Wrong Kind of Paradise (18 page)

“Who hired you?”

He chuckled and tightened his grip on the knife, lifting her chin a notch. “Ye think I’m gonna tell ye

that?”

Her hand found the opened drawer and searched for the letter opener, but instead found the quill.

“Ye know, he didn’t say ye’d be so young.” His hot, soured breath brushed her ear and she cringed.

“Or pretty.” The man pressed his lower body against her rear and she almost gagged. He smelled like

rotten fish and musky bodies.

A whimper escaped her and tears threatened to fall. Please, not this.

He licked her ear and she recoiled. With a single move, she drove the end of the quill into his eye.

Blood streaked across the side of her face, and he released her with a howl to grab his eye. She reached

into the drawer, found the letter opener and pierced the soft flesh of his neck. He dropped to his knees.

With one last gurgle, blood oozed between his fingers and from his mouth as he toppled face-down on the

floor.

Angel sucked in air and wiped the blood from her face. Tears burned her eyes as she searched the

room for anyone else. Her heart thundered inside her chest. Certain there weren’t any other assassins, she

sat on the settee and caught her breath.

Why would anyone want her dead? And how had anyone known she would be here?

She had to get back to Blac somehow. She couldn’t stay in this house. There would be others when

whoever wanted her dead figured out his assassin had failed.

She leapt to her feet, tore the dagger from the man’s dead hand, and slipped it into her waistband.

She cracked the door and peered out. Nothing stirred. Easing the door open, she stepped out and followed

the wall to the stairs. Still no movement.

Just before she reached the top step, a picture on the wall caught her attention. She stopped. Moving

closer she peered at the face and dread flowed over her.

Why would her grandfather have a picture of the lieutenant in his house?

Thirteen

Angel yanked the picture from the wall and strode down the hall with purpose. She opened every

door until she found her grandfather’s room.

The door banged against the wall and stuck into the paneling. He sat upright in his bed reading a

book. Piercing blue eyes peered over the edge of the book at her before he laid it across his stomach.

She crossed the room and tossed the picture onto the bed. “Why is the lieutenant’s picture on your

wall?”

He wasn’t bewigged and his short, white hair stood on end atop his head. His eyes captured all her

attention. They were direct, intelligent. Even at his age, her grandfather was a force to be reckoned with.

“What is it about his picture that you don’t like?”

Angel sighed. “You’re being obtuse and you know it.”

A flicker of something— malevolence and violence — shone in his eyes, and Angel hesitated.

Civility returned to his composure and he actually smiled. “Come, Angel, and I will explain all.”

Unease niggled in the back of her mind, but curiosity won. She eased onto the foot of the bed and

waited.

He tapped out an annoying rhythm on the hard cover of the book with his index fingers. The slow,

calculated tempo seemed to draw out the seconds. A gold ring on his left hand winked under the muted

firelight. Tap, tap, tap, tap. The motion of his fingers almost mesmerized her.

He finally broke the silence. “Your mother was a good girl. She married soon after she turned

sixteen to the Viscount Worthington. Once I helped get rid of that imposter she was infatuated with. It was

a good marriage.”

Angel gasped, recognizing the name and tore her attention away from his hands. “For whom? It was

my understanding that my mother hated her first husband. He beat her and locked her in her rooms day in

and day out. Who would consider such a marriage a success?”

He pursed his lips at her interruption and stopped the movement of his fingers. “Nevertheless, she

had married and her course was set. She was on a ship bound for England to join her husband there when

she was captured by De’Haviland.”

Bitterness laced his words, and the sharp blue eyes narrowed to thin slits. “The viscount’s first

wife died in childbirth with her second son.”

The obvious pause told her there was a riddle in that sentence somewhere and then it dawned on

her. “The lieutenant is the viscount’s first son.”

He nodded. “The boy grew to love your mother fiercely, because she was the only mother he’d ever

known. And he was incoherently upset after Elizabeth’s capture. In fact, he became obsessed with the

details over the years.”

Realization hit her and Angel’s eyes widened. “He’s trying to kill me?”

He shook his head. “Do not be absurd. He does not wish your death, by any means.” Regarding her

with hooded eyes, he studied her. “Although he does seek your company — for what, I’ve no idea.”

Awareness washed over her. A prickling of the hair on the back of her neck caused her to ease to

her feet. Her hands grew cold and she asked, “How would you know that?”

Her grandfather smiled and continued the irritating drumming. The rhythm matched the pacing of her

heart. It seemed everything slowed until her heart beat each second by. “Charles was just here the other

day, as a matter of fact.”

“Oh?”

“You see, let me be honest here and tell you that the lieutenant has me by the ballocks at the

moment. As you must know, James the Second had forfeited his crown back in ’89. His daughter, Mary

the Second, and her husband William have become joint rulers of England.”

“What has that to do with me?”

“I am a staunch supporter of his son, James Francis Edward, and as such, I have helped fund the

rebellion rising against Mary and William. It’s the whole reason I came to this damned, forsaken jungle

island. The money from the plantation funds the rebellion, but conceals my real purpose, smuggling in

weapons and ammunition to the rebellion leaders.” The drumming stopped and he inclined his head. “The

lieutenant knows of my secret affairs and now I’m in a quandary. He’s promised to keep silent if I give

him what he wants.”

An alarm went off in her head and she stepped away from the bed, right into the waiting arms

behind her. They closed over her and she screamed. She turned at the deep chuckle at her ear. A pair of

close-set, hazel eyes and a large, hawk-like nose greeted her. Angel sucked in a breath and her heart

thudded inside her chest. With a fierce growl, Angel bit down on the offending snout until she tasted

blood. The assassin’s howl rent the bedchamber. The man released her and she jabbed an elbow into his

ribs, doubling him over.

