Elizabeth Boyle (105 page)

And later, when she’d thought the ship had come adrift, he’d distracted her, kept her from discovering the truth.

She flew to the door and tried to open it, only to find it locked. Infuriated, she searched the room again—this time for a weapon. There wasn’t a pistol, dirk, or sword anywhere in the room that could be used to open the door.

It was almost as if Julien had planned everything, right down to the last detail.

Yanking open the last chest, she overturned it, spilling the contents of shirts and linens. Falling to the floor, she tossed the contents this way and that, hoping to find something he had missed. Then, when she was about to give up, she spied her salvation.

The dagger from Julien’s pirate costume. He’d tossed it aside last night and hadn’t noticed it this morning, hidden as it was under the table.

Her hand wrapped around the horn hilt, and for a moment she contemplated what to do.

There would be no opening the sturdy oak door with the wicked blade, of that she was sure, but there remained one avenue of escape.

The window.

The window her husband had climbed through to join her in their wedding bed.

If she had any sentiments about that evening before, they quickly evaporated. The room that had seemed her own piece of tempting heaven last night was now nothing more than a prison cell from which she could watch Julien’s version of hell.

She went to the casement but found it, too, was locked, probably latched somehow from the outside. Frustrated but unwilling to admit defeat, Maureen picked up the empty chest and hurled it through the ornate glass.

It shattered the panes, opening the cabin to the acrid stench of gunpowder and flames. She slipped through the jagged opening and caught a rope hanging from the stern. With the dagger tucked in her belt, she climbed hand over hand up the rope through the smoke.

Once she made it over the railing, it took her a moment to get her bearings in the apparent chaos of the battle. But Maureen had been in battles before and immediately discerned the tight organization with which Julien’s men worked.

Now to find my traitorous husband
, she thought, the dagger clenched in her hand.

The cannon from the closest English ship exploded with a hail of fire, the shot flying through the air in precise order. She watched the deadly spray of iron balls broadside the
Forgotten Lady
, opening her to the sea and soon, destruction. The once proud and beautiful ship listed precariously to one side, while flames licked and grew near the waterline.

Near where they’d stowed the Portuguese munitions they’d taken.

“No,” she muttered. If she didn’t warn her father soon, their ship would explode.

Revenge could come later.

As she climbed up on the railing to dive into the waters below, a pair of hands caught her around the waist and snatched her back from the rail.

“Reenie,” Julien shouted at her over the raging din around them. Just then a round of answering shot whistled toward them. He threw her to the deck, knocking the wind from her and sending her dagger clattering across the debris-strewn planks. He lay over her protectively, as a second round swept over them. “Watch yourself. We are about to come about.”

“You bastard,” she spat. “You murdering, lying bastard.” She struggled against his grip, but he held her down, sheltering her from the falling debris showering down around them. “You told them. You told them where we were. The only reason you came to us was to find us. To betray us.”

“No, it’s not like that. I tried to warn your father, but it was too late. The tide turned; they couldn’t get out.”

She wouldn’t hear his lies. Never again would she believe another word he said. She struggled anew to get him off her. “Let me go. I won’t stay here.”

He shook his head. “I won’t let you go. There’s still a chance .. . but I need your help.”

“My help?” she said, incensed that he would even think she would help him betray her father. “The only help you’ll get from me is to send you to hell.”

“You don’t understand,” he said, shaking her. “I don’t have time to explain; you have to trust me.”

Trust him?
She’d show him a measure of his own brand of trust.

Feigning despair, she let her head loll to one side, faking the tears and wails of a woman unable to stop the inevitable.

He fell for her deception, as she had believed in his, and relaxed his grip.

The instant he did, she drew up her knee and caught him hard in the groin.

He rolled away, groaning and swearing. She was on her feet before he could stop her. She drew back her foot and kicked him in the ribs. “Why, de Ryes? Why did you do this to us? “she said, kicking him over and over.

