William stood aboard the Nemesis, watching his crew load supplies: barrels of flour, cheese and salted meats, gunpowder and rum.
One last voyage.
Aye, it was perfect. One last journey to the tropical isles he’d plundered with his father and brothers. One last battle. One last adventure. And if he survived the clash, he’d remain on the island—alone—and await death.
A heaviness lifted from his shoulders. He wouldn’t have to confront his family about his wretched demise. He wouldn’t have to suffer the humiliation of growing sickly and weak in their presence. He wouldn’t have to endure their expressions of pity.
A stout strength filled him, and he heaved an energetic breath.
He turned and scanned the crowded Thames, then lifted his eyes to the foggy cityscape, lingering over the districts where his family lived. His sister would receive his farewell letter, revealing his illness and death. There would be no maudlin gestures of goodbye or weepy embraces. The very thought churned the bile in his belly. It wasn’t a proper death for a man, a captain, a pirate.
“Ahoy, Captain.”
Her breezy voice hinted at excitement, at the hope of finding her grandfather alive. And if not for her determination to rescue her grandfather, William wouldn’t have an honorable reason to weigh anchor and set sail for the Caribbean.
He shifted his gaze and captured sight of Lady Madeline in a simple frock and short tweed coat. Her hair was pinned and stuffed under a matching tweed cap, a few ginger wisps fluttering in the wind. Her cheeks flushed with rosy color. Her eyes danced with faith. And something rent his heart at her beaming optimism. Cold irony, perhaps. That while she searched for life on this journey, he chased death.
“Welcome aboard, Cousin Maddie.”
“Maddie, please.”
She clutched her carpet bag in both hands, no cumbersome trunks in tow. As she neared him, her smile broadened, and an inadvertent spasm gripped his chest.
“Here.” She handed him a paper. “The map.”
William unfurled the sheet and eyed the directions, ignoring the quiver in his heart. “I’ll plot our course.”
“And have you the letter for me?”
“In time.” He tucked the map in his pocket. “I’ve yet to write it.”
Before she could make any more uncomfortable inquiries, William signaled his first mate. “Meet Lieutenant Fletcher, Lady Madeline. He will escort you to your cabin.”
She paused for a moment, her pupils closing as she pierced him with a curious stare, but she soon bobbed her head. “Thank you, Captain.”
As she crossed the deck, William studied her flowing figure and sensed, despite her smart outfit and practical luggage choice, she wasn’t going to be a sensible passenger, that his well-ordered ship just might run amok with her onboard.
~ * ~
There was a knock at the door that evening.
“Come in,” said William, hunched over the sea chart pinned to the desk. Without averting his attention, he knew who had entered his room. “How do you like your cabin, Maddie?”
“It’s very comfortable, thank you.”
He had placed her quarters next to his own to protect her, even though he knew his crew would never trouble her, but he still needed to maintain the appearance of propriety, that she was under the captain’s charge . . . or perhaps he just didn’t trust the woman too far from his sight.
She soon settled beside him. A soft scent swirled in the air, a floral perfume. He suddenly imagined a sultry island filled with bright blooms nestled in a lady’s hair. He shut his eyes, the vision unsettling. He wasn’t a daydreamer. He wasn’t a man who lost focus. Ever.
“Have you plotted our course?” she queried, her voice low.
Slowly he lifted his gaze. Her ginger hair was plaited in a loose braid and draped over her shoulder. Under lamplight, her eyes glowed like embers and a distinct warmth spread throughout his chest.
He pushed the disturbing sensation aside and concentrated on the map. “Aye, we’ll travel along the equator and catch the Caribbean current here. It will take us northwest to the Bahamian Islands.”
“I’m so excited.”
“We’re still in the English Channel. There’s a long journey ahead.”
“I know.” She smiled. “Thank you for inviting me to supper.”
Again her smile disarmed him. And again he wrestled with the intrusive sentiment that distracted him from his goal—to rescue her grandfather and send both crew and passengers home to England. His invitation to supper was a courtesy, a formal duty every captain performed when hosting civilians aboard ship. And he wouldn’t pretend it was anything more than a customary nicety.
Without a word, William walked over to the dining table and pulled out a chair, accustomed to such refinements since retiring from piracy and associating with high society.
Madeline took the offered seat. He joined her at the opposite end of the table, already plated with cooked fare, and removed the silver loche, releasing a cloud of steam and revealing a platter of roasted meats, potatoes and carrots.
He’d every intention of keeping the conversation mundane, when Madeline forked a slice of ham and announced, “I’m grateful for your help, William. It’s a good thing you didn’t drink the laudanum cocktail.”
He arched a brow before serving himself. “What would you have done if I’d taken the laudanum?”
“Packed up the jewels and boarded the first ship to the Caribbean.”
“And left me on the floor?”
Her eyes danced with merriment. “You would have roused in time—but long after I was gone.”
William shook his head. After so many years at sea, he had learned to listen to his instincts, to spot danger leagues away. And his instincts told him Maddie was trouble. But for once, it wasn’t his ship and crew in danger . . . it was him.
“You must think me a fool,” she said softly, “hoping for a miracle?”
After a short, uncertain pause, he poured her a glass of wine. “I do not believe in miracles, but there’s reason to suspect your grandfather is alive.”
Her expression shadowed. “The world darkened when I learned of his death. Other than Cousin Amy, I have no one.”
“What happened to the rest of your family?”
She set her wrists on the table, gripping the utensils until her knuckles whitened. “I had an indiscretion with a soldier when I was seventeen. After the scandal broke, I was disowned by my family.”
William lifted another brow. In comparison with his own “youthful indiscretions,” a fling with a soldier seemed small and undeserving of such severe repudiation. But she was a Lady. A woman. Her position demanded an almost impossible level of deportment.
She loosened her hold of the fork and knife, her pale features filling with color. “Have I shocked you?”
He snorted. “In my family, we would not have disowned you for such an indiscretion.”
“Any why not?”
She had him there. He should be shocked by her revelation—if he were a true gentleman.
“I had an unusual upbringing.” He shrugged. “I would’ve sooner crushed the soldier’s head and stomped on his bullocks for dishonoring you.”
Madeline was about to taste the wine—and paused.
“Have I shocked you?” he mimicked.
She burst into laughter. Musical. Beautiful.
He seized, breathless.
“You sound very much like my grandfather. He wanted to duel with Papa when everyone shunned me.” She released a heavy breath. “I would do anything for the devilish old man. He saved my life.”
“I understand.” Her madcap thievery made more sense to him now. “I would do the same for my kin.”
He would also spare them the burden of caring for him as he wasted away. He’d sooner put a bullet in his head than wither into a corpse before their eyes, but suicide would cause an even greater stir and veil the family in ignominy. No, death in battle, at sea, or even on a deserted island was the proper way for a seaman to perish.
Under the bitter circumstances, he was actually fortunate. He had last seen his family during a jubilant ball, leaving him—and them—with the best of memories. And now he had a meaningful way to die.
“William, are you unwell?”
Startled, he snapped, “What do you mean?”
She flinched. “I mean is anything the matter? You’ve grown so quiet.”
As blood thudded through his veins, he sensed another cursed headache pressing on his skull. “No, nothing’s the matter,” he clipped, even as weakness overpowered him. Not now, he railed. Not in front of her! His hands shaking, he gritted, “If you’ll excuse me, I must finish plotting our course.”
He watched her expression turn stony at his uncouth dismissal.
She dropped the utensils on the table and headed for the door. “Of course.”
“Take the meal with you,” he ordered.
“I’m not hungry.”
And she slammed the door behind her.