Pearls of Fire, page 7
She sank back into her chair and took another sip of the whiskey he’d poured for her, pursing her lips at the unfamiliar taste, yet savoring its heat as it slid down her aching throat. “My father is very ill. Do you know what he said to me the last time I saw him?”
She had the impression that he wished to put his arms around her. Thankfully, he didn’t. “Why don’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice husky, and yet, as gentle as a dewdrop on a rose petal.
She nodded. “After my mother was m-murdered, it had been left to me to maintain the Langdon affairs in order. I was used to keeping the household running, for my mother had trained me for it. But from that day on, I also took on the Langdon business duties.”
“A tall order for a little thing like you.”
“I had no choice. My father wasn’t up to the responsibility. My mother’s death destroyed him, though the destruction had started with my brother’s untimely death five years earlier. A death also related to the pearls.”
Hugh frowned. “What happened? How did he die?”
“My brother was rich, titled, and all of a very manly twenty years old when he fell in with a bad crowd. He gambled unwisely and lost a large sum of money to Lord Falmouth.” She shuddered at the thought of the unsavory man. “Even with my lack of experience, I sensed that my brother had been duped, that the card game must have been fixed, for Lord Falmouth offered my brother a most curious proposal.”
Hugh quirked an eyebrow, the slight motion urging her to continue.
“Lord Falmouth wanted his wife to wear the Pearls of Fire to the Queen’s birthday ball. He offered to forgive all of my brother’s gaming debts if he’d allow him the necklace for that one night. My brother, seeing an easy way out of his problem, tried to remove the pearls from the safe without any of us knowing. He had shamed the family with his wastrel habits, but wasn’t ready to suffer the financial consequences.”
Hugh caressed her cheek with his thumb. Just one caress. Short. Soft. Perfect. “What happened then?”
Emma emitted a shattered breath. “Father caught him. They had a terrible row. My brother begged him for the one indulgence, but Father refused, partly from fear of losing the treasure, for we all knew that Falmouth could not be trusted, and partly because he sensed a lack in my brother’s character. You see, my brother had been pampered all his life, and Father, realizing the mistake in coddling him, decided this was the time to turn him into a man.”
She sighed again before continuing. “Father told him to find his own way out of his problems, and suggested he mortgage the little country estate he’d inherited from our maternal grandfather, or sell his stud horses, his new coach, even the fancy clothes off his back. He insisted my brother take responsibility for his actions.”
“It seems a hard, but reasonable decision. Your father obviously hoped that by forcing your brother to bear the small loss, he might save him from far greater losses in the future. That is, assuming he’d learned his lesson.”
“Yes, that’s precisely what my father reasoned. But the results were far graver than any of us ever imagined.” She paused as another shudder ran through her. “We never dreamed, never thought that Falmouth would fly into a mad rage and attempt to strike my brother, for my brother had done exactly what was required. He’d sold his belongings and gone to Falmouth with the blunt needed to repay the debt in full.”
Hugh shook his head slowly and crossed his arms over his chest. “But Falmouth wanted the necklace and nothing else would do.”
“Quite so. Later, Falmouth tearfully claimed he’d never meant to hurt my brother, that it was all a terrible accident, for my brother had fallen backwards when ducking his blow. Supposedly, Falmouth had never managed to lay a hand on my brother. But in dodging the blow, my brother had tripped and struck his head against a marble tabletop.”
“The impact killing him instantly? And the authorities believed this story?”
“Yes. There were reputable men present at the time and all of them swore it had happened exactly that way. My father ordered a thorough investigation and brought doctors in to examine my brother’s body. There was only the one mark on him, the gash at the back of his head that perfectly matched the contour of the marble table.”
Hugh’s arms remained crossed over his chest and his brow was now furrowed in contemplation. “Everyone attributed the tragedy to the curse of the pearls.”
She nodded. “Curiously, Falmouth became a victim of the curse. He was shot and killed a few days later by a gentleman who’d caught him cheating at cards.”
“His death was a result of cheating, not of his lust for the Pearls of Fire. But whatever the cause, it was sad vindication for your family. I know you would have endured anything to have your brother back.” He reached out and gave her cheek another gentle stroke. “I judged you wrongly, Emma. You’ve lost more than I realized. In truth, you’ve shown more strength in dealing with your losses than I gave you credit for.”
“So you see,” she said shakily, casting him a mirthless smile, “I can’t blame my father for what he has now become. My mother’s death, after the terrible death of my brother, was too much for him to bear. I tried to stay strong for the both of us. I begged him to stop drinking. I was afraid he’d kill himself with it, but he just laughed. ‘Those thieves have murdered me,’ he said, ‘as surely as they’ve murdered your mother. My beloved Sarah. The only love of my life.’
“She must have been a very special woman.”
“She was, but to my shame, I thought only of myself. What about me? Don’t you love me? Then I saw the cold, dead look in his eyes, and knew that I was too late. I had lost him.”
“I’ll get him back for you.”