But her husband wasn’t a man to give up. His hand snaked out and caught her foot, pulling her legs out from beneath her and sending her crashing to the deck.

The force of her fall stunned her for a moment. A sweet, metallic taste filled her mouth. She spat on the deck, only to find that it was blood.

Not far away she saw Captain Smyth’s ship take the final pounding of cannon that reduced it to flames and shards. His men were either diving for safety or floating ashore, dead. The other Alliance ships were in the same condition, with only the
Avenger
and the
Forgotten Lady
still afloat and able to fight.

Then, before her eyes, the
Avenger’s
magazine exploded, the sound deafening. Even as the last echoing retort faded, the victorious cries from the British lines haunted her stunned ears.

Now the British had one remaining target to sink. And from the look of the
Forgotten Lady
, it would take only a few more rounds before she, too, would be at the bottom of the inlet, or lost in the wrathful fire like the
Avenger
.

She turned away from the slaughter before her. She’d never get off the
Destiny
in time to save her father. She could fight all she wanted, but in the end, she knew Julien had the advantage of size, strength, and the backing of his crew.

As she turned her head to see where he’d moved to, a glint of steel caught her eye.

Her dagger.

She might be alone in this final battle, but she was not unarmed. At least she could take Julien and a few of his men with her before she died.

She grabbed the dagger, a surge of renewed will coursing through her. Now it was Julien’s turn to taste the bitter bile of betrayal.

For a moment he seemed to have forgotten her; there was a fire on the deck and he was shouting orders to have it put out. One of the masts was broken, and the shards and lines littered the deck.

She crept through the wreckage, her gaze never leaving his back. As she gained her vantage point, she raised her dagger to strike a mortal blow.

“Captain, behind ye,” one of his men shouted as her arm arced down.

Julien stepped back as he spun around, so instead of cutting to his black heart, she sliced through his shirt and left a thin line of blood down his chest.

Before she could attack him again, a pistol retorted, the bullet catching her in the shoulder. The dagger fell from her hand as the burning sting of hot lead ripped across her shoulder blade.

“Don’t shoot,” Julien shouted to his men. “Leave her be. She doesn’t understand.”

She staggered a step or two backward, stunned by the intense pain burning through her arm. Her blurry gaze caught sight of a man’s face.

Julien’s—his features a mixture of grief and concern.

Lies. All lies, she told herself, reaching for her fallen dagger, now holding it in her left hand. It wavered back and forth, as unsteady as her senses.

Julien moved closer to her, looming large and dangerous.

She was losing blood, for her shirt was soaked, and the effects were leaving her unsteady. She backed away from him until she found herself pinned to the railing.

Over her shoulder she spied her father’s ship. It was still listing but hadn’t exploded. Where the
Avenger
had been moored there was nothing but a burning shell.

She’d never stop Julien, but there was still time to join her father . . . even if it was in death.

Catching hold of a line, she swung herself up onto the railing.

“Reenie, no!” Julien cried out. “Don’t jump. Please don’t jump. Let me explain.”

She teetered on the railing, dagger in one hand, the other clutching the rigging. She hoped he could see the hatred in her eyes.

Seething, searing hatred, as hot as the shot that had ripped open her flesh.

“Don’t do this,” he told her, as he slowly moved toward her. “Let me explain what is happening here.”

She didn’t need him to tell her what was happening; she could see well enough: The
Destiny
was moving between the two frigates to join them in the final destruction of the
Forgotten Lady
.

“Steady men,” Julien called out. “Hold your fire until we can make it count.”

Make it count?

There was nothing more she wanted to hear from him, nothing more she could do but hope his double-crossing soul found a special place in hell.

And very soon.

As he sprang forward to stop her, she dove into the churning water.

M
aureen had no choice but to proceed with the night’s events and go with Lady Mary to the Trahern masquerade ball—though the evening would hardly be what she and Julien had planned not twenty-four hours earlier.

