Bound by Decency (39 page)

A chill stole across her. Rubbing her arms, she moved away from the window to the side of her bed where she knelt beside her canvas. From within, she withdrew the golden box and ran her thumb across the large sapphire cabochon. “Cain,” she whispered. “Stay safe. I’m trying.”

She pressed a kiss to the jeweled lid and set it on her bed. He had kept the key—one small link that connected them despite the span of waters.

From atop her pillow, she picked up his indigo Roger. The faint scent of sage clung to the aged fibers. Vivid pictures of Cain’s smile, his dark hair, his tender kiss rose as she brought the flag to her nose, closed her eyes, and inhaled. Deep inside, the longing she combated each night stirred. Tears stung her eyes.

Her soul ached for him. Yearned for the warmth of his skin, the comfort of his embrace. The heaviness of his body when he eased her into bed with a tender kiss. She craved the steady cadence of his heart when she laid her cheek atop his chest, the only sound in the world that could lull her into dreams.

Her tears slipped free, trickling down her cheeks. What if she failed? She bit down hard on her lower lip to stop a budding sob and shook her head. No. The Flying Gang didn’t fail, Tom had reminded her of that. And while Richard might have once been member to the elite band of brigands,
she
had gained their confidence. Alex welcomed her aboard. Drake trusted her enough to aid her plans. And Cain…Cain loved her.

She
would not
fail.

“My lady?” Colette called as she rapped on the closed door. “Are you ready to dress?”

Drying her tears with the back of her hand,
India
rose to her feet. She set the Roger atop the box and cleared her wayward thoughts with a sniffle. In an hour, she’d be on her way to
London
, one step closer to Cain.

“Come in,” she called.

351

Bound By Decency

38

T
he crowd outside Mrs. White’s
Chocolate
House laughed as they waited in line for a seat at one of the highly demanded tables. Not a one of them suspected that in a few minutes, a scandal was about to occur. They milled in front of the wide glass windows, completely oblivious, focused only on the talk of politics, craving their cups of chocolate. Soon, they’d be privy to truths that would keep the gossip circles busy for years.

India
smoothed the front of her violet dress and met Colette’s level stare. “Let’s hope Tom succeeded.”

Colette concurred with a tentative smile. “Yes. Let’s be done with this charade. I tire of deceiving your father. Are you certain you don’t want me to accompany you?”

“It’s best you don’t. If I should only manage to secure my disgrace, Father will never know you were involved.”

Reaching across the dark enclosure, Colette captured
India
’s hand. With a tight squeeze of pudgy fingers, she conveyed all the words she wouldn’t say. Support. Love. Understanding.
India
returned her firm grip, then reached for the coach’s door handle, foregoing alerting their borrowed coachman. She eased the door open, breathed in the pungent aroma of
London
, and stepped onto the curb.

Ledgers clutched against her breasts, she straightened her shoulders and approached the chocolate house. Her gaze scanned the waiting carriages, searched the shadows. Where was Tom? As she neared the crowd, and he remained unseen, nerves set her stomach to trembling. She pressed a hand to her belly, willing the contents to stay down.

At the end of the line, a hand caught her elbow. Startled, she jumped.

“Easy,
India
,” Tom’s familiar voice rumbled near her ear. “It’s only me.”

With a glance at the glass panes behind her, she checked to ensure her father couldn’t see her before she turned to face Tom. Her smile hid the urgency behind her voice. “Where’s Bainfield?”

“Secured in that empty building over there.” He nodded behind her and to the left, where a brick façade sat dark and still.

Relief loosened the constriction in her lungs, and she released the breath she’d been holding. “Stay close enough you can hear, but don’t let Father notice you.”

“On your heels,” Tom said with a grin.

Men and women ignored her as she approached the front doors. But when she marched past the waiting guests and strode inside, appearing for all intents and purposes as if she didn’t feel the need to wait, heads snapped around and fans lifted to cover shocked whispers.

India
scanned the small room for her father and his friends. His robust laughter guided her to the far corner near the dormant hearth. Gathered with a score of
London
’s most influential politicians, including one soon-to-be Viscount of Mahon, he lounged in his chair, one ankle atop the opposite knee, his waistcoat unbuttoned.

