One Night of Passion (19 page)

And they weren’t wasting any time trying to hazard a path down to the beach. Already they had set up firing lines along the cliff and were raining a barrage of bullets down on them, the deadly lead whizzing past, spitting up sand and splashing into the water.

Colin immediately flung both lanterns, his and Pymm’s, into the sea, dashing out their telltale lights.

But it was too late to hide their position, for the cliffs behind them, where once there had been darkness, were now suddenly illuminated with torches and the silhouettes of dozens of men. Considering the importance of the information Mr. Pymm supposedly carried, he wouldn’t put it past the French to send an entire bloody regiment after the man.

And since they’d discovered their meeting place, it would only be a matter of time before they spotted his ship, and the rest of the French forces in the area would be alerted as to the presence of the
Sybaris.

He cursed again, this time loud enough to be heard over the waves and wind.

“Away, sir,” Mr. Pymm squawked. “We must be away this instant.”

Colin couldn’t agree more. “It seems you brought friends with you, madame,” he told the bothersome woman between him and his longboat.

“I brought them?” She uttered a curse that would put a blush on the cheeks of a Kingston whore.

“Yes, you!” he said, edging closer to her, his finger waggling under her dripping-wet nose. “Your caterwauling has probably woken up the entire Italian coastline.”

A wave of cold water washed between them, soaking them both to their waists, but it did nothing to cool either of their tempers.

“Why, you blithering fool! Those lamps probably alerted every last one of them.” She whirled around and without so much as a by-your-leave, she hopped into the boat and took up one of the empty oars.

“Are you coming or not?” she had the audacity to ask, as if the boat was suddenly hers to command.

Having finally found the trailhead that led to the beach, the French troops were swarming down the path. He should toss her, her sister, and their baggage out onto the beach and not look back.

Lord knew the heartache he’d found the last time he’d come to the rescue of a lady in distress—he’d spent the last year waking up from restless dreams, his thoughts possessed by haunting, tempting images of an enchantress beckoning him to find her, to love her once again.

Yet he could see Georgie doing much the same as this lady. With the French at her heels, he imagined his little Cyprian would be putting up the same dash and vinegar that she’d shown Paskims, Brummit, and Hinchcliffe at the ball.

At least, he told himself, he didn’t have to worry about becoming infatuated with this lady, for she hadn’t any of Georgie’s charms. Georgie might have been a bit impetuous and headstrong, but this woman was a regular harridan.

And where the devil was her husband?

He should be saving her sorry hide, not leaving the unwanted task to strangers.

Then again, Colin reasoned, if he had such a wife, he’d be sorely tempted to leave her behind for the French as well.

“Captain,” she was shouting. “Are you staying or are you coming with us?”

Colin grit his teeth. Damn his wretched honor, he could no more leave this troublesome pair behind than he could ignore the bullets whizzing around him. He nodded to the other crewman who still held the boat in the churning surf, and they pressed their shoulders into the sturdy craft, and heaved it back into the wild and restless sea.

As the first receding wave started to capture them, they scrambled in, each taking an oar. Colin found himself in the seat next to his unwanted passenger, and he grabbed the end of the long oar she held and added his strength to hers.

He was shocked to find that she knew what the devil she was doing, and she had the muscles to guide the heavy oar through the turbulent seas. Over and over, they pulled and lifted and pulled the oar again through the water, making their escape even as the French troops raced across the beach.

The troops continued to fire at them, but the darkness and the rolling surf quickly consumed them, giving the French little to aim at other than their own vanity that they still may yet succeed and capture the longboat.

“Good job, Captain,” Mr. Pymm called out. “We’ve escaped them.”

If Colin felt any of the man’s relief, it was short-lived, for the troops on the beach began sending up rockets. The whizzing missiles illuminated the night, leaving streaming ribbons of light in their wake.

“Put your shoulders into it, men,” Colin cried out. “Make for the
Sybaris
like your life depended on it.”

Beside him, the lady’s hooded head swung around. “What did you say?”

“We’re going to my ship. The
Sybaris.”

