“Do I?” For a moment he looked nonplussed. “Well, I didn’t swim here, as you can guess. ’Course I came on a ship.”
Eliza didn’t press the issue. But she was certain he was being evasive, and her sense of unease about him returned. Something was not quite right, but for the life of her she didn’t know what.
They ate their evening meal in the baronial-sized dining room. Eliza had wished to eat on the terrace, but Cousin Agnes had already made her feelings quite clear
on that point. Tea might be had on the terrace, and luncheon. But not dinner. So she, Aubrey, and Eliza sat in the room, waited upon by the three servants in candlelit splendor.
“Now, isn’t this nice?” Agnes pronounced, beaming at her reluctant companions. “Just because we are not currently resting upon good British soil does not mean we should abandon our good British manners. Don’t you agree, Eliza?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she murmured. Clothilde poured wine for her as across the way Robert poured cider for Aubrey. The new man Oliver stood in the corner, observing the more experienced servants so that he might better learn his duties, as Agnes had instructed him.
When Eliza glanced at him, however, she could have sworn he winked at her. She stiffened and stared at him all the harder, but in the flickering candlelight it was hard to be sure. Still, there was something mightily suspicious about his behavior. Good thing he was not truly hired as a servant but rather as a bodyguard, for she would be hard-pressed to offer him a good reference.
“Let’s have a bout of chess,” Aubrey suggested when the meal was done. “Do you play, Oliver?”
“My game is backgammon,” he answered, lifting the boy to carry him into the parlor.
“I’ll
play chess with you, Master Aubrey,” Robert interjected.
To Oliver’s credit, he accepted the older servant’s subtle rebuke without comment. Eliza kept silent as well, but she dearly hoped Robert was not becoming jealous of Aubrey’s quick affection for the new servant. The last thing Eliza needed was to referee a tug of war between those two.
Once he had settled Aubrey on a chair at the game table, Oliver approached Eliza. “Would you like to play at backgammon, miss?”
Eliza glanced up at him from the wide Mediterranean
chair she’d chosen and nervously cleared her throat. “I … um … I don’t believe I know that game.”
“I’d be pleased to teach it to you.”
Eliza frowned. “Shouldn’t you be checking around outside instead of playing games in here?” she whispered, so that Aubrey would not hear. “Making sure we’re safe?”
“I have things well in hand, Miss Eliza. Don’t you worry about that at all. I have things very well in hand.”
Aubrey and Robert settled into their game of chess. Clothilde attended Cousin Agnes in her evening ritual of creams and arthritic potions, all in the privacy of her bedroom suite. The Portugese cook and her staff finished their work in the expansive kitchens. Everyone was occupied in some way, and it pointed out all the more awkwardly that only Eliza and Oliver were without any occupation or entertainment. It made her look foolish to have turned him down, and rude as well.
Annoyed with herself, she rose to her feet. “I think I shall retire,” she announced. “You’ll see to Aubrey?” she added, though unnecessarily, to Robert.
“Yes, miss. Aha! Knight captures Queen’s rook!”
Eliza flipped a heavy lock of her hair back over her shoulder and let out an exasperated sigh. She would obviously not be missed. What a long and boring winter this was going to be. “You are dismissed for the evening, Mr. Spencer,” she said in a conciliatory tone. Then, feeling unaccountably sorry for herself, Eliza escaped to her spacious, solitary bedchamber.
Unfortunately she was not in the least bit sleepy. Even after lingering at her ablutions, brushing her hair twice with lemon water, then sprinkling her sheets with more of her favorite fragrance as well, she was still quite wide-eyed. She paced barefoot across the huge Turkish carpet and then across the smooth stone floor to the bank of east-facing windows. After opening one pair of
the casement windows she leaned out, breathing in the cool night air.
Beyond, all lay in darkness. A light glimmered somewhere in the hills above the house and the stars offered their cool silver light. But she could see very little.
What was Michael doing right now?
Dancing at a ball, very likely. Besieged by a bevy of young women and their predatory mothers, all of whom no doubt wondered why such a handsome man had been abandoned for so long by his fiancée.
What had she been thinking, to leave him these long, long months? Though she’d hoped he might cry off at the time, now … well, now she wasn’t so sure about anything.
Oh, but it didn’t bear thinking about.