She swung her foot in an arc and connected with his head. The man fell to the floor unconscious,

and her grandfather moved as if to get out of the bed. With a simple move, she flung the dagger. It landed

in the headboard next to his head and vibrated from the impact. His eyes widened to saucers, and he fell

back against the headboard, clutching his chest.

“You will find I am not as easy to deceive as my mother was. I already knew what a spiteful, old

man you were before my arrival.”

Angel didn’t wait to see what he did next. She fled out the door and down the hall to the darkened

stairs. Her heart pounded against her ribs and her moist palms gripped the railing behind her. Nothing

inside the house moved as she descended the stairs. Not even the shadows.

She reached the last step and paused to peer around the room. Sweat beaded across her brow and

trickled down her temple. Her breath quickened. The left side of the stairwell was lit and to the right,

darkness enshrouded the house. Angel blended in to the shadows and made her way to the back of the

house. If there were any other attackers, they would expect her to exit out the front door.

The room enclosed into a hallway and after several turns, Angel began to panic. Why had she left?

Even Blac had told her something was wrong but she hadn’t listened to him.
Oh Blac, I need you.

Once again, her impulsiveness had landed her in a heap of trouble. Once again, she’d refused to

trust those who knew better, and this was the result. When would she learn not to think with her heart and

instead listen to what her instincts told her?

Entering the library, she found a door leading to the terrace. She gripped the brass knob and eased it

open. Soundlessly, she crossed the stone veranda and leapt over the rail, running toward the stable.

The sliver of moon hung by a thread in the sky and aided her escape. Moonlight inched through the

canopy of trees overhead and provided ample shadows to move through.

She didn’t sense anyone in the darkened stables. Carefully, she entered through the rear. She

removed the bridle from the peg and a blanket off the stall. The saddle sat against the wall on the floor.

She moved past it to the first stall. A brown, little mare eyed her in the front stall and she opened the

door. She stroked the mare’s muzzle and whispered softly to her. Slipping the bridle on, she led the horse

out.

After sliding the blanket on, she worked quickly to fasten the trappings on the saddle. Minutes later,

she emerged from the stable at a full-out gallop. Now she just needed to find her way to the docks and

locate Blac’s ship. The problem with that was she had no clue which way to go.

~*~

Blac paced the floor in his cabin and went over the day’s events in his head. He sipped the brandy

in his glass, stopped, and twirled the liquid.

He leaned on the desk beside the book Angel had flung at his head the other day. Memories

assaulted him. He shouldn’t have let her go. He shouldn’t have brought her here.
She’s fine
.
Her

grandfather will look after her.
Then why did sudden doubts creep in?

Something gnawed at him. He couldn’t put his finger on it, and it drove him to distraction. Forcing

himself to go about his day, making plans to depart on the morrow had been impossible. He’d ordered

Rigo to ready the ship hours ago. So why worry now?

“Why don’t you just go get her, Captain?”

He looked up. Rigo stood in the doorway, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe.

Blac shook his head. “She’ll be all right.”

“Then why are you worried about her?”

Rigo’s knowing, dark eyes studied him from under the dark wings of his brows. Though only a few

years younger, Rigo was wise beyond his years. Blac had searched his entire life to find his nook in the

world, whereas his quartermaster had just sort of been handed his lot in life. Blac didn’t know Rigo’s

beginnings, but he sensed life had never been easy for the Spaniard.

After running into Rigo in Jamaica, Blac had sensed he might be a runaway slave. He’d hired him

aboard his ship over a decade ago and never regretted the decision.

“I’m not worried.” He set the snifter glass on the table and rounded the corner. “I’m simply trying to

sort my thoughts.”

Rigo chuckled. “Try telling that to someone who doesn’t know you, Blac.” He moved into the room

and took a seat in the straight-backed chair. “Now what’s on your mind?”

Blac shook his head again. “Nothing. I don’t know. Something isn’t right. A feeling...I can’t put my

finger on it.” He strode across the room, picked up the brandy and refilled his glass. Blac lifted the bottle.

“How about a round?”

“Sure.” Rigo crossed his legs at the ankle and leaned back in the chair. “You think something’s

wrong then?”

Blac poured the amber liquid into the glass and leaned over to hand it to his quartermaster. “I don’t

know exactly. I only know that she’s still my responsibility, Rigo, and I’ve no control over what happens

to her while she’s not in my presence.”

“And that bothers you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Blac shook his head, his brows furrowed. “Someone shot at her, and we never did find the culprit.

What if—”

“Then do something about it. Go get the chit. But make a decision. Take her with you, or let her stay

here.”

Blac whirled around to face him. “I’ve made my decision.” His tone was harsh enough to surprise

even himself. “She’s gone. There’s nothing I can do about it now.”

Without another thought, he set the drink down and headed for the door. “But you’re right I have to

go over there, if only to say goodbye.”

Hours later, his horse lathered from the punishing ride, Blac arrived at the Aubrey Manor. All the

windows were dark and a prickling sensation crawled up his neck. Something terrible had happened.

Blac left the horse out front and didn’t bother knocking. The door swung open too easily and after

he called out, no one answered. He moved through the entry and up the stairs. Every room in the house lay

in shadows, save for the two rooms at the end of the hall. Blac paused outside the first room. The door

stood ajar. He pushed it open. The dresser drawers were opened, its contents spilled across the surface.

The bed coverlet had been pulled half off and the ottoman was toppled over.

Blood spatters dotted the mirror behind the dresser and the wall. And across the floor at the foot of