“The
Sybaris,”
she repeated, the name falling off her tongue like an old friend.

In that moment, a rocket exploded overhead, illuminating her features ever so briefly. He saw the determined curve of her chin, the turn of her generous lips, and a pair of dark eyes that took his breath away.

Georgie.
And yet, not Georgie.

He glanced back at her, but she’d turned her head to her sister, the girl grinning like a fool.

“The
Sybaris,”
she said again, with a shake of her head as if she couldn’t believe it.

Perhaps she’d heard of them, he thought. Not by choice, his reputation as a pirate and worse was widely known about the Mediterranean.

But she hardly seemed concerned. More like in alt.

Before he could spare another glance in her direction, the longboat bounced into the side of his ship.

“Get up the sides, lads,” he shouted to his men. “Tell them to rig a swing and be quick about it.”

“We haven’t time for such nonsense,” the woman said, tossing the long strap of her satchel over her shoulder. As she clung to the bag as if it contained her very life, Colin thought he heard an odd wailing again.

He shook his head. Considering the rain, those infernal French rockets, and her complaining, it was lucky he could hear at all.

Once again caught woolgathering, he looked up to find that she’d given her sister a hand up onto one of the ropes trailing over the side of the ship. Before he could shout a warning or tell her to stop, the girl, despite her slight figure and frail appearance, began scaling up the side of the
Sybaris
with the ease and speed of one of his best hands.

“Now if you don’t mind,” the lady said, bustling past him in the pitching longboat, her movements matching the shifting waves beneath her as if she were one with the water and the small craft. Her agility and skill belied her sex, for she caught hold of the fluttering rope ladder and swung her leg and body over the side, beginning to climb as if she’d been at sea all her life.

He stared open-mouthed at the sight of it, wondering what this she-devil would do next—demand to share command of his ship?

Overhead, a new volley of French rockets screamed their arrival like a bevy of hell-bent banshees. The rockets’ belligerent shrieks brought his attention swiftly back to the business at hand.

One of his crewmen was still in the boat, as was a green-looking Pymm.

“Up with you, sir,” Colin told him, catching one of the loose ropes and shoving it into the man’s unwilling grasp. “ ‘Tis this or you’ll have to swim for it.”

The rockets overhead burst into a flash of lights, once again illuminating the
Sybaris.
The girl had made it up and over the rail, while the lady was about halfway up.

“What the devil are they doing, Captain?” Pymm shouted over the waves and the banshee peal of a new volley of rockets.

She glanced down at them, this time her dark gaze filled with disdain for Pymm.

“How can you not know, sir? They are signaling.” She nodded over his shoulder.

Colin turned his head, and much to his consternation discovered a well-lit French ship-of-the-line rounding the point. It didn’t take but a second for him to assess the danger. At three gun decks high, and most likely carrying a complement of sharpshooters strung through her lines, she was capable of blowing them out of the water.

And the
Sybaris
was still at anchor. Could his luck run any worse?

The sight of the formidable vessel sent Pymm’s reluctance to the bottom in a heartbeat. With a muttered complaint about field assignments, he started crawling and scrambling up the side like a crab crossing hot sand.

Colin followed suit, shouting orders to the remaining crewman who was still trying to secure the pitching longboat.

“Cut it loose,” he shouted at him. “We haven’t any time.”

When he reached the deck, he began barking orders to make sail, for every moment they sat here, the French ship and its ninety-four guns drew nearer. The lamps were all still dark, for they’d been sailing without lights to prevent detection, so the deck was pitch black—not that it had done them much good. They’d be able to sail more quickly with some lights, but that would also pinpoint their position. He just hoped the crew could move swiftly in this blasted darkness.

“Mr. Livett!” Colin bellowed. The ship’s master dashed forward. “We have additional guests,” he told the man. “Get these women off my deck and see that they are secured below.”

“Aye, aye, Captain Danvers.”

The lady spun around, clutching her valise to her chest. “Captain Danvers?” she asked. “Did you say, Captain
Danvers?”

