The Duke's Lady (Historical Romance - The Ladies Series) (15 page)

Jewel held up one of the puppies. She could tell he was scared from the way his front paws wrapped around her fingers, hanging on for dear life. There were times when she felt just like the puppies. “That’s okay, fellow. I won’t hurt you,” she cooed, trying to soothe the puppy. “He’s so pretty, and has the longest ears. Look, Jonathan, most of their ears drag on the ground!” She laughed. “Do you use these dogs for hunting?”

“Yes, but not if I’m in a hurry. Believe me, bassets are not known for their speed.” He chuckled. “Mostly, Daisy is just a pet.” Jonathan rubbed her head. The dog rolled over onto her side and closed her eyes. The rest of the afternoon Jewel and Jonathan spent playing with the puppies and chuckling over their clumsiness.

When it came time to go home, they walked leisurely to their horses. Jewel stopped, then turned to Jonathan. Reaching up on tiptoe, she placed a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for a most wonderful afternoon.” She thought of Jonathan as a friend, or perhaps a big brother, and she truly enjoyed his company. Linking her arm through his, she said, “I hope we’ll always be friends.”

“You can count on it, madam. I’ll always be near should you need me,” he replied casually.
Friends?
He would like to be more than that. If Adam let this woman slip through his fingers, Jonathan hoped they would become more than just acquaintances. But for now just friends was fine.

That evening back at Briercliff, Jewel surprised Jonathan with some dishes she’d prepared for dinner. For dessert, they had an outstanding strawberry cake that melted in his mouth.

“This is wonderful! Surely, I’ve died and gone to heaven. I can’t believe it,” Jonathan said, lavishing on the praise.

“Believe what?”

“Beauty and a great cook all rolled up in one little vixen.” He winked at her. “I can’t believe you can cook.”

“Sir, you think to turn my head with your flattery,” she bantered back.

After dinner she persuaded Jonathan to fence with her. She found her skills were even greater than she had first thought. But the time finally came for Jonathan to return to his home.

Jewel bid Jonathan good-bye, then elicited a promise he would soon return. Sighing, she climbed the stairs, and as usual her thoughts returned to Adam. When was he coming home? Jewel wanted to see him. She enjoyed Jonathan’s company, but it wasn’t the same. There was something about Adam that made her stomach flutter, and just the touch of his hand produced such comfort . . . and something more. But she couldn’t put her finger on what that
something
was. Time seemed to drag by when she was alone.

She withdrew the map from the bedside drawer, and spread it out on the bed in front of her. With no identifying markings on the land, it was hard to tell the location, but it definitely appeared to be a small island. Several caverns were scattered about, and one cave lay at the end of a narrow gully. She traced the gully with her finger, feeling the parchment beneath her fingertips. Tiring, she lay back on the pillows, trying to remember. Not bothering to turn out the oil lamp, she gradually shut her eyes and soon drifted asleep.

Dreams of soft, fluffy clouds surrounded Jewel. Slowly they parted as a vision of rubies, emeralds, gold, and diamonds floated before her.

Holding a diamond up to the light, she watched fascinated by the patterns it made on the wall. “Look, Jean, I’ve made a rainbow.” The small girl giggled.

A man looked over at her with love showing in his eyes. “Cherie, with the wealth we have here you can buy all the rainbows your heart desires. But petite, you must remember; this is our secret treasure, and no one must know about it but you and me.”

"What are you going to do, Uncle Jean?"

"We’re going to make a blood pact, you and I, just like pirates do. Would you like that? ”

"Yes, Jean.” She nodded her head, making her black curls dance upon her shoulders. "But how?"

"You’ll have to be a brave girl,” he cautioned her.

"I will.” Jewel’s eyes sparkled with excitement and admiration for the man who sat across from her.

He pulled out his knife; the blade glistened in the faint light. It was so big. Jewel's eyes grew wide as he lowered the blade and made a small clean cut on his index finger.

