A Heart's Masquerade (24 page)

"Devlin wants to see you," the wiry man said, his leering grin showing the lack of several prominent teeth.

In spite of his benumbed state, Edward shivered, and the little man laughed. "Now," he said, stepping forward as though he would enjoy pulling Edward along with him like a bag of meal. The prodding made Edward stand up and follow him through a bewildering trail of alleys and lanes toward a man he would just as soon forget.

The years seemed to blur and blend as Edward once again found himself facing Devlin's massive desk and the man behind it. Knowing that his new title meant nothing here, Edward began sweating under the scrutiny of those small dark eyes.

"You look dreadful. I'm disappointed in you," Devlin said, although he sounded pleased enough. "Sunk in gambling and drink and opium, too, they tell me. You've ruined yourself, Edward. Even your looks are going now. You are nothing but one of the dissipated dilettantes you once despised - or aspired to be."

Edward waited patiently as Devlin paused, apparently finished with his ritual bloodletting. "I've called you here to do you a favor, my fine lord," Devlin said as he put his hands together. "I believe you have misplaced something. That cousin of yours. What was her name?"

Edward stared blankly before remembering. "Catherine Amberly."

"Yes, well, I am in a position to collect this piece of baggage and return it to you, for a price." Devlin smiled at Edward's flustered surprise. "Hoping she was dead, were you?" he asked, with a sneer. "Well, that can be arranged. I know exactly where the girl is, and I'll have her under control without any fuss. I'll even eliminate her for you. But in return I'll need a piece of that inheritance before you squander it all."

Edward blinked anxiously, and Devlin did not wait for his reply. "I'll have one of my clerks look into your accounts. I hope, for your sake, that there's some left, for I'm sure you want this Amberly matter taken care of neatly. Don't you?"

Edward mumbled his assent, while Devlin shook his head. "You should have come to me for help, Edward, instead of botching the job. You always were too impatient and careless. I'm assuming you latched onto the old man, rushed to kill him, and let the girl escape."

When Edward didn't reply, Devlin waved a hand in dismissal. "Never mind, Edward. You always were a poor student. Now, I have an associate who makes half the world's seafarers quake in their boots, and he'll take care of the matter for us. With relish," Devlin said.

And even Edward felt queasy as Devlin licked his lips.

***

Ransom heard a dull pounding and rolled over. Only when Bert unceremoniously entered the cabin did he rouse himself. For once, there was not a buxom female in the bed beside him, a circumstance for which was he grateful once Bert started yammering.

"Well, well, here it is nigh no noon and you still abed like the lovesick swain you are," the first mate said, far too loudly. He slammed down a tray of food with a bang that nearly jolted Ransom's eyes from his sockets.

"Are you trying to wake the dead?" Ransom asked, sitting up and putting a hand to his hell. "What ails you?"

"It's what ails you that concerns me," Bert said. "We've been at L'Etoile too long, captain. And though you claim to be trying to ferret out Devlin's plans from his cronies, it appears to the rest of us that you've thrown yourself into a bout of gambling, wenching, and drinking the likes of which we've never before."

Ransom shrugged off the complaint. It was no one's business but his own how he went about trying to get information. He swung his feet to the floor and eyed his breakfast with distaste. Perhaps he'd go ashore for a better meal.

But Bert was not finished. "Either resume your duties as captain or..."

Ransom glared at his first mate. Was he planning a mutiny? "Or what?" Ransom asked, in a menacing tone he usually reserved for his enemies.

But Bert did not flinch. "Or go back to Barbados," he said.

It was not what Ransom was expecting to hear, and only iron control kept him holding his first mate's gaze.

"Take the whip to me if you will, but I'll say it," Bert said. "Maybe seeing this female again will get her out of your blood."

"Who says she's in my blood?" Ransom demanded.

"You haven't been yourself since we left Carlisle Bay," Bert said. "Either go back to her or find another one like her."

"There isn't anyone like her." The words were out before Ransom could catch them. Grimacing, he held up his hand to stop any further remonstrating. Bert was right about one thing. He was accomplishing nothing here. But he sure wasn't going to Barbados.

