Barely more than an hour after watching Danielle leave his brother’s house in Mayfair, Cade was sitting in his captain’s cabin aboard The Elenor. He’d traded his fine black evening attire for breeches, boots, and a loose white linen shirt. Bloody hell, he was much more comfortable and at ease. He’d always felt at home on the sea.
He didn’t belong in a town house at a stuffy ton ball. He’d left them a note, of course, Daphne and Rafe. They wouldn’t be surprised. The good thing about being the black sheep was you rarely let anyone down. They didn’t expect much from you. Who knew how long it would be before he saw his brother again, if ever.
Cade stood with his legs braced apart, breathing in the sea air and shaking his head. A vision of Danielle flashed unbidden through his mind. Normally, when he left a woman, he didn’t think of her again. Not so soon, at least.
This was different. This time Danielle had been the one to leave, and she’d left him a note. He’d found it there, sitting on his pillow when he’d gone to his room to pack his things. It was crumpled and the ink was smeared. It was what she’d been holding in her hands when he’d come to her bedchamber.
A bloody good-bye note that had barely mentioned she was leaving, let alone why. The woman had gone and she hadn’t looked back. Damned frustrating. Even more frustrating, they hadn’t even really had a dalliance. His balls still throbbed at the thought of what he hadn’t had.
Cade studied the map with one ripped corner that rested on the table in front of him.
St. Helena.
Lafayette Baptiste, the captain of The French Secret, was in charge of the latest plot to liberate Napoleon from his second island prison and return him to power. Again.
A knock sounded at the door. “Cap’n,” came the muffled voice of his first mate, Danny McCummins. Cade had met the man on a prison ship years ago. Danny had been about to have his hand sliced off for stealing from another man on the ship. Cade had helped the Irishman escape and they’d taken off together. Later, Danny had met up with one his mates, another Irishman named Sean O’Malley. They two had sworn their allegiance to Cade.
For his part, Cade trusted no one more than Danny and Sean. Together with their penchant for getting into trouble, exacerbated by their love of women and their perhaps even greater love of ale, Cade had bailed the both of them out of a fair number of scrapes over the years.
“Come in.” Cade rolled up the map and stuck it under his arm.
Danny came strolling in, humming a sailor’s tune, the remnants of last night’s supper smeared on his coarse shirt. That was typical for Danny McCummins. Danny. Damn. The name reminded Cade of Danielle. He couldn’t get her out of his thoughts.
“Are we ready to sail, McCummins?”
“Aye, Cap’n,” the first mate replied.
“Were you able to round up the rest of the crew on such short notice?”
“Aye, Cap’n. Everyone excepting Billy.”
Cade turned to face him. “Where’s Billy?”
McCummins’s smile revealed a hodgepodge of ill-tended teeth. “If’n I knew that, Cap’n, I daresay he’d be here.”
Cade cracked a smile. “I suppose we can make do without a cook’s assistant.” He strode to his desk, opened a drawer, and placed the map there. He shut the drawer and locked it.
“We don’t have ta, Cap’n,” McCummins replied, obviously pleased with himself, judging from the size of his grin. “O’Malley found us a replacement at the tavern last night. A chap what was looking fer work fer his son.”
“Son?” Cade narrowed his eyes.
“Aye. Says he’s sailed afore and knows his way ’round a ship.”
“Does he know how to cook?”
“Enough ta be an assistant, or so his da says.”
“You haven’t met the boy?”
“Not me’self. O’Malley seems ta think the lad might well be on the wrong side o’ the wharf police. Apparently, he’s looking ta set sail immediately.”
Cade sighed. It was a story he’d heard before. Often. Most of The Elenor’s crew had been on the wrong side of the law, himself included. Cade was more worried about O’Malley hiring the boy sight unseen. What if he was an opium addict or riddled with vermin? That wouldn’t do for a cook’s assistant. “Very well,” Cade replied. “Tell O’Malley it’s on his head if the lad is of no use.”
McCummins nodded. “He’s here now, Cap’n. O’Malley says he’s a right energetic thing, ready and willin’ ta work hard.”
“Is that so?” Cade stood looking out the window above his bed. “What’s his name?” he asked, not particularly interested in the answer.
“I believe it’s Cross,” McCummins replied. “Yeah, that’s the one. Cross.”
“Cross?” Cade narrowed his eyes at the skyline. Cross? LaCrosse. He shook his head. Damn. Was he to be plagued with thoughts of that woman forever? Would everything remind him of her? For how long? Bloody nuisance.
Dawn was beginning to break. It was time to leave. He grabbed up his spyglass from a hook on the bulkhead and focused it on The French Secret anchored far across the harbor but still within view. The French ship was hauling up its anchor. Cade spun around. “Weigh anchor!”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n.” McCummins headed for the door to issue the orders across the ship.
“McCummins,” Cade called.
The older man paused, his foot on the first step leading up the ladder. “Yes, Cap’n?”
“Not too close to The French Secret. Give it a sizeable lead, then…”
McCummins nodded. “Yes, Cap’n?”
“Bring the new cook’s assistant to me.”