A Wedding by Dawn (5 page)

“Whatever you’re searching for, Lady India,” came a gravelly voice from the bed, “you won’t find it.”

Damn, damn, damn! She inhaled sharply, and her head whipped around, even as her fingers touched cold metal. He hadn’t moved, and it was too dark to see that his eyes were open, but clearly they were. She felt the length of the metal—a pistol! She closed her fingers around it and smiled.

“Perhaps not, but you will find it for me.” She stood quickly, taking the pistol with her and pointing it at the bed.

“I don’t think I will.”

“I suppose you’ll tell me no ball has been loaded, but I am convinced I could find your powder and load one before you could lurch over here to stop me.”

He groaned and rolled to his back. “You threaten nothing but blessed relief.”

She crouched down, still facing him, and groped for the powder and shot. “That’s twice in our brief acquaintance that you’ve expressed a desire to see your life end. Hardly a noble sentiment.”

He inched toward the edge of the bed. “I’ve long since dispensed...with being noble.”

First one of his legs swung out of the bed, then the other. She still hadn’t found the shot and powder. “Stay where you are,” she warned.

“Hardly an effective threat under the circumstances.”

“I shall hit you if I have to.”

“Will you.”

“Yes.”

“With the pistol, I suppose.”

That hadn’t occurred to her, but, “Yes.”

He was standing now. Blast it all, where was the shot and—powder horn! Her hand closed around it and she whipped it from the trunk, plunging her hand back in for the shot. This time she found it immediately.

“Aha!” she said, scooting farther away from him to the dressing table, while he steadied himself against the edge of the bed. “I have them now. If you would prefer to save us time and trouble, you may simply tell me where the contract is and I will retrieve it.”

“Ah. The contract.”

Loading a pistol was one thing she could do in her sleep. He took a step forward. She loaded a ball. “Yes. The contract.”

“You do realize, of course, that destroying it would change nothing.”

She tipped the powder horn and jammed the ramrod hard. He was halfway across the cabin. “That remains to be seen.” She hoped. At the very least, if he had no copy of the contract, he could not prove he had her father’s consent for the marriage. She leveled the loaded pistol at him. “Find the contract and give it to me.”

He reached the dressing table. “Very well. But you’ll have to move so I can open the drawer.”

She stepped back. In the faint moonlight she watched him reach inside, careful not to get close enough for him to grab the pistol from her hand. He held a document up—but not out.

“Here,” he said. “You may have it.”

“Hand it to me.”

“Come and take it.”

“Ha.” He thought she was stupid. “I’ll not fall for your trap.”

“Nor I for your threats. Which leaves us...where? You’ll shoot me, I suppose, then tear up the contract and mop up my blood with the pieces.”

“If I shot you, there would be no need to tear up the contract.”

He gripped the dressing table and pressed his other hand to his stomach. “Devil take these waves.”

Was he going to be sick right here? Now? “Give me the contract and return to your bed.”

“I don’t think I can—”

Oh, God. He was. “Quickly!”

He doubled over. “Christ—”

“No!”

He lurched forward, but all that projected toward her was his arm, snatching the pistol from her hand. He grabbed her with his other hand and held fast, standing upright now, and plunked the pistol on the dressing table.

“Pillock!”

“I believe that has already been established.”

“Release me.”

“I’m not a complete fool.”

He did not smell sick. He smelled of the candied ginger Millie had been giving him to settle his stomach. His grip was warm and tight around her arms. “I do hope you don’t intend to continue burgling into people’s rooms after our marriage,” he growled. “It would be a pity to have to keep you locked away for the rest of your life.”

It was no less than she would have faced if she’d stayed with Father. “You would need a fortified tower to keep me imprisoned,” she warned. “Or a dungeon.” She would not be locked away again—not by him, or Father, or William or anyone else.

He eased his grip, smoothing his palms down her arms an inch or two. “Perhaps I shall build a tower just for you.” In the dim light she saw his lips curve, and the hair prickled on the back of her neck.

“With the fifty thousand pounds you get from Father? I should think most of that will go to Mr. Holliswell.”

“Indeed it will.” His thumbs moved lightly, caressing the place where her arms pressed against her breasts, and—

Oh. The sensation of his touch against the sides of her breasts shot through her like fire, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe.

“I—” Suddenly it was a struggle to form words. “I shouldn’t think, in the long run, it would be worth it. You’ve endured weeks at sea when you obviously can’t stand even five minutes on the waves. Now you’re set to endure weeks more. You’re willing to commit an illegal act—and forcing someone into wedlock does
not
create a legal marriage, Mr. Warre—and even more than that, once your debt is paid you will still have me to contend with.” His thumbs ventured lower, whispering around her fullest curves. She swallowed. Hard. “You will have me for the rest of your life, which promises to be a considerable amount of time despite your advanced age. You will regret it bitterly, I assure you.”