Eliza turned away from the window and resumed her pacing. She was an idiot ever to have suggested this trip. Yet even as she rebuked herself, she had to admit that already she saw its benefits. She was stronger, and so was Aubrey. And that due solely to the two weeks they’d spent on the ship. Rather than succumbing to self-pitying thoughts, she should resolve to become completely well—and make sure Aubrey did too.
With that thought firmly in place, she pulled the tall windows closed and turned toward the bed. But the massive sleigh bed, piled though it was with feather mattresses, a wealth of pillows, and a luxurious down-filled coverlet, held no appeal. What she needed was a book. She could fall asleep if she had a book to read.
The house was quiet. And dark. One brace of candles flickered at the top of the stairs, but Cousin Agnes’s room was dark and so was Aubrey’s. She hoped he did not yet linger at chess with Robert, though she knew it unlikely. Once Clothilde was free of Agnes’s demands, Robert would have ended the game. Eliza wasn’t sure whether she should discourage the blossoming romance between the two servants or not. But she would worry
over that problem tomorrow. For now she meant to find some interesting volume to read. Hopefully the library was not restricted to purely Portugese tomes.
As she made her way down the stairs, however, she spied the four sets of glass doors that led to the terrace. One pair yet stood ajar.
Unlike her bedroom, the view beyond the doors and the terrace wall was well lit. The town lay off to the left, its streets still discernible by the lights that burned here and there. In the harbor, too, lights marked the many ships and boats at rest.
Had the
Lady Haberton
departed yet? Eliza leaned her elbows on the carved stone railing and stared out toward the harbor. Some sweet scent drifted on the breeze. Gardenias perhaps? Or roses? She wiggled her bare toes against the grainy stone terrace. Tomorrow she would propose an adventure into the hills. Perhaps she’d discover the source of that beguiling fragrance. Between Robert and Oliver they could easily carry Aubrey.
Oliver. As if beckoned by her very thoughts, Oliver’s voice came out of the darkness. “Be careful of him, you oaf. Here. Give him to me.”
Was that Robert he was calling an oaf, she wondered indignantly. Really but that young man had a lot to learn about dealing with his betters. Vowing to give him a firm talking to, she straightened and turned.
But the sight that met Eliza’s eyes drove every thought of reprimand quite out of her head. For there, filling the doorway and blocking any hope of her escaping unseen was a huge black man. The African. The one from the other ship. And he was handing what could only be the inert form of Aubrey to Oliver.
She must have gasped. She knew she nearly fainted, for she fell hard against the rail in absolute terror. For whatever reason, both men looked up at her in the same moment.
“Bloody hell,” Oliver muttered.
“What have we here?” the other one said.
Before the first logical thought could form in her head—before she could scream or run or do anything at all—the immense dark-skinned wretch had her fast in his grasp. As if she were no more than a frightened kitten, he held her off the ground with one arm while his other hand prevented her from making a sound. Oh no, not again, the frozen thought came.
“I thought you said everyone was asleep,” the man muttered.
“She was,” Oliver swore. “Bloody hell. Now what are we to do?”
“I could toss her over this wall and down the hill.”
Eliza’s heart stopped. It had been thundering until he said that. Now it stopped. He hefted her higher in his arm, and despite her struggles, held her just above the rail.
“Stop fooling around,” Oliver ordered. “We’ve got a real problem here.”
She felt her captor shrug. “Give her the same drug we gave the boy. Put her to sleep.”
At once it made sense. They’d drugged Aubrey and meant to kidnap him, just as the same pair must have tried to do back at Guernsey. No wonder she’d felt so uneasy about Oliver. And now, just like before, she’d managed to stumble into the middle of it.
She began to struggle in earnest now, kicking and clawing at the man who so easily held her. But with only a quick flexing of his thick arm he squeezed her tighter until she feared she would faint from lack of air.
“We used all the stuff on Aubrey,” Oliver answered.
“Well, we can’t leave her here to rouse everyone.”
“Then we’ll just have to bring her with us.”
Eliza felt the silent shaking of the man’s laughter before it came out. “The captain shall have our hides for bungling this.”
“Well,
he
was the one who bungled it the first time,” Oliver retorted. “He can hardly blame us if she interfered with us.”