India
summoned her courage and marched to the head of the table, placing herself directly beside Stanhope. “Good evening, gentlemen.” She set the ledgers on the table.

Her father bolted to the edge of his chair. His foot hit the ground like a ball of lead. “
India
! What in heaven’s name are you doing here?”

Now or never, and never was out of the question. She covered the shaking of her hands by leaning on the ledgers. How she hated to do this to her father. But this confrontation must take place here, where Richard couldn’t escape utter condemnation. She gave her father an apologetic smile. “I’ve come, Father, to explain in great detail why I cannot marry Mr. Grey.”

Richard shot out of his chair. “I will not stand for this! If you have objections, dear lady, we may discuss them in a more private setting.”

A chorus of agreeing murmurs broke out amongst the men.

“Yes, Daughter, I must concur. This is highly inappropriate.”

India
turned her smile on Stanhope. “As a man whom I’ve greatly admired since childhood, would you kindly indulge me and ask Mr. Grey to resume his seat?”

“How curious,” Stanhope murmured. He motioned for Richard to sit. “Indulge me, Grey. I wish to see this charade. I’ve not been to the theatre in months.”

His face as crimson as his waistcoat, Richard assumed his chair. His glare shot daggers at
India
. Holding on to memories of Cain, she returned his stare, unblinking. “We shall begin with the matter of how you, knowing both my father’s and my position on the matter of slavery, hired a man in my employ to command
my
fleet, without my permission.”

As the table turned to look at Richard, her father pushed his chair away. Suspicion crept into her father’s expression, and he squinted across the darkly polished tabletop. If there was one thing
India
could credit her father for, he always listened to her words. He might refuse anything he found improper, or perhaps just frivolous, but he listened even when he dismissed her with a pat on the head. And he knew, beyond all measure, she always spoke the truth.

“That is absurd, Miss Prescott
.
” Richard leaned back in his chair, produced a box of snuff from his vest, and placed a pinch beneath his nose. He sniffed, then rubbed at his nostrils with his disfigured pinkie.

India
resisted the urge to shudder. She tipped her head. “Is it? Do I have your attention now, gentlemen? Will you sit there and smirk, or will you listen?”

Dutifully, the smiling faces cleared. Hands folded across laps and chests. Chins fell to rest on propped elbows. By their silence, her father’s friends conveyed their interest.

India
picked up the North Atlantic Freight ledger and passed it to her father. “On page eight you will notice a profit of several thousand pounds which, if you take the time to add the columns, you’ll find there are no goods to support it. Two identical entries are on pages ten and thirteen.”

Her father flipped through the ledgers. She gave him time, knowing he could add columns as quickly as she. When he set the ledger down, his bushy eyebrows drawn tight, she passed him the Grey and Cathain ledger. “This is the ledger you were given to review profits for the purpose of merging Grey and Cathain with Prescott Shipping. On page thirty-three, you’ll find an entry for
Additional Labor
that corresponds with a payment to a Benjamin Bainfield. Who, as you know, is the man who manages my North Atlantic Freight affairs.” She cringed inwardly. Her father had tried so hard to keep her business affairs quiet, and she’d just told everyone he knew. But without the knowledge, Bainfield would mean nothing to their guests. She forged ahead
.
“However, there’s no shipment to coincide. If you average the profit on a slaving ship—my largest
vessel
could hold 250—you will find that the payment Mr. Bainfield received is well within the average margin.”

At her father’s subtle nod, courage stiffened her spine. It was working. He saw the figures in black and white. Richard’s purpling face, worked in her favor as well. She swallowed to wet her dry throat. “May I see the ledgers, please, Father?”

He returned them without argument.

She flipped open the North Atlantic Freight book to page eight and dropped it in front of Stanhope’s nose. “Could you tell everyone the date of the entry please?”

“December
fifteenth
, 1716.”

“And the dates of the entries below and above?”

Squinting at the column, he replied, “Above, the last entry is July
twenty-second
, 1712. The entry directly beneath is September
fifth
, 1712.”

“Do you notice any discrepancy in the handwriting?”

Stanhope pushed his glasses up his nose and glanced at her. “My dear, they are not the same.”

India
snapped the ledger shut and leveled her gaze on Richard. “You altered my books. You commandeered my fleet. That constitutes piracy, Mr. Grey.”