“No doubt I will.”

“A sensible man would change his mind about wishing to marry me.” The ship lolled, creaked. Outside, the nighttime sea splashed against the hull. Her breasts grew heavy with an odd kind of ache.

“Let us have one thing perfectly clear between us, Lady India. I do not
wish
to marry you. I
need
to marry you.” His caress circled up, around. A nerve pulsed in a place much lower, much more secret. “No amount of your hoydenish tricks will change that fact.”

“Oh, yes—I’m fully aware that I’m to be a casualty of your embarrassed circumstances,” she breathed. His touch lulled her, made her want more, tempted her toward him in ways she couldn’t quite resist.

“If you choose to see it that way,” he said.

“That is the only way
to
see it.” She needed to pull away from him. Now. But the sensations he was creating held her transfixed, rooted to the floor, too willing to debate him. “At least do me the honor of explaining what, exactly, I am to be sacrificed to save.”

“I have a vision of you trussed like a pig and stretched across an ancient pagan altar.” And
oh—
his thumbs brushed the tips of her breasts, shooting pure sensation straight to a point between her legs. He leaned close, lowered his voice. “We are talking of
marriage,
Lady India—a simple contract. In exchange for my protection, you agree not to bring me shame.”

His words cut through her pleasure-fogged mind even as her breasts screamed with need. She broke from his grasp. “
That
is your idea of marriage?” Her voice felt thick, clogged with the pleasure he’d stoked.

“I rather think it’s most people’s idea.”

It wasn’t hers. Not that she had
any
idea of marriage—quite the opposite. Dread coursed in, lapping icily at the desire burning across her skin. “I need protection
from
you,” she managed. “And as for my bringing you shame...perhaps you should have considered that before you agreed to marry a young lady as well acquainted with the ways of the world as I am. I’ll not return easily to a life of drawing rooms and embroidering cushions.”

She’d told Father as much in London, but he hadn’t cared. A daughter married was a daughter tamed...or so he thought. And so Nicholas Warre thought, as well.

“It’s all too clear you need protection from
yourself,
” Mr. Warre said calmly. “Little wonder your father was reduced to such desperate measures. But know this...” His voice turned flinty. “You will not shame Taggart, Lady India. I’ll not allow it.”

You’ll not bring shame on this family, India....
The echo of her childhood pooled coldly in her belly. She would not endure that again—she couldn’t. “From the sound of things, it’s too late for that,” she scoffed. Anger flashed dangerously in his eyes. “If you insist on forcing our marriage, I daresay I shall only be adding to Taggart’s shame. What will happen if you cannot pay your debt to Mr. Holliswell?” she taunted.

“Oh, it will be paid,” he said flatly. “It’s merely a question of whether he’ll be paid with the dowry I receive from our marriage or with Taggart itself—and Holliswell will
never
seat his greasy, self-satisfied arse at the head of Taggart’s table.” He pointed at her. “No matter if I’ve got to drag your pretty behind in front of a priest and have an altar boy move your jaw up and down while reciting the vows in falsetto. This wedding
will
take place.”

“And you accuse
me
of shameful behavior.”

He made a dismissive gesture. “For God’s sake—you’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

“Gain?”

“For the price of a few meaningless vows, you’ll have Taggart’s name and you’ll live as any other young woman would be content to live, and in ten years at least
some
of Society will have forgotten your transgressions. It’s more of a chance at redemption than most ever receive.”

“I don’t need redemption.” She made herself laugh. “But you will, sir, if you do not quickly repent the grave mistake you’re making.”

“Oh, I don’t know that I would call it a mistake,” he said. His shadowed eyes dropped to her breasts, lingering. Her breath hitched, and her sensitive peaks came alive with fresh, unwanted desire. “Especially if I am to find such pleasure at my fingertips,” he added huskily.

A heady yearning curled inside her. She never should have allowed him to touch her. But it was too late to take it back now, and it was too clear that he may not have wished to marry her—but he did want something else.

She forced her feet to move and went to the door. “Good night, Mr. Warre.” The ship banked with a large wave, and she turned, smiling back at him. “Do sleep well.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

I
NDIA
LET
HERSELF
into the passageway and crept back to her cabin, trying to ignore that her body hummed with the lingering effects of Nicholas Warre’s touch.

Gain. He thought she would
gain
from marrying him, when he’d made his expectations perfectly clear.

