Elizabeth Boyle (111 page)

“Unfortunately for you,” Maureen told him, “my mother prevented that. She loved my father and helped him escape. So despite all your efforts, they still had the life together you would have denied them.”

“As I said, I underestimated your mother’s cunning and intelligence. I have no doubts as to how she convinced that imbecile brother-in-law of hers, Will Johnston, to help her.”

“Captain Johnston? He’s not related to my mother.”

He studied her for a moment. “You don’t know. All this time in their house, and you never made the connection.” He laughed as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “I can see that all the years I’ve kept Will on half pay have him sufficiently cowed. I told him I could have him court-martialed for aiding an escape, but I allowed him his freedom instead because I thought Ethan had died. As it turned out, Will was of more use to me in my debt and under my control.”

He stepped closer to her. “Lady Mary is your mother’s younger sister. You’ve been living with your aunt and uncle all these weeks. Quite ironic, really, but brilliant on my part. I knew they’d watch you even closer, ensure that you wouldn’t escape.”

Maureen took a deep breath, her mind reeling. It was unbelievable and yet … it made sense. She remembered Lady Mary telling her about her sister.

My sister eloped, and she and her husband were nearly caught by my father.

All the times the lady had showered her with attentions that one would extend only to family rather than a prisoner.

Maureen hardly knew what to believe anymore.

The Lord Admiral paced back and forth. “Imagine my surprise when I received an intelligence report that your father was still alive. And had turned to piracy.” He clucked his tongue. “How dare he take your mother into such a life. It killed her. I knew right then and there, he deserved the death he’d escaped all those years before.”

Maureen shook her head. “You ordered the destruction of the Alliance?”

“Of course. I had to ensure he would never return. That he and his daughter never saw the shores of England again.”

“So you hired de Ryes,” she whispered.

The man let out a sigh of disgust. “I should have taken care of that assignment myself instead of trusting one of my lesser captains to see to the removal of the Alliance. He assured me Captain de Ryes was not only eager for the gold I was offering for the destruction of the Alliance but quite capable of the deceit necessary to infiltrate their ranks.”

“And he succeeded. You got what you wanted. The Alliance was finished that day.”

“I wanted more than just the Alliance finished. If he had been the man I was promised, you would have died that day as well.”

“He might as well have killed me, after my father died and your fleet sunk our ships.”

“Yes, that might have been true, but the idiot had gone and married you first.” Again the man’s eyes glazed over. “He let you go when you were supposed to die.”

Julien hadn’t let her go, she’d fled his ship—not that the Lord Admiral would believe her.

“Little did I know he’d had time not only to marry you but to get a brat on you as well.”

“Ethan,” she whispered.

“Yes, Ethan. One of my agents followed you to Greenwich and witnessed that happy reunion. How sentimental of you to name the brat after your father. Did you think that would make his claim to my title that much stronger?”

“I told you, you can have the title and the house. I don’t want any of it. Just let Ethan go.”

“You expect me to believe you? Let this pretender to my title go free?” He stood up straight. “When I learned you were smuggling in this area, I knew you were plotting against me. What I didn’t expect was that it would be so easy to capture you.”

Maureen swung around. “You arranged for that cargo in Calais. You arranged all of it. The men on the beach, my arrest, the trial. Everything.”

He bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Yes, and then what do I discover? You are only too willing to lead me to de Ryes. Trusting, foolish girl. So like your father.” He crossed the room and caught her bound arms. He raised them up, sending hot pain through her trussed limbs. “You’ve unwittingly given me everything I need: de Ryes and the security of knowing the Hawthorne line will never be tainted by your father’s blood again.”

She laughed, despite the pain. “You haven’t got de Ryes. Not yet.”

“But I do have you. And your son.” He dragged her from the room. “He’ll come for you. Just like your father chased after my Ellen. He’ll come and find the same reward Ethan Hawthorne received for presuming to take what is
mine
!’

“Mama!” Ethan cried, crossing the dark chamber like a whirling puppy. “You’ve come to rescue us!”

A guard shoved Maureen into the dank cellar vault and slammed the door shut behind her. Maureen fell to her knees, and immediately Ethan’s arms wound around her neck. For a moment her son was content to just hold her.