She wanted to believe Hugh so badly, needed to share this burden with someone before it broke her into pieces. She’d accept him for now, but would never let down her defenses. “It won’t be easy. I knew nothing of that first vessel leaving Portsmouth ahead of my father’s. But my father must have known about it. I suppose Sir Robert learned of it first and told him. That’s how Sir Robert knew where we should search for my father.”
“Your father is following the trail of those thieves.”
She rubbed her temples as her head began to pound unbearably. “Yes, but these villains seem to be retracing Stefan Langdon’s journey. Why would they do such a thing? Why not remain in England and plan to steal someone else’s heirloom treasure?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps now that they possess the Pearls of Fire, they hope to return to the source and find more of these fiery pearls. Perhaps the thieves are from the East Indies and sailed to England to steal them.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Well, one thing is clear.”
“What is that?”
“There was a reason your mother was killed.”
Emma’s eyes rounded in surprise. “What are you saying?”
“A thief is not a murderer by nature. A thief’s natural instinct is to run off when confronted. The blackguard would have knocked her out in order to give himself time to escape, but murder? I think she must have recognized the villain and would have reported him to the authorities.”
“Hugh, I never thought of that.”
He looked down at her as she sat tensely on the edge of her seat. “So we’re not chasing strangers. Or rather, we’re chasing your father. But he isn’t chasing strangers. He might know who these men are.”
Emma’s breath caught in her throat. “Then he’s in even graver danger than I imagined. They’ll kill him, too.”
Chapter Seven
Hugh entered Emma’s cabin later that evening and quietly closed the door behind him. He expected to find her comfortably settled in for the evening, but she was seated at his desk, her hair loosely braided in one fat braid down her back and her hands tensely clasped on her lap. Her cheeks were soft and pink from the glow of the lantern resting on his desk, but he could tell by the rigid set of her back that she was angry and not at all pleased by his intrusion.
She hadn’t changed into her night clothes yet, no doubt preferring to remain in the gown she’d worn to supper, a pale pink confection that matched her rosy cheeks. It was trimmed with white lace across the bodice to hide the tempting swell of her breasts, but that only made him more determined to explore the lush treasure hidden beneath the lace. “Are you ready, Emma?” He cleared his throat, surprised by the sudden tightness in his voice.
“No,” she admitted, looking past him as though desperate to be rescued from his clutches. “What will you do if Martine returns?”
“She won’t. She’s with Jacob. He’ll keep her occupied.”
Emma pursed her lips. “Did you order him to entertain her while I, er, entertained you?”
He latched the door behind him before turning back to her. “He genuinely likes her. I had no need to tell him anything. He’s falling in love with Martine. She obviously feels the same about him. No guile. No deception. Just honest and open feeling.”
Emma blushed under the force of his intense stare. “Unlike us.”
“Unlike us,” he repeated with a gentle ache. He’d been furiously reinforcing those thick, impenetrable walls around his heart ever since Emma had walked into his prison cell. But those walls crumbled a little more each time he was around her. She had a way of looking at him, even now as she scowled at him… he saw something in her eyes that he hadn’t seen in anyone in years. Affection. Hope. A yearning to believe in him.
It had been so long since anyone had looked at him that way. “Shall we get started, my sweet?”
She rose from her chair with a forlorn sigh and walked to her trunk to retrieve the journal. She placed it on the desk, then cast him a wistful smile. “I always thought the first time I spent a night in my bedchamber with a man would be with my husband. I thought it would be special, a perfect moment of bliss to be shared with the one I love. Although nothing will happen between us, your crew now thinks… well, I never expected to be ruined by a pirate captain aboard his ship in the middle of the ocean.”
“And I never expected to be spending the night reading, and doing nothing but reading, while in the middle of the ocean locked in my cabin with the beautiful Emma Langdon.” He pulled out the chair she had just been sitting in and motioned for her to sit back down.
“You go ahead. I’ve already read the journal. Much of it is about Stefan’s daily life and his travels around the East Indies. He started keeping the journal after his ship was wrecked in a storm there.”
She moved away to peer out of the porthole into the encompassing darkness.
Hugh tried not to watch her, or breathe in her delicate, rose scent. He tried not to think of her warm blue eyes with their turbulent green swirls that seethed with passion, or her sweet, soft body that he ached to hold. She’d suffered enough hurt already. He wasn’t going to add to it by seducing her when he was in no position to offer her marriage.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts.
“Yes, my sweet. I am.” He turned the leather binding, skimmed the beginning chapters, then began to read one of them aloud. It was a description of how Stefan’s life at sea had started. “I expected to die in Portsmouth Prison and was surprised to learn that my father had negotiated my pardon.”
Emma gave a brittle laugh. “Just like you, Hugh.”
“I may have escaped on my own, but you’re the one who got my ship out of impound. And I’m not pardoned yet.” But he nodded and resumed reading. “Though I was his bastard son and he’d ignored me since birth, he was unwilling to see me hanged. Instead, he arranged to turn me into a privateer. He expected gratitude, but I showed him none, for he had merely exchanged one manner of execution for another. I tried to escape, but he found me. Angry, he took me by force to the English spy ship known as The Empress, and told me that I was to be the captain’s first mate. There were far more capable men than I who deserved the position, but I was the Earl of Bourne’s bastard, and nothing less would do. We sailed immediately, bound for the Dutch settlements in The East Indies. Bound for certain death.”