Oh, God. She stopped, suddenly, in the middle of the passageway. Leaned against the wall outside her cabin, taking a moment to compose herself, aware of her breasts in a way she had never been before—but even more aware of the things he’d said, and the fact that she could never, ever allow this marriage to take place.

She knew all about the things a man would do to avoid being shamed.

Your hoydenish tricks...
that was how he saw her. He did not see her accomplishments, her skills. He was already ashamed to take her to wife—just as Father had been ashamed when she’d returned to London and locked her up in her apartments.

Only imagine how Nicholas Warre would treat her if he discovered her biggest failing. Except she didn’t
need
to imagine, because she had an entire childhood of memories to draw on.

You may redeem yourself, India—and have your dinner, as well—the moment you decide to apply your efforts and read me these stanzas from Pope.
It hadn’t mattered to Father that applying her efforts had never done any good.

It wouldn’t matter to Nicholas Warre, either. When he learned she couldn’t read, he would try to force her just as Father had, and withhold every pleasure from her, and it wouldn’t work because no matter how hard she tried it
never
worked. And he would prevent her shaming Taggart by keeping her hidden away, and Taggart would become her prison, just as surely as her childhood rooms had been.

Her stomach twisted. She needed to do something now—
tonight.
But the only person who could possibly save her now was William.

Yes. Yes—she could talk to William. Tell him everything—make him see how imperative it was that she be in charge of her own destiny. She would promise anything in exchange for his forgiveness. Then perhaps he would let her and Millie join his crew, and then they would have protection instead of needing to make their way alone. And it would be just like before when they’d sailed with Katherine—

“India!”
Millie’s voice hissed through the darkened passageway.

India turned. “Millie?”

Millie hurried from the darkness and grabbed India’s arm. “Come—come quickly!”

“What’s happened?”

Millie didn’t answer. India practically ran after her down the corridor to William’s cabin, through the door, and—

Oh, God. “What have you done?”

“I don’t know—I don’t
know!
”

India fell to William’s side, where he lay motionless on the floor.

“It isn’t as bad as it looks—”

“How can it not be as bad as it looks?” Oh, God. Oh,
God.
India shook him.

“No! Don’t try to rouse him!”

“We have to!” She listened for breath—yes! He was breathing.

“No, we don’t.” Millie grabbed her arm and tried to pull India to her feet. “India,
this
could be our opportunity. I didn’t mean to do it—I didn’t—but we won’t escape any other way...you know we won’t. And even if we do, what then? But if we take this ship back to Malta now, we can retake the
Possession—
”

“We can’t return to Malta. When William’s crew finds him like this, we’ll be killed.” She felt behind William’s head, encountered a bump wet with warm blood. Pain fisted in her stomach. “Mutiny? How could you? He’ll kill us himself when he awakes!”

“Not if we lock him in here.”

“We can’t do that! Not to
William!
”

“Have you forgotten he came here on Katherine’s orders?”

“You know bloody well the crew will never accept our leadership.”

“Did you not hear their complaints as we boarded? These men are not loyal to William. They were hired two months ago. They thought they would be a week at Malta, but instead they’re back at sea after only a day. Believe me, the promise of returning to Malta will have them in the palm of our hands. But in case it doesn’t...”

She held out a pistol, shot and powder.

The metal glinted in the moonlight through the windows of William’s cabin. India looked at the pistol. At Millie.

“I can’t do this. Millie, you should have
told
me first.”

“It wasn’t something I planned!”

“We’ll be pirates.
Real
pirates.”

Millie’s hands were trembling. She quickly set the pistol and shot on a chair. “He’s come to no real harm.”

“Aye,” India said sarcastically, “That is
precisely
the definition of piracy. As long as nobody comes to harm—”

“We shan’t be stealing William’s ship.” Millie sounded terrifyingly determined. “We shall merely divert it back to Malta and then return it.”

“If we return to Malta with William and Nicholas Warre aboard, there will be no way to keep them secured until we make our escape. We’ll be apprehended before we can weigh anchor out of Valletta.”

“Then we shall leave them off somewhere before Malta.”

India’s breathing turned shallow. Leaving them off was different from keeping them safely aboard.

“What are we going to do when William awakes?” India asked.

“There are things I can give him to keep him calm—”

“Millie, we can’t
do
that.”

“Do you have a better solution?”

Yes. They could wake William and beg for his mercy. But even William had limits, and they had already exceeded those limits by taking the
Possession
from Katherine.

Now there was no turning back.

Millie hurried to dress William’s wound while India held his head with shaky hands. “Is there any chance he would wake up and think he fell and hit his head?” India asked.

Millie answered with a look.

“You
confronted
him?”