“Yes, madame. Captain Colin Danvers, at your service,” he replied.

Your reluctant service,
he wanted to add, wondering what the chit had to complain about now—that he change his name to suit her needs, or was she going to stage a takeover of his ship much as she’d done to his longboat?

“Captain Danvers?” she repeated. “Are you any relation to Lord Danvers?”

“Yes. I am Lord Danvers.”

She shook her shrouded head and backed away from him, from Mr. Livett. “No. No, it cannot be.”

“Yes. Now if you don’t mind—” he began saying, reaching out to take her by the elbow and propel her into Mr. Livett’s care.

She drew back from him, pulling her sister behind her, as if she had just discovered they were captive on a plague ship and he was the lead leper. “Are you certain? Baron Danvers and Captain Colin Danvers?”

“Yes, I am quite certain as to who I am,” he said. “Now, I insist that you—”

“Take us back!” she demanded. “Take us back to shore immediately.”

Colin shook his head, wondering if his ears weren’t still playing tricks on him. “Take you back? Madame, have you gone mad?” He shook his head. “No, don’t bother to answer that, I already know.” Turning to Mr. Livett, he said. “Get them below. Now!”

The lady held her ground. “I will not stay on this ship. I will not be subjected to your tyranny. Take us ashore immediately.”

Colin had heard enough. He stalked over to her and stood toe-to-toe with the lady. He couldn’t really discern her features in the stormy blackness swirling about them, but in a flash from one of the rockets, he found himself pinned by her angry gaze. A pair of dark eyes caught and mystified him. And then just as quickly the shadows returned and he could barely see anything of her tall figure. But one thing was for certain, he’d stared into those eyes before; he knew he had.

“Listen here,” he sputtered. “I’ve got a French first-rate about to turn this ship into third-rate kindling. There isn’t time to indulge this foolishness. Now do as you are told and get below.”

“I will not. I’ll not stay here another minute. Just give me the longboat. I’d rather take my chances with the waves and the French.”

“The only way you’re getting off this boat is by swimming, so why don’t we start with this.” He leaned over and picked up her satchel, which was heavier and bulkier than what he assumed a lady’s belongings might weigh.

Then again, he wasn’t an expert on what ladies carried in their traveling bags. Not that he was going to find out, for as far as he was concerned the lady and her sister could bloody well go to the French . . . or to hell for that matter.

Without hesitating, he stalked toward the railing, fully intending to heave the damn thing overboard.

“No!” she screamed, shoving past Mr. Livett, sending the poor man sprawling on the deck. She caught hold of Colin’s arm just as he was about to give her valise the heave-ho. “Are you insane?”

With that, she did the one thing he would have expected from only one other woman.

She doubled up her fist and planted it squarely between his eyes, sending him pitching toward the rail.

No lady planted a facer like that. Except . . .

“Georgie,” he gasped, sinking to his knees as stars burst before his eyes. Beneath his hands, the satchel shifted under his grasp.

Damn well moved on its own.

There weren’t just undergarments in the thing, but something alive.

He shook away the remnants of her punch and yanked the bag open—only to find a red-faced, screaming baby wailing away inside.

A babe? He’d almost thrown a baby overboard. The air rushed from his lungs as if she’d added a direct hit to his gut.

Overhead, another volley of French rockets erupted, illuminating the decks of the
Sybaris
like Vauxhall Gardens.

The baby paused in its laments and stared in wonder at the grand lights overhead before bursting once again into tears.

“Give her to me,” she said, pushing him aside and reaching inside to cradle the child in her protective embrace.

“Georgie,” he whispered again, this time reaching out to cup the face he’d longed with all his heart to see.

Yet instead of rushing to his arms, she backed away from his touch, her eyes wary, her features set in hard, unforgiving lines.

“Aye, Colin. ’Tis me.”

Chapter 8

H
ours later, Colin took one last look through his spyglass and felt satisfied that they’d been able to escape the French. All around them, the sea was clear and blue. The fleet and speedy
Sybaris
had once again eluded capture.