My Seductive Innocent (33 page)

Nathan tensed as Ravensdale held up a jug. “I cannot tell you how much pleasure this gives me. We call this here”―Ravensdale patted the jug―“Mercy of the Sea. You can drink it to dull the pain, but it can also be used to cleanse a wound. I’ve only ever had it poured on a wound when I was too foxed to protest, but I’ll tell you what, I wanted to rip my leg from my body when they poured it over the cut.” With those cheerfully spoken words, he tilted the jug and whistled as he poured.

For a moment, the liquor cooled Nathan’s skin and offered relief against the heat that had been building there. But the moment was fleeting. Cool turned to warmth that morphed into a hot, licking flame. The fire singed Nathan from the inside out and raced toward his head. He was certain the liquid was eating him and his flesh alive. The ringing in his ears increased until he was certain he would scream. But pain battered his head and made sound impossible to come by. Blackness invaded the color of the room and wiped away everything. Then mercifully―
mercifully
―the sound died in his ears and a chill enveloped him, burrowing into his bones and mind. With a ragged breath, he welcomed the nothingness.

“W
ake up,” a voice whispered in his ear. Nathan batted a hand near the right side of his face, but the voice came again, this time more urgent. “Your Grace, please, wake up! We’re here.”

Nathan struggled to open his eyes, which felt as if someone had stuck them together with muck. Once they were open, he stared into the almost-darkness. He blinked and a lantern appeared, along with Stephens’s worry-drawn face.

Nathan licked his lips and tasted blood. He spat and then swallowed before speaking. “They left us a lantern?”

Stephens nodded.

“How long have we been in Saint-Malo?”

“Not long. Maybe ten minutes. I’ve been trying to wake you for about that long.”

Nathan pushed up to a seated position, biting back the pain the movement caused in his leg. “Are you ready?”

“I don’t suppose there’s any choice but to be ready.”

“I don’t suppose there is,” Nathan agreed. “If we do nothing, I’ll be chained to a ship for a year, and I couldn’t say what Ravensdale has planned for you, but I doubt you would like it.”

“I’ll be chained beside you,” Stephens replied. “The captain said so, and you’re right. Nothing against you, Your Grace, but I prefer not to sleep where I eat, nor eat where I defecate and urinate. Do you know what I mean?”

“I believe I do,” Nathan said with a cynical chuckle that hurt his belly. “Now listen to me. When you call the guard and he comes in, lead him directly in front of me so that he has to bend down and is face-to-face with me. Can you do that?”

Stephens nodded. “But why? What are you going to do? You’ve no weapon?”

Nathan tapped his head. “This is my weapon. It’s hard as a rock and I know just how to hit another man with it. I would have done it earlier, but it would have been pointless out at sea with nowhere to flee and a crew of twenty against two. He’s got a pistol, and it’s your job to make sure he doesn’t shoot me. I’m counting on you.”

“I won’t fail you.”

“Call him,” Nathan said and lay back to play dead.

Shuffling feet resounded for a moment, then the rattling of the cage and Stephens shouting for the guard. “He’s dead,” he hollered. “His Grace is dead. Come quick!”

Footsteps pounded above, and then the hatch door banged open in the distance and booted-feet hurried through the cargo hold vibrating the air. The ship creaked ominously to join the jangle of the keys, and then the screech of the door being opened joined the chorus of noise.

“Wha’ do you mean he’s dead? The captain is gonna be furious.”

“I meant to say I think he’s dead,” Stephens said in a high-pitched voice that rang with false fear. “He doesn’t appear to be breathing.”

“Ya ratty fool. Did ya feel where his heart beats?”

“Did I what?”

A derisive snort filled the air. “Never mind. I can see God didn’t give ya much brains.”

Nathan tensed his shoulders as the footsteps thumped toward him. The air swished above him as the guard bent down. The moment his stench invaded Nathan’s nose and his hand landed on Nathan’s chest, Nathan cracked open his eyes, judged the angle to be perfect, and threw his body up and forward until his head connected with the guard’s nose with a
crack
. Before the man could make a sound, Nathan punched him in the mouth and Stephens secured the pistol that had fallen out of the man’s hand. The guard fell backward and Nathan scrambled to his feet, ignoring the protesting pain from his legs. His body fought every movement, but his mind rebelled against captivity with greater intensity. He lunged forward and punched the man again, this time hard enough to knock him out.

Stephens stood beside Nathan, panting and holding the pistol. “Should we kill him?”

Nathan bent down and retrieved the man’s cutlass and the keys that had fallen when he fell. “I’d rather not take a life if I don’t have to. We’ll lock him in here and shut the latch. We should be long gone by the time he wakes up, and if we’re not, well, then I doubt we will be escaping, anyway.”

It took a few precious seconds to lock the cell and make their way out of the cargo hold and toward the stairs to the quarterdeck. They picked their way up the ladder in tense silence. Each rung up took them closer to the hum of noise above. On the main deck, a flood of voices, salty air, and sunlight greeted them, but there was a quietness to their movements. They ducked behind a set of twin barrels so they could figure out the route to freedom.

Nathan located the gangway and calculated the distance from them to it. Then he found himself searching, brow furrowed, for the crew. He followed the sound of catcalls and bawdy curses and spotted a group of men circled around the mizzenmast. He couldn’t see what the men were doing, but by the snippets of jeers he caught, someone had angered Ravensdale and was being punished.

The huddle parted for a moment and Nathan got a clear side view of the devil as he raised a whip then sliced it through the air. The circle closed again before Nathan could see who was being punished, and the cheers from the crew drowned any sound the victim may have made. Frankly, Nathan didn’t give a damn if Ravensdale was punishing a member of his crew. For all he knew, it could have been one of the men who had held him down that first day on the ship while Ravensdale beat him.