Jean looked up and saw a stem expression on his features. "Give me your hand, Jewel.” She thrust her small palm out, determined to be brave. She trusted her uncle. He’d never hurt her. Her bottom lip quivered as he made the same identical cut on her finger.

“I’m very proud of you, petite. You’re my little pirate.” Holding both their hands side by side, he said, “Do you, Jewel, promise to keep secret what we’ve done here today and to tell no one of our treasure?"

"
Yes, Uncle Jean.”

"Good." He pressed their fingers together and mixed their blood. Then they each left fingerprints on opposite corners of the chart.

Jean tore the map in half, handing one part to Jewel. "Keep it safe, petite. And if something should ever happen to me, remember you have wealth beyond your wildest dreams."

The small child threw her arms around him. “I love you, Uncle Jean. I’ll always love you.”

Jewel gasped and sat straight up in bed. She wiped the tears from her wet cheeks. Looking down at the map, she searched the left-hand comer for a small brown stain. Then she knew—she was the child in her dream.

This Jean was her uncle, but she still had no memory of his face, and she still had no last name. But if she could remember where she came from, Jewel knew she’d have someplace safe to return to.

She had lived with pirates. Did that mean she was a bad person? What would Adam say? She chewed on her bottom lip. No, she decided, she wouldn’t tell him anything, not until she had her full memory back.

The rest of the night she tossed and turned in a fitful sleep.

And in London another person was having the same trouble sleeping because a black-haired beauty plagued Adam’s dreams.

Chapter Eleven

Barataria Bay, just off the coast of Louisiana

Jean Lafitte knew he was handsome and a smooth talker with a keen sense for business, which made him wealthier than most men and gave him control of all Barataria. He liked to claim he was merely a privateer, not a pirate.

But at the moment, business wasn’t on his mind. He paced the floor, his boot heels thumping against the worn floorboards, while his brother, Pierre, sat with his boots propped on the desk, watching Jean walk off some of his frustration.

Pierre finally sighed.
“Mon dieu,
wearing a hole in the floor will do us no good, nor will it solve our problem.”

Jean grabbed a bottle of rum and slumped into a hard- backed chair. He proceeded to pour a stiff drink into one of two lead-crystal glasses before speaking. “Amazing, is it not? Months have slipped by and still no word. I feel damn useless just sitting here waiting.”

Without warning, the thick oak door opened and a deckhand poked his head inside. From the lad’s heavy breathing, it was apparent he’d been running, and it took some moments for him to catch his breath. “Beggin’ your pardon, Cap’n, but the topsails have been spotted on the
Lin Fa.
She’ll be at the dock in ’bout fifteen minutes.”

“Obliged.” Jean nodded. “We’ll be there.”

After the door shut, Jean refilled Pierre’s glass with a generous shot of rum. “I pray to God Jewel’s on board. You know I never wanted her on a damn ship . . . it’s much too dangerous!” Jean squinted one eye accusingly at Pierre.

Pierre threw
up his hands helplessly. “I know, Jean. I know. You’ve now told me at least a thousand times!” Pierre raised his voice to match his brother’s. “Hell, I’m worried, too. You know as well as I do she was raised around pirates. The sea is in her blood.”

“Privateers,” Jean corrected him.

Pierre paused and lifted his glass.
“Oui,
I understand how you feel—I love her, too. You can blame me if you have to blame someone, but think about it; we always came home with the most wonderful stories when we’d been at sea. Of course, we left out all the bad parts, so to Jewel they sounded like an adventure.”

“I’m sorry, Pierre.” Jean’s voice broke slightly as he refilled his own glass. He took a swig, then stared at the glass, thinking back to the raven-haired child who had solemnly joined with him in a bloodpact.

Jean ran a hand through his hair and blinked his suddenly moist eyes several times. “I guess I’ve been taking everything out on you, Pierre. It’s just that I promised our sister before she died that I’d bring her daughter up as a lady.”