The two men moved swiftly after that. Over the rail and into the lush landscape of the hillside, Eliza bumped along in her captor’s unyielding grasp, terrified. Furious. Oliver Spencer was a ruffian of the worst sort and she should have known better than ever to have hired him. Yet it was clear they’d plotted this a long time. And now she and Aubrey were being dragged to meet this … this captain of theirs. This captain who’d bungled it once before.
As if her fear were not profound already, a new layer of panic overwhelmed Eliza. This captain must be the one who’d crept into Aubrey’s cabin that night. The one who’d hauled her so rudely from the bed. The one who’d touched her body and kissed her—
Eliza squeezed her eyes tight, though the black night already hid as much as her eyelids did. But nothing could blot out the terror that had her in its foul grip. She was being dragged off by two of the vilest cads in the entire world to be given over to the clutches of their even viler captain.
Eventually her hands were tied before her and both her eyes and her mouth were bound with rather smelly handkerchiefs. She was lifted and placed on a bench—in a boat, she realized from the sound of waves slapping against the shore. Aubrey was stowed in the boat as well and the men pushed off. They rowed in silence, but though she could hear little and see nothing, she knew where they were headed. To that ship with the naked woman on the front. To the wicked ship
Chameleon
. To its unholy captain with his bold hands and even bolder mouth.
He would finish what he’d begun that night, of course. He would ravish her and she would be ruined for marriage.
Michael could not be expected to wed a ruined woman.
Then the small boat bumped up against a larger object and her fears doubled. Ravishment could very well be the least of her troubles. And Aubrey’s.
“
W
hat do you mean, you brought his cousin too!”
Eliza could hear the shouting even from the small cell they’d confined her to, deep within the bowels of the ship. She and Aubrey were locked in a dark, damp chamber and she sat now with her back against a chilly wall and Aubrey in her arms. Despite all his handling, the boy still slept, breathing even and slow. She smelled an odd flavor upon his breath, something sweet and medicinal. But at least they’d not hurt him, she consoled herself as she hugged him close. No telling why they’d stolen him, but at least that pair of thugs had seemed intent on keeping him safe. Until their captain ordered otherwise, she worried. Judging from his bellowing anger, she expected only the worst from that quarter.
“You could have tied her up and left her there—”
Eliza strained to hear the reply to that, but without success. Clearly this captain cowed his two men with his fury. She shivered and hugged Aubrey even closer to her. What sort of man could intimidate the flippant Oliver and that hulking African?
She was soon to find out. Every muscle in her exhausted body tensed at the sound of approaching footsteps.
A key rattled in the lock, followed by the blinding light of a lantern held high.
“Come along, Miss Eliza,” Oliver ordered, though in a rather subdued tone.
She blinked against the strong light but sank back all the harder against the wooden wall. “Come along where? To face that monstrous captain of yours?” Her voice shook with both fear and fury. “How could you do this to us, Oliver? How? And why?”
He hunched his shoulders and glanced sheepishly at his silent companion.
It was the African who finally answered. “You’ve nothing to fear, miss. He doesn’t mean to harm you.”
She peered up at the huge fellow. For such a frighteningly large man his voice was surprisingly gentle.
“He doesn’t mean to harm me? Then why did he treat me so … so abominably when he broke into Aubrey’s cabin back in St. Peter Port?”
The two men exchanged puzzled glances. “That was you who foiled the captain in Aubrey’s cabin?” Oliver asked.
But the other man cut him off. “What do you mean, abominably?”
Encouraged by their curiosity and nonthreatening attitudes, Eliza gave vent to all the frustrations that had been building in her. “He mauled me! He treated me as I were some … some tavern girl. A woman of loose morals!”
Once more the pair exchanged glances. Then the African drew nearer and squatted down before her. “Could you please be a little more specific?”
Eliza frowned in confusion. Could she
please
be a little more specific? Maybe this was just a bizarre dream about polite kidnappers or something. But when he just gave her an encouraging smile, she knew it was no dream. She’d been stolen from her home by a pair of ruffians; it just so happened that one was a charming
flirt, and the other was a polite black giant. Truly the world beyond Britain was filled with the oddest people.
She ducked her head and pressed her cheek against Aubrey’s dark curls. “He grabbed me. And … and touched me. Places he had no business touching me,” she added belligerently. “Then, well … then he kissed me.”
“He kissed you?” the pair chorused.