“I wondered when you were going to arrive,” her aunt’s voice called out from a corner. “I’ve been promising Ethan you would come for us. I hated to think you were going to make a liar out of an old woman.”

“Aunt Pettigrew,” Maureen said, her eyes adjusting to the meager light falling from a narrow window high above them. She kissed Ethan’s forehead and then went to her aunt’s side. Even for all she had endured, the eighty-some-year-old woman looked more furious than frail.

“I will lodge a complaint with the authorities,” her aunt declared. “I’ll see that horrid Peter Cottwell get exactly what your parents should have given him all those years ago.”

“You knew! You knew and you didn’t tell me!” Maureen said. “I asked you directly if you knew anything about my father’s family, and you told me you didn’t. Not about the Lord Admiral…” She paused for a moment. “Or about Lady Mary.”

Aunt Pettigrew reached over and patted Maureen’s shoulder. “I couldn’t tell you about Mary. If you’d have known you might have sought her out at some time during these years. Besides, I blame that spineless husband of hers for letting Ethan and Ellen down. He might have let slip about you and Ethan. You were better off not knowing, as were they.”

Maureen frowned at her great-aunt. She didn’t quite agree, but there was nothing she could do to erase the past.

“As for your father’s side of the family,” Aunt Pettigrew said, “you never asked about unethical cousins.”

“Peter Cottwell,” Maureen whispered. “He can’t be related to my father.”

“Sad to say, but it is true, though so distantly that I wouldn’t worry overly much about his madness showing up in the bloodlines anytime soon. It happens even in the finest of families,” her aunt said, looking over at the door that barred their freedom. “That wretched man stole your father’s career as much as he stole his title.”

Still, Maureen had questions. It was as if in the last twenty-four hours she’d had to rewrite her own history, changing everything she knew about her father and mother. “He never mentioned being a baron, having this house or lands. He always joked about being a poor Irishman.”

“Probably because it pained him so much to lose it all. And he was telling you a half-truth about the Irish part. Your grandmother was Irish; married your grandfather against everyone’s wishes. Oh, I remember the scandal all too well. He was a seafarer, like every Hawthorne has been down through the ages. He met her in Dublin. A wild lass with dark hair. It was from her untamed blood that you and your father got your coloring—and your dispositions.”

“But how did the Lord Admiral lay claim to my father’s title?”

“He was next in line. Everyone always thought your father was the last of his lineage, but after they declared your father dead and a search was conducted back through the family lines, there was Peter Cottwell, rightful heir to Hawthorne Hall and the title. I doubt even your father knew they were related before that.”

“But he isn’t the rightful heir,” Maureen insisted.

“No, you are. The Hawthorne barony can pass through the female line, and as the legitimate daughter of Lord and Lady Hawthorne, you and your heirs are the rightful holders.”

At this Ethan spoke up. “I’m a baron, Aunt Pettigrew?”

“Not yet,” she told him, winking at Maureen. “You have to wait for your mother to die.”

The boy’s eyes widened with horror at the thought.

He moved closer to Maureen and put his hand on her shoulder. “Then I don’t ever want to be a baron.”

“You may not have to worry about that,” she told her son, ruffling his hair. Maureen rose to her feet and stalked around the room, trying to gauge the best way to escape.

“Ethan and I have been over this room since we arrived. There is no way out,” her aunt told her.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Maureen said, bending over and sliding her dagger out of her boot.

“You see, Aunt Pettigrew,” Ethan said. “If you let me have a knife, then we would have been able to escape.”

“You with a knife?” The old lady snorted. “We’d be in a worse scrape than this! You leave those things in the hands of people who know how to use them.” She turned to Maureen. “You do know how to use that wicked-looking thing, don’t you?”

Maureen eyed the door and the lock. Smiling at her aunt, she nodded. “Oh, aye, Auntie. Now, let’s see what trouble we can get into. Ethan, catch up that light and bring it closer,” she said, pointing toward the lone candle in the cell.

“Do you know how to pick a lock?” she asked her son over her shoulder.

He shook his head.

