My Runaway Heart (15 page)

She felt the color drain from her face when she spied
the merchantman's shattered hull, peppered with holes. The ship was listing
visibly even as men's frantic voices carried across the narrowing distance, desperate
commands ringing out that longboats be lowered. Dear God, what terrible manner
of enemy had they encountered? Not one but two British vessels were under
vicious attack, Jared's
ship
and the merchantman!

She glanced over her shoulder, but the sea was blinding
in the sunlight and she could see nothing, least of all some great devil ship.
Her gaze flew back to the floundering merchantman, tears stinging her eyes.

It was clearly doomed. Sinking.

As Lindsay watched in horror, her heart went out to the
frightened crew scrambling across the listing deck. She felt so useless, but
something had to be done! No further explosions had sounded, so perhaps their
phantom attacker had sailed away, the cannon aboard Jared's ship proving too
fearsome, the skirmish won. Surely now he wouldn't hesitate to save those poor
men from drowning.

Lindsay clambered out of the galley so suddenly that
she nearly careened into a young man with a powder-blackened face. The sailor
dropped back to gape at her in surprise.

"Where can I find Lord Giles? Please, you must
tell me!"

To her frustration, the man seemed to have lost his
voice. He stared at her as if she were a phantom herself and not a
flesh-and-blood woman.

"Lord Giles—I must find him!" Her voice
rising in desperation, she was almost tempted to slap the sailor to get an
answer. "Can't you see that ship is sinking?"

"
Th
-the quarterdeck,
miss."

He pointed and Lindsay followed his finger, suddenly
aware that many eyes were upon her, the strangest silence settling over the
lower deck. But she paid no heed to the startled faces and flew toward the
stern; at the companionway, she grabbed the brass railings and climbed two
steps at a time, her breath tearing at her throat.

"Jared, please, we have to do something! Those
men— Oh!"

Lindsay was hauled from the companionway and swung with
such suddenness to the quarterdeck that she reeled dizzily, but two strong
hands clamped around her upper arms kept her from falling. Yet her knees nearly
buckled when she glanced up, her thanks dying on her lips.

"By God, woman, how in blazes did you—?"

She could only stare at the man who held her, a mask
covering the upper portion of his face.

A bright gold mask that shone like flame in the sun,
nearly blinding her.

And she knew of only one man who wore such a guise, his
name a curse upon the tongues of all those she'd heard utter it in London, a
reward of ten thousand pounds announced only yesterday in
The Morning Post
to whoever captured him alive.

The Phoenix.

"Dag, take the wench below to my quarters. And see
that she doesn't escape!"

With that Lindsay was shoved so roughly away from him
that she almost fell again, gasping when a chafed hand as huge and red as a ham
reached out to catch her. She recoiled but in the next moment found herself
thrown unceremoniously over a massive shoulder.

She didn't try to fight against the fair-haired giant
who now held her; her numbing shock was too great. Yet she started when she
heard a familiar voice's ringing command, familiar except for the strange
accent which was wholly foreign to her.

"Prepare to bring prisoners aboard. There'll be no
time to loot her, she's foundering too fast. But that doesn't mean we won't
enjoy watching her burn."

The traitorous words clamping like an iron fist around
her heart, Lindsay squeezed her eyes tight against the tears suddenly
threatening to spill.

Lord, what a fool! What a bloody, bloody fool!

***

Fifteen minutes later, Lindsay was still calling
herself a fool, that and a dozen other unflattering names, as she watched
transfixed in disbelief at the porthole.

Nothing remained of the merchantman but burning debris
upon the waves, her seared topmast having disappeared only a moment ago. The
longboat filled with ship's officers was a dark speck against the pristine blue
sky; Lindsay imagined they were rowing for England as they had never rowed
before.

If
they had
rowed before, she amended unhappily, recalling the outraged conversation she
had heard at the Oglethorpe ball. But at least she could take some comfort that
the crew had been plucked from the sea; prisoners now, but alive.

