Once a Mistress (11 page)

Marcus. God damn his soul to Hell.

The
Renegade
came about again.

 
“McBride! Prepare to fire!” Alex roared. “Helm, drive the bastard into the wind, at my mark!” He waited, sweating with every second that ticked by.
 

“Helm! Now! McBride, fire!”

As the
Renegade
came at them, the helmsman jerked the
Vengeance
practically into her path. She tried to avoid it, coming about hard and ending up with her nose in the wind. As Alex knew would happen, the wind hit her sails from the wrong direction, and the ship was pushed backwards.

The guns boomed. Smoke drifted up from the gun deck. A loud crack announced a hit as the
Renegade’s
bowsprit crashed into the sea. A shot to the hull would have been more effective.

“Bloody hell!” Alex slammed a fist against the rail.

The
Renegade
recovered her wind and came after them. She fired. One shot cracked the mizzen, sending the top of it crashing to the deck. Another landed dangerously close to the hull, the splash tilting the ship hard to the side.

“Scuttle the bastard!” Alex ordered.

He was answered by the roar of the guns. Something bright flared on Marcus’s ship. Cries of alarm rose above the din of the storm. Smoke drifted up from the main deck.
 

She was on fire.

Alex slowly smiled. He saw Marcus pointing and yelling, but the fire spread quickly. He would have to abandon the ship.

Alex had him right where he wanted him.

The
Vengeance
came upon her quickly, intent on the kill. Alex leaned forward on the rail, as if his will alone could push the
Vengeance
to a quicker pace. Soon Marcus would die. Honor would be satisfied.

Revenge tasted sweet.

Thunder roared. Lightning flashed. Black clouds finally gave up their burden. Rain poured down, hissing against the deck and pelting Alex’s bare torso with needle-like pricks of a thousand tiny daggers. The fire aboard the
Renegade
petered and slowly went out.

“No!” He shook with the force of sweet satisfaction so close and now snatched away. “No,” he whispered again in disbelief.

The
Renegade
recovered quickly. She came at them at full speed. Clearly she meant to ram them.

“Come about!” Alex cried, but he was too late. With a splintering crash, the
Renegade
smashed into them, tearing a hole in the hull just above the waterline. She continued past them, so close Alex could see the smile on Marcus’s face. He clenched his hands into fists as the pirate laughed and saluted him.

“Gunner!” he bellowed. “Blow the bastard out of the water!”

The guns fired, belching smoke. One shot caught the
Renegade’s
mainmast, splitting it in half. Two others ripped the rigging apart. It slowed her, but didn’t stop her. She sailed past, moving farther and farther out of firing range.

“After her!” Alex commanded.

“Captain.”

He whirled to find McBride standing behind him. “What is it?”

“We can’t be goin’ after her, captain. We’re takin’ on too much water.” The first mate shouted to be heard over the rain. “She got us good. ‘Tis a lucky thing she didn’t hit the powder room.”

“The damage?”

“Too close to the waterline, captain. I have men workin’ to patch the hole, but we can’t be goin’ after the bastard.”

“What about the guns?”

“They’re dry enough.”

Alex looked after the
Renegade
. He knew Marcus intended to turn back and blow them to pieces. Because that’s what he would do. He smiled slowly. “Fire at will, McBride. Take whatever you can of her.”

McBride grinned. “That I will, captain.”

The mate hurried from the quarterdeck, leaving Alex to contemplate his nemesis. As he had expected, the
Renegade
changed direction and closed in to finish off the wounded
Vengeance
. Closer and closer she came, almost flaunting the fact that she had full power while Alex’s vessel took on water. Rain poured down, soaking everything.

The guns thundered. Water spewed upwards from shots that missed. One took a piece of her hull, though not enough to slow her down. The guns barked again. Rigging tore loose and fluttered to the deck of the
Renegade
. Another explosion sounded from the gun deck. With a loud crack, the
Renegade’s
mainmast split in half. Mid-charge, she heeled and changed directions. Beneath the cover of the driving rain, she limped away.

Every instinct he had urged him to follow and close in for the kill. But his own ship was in danger of sinking unless he put in for repairs. Port Royal was out of the question now.