Anger at his betrayal left her shaking with fury. He’d done it again.

No, she vowed to herself, not again. This time Julien would finally take his rightful place before the hangman and then in hell.

She entered the room, head held high, stalking past the footman as if she truly were the Queen of the Nile.

A hush of silence moved over the room like a wave rippling across a pond. All eyes turned to see the latest arrival, and Maureen was now more than willing to play the part.

The stilled voices quickly turned into a gaggle of excitement and speculations as to the real identity of Cleopatra.

Lady Mary had chosen to enter a few minutes behind Maureen. “It will add to the drama of the moment,” the lady had told her in the carriage.

Maureen wondered if perhaps a little less drama would have been better, for immediately she was swamped with would-be beaux. She could hardly find the Lord Admiral, let alone finish her plans for Julien, hemmed in as she was by the eager young bloods of the
ton
.

If only the lying son of a bitch would show his face. Her hand brushed over her skirt where her dagger lay hidden. Then she could finish this the way she preferred.

Face to face.

Not that she expected him to appear tonight.

No, if her suspicions were correct, more than likely he’d taken Ethan and headed to the coast, where he kept the
Destiny
hidden. Why he’d taken Aunt Pettigrew was a complete mystery, but she wouldn’t put it past him to harm a defenseless old woman just to carry out his own twisted plans.

What she needed now was to find the Lord Admiral so she could reveal Julien’s true identity as well as his scheme for the
Bodiel
. Then she’d make her own escape and finish the plans he’d explained to her last night, which would enable her to free her crew before first light.

There was no reason to believe she couldn’t do it alone. With any measure of luck, she’d be down the Thames on the
Retribution
before the Lord Admiral was aware of her duplicity

And if the Royal Navy didn’t beat her to the task, she’d find the
Destiny
and retrieve her son. Then she’d finish Julien D’Artiers in the only way fitting.

Let him wake up with sand in his ears. At the bottom of the Atlantic.

Through the melee, a man dressed as a pirate parted a path and caught her by the arm. “Beloved Queen,” he said, with a low, courtly bow. “May I bask in your elegant shadow for a moment?”

Lord Hawksbury. Maureen would have recognized his voice anywhere. Maureen gave the man a regal nod of acceptance. Perhaps he knew where his uncle was.

Behind the man’s black mask, his eyes glittered with the same green as Julien’s. “Would it be beyond my humble station to ask the legendary temptress of the Nile for a dance?”

Again Maureen nodded. At least on the dance floor she would have a better survey of the room from which to spot the Lord Admiral or, at the very least, Eustacia.

The swarthy pirate took her arm and led her through the crowd to the dance floor. They took their places in the set, and the music began. All throughout the dance she searched the room for the tall, imposing figure of the Lord Admiral, but it wasn’t until the very last strains that she spied him all the way across the room. He turned and looked in her direction, so she lifted up her mask to reveal her identity.

The man nodded at her and cocked a finger, as if to summon her to his side.

She all but forgot her partner, trying to discern the best way to negotiate the crowd between them.

The young earl, it seemed, had other plans for her. He maneuvered her to the edge of the crowd, and then, before she could thank him for the dance and cross the room, he caught her by the arm and pulled her onto a balcony.

“My lord, let go—” she started to protest, turning from the locked door to Julien’s overly attentive nephew.

But she found herself no longer facing the Earl of Hawksbury. Dressed in identical outfits, somehow uncle and nephew had switched places in the confusion after the dance.

Julien. He’d actually dared to come to her.

Of all the devilish, rotten arrogance, she thought.

“How was that for outmaneuvering the Lord Admiral?” he asked, his tone implying that nothing had changed between them.

She stared at him in disbelief.

What more could he want from her? He had the information on the payroll ship, as well as Ethan. Why had he come? To gloat? To mock her?

She didn’t care. He’d underestimated her for the last time. As far as she was concerned, he was here to die.