The criminals who manned this ship had been quite
efficient in their rescue. The ashen-faced captain and his bedraggled officers,
stripped of their weapons, had been ordered into one longboat, while the rest of
the merchantman's hands had been allowed to board. Lindsay had seen everything
from the porthole, but now she turned away and sank to the floor, drawing her
knees to her chin. She stared blindly at the Spartan quarters—a plain wooden
bed, a desk and a sea chest the few furnishings in what had become her prison.

Dear God, criminals.

Traitors.

Contemptible enemies of the Crown.

And Jared Giles, the Earl of
Dovercourt
,
was among them—no, not just among them, but their leader. The Phoenix. And less
than an hour ago she had thought him the most heroic of men . . . the man she
wished to marry . . . a man she could love. . .

A lump welling in her throat, Lindsay dropped her
forehead onto her knees.

Her dreams had become ashes. Her foolish, girlish
dreams—
Corisande
had often said she was too
romantic-minded for her own good. And
Corisande
was
usually right. Ridiculously starry-eyed, seeing only what she wanted to see,
believing only what she wanted to believe, Lindsay had made herself look an
utter fool.

But she wasn't going to cry, she thought stubbornly,
swiping at the mutinous mist burning her eyes. She wasn't so much of a ninny to
believe that useless tears could help her now— Oh, Lord . . .

Inhaling sharply, Lindsay rose to her feet as footsteps
outside the door grew louder, the forceful stride filling her with dread. She
looked wildly around for a weapon, anything, barely having time to grab a brass
candlestick from the desk and thrust it behind her back before the door burst
open and slammed into the bulkhead.

The fury burning in Jared's vivid blue eyes slammed
into her with as much force, and Lindsay gulped. The gold mask was gone, his
face so handsome that she felt her knees grow weak, but that made her grip the
candlestick all the tighter.

She didn't know this dangerous man at all, she told
herself shakily as he took a step toward her. Not at all! Whatever she had
concocted about him in her mind was a fanciful myth, a lie—

"Talk, damn you! How in blazes did you get here?"

She started, stunned, his raised voice so cold, so
brutal, that she felt tears spring to her eyes. But that only made her lift her
chin, her own voice surprisingly calm.

"If you wish to talk, sir, we shall talk. But I
simply won't answer if you plan to continue yelling at me like an enraged beast—"

"Ah, so I'm an enraged beast now?" Jared had
roared again, taking some perverse pleasure that Lindsay jumped. He wanted her
to jump. He wanted her to know just how angry he was to find her aboard the
Vengeance
—blast and
damnation,
he could scarcely believe it himself!

When he had seen her running along the lower deck, her
long fair hair streaming behind her, the wind buffeting her flimsy clothing
against her body, every man jack's eyes upon her . . .

Jared wheeled around, a sixth sense telling him that
they were not alone. True enough, Dag still stood guard just outside in the
lighted passageway, his expression somber as a judge's, while Walker leaned
casually against the bulkhead opposite him, a curious smile on the American's
lips, his dark eyes filled with studied humor. With a low oath, Jared swung the
door shut in their faces.

"An enraged beast with a penchant for slamming
doors and swearing, too,"
came
a feminine mutter
behind him.

Jared turned back to find Lindsay had edged farther
away from him, her face nearly as pale as her hair.

Good, she was frightened of him, he thought grimly,
taking a step toward her. That pleased him, too, if only that it would help
keep the reckless chit in line, although he didn't like the hint of defiance in
those lovely blue eyes, which was a far cry from the joy he'd last seen in
London— Bloody hell, enough!

"All right, we'll talk. Civilly. Now answer my
question."

"Very well. I sneaked aboard in the galley—"

"That I was already able to surmise, as well as
that it must have been your horse I heard. How did you know where to find me?"

"
That
I
discovered from Della at the Boar's Head tavern," Lindsay said as rudely,
although it really wasn't her nature. But this whole strange situation was so
far from what she had expected, had dreamed—ah, those accursed dreams
again—that she felt quite unlike herself. "I went there to speak to
you, or at least to leave a note, to tell you not to come to my
aunt's house on Saturday—today
. . ."