He nudged Stephens in the side and pointed toward their escape route. “There’s not going to be a better time to go than now.”

Stephens nodded, and they crouched low and scurried toward the gangplank. Whatever aches would plague Nathan later were currently subdued by the excitement of freedom within his reach. He paused with one foot on the gangplank and turned for one brief second, ensnared by a burning desire to kill Ravensdale. It would be utter foolishness. Eventually, he would pay Ravensdale back, he vowed, as he followed Stephens off the ship.

A high-pitched scream cut through the calls of the seamen. Nathan froze and looked over his shoulder at the circle of men, which had parted once again. In the center of the melee, tied naked to the mizzenmast was a petite, short-haired, dark-headed woman. Coldness slammed into his core.
Sophia? Could it be?

Stephens tugged on his elbow, but Nathan just stared at the woman, willing her to look up. Her head hung limp and her shoulders shook. Had Ravensdale had Sophia all this time? It made no sense. It was impossible. Yet, he could not turn away as Ravensdale’s taunts played through his head.

“Your Grace,” Stephens hissed in his ear.

“My wife,” he mumbled, swaying suddenly with fatigue.

Stephens yanked Nathan’s arm. “We must go.”

But even if it wasn’t Sophia, how could Nathan leave a helpless woman to Ravensdale’s treatment? Before he could answer the question in his head, Ravensdale’s gaze locked on him. His brow furrowed, but even in his confusion, the man raised his arm and threw something.

Silence fell and then so did Nathan as Ravensdale’s dagger hit him in his worst leg. The deck took the air from him but not so much that he didn’t shout to Stephens. “Save yourself, man.”

Stephens gaped at him for a moment, raised the pistol he held, and shot the closest pirate charging them, but a sea of men swarmed behind the downed man coming at Nathan and Stephens like a powerful wave. “Go now!” Nathan commanded, knowing Stephens could do nothing but try to escape. Stephen glanced down, regret and sorrow etched on his young face, and then he turned and fled as the pirates reached Nathan.

E
arly in the morning, a scratch came at Sophia’s door, followed by her lady’s maid pleading with her to let her enter and help her dress. Without coming out from under her coverlet, Sophia told Mary Margaret to go away. Today marked three weeks that Nathan had been missing.

Three weeks!
The realization made her shudder. She had gotten up every day, dressed, and forced herself to go through her routine, though when she retired at night and lay in her bed she could not recall a thing she had done from day to day. What she could recall was that Ellison, as he’d bid her call him, spoke Nathan’s name in the hushed tones one used to speak of the dead. Because of that, she could hardly countenance talking with him and had gone out of her way to avoid him, even as he had tried to be nice.

Amelia and her husband were wonderful people and had taken to entertaining Harry, thank heaven. Sophia couldn’t muster the energy to smile, let alone keep Harry occupied. Despite liking Nathan’s friends, whenever she spied them in unguarded moments, the perpetual smiles they wore when vowing to her that Nathan would be located in perfect health slipped away to the frowns of concern. Fierce anger at them would surge through her when that happened. Thus, she had taken to avoiding them in the last few days, as well. She felt awful for it, but she couldn’t stomach knowing they didn’t really believe he would be found alive.

And Nathan’s aunt... Sophia shuddered. That woman was a wretched witch. She had told Sophia that if Nathan had never met her, he would not be missing now. Thankfully, Lady Anthony preferred to ignore Sophia for the most part, but the few times she did speak to her it was with icy disdain.

Sophia had teetered for weeks on the brink of hysteria. She felt helpless, useless, and unwanted in the house that was supposed to be her home. Sadness pressed against her chest like a thousand quilts and worry was like a boulder on her shoulders. Suddenly, her cocoon under the blankets stifled her, and she struggled for a proper breath. She threw the covers off, scrambled out of bed, and rushed over to her window. With trembling fingers, she parted the heavy curtains and opened the window. Cold air blasted her in the face, along with several snowflakes. Wind whistled around her and tickled her nose. Was the wind tickling Nathan’s nose? Was he looking at the snow now, too?

Oh, Nathan!
She didn’t want to live without him. He’d appeared in her life and rescued her in every way possible, and she had fallen hopelessly in love with him.

Below her, laugher floated up from the gardens. She glared down at Amelia, her husband, and Harry until her head hurt and shame burrowed in her chest. She should not begrudge Harry a bit of time outdoors and some laughter, as well. He had been almost as downtrodden as she was since she’d told him Nathan was missing. The first thing he’d asked was if Nathan had left them like his momma had. The question had stolen Sophia’s breath and haunted her, even though her heart told her Nathan would never do such a thing.

A carriage rolled into view as she stared out the window, and her heart leaped when a man dressed in a dark coat and trousers got out. The Duke of Aversley had described the detective he’d hired to search for Nathan, and this had to be the man! He was tall with a shock of white hair and a thick, neatly trimmed white beard. She raced across her bedchamber, flung open her door, and was halfway to the stairs when she realized she was only wearing her dressing gown. Crying out, she whirled around and scrambled back to her room to don a dress.

This was the one time she wished for Mary Margaret’s help getting into her day gown. Sophia’s hands shook so badly, it took her an impossibly long time to get the buttons secured. When she was finished, her heart pounded and her brow was damp from her efforts. She took the stairs at an unladylike two-at-a-time, and as she bounded down the last steps and into the main foyer, she saw the man who had arrived not more than twenty minutes ago, already departing.