With sudden, startling urgency, he knew a desire to go home - not to the plantation on Windlay, but his real home, a place he rarely thought of anymore and hadn't visited in years. And that, more than anything, made him pause.

Perhaps Bert was talking sense. A visit to L'Etoile courted danger at any time. But lingering here and drinking himself witless while Devlin lurked somewhere ready to strike again imperiled the
Reckless
and all aboard.

As if to bring home that very fact, Ransom heard a clamor outside his cabin and the door was flung open with a violence that made him surge to his feet.

Unprepared for an attack upon his own cabin, Ransom blindly groped for a weapon only to grunt in relief at the sight of Rene, making a dramatic entrance. Behind him stood a grim-faced Peabody, ready to eject the errant guest, if unwanted.

But being caught unawares jolted Ransom far more than his first mate's lecture. Perhaps it was time to move on. As Ransom reached for some clothes, Rene waved away Peabody with a careless gesture.

"He'll never forgive me for the time I cried fire in the whorehouse, sending him into the street naked as a bird," Rene said, shaking his head at the departing back of the ship's master.

"Aye," Bert said. "It wouldn't have been so bad if you hadn't lined up the crew outside and had that hornpipe a'playing."

"
Oui
, but the hornpipe was the
coup de grace
," Rene said, grinning wickedly. "He did dance a little jig as he tried to leap into his breeches!"

Bert shook his head and turned to go, muttering something under his breath about Ransom's ill mood, before shutting the door behind him.

"What is this?" Rene said theatrically, the diamond in his ear catching the light. "Then I have arrived just in time, to provide much needed cheer."

But Ransom was not as heartened by the appearance of his old friend as he might have been. Once so eager to have Rene's report on the mysterious Miss Amberly, Ransom no longer had the stomach for what would only confirm his own discoveries. And coming on the heels of Bert's accusation that he was smitten with the wench, Rene's banter would be difficult to take.

As if reading his thoughts, Rene cast him a disparaging look over the lack of welcome. "I left a beautiful
fille de joie
to rush news to you," he said.

"And I am grateful for your sacrifice," Ransom said dryly. He gestured to a chair which Rene made a great show of taking. Then drew out the best bottle of brandy.

A few minutes later, Rene was leaning back in his chair, his booted feet crossed neatly on the captain's table. He looked entirely at ease, holding a glass in one hand and a cigar in the other.

"Well?" Ransom said, lifting a brow.

Rene smiled slyly. "
Mon ami
, this task nearly cost me an ear - my left one, which I am quite fond of, by the way - and I had to cut short my visit with the lovely Mademoiselle Armand to go haring off to London. These developments were not anticipated."

"How much?" Ransom asked.

"I am insulted you think of me as mercenary," Rene answered. "However, there was a small matter of a gambling debt, the luck running low, as you might say. And Mademoiselle Armand has expensive tastes." He smiled. "Fifty for my trouble."

"It's yours."

"Excellent," Rene said, with a tilt of his head. "Your quarry was born seventeen years ago to Charles Amberly and the former Belinda Naughton. An artist, Amberly succumbed to pneumonia, leaving his wife and infant daughter penniless. The young widow married the baron of Wellshire and died herself not long after."

Rene took a long puff on the cigar. "Wellshire was a negligent father, by all accounts, leaving the girl to grow up with little or no supervision, careening all over the countryside on horseback and befriending the servants. She was liked well enough, but the absent lord was not very popular. So few mourned when he was killed by a poacher's bullet last summer."

Rene paused, as though to gauge the attention of his audience. But when Ransom kept his expression impassive, the Frenchman continued. "The title passed to a cousin, Edward, who hasn't been seen at the estate for some time. Neither has the girl, so I assumed he took her with him - until I was caught nosing around by an old tar who threatened to separate me from my ear."

When Ransom raised a brow skeptically, Rene shrugged. "Even I am not invincible, my friend. But it was a most fortunate encounter. The salt, Budd Simms by name, expressed an interest in my inquiries. He used to work at the estate and is quite protective of your little Catherine, so it took some fast talking to save my lobe."