“Your Stefan was a strong-willed character,” Hugh murmured.
“You remind me of him,” Emma said, drawing closer and taking a seat across the desk from him. “He was a bit of a coward at first, but you never were. It’s an odd coincidence that you were both imprisoned in Portsmouth and sentenced to hang.”
“And we’ve both sailed to the East Indies. But I’ve never been to the island of Buru or the village of Wamsisi.”
“Stefan had never been there either, until The Empress was blown off course in a storm.”
“Still comparing me to your ancestor? I’m not him, although I suppose we were both privateers.”
Emma stiffened. “He was a privateer. You are a pirate. There’s a difference.”
“No, there isn’t. And don’t you ever forget it. You can’t trust anyone out here, not even the government officials who pretend to serve the Crown.”
“I’m sure they do an admirable job under difficult conditions. Surely, they’re loyal to–”
“No one but themselves,” he warned. “Every Englishman you encounter on these islands hides a sordid past. Just remember that they were banished from England because they committed grave misdeeds. Even the government officials.” He took her hand and squeezed it lightly. “Have a care, Emma. Rank and political connections mean nothing out here.”
“Am I supposed to trust only you?”
He nodded.
She began to laugh.
He retained a gentle grip on her hand. “These islands are dangerous. They serve as hideouts for blackguards who won’t hesitate to kill you. And if they don’t kill you, the natives will. Most natives are cannibals.” Not quite true, but not a complete falsehood either.
She frowned at him. “They didn’t eat Stefan.”
“That doesn’t mean they won’t eat you.” He tamped down the urge to devour her himself. She was as tempting as an exotic fruit at the height of its bloom, exquisitely lush and waiting to be peeled by his expert hands. “Indeed, I think they’ll find you quite delectable.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you purposely trying to frighten me?”
No, he was purposely fighting the urge to kiss her.
And failing miserably.
Every damn wall around his heart was in a crumbled ruin.
Hell, he was going to kiss her.
He drew her closer, surprised when she offered no resistance and–
“Captain! Captain!” Jacob shouted through the locked door while pounding on it. “Ye’d better come quick!”
Emma leaped out of his grasp and skittered to the opposite side of the cabin, no doubt ashamed that she was as hungry for their second kiss as he was.
He must have been mad to complicate an already impossible arrangement.
He strode to the door and wrenched it open, relieved for the interruption. “What is it, Jacob?”
“There’s a ship following us.”
“Do you recognize the flag?” Hugh usually enjoyed the chase and battle that sometimes ensued, but not this time.
Emma was too precious a cargo to risk.
“Och, no. I dinna make it out. It’s too dark out there.”
“Then let’s use the cloak of night to our advantage.” He ordered Jacob to take the helm, but his worried gaze remained on Emma. She had her hand poised on her slender throat and looked scared. “Sorry, my sweet. Our lovely evening must come to an end.”
“Is it a pirate ship?” He noticed that her hand was trembling.
He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her that all would be well, but there was no telling what would happen. “Too soon to tell.”
He returned to the desk, unlocked a secret drawer, and withdrew two pistols. He tucked one in his belt and handed Emma the other.
She held it at arm’s length, gingerly gripping it with thumb and forefinger. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Nothing for the moment. Put that book away. And lock the door as soon as Martine returns. Let no one else in but me, Lucifer, or Jacob.”
“Do you really think we’re in danger?”
He nodded. “Yes, my sweet. We are.”
Emma heard a soft rap at her door the following morning, then heard Hugh’s tired voice call out her name. Having spent the night worried that they might be blasted out of the water at any moment, she flew to the door and yanked it open. “Who were they, Hugh?”
He stepped in and strode across the room to the porthole with spyglass in hand.
Sunshine streamed into the room the moment he drew aside the small curtain covering the porthole. The sun’s rays created a circular bright spot where he stood, illuminating him as though he were an avenging angel. But his eyes were bloodshot and red rimmed from strain, and his features were drawn. On closer inspection, he appeared to be a very tired avenging angel. “I don’t know. We’ve lost them for now.”
“Is it safe to go on deck?” Martine asked, looking a little green.
Hugh ran a hand raggedly through his tousled hair. “Yes.”
Martine almost knocked Emma over as she raced out.
Emma thought to run after her, but Hugh appeared to need her attention more. Yet, what could she do for him? Perhaps fetch him a cup of tea. Or bring him his breakfast. Or carry in a bucket of fresh water for him to rinse off the grime of his night’s toil.
While she silently fretted about what to do, he turned once more to gaze across the sea, staring out for so long, she was sure he’d forgotten she was still here.
She cleared her throat. “Do you think it was Major Brewster attempting to catch up to us?”
“Brewster?” He practically spat out the man’s name. “I don’t think so.”
“Do you think they’ll return?”
He turned to her, about to respond, then stopped and cast her a sleepy smile. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. You look beautiful, Emma.”