Bitterness rose to wash away the sweetness of his previous satisfaction. He had come so close to reaching his goal…so bloody close. And now he had several men dead, a wounded ship and a beautiful captive who had distracted him from his objective. Damn it to hell. If he had not been so fixated on Diana and the confusing emotions she incited, he might have foreseen this. His men would still be alive. His ship would be whole. Diana would be on her way home to her father. And Marcus would be swinging from the gallows.

He clenched his jaw as he watched Marcus disappear into the storm. It would not happen again. He would start at the beginning, track the bastard down and see him hung for his crimes. Nothing would distract him.

Nothing. And no one.

“Bring up the bodies,” he ordered. “Maybe there were survivors. Then set sail for Besosa.” With a grim expression, he left the deck.

Chapter Eight

Diana picked her way through the debris littering the floor of the cabin. She reached her objective, the cabinet from which she had seen Alex take the brandy. For a moment she stood there, resting her forehead against the smooth wood of the tiny door, trying to regain control of her jangling nerves. With a shaking hand, she pulled open the cupboard and withdrew the brandy bottle.

Her palms hurt from gripping the headboard of the bed so tightly. She had clung there like a child to its mother’s bosom as the ship rocked and cannons exploded and she prayed she would live another day. She stared down at the bottle in one hand and combed her fingers through her tangled hair with the other. She normally did not indulge in spirits, but nothing about this situation was normal. She had just survived her first battle at sea, and now she needed to convince El Moreno, scourge of the Caribbean, to help her prove her father’s innocence.

Definitely not normal.

Still she hesitated, but the way her hands shook convinced her. She had to be completely in control when she faced Alex. A pounding heart and trembling fingers would hardly aid her cause. Biting her lower lip, she twisted the cork from the bottle. Not bothering with a goblet, she closed her eyes and drank.

Fire streaked to her gut. She gasped, wine dribbling out the corners of her mouth and down her chin. She swiped the back of her hand over her face and neck.

The door clicked open.

Diana froze and slowly turned to meet Alex’s sardonic gaze. He paused in the doorway, his bare torso and wet hair stopping her breath and sending her pulse skipping. He eyed the brandy bottle and raised an eyebrow.

“It seems you are indeed the granddaughter of a duke,” he remarked. “That is my best brandy.”

“I was just…” Flushing, she shoved the cork back in the bottle and replaced it in the cabinet. She realized she must look like some tavern bawd as she swilled brandy straight from the bottle, hair all tangled and his robe her only garment. She had to forget that, remain in control, not let him fluster her. Her father’s life depended on it. “I was thirsty.”

“Oh?” He stared at her, unsmiling.

“Yes.” She held her ground, her carefully rehearsed speech hovering on her lips. “I am glad you came back. I want to speak to you.”

“Not now.” He turned his back on her and headed to the sea chest at the foot of his bed. Diana stared after him, aghast at his rudeness, as he bent over to dig a fresh shirt out of the chest. She came up behind him.

“What do you mean, not now?” The words came out sharper than she intended, since she found herself distracted by his tight buttocks. He stood up and turned to face her. She jerked her gaze upwards, but his mocking smile told her he knew where she had been staring. Heat surged to her cheeks.

“Not now. I am too busy for your idle pratter.”

“Idle pratter!” She ignored the attractive way his muscles bunched as he donned the shirt. “What I have to discuss is extremely important!”

“To be sure.” The disdain in his expression also echoed in his voice. “My ship requires my attention just now. You will have to wait.”

“I don’t want to wait. I want—”

His head jerked up. In his eyes burned something terrible.

“What you want means nothing,” he bit out.

She wanted to back away. She wanted to run to the bed and cower beneath the covers until he left the room. She wanted to cry and scream at all the confusing emotions warring inside her.

An image of her father with a noose around his neck rose in her mind, and she did none of those things.
 

“I can see that you are not in a good humor,” she forged on.
 

“Not in a good humor?” Each word dripped with sarcasm. “My dear Mistress Covington, I have just come from battle, and my ship is damaged. Now you would plague me with your rantings, a spoiled little girl who hasn’t the sense when to keep her pretty mouth shut. I have more important things to do.”