She faltered, but swallowed a stab of pain and rushed
on. "I feared it would be too difficult for Aunt Winnie to see you at her
door, given how she felt about you, so I wanted to tell you we must devise
another course." She gave a small, sad laugh. "It all seems so silly
now, my even thinking that you wanted to marry—"

"Silly and as reckless as ever. You went to the
Boar's Head by yourself?"

Stung that he obviously cared nothing for her feelings,
and angry with herself for thinking that such a treacherous miscreant should,
Lindsay hiked her chin up another notch, although she felt it trembling. "It
was broad daylight and I had Aunt Winnie's chambermaid Gladys for a
chaperone—so at least I didn't break my word. Not like you did to me."

"And what was I supposed to tell you, woman? The
truth? That I had no intention of coming back for you in three days' time, even
though my saying so was the only way I could think of to keep you from
traipsing around the city like a hoyden?"

"A hoyden!"

"Yes, a
hoyden
and a naïve
chit to boot for imagining that I would take you to wife, which clearly was
your misguided scheme from the very start! You would have been wiser to listen
to your aunt and stay the hell away from me!"

He had yelled again, but that wasn't what made Lindsay
feel as if she were reeling.

A hoyden. Naïve chit. Misguided. The words echoed in
her mind and she winced to herself, knowing that they were true. Yet if she had
been all those things, he had encouraged her!

"Why . . . why did you agree to meet me, then?"
she demanded in a strained voice, fearing she already knew his answer. "The
night after the
Oglethorpes
' ball—"

"I was planning to seduce you, if you want the
truth of it. Your aunt was closer to the mark than you think."

"But you didn't" —her cheeks aflame, Lindsay
glanced down uncomfortably at her soiled slippers— "take unfair advantage—"

"No, because I realized, after you'd joined me in
the coach, that you weren't the shrewd wanton I had thought, but a foolhardy
miss entirely out of her realm and experience. So I decided it best to teach
you a lesson."

"A lesson?"

"Not to entrust yourself so completely to someone
you knew nothing about—"

"And obviously I shouldn't have trusted a
notorious brigand like you!" Astonished at her indignant outburst, which
reminded her of
Corisande
so much more than herself,
Lindsay nonetheless held her ground, feeling more a fool than ever before. She
swept her gaze over him, noting a pistol jammed boldly in his belt, a
wicked-looking cutlass lying against his lean hip. "You're no military spy
at all, but a pirate—"

"I prefer privateer."

"It's the same thing!"

"On the contrary, I hold American letters of
marque
, which makes me quite respectable."

"You call preying upon your own country's ships
respectable? Ruthlessly looting them? Burning them? I must differ, sir. You're
no privateer, but a despicable pirate and—and a traitor to boot—Oh!"

Lindsay backed up as Jared advanced upon her, but he
stopped when she brandished the candlestick defensively in front of her. His
face had grown so dark that she knew a moment's fear, his eyes as turbulently
blue as she had seen them.

"Call me a pirate if you will, woman, but a
traitor is only for God, or the devil, to judge." They stared at each
other, the long silence so charged that Lindsay felt as if a wall of intense
heat had been thrown between them. She blinked when a knock finally came at the
door.

"
Cap'n
, forgive me, but
have you decided upon our course? We've the prisoners . . ."

"We'll drop them at Start Point."

"Good enough,
Cap'n
."

Start Point, Lindsay considered, her heart sinking.
Already they were so far from London? Yet she squared her shoulders. That was
as good a place as any to free herself of Jared and his treacherous crew.

"I know Start Point," she said stiffly, not
daring to lower the candlestick an inch. "It shouldn't take me more than a
day's coach ride to reach my father's estate in
Porthleven
,
if I could trouble you for the fare. I'll pay you back—quite discreetly, of
course."

"That won't be necessary."

"No, no, I insist—"

"And I said it won't be necessary. You're not
leaving this ship."

Chapter 14