“I went to ask him a
question.
”

“And knocked him
unconscious?
”

“I didn’t care for his answer! Hold his head higher.”

William’s slackened features were terrifying. “What if he dies? How can you be certain he won’t die?”

“Stop asking questions and help me put a pillow beneath his head!”

“What good will a pillow do us now?” None. A pillow would do them
no
good. But India stuffed one beneath him anyhow and grabbed up the pistol and shot.

* * *

N
ICK
AWOKE
TO
the sharp pounding of a hammer.

What the devil—

He pushed himself upright in the darkness, realizing at the same time that the hammer was pounding against his door. He bolted out of bed and tried to wrest the door open, but something on the other side held it fast.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“What the devil is this about?” No answer. “Jaxbury! Jaxbury, you sodding bastard,
open the bloody door!
”

The hammering stopped, and it wasn’t Jaxbury that answered.

“How does it feel to be locked away, Mr. Warre?” Lady India’s voice singsonged through the door.

The implications raced through his mind. “Where is Jaxbury?”

“William is none of your concern. From now on you shall answer to me as your captain.”

“Tell me what’s happened to Jaxbury.” Lady India, and presumably Miss Germain, could not have taken over the ship unless—

“You need not fear for your safety, Mr. Warre, as long as you cause us no trouble. You shall be let off at Sicily—it should be easy enough for you to find passage back to England from there.”

Nick’s blood ran cold. “Is Jaxbury dead?”

“I do not care to answer any questions. You will remain in your cabin. Of course, that shouldn’t present any additional hardship for you with your ill health. But I intend to keep the door locked just in case.”

“So you will put me off at Sicily, and then what? You and Miss Germain will sail the Mediterranean in a stolen ship? Once the line of piracy is crossed, it can’t be undone.”

“If I tell you I fully intend to cross that line, will it make you less inclined to marry me? Only imagine what shame it will bring upon Taggart to have a pirate as its mistress.” Nick did not bother to answer. “Ah, well,” she said after a moment. “I thought not. But only consider, Mr. Warre, how much
you
could profit by piracy. More than fifty thousand, I daresay.”

“You and Miss Germain are as good as dead, Lady India. And anyone else out there—” he thought of the crew and called louder, in case any might be listening “—do you imagine you’ll not be counted as pirates, too?”

“Enjoy your voyage, Mr. Warre,” she called, and he heard her footsteps fading down the passageway.

He stared at the door.

A wave of nausea rolled through his stomach, and he breathed deeply through his mouth until it passed. When it did, he lurched to the dresser for another piece of candied ginger and stumbled toward the pot in the corner of the cabin.

God, he hated ships. Despised them and everything they stood for.

With just enough moonlight to see, he slid the pot aside with his foot, gripped the wall for balance, and retrieved the pistol he’d hidden there. Loaded a ball, and replaced the pistol behind the pot with his reserve of shot and powder. Under these circumstances, having an extra pistol hidden away could become very useful.

He returned to the bed, sinking into the mattress and staring at the ceiling while his stomach threatened another rebellion.

In the space of—what, half an hour? Longer?—he’d gone from stroking her breasts, God
damn
it, to being imprisoned in his cabin with Jaxbury possibly dead. They couldn’t actually have killed him. Could they?

Whatever they’d done, Lady India would have had the opportunity for none of it if he had alerted Jaxbury and returned her to her cabin like he should have instead of standing there captivated by the womanly swells beneath her shirt. Putting his hands on her was a misjudgment of incalculable proportions. Yet he’d scarcely touched her at all—so much less than he’d wanted to do, and so much more than he should have.

And she’d reacted. Bloody devil, he’d seen exactly the moment it had happened, had seen the way her lips had parted a little, had noticed how she stumbled over her words as he’d caressed her full, heavy curves.

A strangled laugh pushed into his throat. Perhaps
that
was the way to tame her. Good God.

The ship pitched now with a large wave, and he braced himself to keep from rolling.

He’d thought her foolish and stupid. Had wanted—
needed—
to believe it was true. But that was just as much of a mistake as touching her. There’d been something else in those eyes tonight—something he’d been in too much of a hurry to notice in Malta, or perhaps just unwilling to acknowledge: a dark shadow.

Evil?

No. It was the dark shadow of desperation one saw in the eyes of street urchins. Except that Lady India was no urchin. She was the spoiled daughter of an earl.

And she was a pirate. And according to his agreement with her father, his fiancée.

If he were smart, he would let her put him off at Sicily and be grateful to see the last of her.

But he wasn’t smart. He was nearly fifty thousand pounds in debt. And she may have been desperate, but she was forgetting one thing.

So was he.