“Could you please be more specific,” Oliver echoed Xavier’s words.
It was the last straw. “He stuck his tongue in my mouth,” she snapped. “Is that specific enough for you, Mr. Spencer?”
Oliver backed away, but the African only grinned. “That explains his bad temper,” he said over his shoulder to Oliver. His grin turned to a friendly smile when he returned his gaze to her. “I know you’re frightened, Miss Eliza. But I assure you, you shall come to no harm at the captain’s hands. Xavier will see to that,” he vowed, tapping his broad chest. “Xavier
and
Oliver.”
Eliza had no reason whatsoever to believe him. Hadn’t he threatened to toss her over the terrace railing earlier? But there was something in his dark face, something in his jet black eyes that reassured her. Though he looked easily able to crush her with only one hand, his voice was as gentle and clear as an angel’s might be. It made no sense at all, but despite his role in kidnapping her and Aubrey, she
did
believe him.
Still, there was Aubrey to consider and he apparently was at the heart of this scheme.
“Will you protect Aubrey from him as well?”
The glances the two men shared this time answered Eliza better than words could, and her fear returned tenfold. “Why should he want to harm such a little boy?” she cried, clutching the sleeping child to her. “He’s only ten years old, and he’s crippled. You know that, Oliver. He can’t even walk on his own!”
But the glib Oliver had no reply this time. Xavier stood up and extended a hand to her. His face was creased as if in thought—or worry, she feared.
“Come along, miss. You cannot put off this meeting with the captain. Keep this in mind, however. He carries much anger in his heart, much anger and much pain. Heal that pain, however, and the anger will disappear.”
Heal
his
pain? Had she not been so terrified, Eliza would have scoffed at Xavier’s words. What about Aubrey’s pain? And hers? But as Oliver took Aubrey in his arms and Xavier pulled Eliza to her feet, she was unable to verbalize her fears. They led the way down a low-ceilinged companionway toward their ominous captain, and Eliza felt for all the world like one of the early Christians being led into the lions’ presence. Even the promise of a heavenly reward could not still her fear of the coming confrontation.
The chamber she was ushered into was much larger than she expected, and much better furnished. It wasn’t lavish. Hardly. Rather it bore the look of a well-used office, complete with a polished mahogany desk and a pair of leather chairs. But under the rear-facing diamond-paned windows was a huge bed, furnished with silk bed hangings, fringed pillows, and an immense, pure white fur throw. It was like a decadent slap in the face to an otherwise purely utilitarian space, and it sent an icy frisson of fear up her spine.
“Let me see the boy.”
Eliza gasped and spun around. Xavier had blocked her view, but now he stepped back and she had her first glimpse of the man who was the source of her present predicament.
The captain of the
Chameleon
was a tall man, nearly as tall as Xavier. But he was lean and much harder looking than Xavier. Nor did he have any of Oliver’s carefree manner. From his black close-cropped hair, to the rigid set of his square jaw, to the burning intensity of his
dark eyes, he looked ruthless and unyielding, and her heart sank.
He glanced at Aubrey, as if to assure himself that the child was indeed there. But then he turned his gaze upon her and she felt the full force of his animosity.
He carries much anger in his heart
. Xavier’s words echoed in her head. Yes, very much anger, she realized. The fact that it might be caused by much pain was no reassurance at all, however. It was the pain he meant to inflict upon her and her defenseless cousin that worried her far more.
“I demand that you return us to our home.”
Was that her voice so high and shaky? Eliza tried to swallow the lump of fear that lodged in her throat, but to no avail. If the captain heard her words he gave no indication. He just stood there, leaning back against an intricately tooled leather trunk, his legs crossed at the ankles and his arms crossed over his chest. It was a pose that would have been considered attractively nonchalant had he been a proper gentleman. Like Michael, she thought in vain hope. But this man was like a coiled spring, waiting to explode, she feared. On him that casual pose was nothing but threatening. He radiated pure menace; there was no other way to describe it.
And she’d just
demanded
that he set her free.
When he straightened up suddenly, she gave an involuntary jerk.
“Which home is it you wish to be returned to, Miss Thoroughgood? Your villa in Funchal? The
Lady Haberton?
Perhaps your family’s home in London? Or, no, you look the rustic sort. Perhaps your country place?”