“Then, watch carefully. ‘Tis a skill everyone should master. Your grandfather taught me when I was about your age.”

Even in the poor light of the candle, Ethan’s eyes shone with delight.

“Maureen Hawthorne!” Aunt Pettigrew exclaimed. “Whatever are you thinking, teaching your son petty larceny?”

“Can you think of a better skill to possess in a situation such as this, Auntie?”

Her aunt had no answer for that, other than a few muttered oaths, the likes of which even Maureen hadn’t heard before.

But with no further complaints issuing from her aunt, Maureen set to work teaching her son the time-honored Hawthorne tradition of picking a lock.

J
ulien and his unlikely band of rescuers reached Hawthorne Hall just after noon. They considered waiting until dusk, but they all feared giving the Lord Admiral even another hour alone with Maureen and Ethan.

The sun rode high above head, so they made a slow, undetected approach to the house, stopping at the stables to go over their plans one more time.

There was no sign of anyone about the house, no guards about the grounds.

“It’s too quiet,” Julien said. “He’s trying to lull us by making it appear as normal as possible.”

Webb and Giles nodded in agreement.

“How can we be sure they are here?” Charles asked. “Seems a long way and a rather fancy place to take her just to kill her.”

Before anyone could answer Charles’s tactless observation, Captain Johnston said, “He’s here. Look down in the bay. There’s his schooner. He’s always got her nearby. He’s like a rat, he is. Likes to have several escape routes. Besides, he knows we’re here, or at least that we will be soon enough.” He nodded toward the bay behind them.

Hawthorne Hall sat perched above a small private bay. Seafaring had obviously been in the blood of countless generations of Hawthornes. From the Hall’s vantage point, one could watch where the Thames churned into the sea and the ships made their way toward the London pool.

In the direction the captain pointed were two ships poised just outside the rocky shoals ringing the narrow bay.

The
Destiny
and the
Retribution
.

By now the Admiralty would be sending out ships from the pool to follow the
Retribution
, while messages would have been flashed to the coast to be on the watch for the renegade ship.

Julien kept a steady eye on the two vessels, gauging how close the ships were so they could time their rescue and be able to quickly row out and meet them.

As they were completing their final check of their pistols and planned assault on the house, Giles gave Julien a hard nudge in the shoulder. “I thought you said your wife needed rescuing?”

Julien looked up and, to his amazement, spied Maureen, Ethan, and Aunt Pettigrew sneaking along the ivy-covered walls, headed directly toward them.

He couldn’t shout at her for fear of alerting whatever hidden troops the Lord Admiral might have waiting for them. But even without his help, a cry came from the house, and in an instant the yard began filling with soldiers. It seemed that a different squadron of marines poured out from every door, swarming after the trio.

“Maureen, this way,” Julien shouted.

She turned toward his voice, her expression changing from one of fear to fierce pride.

With Ethan and Aunt Pettigrew in front of her, the threesome raced across the lawn, while the rescue party laid down a volley of gunfire to hold back their pursuers.

Ethan reached the safety of the stables first. He sped past the edge of the barn as if he wasn’t going to stop until he reached the sea. But as he came alongside Julien, he came to a sudden halt and fell in behind him.

Maureen and her aunt arrived next. The old girl’s eyes were alight with fire, and she tossed an “about time” over her shoulder as she ambled past Julien to safety.

As for his wife, she swooped into his arms. They kissed quickly, Julien only too relieved to have her back and safe.

Her clear blue gaze told him exactly what he needed to know.

She was his, and this time for good.

“I know you,” Ethan said, tugging at Julien’s sleeve. He glanced slyly from his mother to Julien. “And I guess you do too, Mama.”

They both laughed, and Julien looked down at his son, an unfamiliar sting of tears blurring his vision for a moment. It would have been a good time to tell the boy the truth.

I’m your father.

But the Lord Admiral’s troops had regained their footing and were sending a new volley of shots in their direction. He pulled Ethan back behind him and told him, “And I intend to get to know you as well, . . . Ethan.” He turned to Captain Johnston. “You and Charles lead them down to the shore. Get them into one of the longboats and out to the
Destiny
. We’ll hold them off until we see you make it through the surf.”