Rene paused again, as if to be sure he had Ransom's full attention. "According to him, she fled very suddenly, soon after the new lord's arrival."

"And?" Ransom asked. When Rene did not answer at once, but took the time to blow several smoke rings, Ransom felt a surge of impatience.

"
And
," Rene finally said. "She is now living with her aunt, a lady of unimpeachable character. So the girl is exactly who she claims to be, while you, my friend have been at sea too long. You are seeing shark fins where there are only porpoises."

Ransom frowned. "That proves nothing. She might have come into contact with Devlin at some point," he said, although he had to admit the chances were slim.

Rene shook his head. "You are a sad case, my friend. Although you seem determined to believe otherwise, I can assure you that the girl is not in Devlin's employ."

Ransom's relief was almost physical, as though he had been struggling under a great weight that was suddenly lifted, and he rose to his feet, walking over to the windows to avoid his friend's penetrating gaze.

Here was news he had not expected, had not dared hope for, and yet... He sensed there was far more to the story. He swung round to face Rene. "You're keeping something back."

"
Moi
? I am tell you what you wanted to know," Rene said. "Ask me anything you like about this girl of yours, and I will answer you truthfully."

Ransom eyed the Frenchman suspiciously. "Why does she seem so familiar to me?" he asked. The question, half serious, half rhetorical, seemed to please Rene.

"Perhaps you have met her before," the Frenchman said.

"When?"

Rene grinned wickedly. "The last time you were in England, I suspect you passed right by her lands - and perhaps through the hamlet of Coxley with a young lady riding before you? Because the last time she was seen was with someone who looked very much like you, a handsome, dashing stranger."

Rene's gaze flicked over Ransom with a jaundiced eye. "Obviously, the villagers are not very discerning. Perhaps, neither is our Catherine? She told the innkeeper she had trouble with her horse, but since she is an excellent horsewoman, some thought she'd disgraced herself with this fellow and that is why she was not seen again."

Rene laughed. "Shame upon you, my friend, for ruining an innocent young thing. And then not to recognize her? You are quite the rake," he said, tipping an imaginary hat.

"I have ruined no one," Ransom said as he dug deep into his memory. He had rescued a beautiful girl in passing, but she had been little more than a child. Surely, she couldn't have been Catherine, with a salty tongue and wit beyond her years.

Ransom frowned, inclined to think it all speculation that Rene had concocted for his own amusement. And, even if the tale were true, that chance encounter would hardly explain his odd feeling that he knew Catherine, really knew her... Ransom glanced sharply at Rene and thought he saw a ghost of a laugh before the Frenchman's expression turned serious.

"There is something else," Rene said, rising to his feet and reaching for the bottle.

After refilling the glasses, he leaned his elbows on the table. "When I convinced the old salt that I was not after the girl's maidenhead or aught else, he confided in me. He thinks the father's death was no accident and names the new baron as the man behind it, especially since no one admits to the girl's disappearance. He has no proof, of course, and who would listen, if he did? He was not for stirring up the waters, thinking the girl was safe in the balmy isles."

"I take it that situation has altered?" Ransom asked, with a sharp sense of dread.

"
Oui
. I decided to make a trip to London to do some more digging, and I discovered that Wellshire is fast squandering his inheritance through a variety of vices. Apparently, someone brought him news that the girl is living in the islands, and now he is not content to leave well enough alone. He wants her dead. Considering his condition, I would not be concerned about his ability to make that happen, but he has turned the task over to someone else."

Ransom tensed.

"
Oui
, my friend, you should be concerned," Rene said, seeing his reaction. "Wellshire did not buy the services of some cheap goal bird, but has made a deal with Devlin himself."

"Devlin? Why would Devlin be involved?" Ransom asked. But even as he spoke, he realized that Devlin already was involved, sending Blakely to Barbados to tell his lies...

Rene shrugged. "I cannot say, but perhaps he hopes to hurt you."

Ransom glanced sharply at his friend, not bothering to deny the possibility. "I'll kill him."

"I thought as much," Rene said.

"The bastard has eluded me for too long."

"He was in London when I left, though how long he remained there is anyone's guess. And exactly where in the city he has his den, even I could not find out."