Eliza’s gray eyes grew round as saucers. How did he know so much about her? Her name was one thing. But where she lived? Without thinking she turned a panic-stricken face to Xavier. But the captain cut off that avenue of support with a sharp order.
“Leave us.”
“But Cyprian—” Xavier began.
“I said leave us.” He bit out the words slowly. “Put the boy in the cabin prepared for him. Miss Thoroughgood and I will have a brief chat. Then she shall have her wish and be put ashore. Not too far from her home,” he added, giving her a chilling smile.
Xavier disentangled Eliza’s frozen fingers from his sleeve. When had she knotted her fist around it? “It will be all right, little one. Just be brave,” he murmured to her.
Be brave? When she was certain the man meant to finish what he’d begun before?
Before Oliver could follow through with his captain’s orders Eliza tried to snatch Aubrey from him. “Don’t take him from me. Don’t you dare!”
But he had no more choice than did she, for with one unyielding hand around her upper arm, the wretched captain yanked her away from Oliver. The younger man gazed at her regretfully. He glanced from her to his captain and then to Xavier. But Xavier shook his head. So much for the man’s vow to protect her, Eliza thought as she fought down hysteria. Then the two men backed from the room, taking the still sleeping Aubrey with them and leaving her alone in the lion’s den.
When the door closed, the click of the latch was as ominous a sound as she’d ever heard.
“Now, Miss Thoroughgood.” He released her and Eliza stumbled back. There was no way out, though. He stood between her and the only door, and the enormous bed lay between her and the windows. Trapped like a feral kitten she’d once seen her brothers corner in the walled garden at home, Eliza stared about wildly, all the time shaking like a leaf.
“Rest assured, Miss Thoroughgood,” he said in a cool mocking tone. “Your reputation is perfectly safe with me.”
That statement was so ludicrous that Eliza came perilously close to laughing. But she was afraid it would turn to embarrassing tears. She drew herself up as best she could, straightening her posture and wrapping her arms protectively around herself.
“I have no reason whatsoever to believe you,” she managed, though in a rather strangled tone.
He smiled ever so faintly, then pulled one of the leather chairs in front of the door and sat in it. He gestured to the other chair. But instead of sitting in it, Eliza backed around it.
As if it would keep her safe from the likes of him!
“As you wish. Now, I have a message for you to deliver.”
Eliza stared at him suspiciously, but his expression gave nothing away. “A message,” she repeated.
He steepled his fingers together, watching her all the while with eyes that seemed far too observant. Eliza was suddenly cognizant of the fact that she wore nothing but an embroidered flannel gown. She was covered from chin to wrists to ankles, of course. Nonetheless it was night apparel, not her proper day clothes. And her hair was unbound, fallen during her ordeal into a tangled mess around her face and shoulders. Alone with a man in his bedchamber, and dressed this way. Her reputation was already irrevocably destroyed.
But her reputation was of less moment than the danger that dear Aubrey might be in. “A message to whom?” she repeated in what she meant to be a scathing tone of voice.
His black eyebrows raised, mocking her again. Somehow that roused her ire as nothing else could. He thought her amusing. She’d been threatened, manhandled, and kidnapped, and now he found her amusing! The utter conceit of the man!
“To Aubrey’s father, of course.”
As quickly as that, her outrage changed to dread. “Uncle Lloyd?”
“So he is your uncle.”
“He’s married to my mother’s sister. But what has that to do with you? Why should you want to harm an innocent child like Aubrey?”
“My reasons have nothing to do with you. It is enough that you tell the man that I have his son.”
Eliza gripped the back of the chair. “But why? Why would you do such a horrible thing? What has Aubrey done to deserve such cruel treatment at your hands?”
A muscle flexed in his jaw. Once, then again. But he gave no other sign of his feelings. His voice remained low and even. Still, Eliza knew some violent emotion seethed inside him. A deep, poisonous fury.
“The child means nothing to me,” he vowed. “’Tis the father. The father.”
Eliza swallowed hard. “You would hurt the boy to get back at the father? Oh, what kind of monster are you?”
He leaped from his chair with an abruptness that sent her backing away in terror. Like an overflowing cauldron, his emotions erupted, threatening to scald anyone in their path.
“I am the monster Haberton made of me! The same sort of monster I shall make of his one male heir. Tell him that. And tell him also that it will be a very long time before he sees his precious son again!”