He had the audacity to laugh. “You cannot prove I did this. Anyone who has access to your records could have entered something false.”

“I can prove it.”

From the corner of her eye, movement flashed. Subtly, she turned her head in time to witness Tom’s tall lanky frame saunter out the door.

Richard leaned forward and slowly nodded. “Even if you could, Miss Prescott, there’s no crime in shipping slaves. We are to wed. North Atlantic Freight comes with the merger. Any man here would take advantage of the profits to be made on such a venture.”

“No,” her father objected in a low voice. “Not any man.”

Before the discussion could degenerate into fisticuffs,
India
cut her father off. “It’s piracy, Mr. Grey. But then, you know that trade quite well, don’t you…Knobby?”

If malice had glinted in his eyes before, what registered behind his gaze now was murderous. “Mind your accusations,
India
. There are many who would not appreciate the course you’re taking. Many who would exact revenge.”

“Oh, you mean Cain perhaps? Or do you reference Drake? Nightshade? Oh, yes, you must mean Blackbeard. How could I have been so silly?” She let out a light laugh, before clearing her expression and sliding her hands into her pockets. “As I hear, they’re hunting for your head. Perhaps because you framed Cain with this same Benjamin Bainfield?”

Every man at the table not involved in the discussion turned to his neighbor and murmured something. The noise became such a racket that
India
had to slam her ledgers on the table to quiet them. The sound also silenced the entire chocolate house. Silence that added to her nerves, but she welcomed nonetheless. The more people who heard the truth, the less room for fables as the story made its rounds.

When Richard failed to dignify her question with an answer,
India
gestured at his disfigured hand. “I believe you acquired the nickname Knobby when you lost the topmost portion of your left pinkie finger, as a privateer, under His Majesty.”

Again, Richard chose not to respond. He stared at her, challenge glinting in his eyes, daring her to confess how she could come to such intimate knowledge.

“This would be with Henry Jennings, am I correct? Or did that come later?” She dismissed her questions with a flippant wave of her hand. “It’s unimportant. But there you befriended Cain. When the war ended, the both of you engaged in piracy.”

She took a deep breath, her nerves threatening to scatter her thoughts. With silent meaning, she looked to her father. “Father, Richard told us Cain attacked our ship. Did he tell you Cain is also the highly respected, Theodore Cathain?”

Her father’s answer was a low, flat mumble, “It was in the post.”

News she had missed with the business of marriage hanging over her head.
India
exhaled audibly. “Cain objected to slaving routes as we did, Father. When he refused Richard, even after seeing the misbegotten profits, Richard sought to eliminate his opposition. As sole owner of Grey and Cathain, he stood to make incredible profits when he married me.”

Understanding registered in her father’s expression. His eyes narrowed, his mouth tightened at the corners. He stared at Richard with such loathing
India
knew she’d won the first round. She picked up the ledger and opened it in front of Stanhope’s nose. Her finger on the most recent payment to Bainfield, she boldly held Richard’s glare. “In February you paid Bainfield 500 pounds, for what, you didn’t record. Coincidentally, Cain’s supposed attack on the
Virginia Maiden
and his subsequent arrest falls neatly into this time frame.” She moved her finger down the page. “Last month, you were to pay Bainfield again, but per your ledger, have not issued the draft. I suppose you didn’t plan on Cain living.”

Her father’s tight brow and Stanhope’s thoughtful expression urged her to continue. She slipped her hand into her left pocket and removed the false Roger. She held it up for the men to see. “This is a replica of Cain’s Roger. It is black, as we would expect it to be.” Reaching into her right pocket, she produced the other. “The authentic flag, however, is indigo. It’s been locked in a crate for two years. You can see the age on its seams.” Setting it down, she added emphasis to her voice. “Two years, while Cain led a decent life and
willingly
left piracy behind.”

Richard’s mouth twisted into a cruel smirk. Shaking his head, he replied, “You have lost your mind, Miss Prescott. Your time at sea made you sick. You are humiliating yourself along with your father. You have dates and numbers, all of which correspond to legitimate services I paid Benjamin Bainfield for. Services that involved cleaning your precious fleet. Restocking mine. Aiding your father in the inventory of his vast stores of goods.” He gestured at the flags. “Anyone could sew the pieces you’ve brought as evidence.”