ye dinna choose a wife o’ yer own, the Crown might do it for ye. And dinna be forgettin’ yer mother. If the king disna saddle ye wi’ some milk-and-water miss, then yer mother will. Face it, Alex. Ye must wed. Sooner or later ye have tae find yerself a woman o’ yer own class. Like thon lassie.”

  “Are you suggesting that I marry Diana Covington?”

  “Dinna sound so surprised. Ye want the lass. She’s bonnie and well-off and all that. She’s the right class tae be a countess. Granddaughter o’ a duke she is.”

  “Is that so?” Alex arched a brow. “And how did you come by such information? ‘Twas my knowledge that her father was a common seaman who hoarded his wealth.”

  “She telt me herself.” Birk smirked. “Her mother was the youngest daughter o’ a duke. A Scottish duke,” he added with relish. “Her family is just as powerful as yers.”

  “So for that reason I should take the wench to wife? My thanks, Birk, but I put my neck in that noose once before. The bruises have not yet faded.” He turned away to contemplate the growing unrest of the ocean.

  “Bloody hell, Alex! Ye didna kill yer wife.”

  Alex whirled on the physician so fast that the bigger man fell back a step. “I did,” he insisted. “She was running from me, Birk. Me. I killed her as surely as if I had reached out and pushed her down those stairs.”

  “It wasna your fault.”

  “It was.” Alex turned back to the sea, absently noting how the wind had kicked up. “It was.”

  “It was an accident. Blamin’ yerself winna bring Bianca back. It’s best that ye get on wi’ yer life. Ye need a wife, Alex. What better than the lass? The two o’ ye go at one another like a couple o’ cats in heat.” He paused, but Alex remained stubbornly silent. “Bloody hell, man!” Birk burst out. “Ye canna keep hidin’ behind El Moreno. Soon enough Marcus will hang, and ye’ll have tae go back tae yer life as the earl.”

  Alex remained silent for a long moment. Birk’s words made him face what he had been doing. Hiding. As El Moreno, he didn’t have to worry about estates and titles and heirs. And wives.

  He didn’t want another wife. But he knew Birk was right.

  Eventually he would have to take one, whether he wanted to or not. ‘Twas a bitter draught to swallow.

  He spoke softly, but with words honed sharper than any blade. “There are times, my friend, that I regret sharing that bottle of whiskey with you. Had I not been so sotted, I would never have told you about…her.”

  “‘Twas bound tae come out sooner or later,” Birk said. A clap of thunder nearly drowned out his words.

  Alex turned his face into the gusting wind and eyed the black and swollen clouds above them. “Best batten down, Birk. ‘Tis going to be an ugly one.”

  “I plan tae settle in wi’ a bottle I’ve been savin’—” Birk’s words were cut off by another crack of thunder.

  A cry of alarm came from the crow’s nest. Alex turned toward the waist, trying to deduce what had happened. Shouts reached his ears, all but indistinguishable through the howl of the wind and the boom of thunder. Then he saw it. The Renegade had broken from its course and was drifting away from them.

  “What the devil are they doing?” Alex cursed. Rain-swollen clouds had blocked out most of the sun, making it hard for him to distinguish the forms of the men he had left aboard. Any moment he expected the skeleton crew to regain control of the vessel and bring her back around.

  He couldn’t lose her, not with Marcus aboard.

  “McBride!” he shouted. Down in the waist of the ship, the first mate raised a hand to his ear. “Keep pace with her,” he called. McBride acknowledged the order with a wave.

  Alex slowly leaned on the rail, his gaze fixed on the Renegade. Something was not right. He felt it in his gut. He clenched his jaw and decided to follow his instincts. Turning on his heel, he strode to the edge of the quarterdeck and barked orders to the crew.

  “Clear the decks! Loose the guns! Prepare to fire on my order only!” The clatter of chains announced the release of the cannons from their confinement. Alex turned his head and stared at the Renegade. Something was very, very wrong.

  “Alex?”

  Alex brushed Birk away with a wave of his hand. Never once did his gaze waver from the other ship. The Renegade drifted innocently along, edging farther and farther off course. The Vengeance kept pace. Everything looked peaceful and quiet…as if the Renegade were a ghost ship.

  A ghost ship.

  Sweet Jesu, let it not be true.

  Alex straightened with a suddenness that made Birk jump back a step. “Come about!” he barked. “Hard to port!”

  The helmsman obeyed his command, sending the Vengeance tilting with the sharp turn.

  Life exploded on the other ship. Dozens of men, many more than the crew Alex had assigned, swarmed the decks of Marcus’s vessel, shouting and whooping. Cannon fire exploded from the Renegade, the shots falling where the Vengeance had been only moments before. Alex swore and damned himself for a fool. He should have expected this. He should have known.

  Groups of men swarmed to the sides of Marcus’s ship. One by one, each group tossed something heavy into the water. Only as the bulky objects rose to the surface did Alex realize they were the bodies of the crew he had left aboard the other ship. His men. Guilt bit at him like an adder.

  Morgan’s edict be damned, he thought. This time the bastard would pay for his crimes.

  “Mister McBride!” he roared. “Fire at will!”

  Birk laid a hand on his arm, but Alex shook it off. “Get below,” he ordered. “There will be blood this day.”

  “Be sure it’s no yer own.” The physician gave him a hard look. “Or Marcus’s.” He stalked away.

  The cannons exploded in punctuation with Birk’s warning. Smoke drifted across the deck. Alex cursed as the shots fell short of their target, blown off course by the shifting wind.

/>   “McBride! Again! Fire!”

  The ship listed violently, water spewing up in her wake. Alex clenched his hands on the rail and watched as his shots once more missed. Suddenly the Renegade came about, heading right for them at full speed. At her angle, she would be within firing distance in seconds.

  “Come about, come about!” Alex barked. The ship heeled again as the helmsman obeyed the order. Water sluiced across the waist and drained away again through the scuppers. A boom of thunder echoed the sound of the cannons as a flash of lighting split the sky. Alex ignored it. His gaze riveted to a figure standing alone on the quarterdeck of the Renegade. The figure raised a sword in salute.

  Marcus. God damn his soul to Hell.

  The Renegade came about again.

  “McBride! Prepare to fire!” Alex roared. “Helm, drive the bastard into the wind, at my mark!” He waited, sweating with every second that ticked by.

  “Helm! Now! McBride, fire!”

  As the Renegade came at them, the helmsman jerked the Vengeance practically into her path. She tried to avoid it, coming about hard and ending up with her nose in the wind. As Alex knew would happen, the wind hit her sails from the wrong direction, and the ship was pushed backwards.

  The guns boomed. Smoke drifted up from the gun deck. A loud crack announced a hit as the Renegade’s bowsprit crashed into the sea. A shot to the hull would have been more effective.

  “Bloody hell!” Alex slammed a fist against the rail.

  The Renegade recovered her wind and came after them. She fired. One shot cracked the mizzen, sending the top of it crashing to the deck. Another landed dangerously close to the hull, the splash tilting the ship hard to the side.

  “Scuttle the bastard!” Alex ordered.

  He was answered by the roar of the guns. Something bright flared on Marcus’s ship. Cries of alarm rose above the din of the storm. Smoke drifted up from the main deck.

  She was on fire.

  Alex slowly smiled. He saw Marcus pointing and yelling, but the fire spread quickly. He would have to abandon the ship.

  Alex had him right where he wanted him.