“We did, Jean.” Pierre leaned back in the chair with folded hands behind his head. “After we caught that English merchant ship, that is. It was full of schoolbooks and one very proper schoolteacher, Mr. Wilson Lovall.”

"Oui,
I remember.” Jean’s face creased into a smile. “Can I not see him now with his feathers all ruffled, telling us he would teach no one?”

“He soon changed his mind! That is, with a little friendly persuasion.” Pierre laughed, slapping the side of his leg.

“Then he met Jewel and was hopelessly lost. She can charm anyone.” Jean thought again about the eight-year-old pixie that had stolen his heart. She had always been full of life and eager to learn, mastering French and Spanish by the age of eleven. She’d even picked up a touch of a British accent from her tutor. Now that she had grown up, he’d had to remind some of his crew that she was not to be bothered. The few times they’d had visitors at Barataria, he’d been careful to keep her hidden away from prying eyes. If he wanted her introduced into society—and he did—it was better no one knew of her background. She’d never be accepted into the proper circles if it was discovered she’d lived with a band of cutthroats.

Jean had to admit she had real beauty, with her long black hair hanging in ringlets down to her waist, and those soulful, deep brown eyes.

Pierre broke into Jean’s contemplations. “I should not have taught her to sail, but she begged so often.” He waved his hands helplessly in the air. “And she was damn good! Why, she could maneuver the boat in and out of the bay as well as any of our sailors.”

“If you think that was bad”—Jean leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees—“I taught her to fence. She told me she might need to defend herself one day, and if she knew how, then I’d have someone to practice with. Can you believe that? As if I didn’t get practice enough already.” Surprise registered in Pierre’s face as he lowered his chair. “You taught her to fence?”

“And there were a few times she damn near got the best of me.”

Pierre put down his glass and stared moodily out the window. “I miss her, too. This house just isn’t the same.” He slid his chair from the table. “Let’s go down to the dock and see if she’s come home.”

Jean stood up. “Come on. Maybe we can have one of her famous dinners tonight.”

The
Lin Fa,
the ship Jean had sent in search of Jewel, glided out of the morning sun and sailed smoothly into Barataria Bay, her sails down, her masts naked. Once again the frigate had navigated the narrow straits between Grand Terre and Grand Isle, the two islands that protected Lafitte’s haven and home. Some sixty miles from New Orleans, it was the perfect haven for
his
band of smugglers and pirates. And Jean was damned proud.

His warehouses overflowed with merchandise worth a king’s ransom—not to mention his astounding control over his gang of cutthroats, which made them respect his leadership. And he knew they would give their lives for him.

A small dingy had been launched from the
Lin Fa,
and now rowed slowly to shore. But, to his shock and dismay, not a dark head bobbed among the passengers.

All too soon, the boat pulled alongside the pier and the blood drained out of Jean’s face.

Jewel’s bodyguard, Ben, lay slumped over in a heap—unconscious. His head was wrapped with bloody bandages. Jewel had called Ben her gentle giant, but he reminded Jean more of a big husky bear. At seven feet, Ben towered above every man on the island, and when he was angry, one swipe of his meaty arms was enough to lay any man low. Seeing him now, in this condition, meant something terrible had happened aboard Jewel’s ship, the
Morning Star.

The men struggled as they lifted and laid the 350-pound man down as gently as they could. His chalk-white color reminded Jean of death. He glanced at the men. “Where did you find him?”

A sailor known as Drake shuffled his feet. Jean grew irritable at his silence. “Well, mate, have you lost your blasted tongue?”

“We found him floatin’ on a box. Near dead he was.” Drake bobbed his head as he talked swiftly, bouncing from one foot to the other.

“And Jewel?”

“Nobody, Jean, ’xcept Ben. Nary a trace of the
Momin’ Star."

Drake took a step back, twisting his cap in his hands.