Stung, she said, “Like what? Counting your ill-gotten gold?”

“No,” he snapped back. “Like re-capturing Marcus!”

They stared at each other for a long moment. She could see the frustration in his expression, the rage of a man who had obtained his goal, only to have it ripped away again. His chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. Tearing his gaze from hers, he turned away to stand with his back to her. His shoulders sagged slightly.

“Marcus has escaped?” she asked softly.

“Aye.” Still he didn’t look at her. He lifted one hand and rubbed the back of his neck.

She twisted her fingers together. Part of her wanted to comfort him. She was frankly surprised that the bold and dashing El Moreno would show such vulnerability in front of her. In her daydreams, she had always thought of him as strong, confident and unbeatable.

Now she saw he was just a man.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, remembering Birk’s words about Alex wanting Marcus brought to justice. “I know how long you have been chasing him.”

He glanced at her then, his mouth twisting in a cynical smile. “Do you now? What would you know of such things, my sweet innocent?”

“More than you think. Mister Fraser told me some of it.”

“Bloody hell.” He raked a hand through his long hair. “That bloody Scot has a tongue that rivals any gossiping woman’s, drunk or no.”

“He wanted me to understand. I was very frightened.”

Alex watched her with those haunted eyes and smiled. “Perhaps your instincts were correct.”

“Perhaps. But I dislike being afraid.” She swallowed. “I am sorry that Marcus escaped you. But perhaps what I have to say will help.” 
He faced her, hands on his hips. “I see you would have your way despite the fact that I told you I have no time for such nonsense.”

“Perhaps you will change your mind. I can help you trap Chilton…perhaps Marcus as well.” She held her breath for his reaction.

He laughed. “Indeed?”

“Yes.” She straightened her spine. “Before I was abducted, I overheard something that would be of great interest to you in your quest to gather evidence against Marcus.”

He stopped laughing and stared at her. “You had best not be jesting with me, my girl.”

“‘Tis no jest.” She twisted her fingers together, then determinedly dropped her hands to her sides. “But before I tell you anything, I would have your promise that you will see my father left out of it.”

“I make no promises.”

She shook her head. “I will have your word on it, else I will tell you nothing.”

“This is no child’s game,” he snapped. He came to her and took her face in his hands. “Tell me.”

Her skin warmed from his touch, but she blanked the pleasing sensation from her mind. “Your word,” she insisted quietly.

His fingers tightened on her face for an instant, never hurting but just the slightest bit dangerous. Then he released her and stepped away. “Fine! You have my word, blast your eyes. Now tell me what you know.”

She closed her eyes in relief. He was going to help her. “The night we met I overheard Lord Chilton talking to my father. Papa had discovered that Lord Chilton was an accomplice to Marcus and had some sort of proof of it in his possession. Lord Chilton became quite angry.”

“Proof?” His stance took on a stillness that reminded her of a wolf scenting prey. “What proof?”

“Some pages from a ledger that Lord Chilton kept. Apparently he wrote down all his dealings with Marcus.”

“He wrote down everything?” Alex gave her a skeptical look. “I find it difficult to credit even Chilton with such foolishness. Where are these ledger pages now?”

“I don’t know. I believe Papa has them, and that is why Marcus abducted me. He wants them.”

“Is there anything else?”

“Just that Papa told Lord Chilton he could not marry me. I’m afraid that I was too happy about that to consider much else.” Even as she said it, Diana realized she sounded like a feather-witted child. “That is, I didn’t realize the significance of those ledger pages until much later.”

Alex crossed his arms and frowned at her. “You mean to tell me that you didn’t know who Marcus was at the time?”

“Of course I knew who he was…”

“Or his reputation?”

“Everyone knows of his reputation!”

“And you mean to tell me that you ignored all this in face of the fact that your father had forbidden Chilton to press his suit?”

“Well…yes.”

“It never occurred to you that your father could be in danger because of this?”

“I told you that I wasn’t thinking of that!” She had been spoiled and selfish. She knew that now. But did Alex have to remind her of it?