Page 40 of A Spinster for the Rakish Duke (Notorious Sisters of London #3)

Samantha was terrified. She had listened to this conversation from inside the crate where she had hidden ever since they had sighted the pirate ship charging toward her father’s merchant ship.

How she had gotten there was a tale in itself.

Though having escaped one predicament, she now found herself embroiled in a fresh one.

Catherine’s plan had seemed a simple one at first. To spite the Duke and to avoid the marriage, Samantha would run away.

She was to hide in the warehouses of her father’s shipping company down by the docks, remaining there long enough to cause an uproar and ensure that her father would take seriously her refusal to marry.

The two women had prepared their plan that very day and having dined in silence with the Duke and Regina, Samantha had made an excuse and gone early to her chambers, her stepmother scowling at her as she had left the dining room, each of them knowing who was responsible for the damaged books.

Later that night, when the house was quiet, Samantha had slipped out of the kitchen door, crossed the garden, and made her way through the shrubbery to meet Catherine, the two of them hurrying to the docks and into one of the warehouses.

Between them they had gathered enough food and drink to last Samantha for several days of hiding in one of the large crates which were used to bring sugar back from the West Indies.

It had seemed a marvelous ruse, and Samantha had settled herself down, as Catherine closed the lid, promising to return in several days and update her upon the ruckus she had caused.

It had grown late by then, and Samantha had settled down to sleep, curled up beneath a blanket and thinking herself quite marvelous for the trick she had played.

In her dreams, she pictured the anguished look upon her father’s face, his regret at having driven her away, and his pleading desire to have her back.

Regina would seethe that her lapdog had disappeared, and that she no longer had anyone to taunt or flaunt her ridiculous nature to.

In a few days, Samantha would return, her father would chastise her, and the matter would be pushed aside.

Samantha would not have to marry the gentleman – whoever he was – and talk of matrimony would cease.

But some hours later, Samantha had been awoken by a loud thud, and the shouts of men’s voices as the crate had moved.

Startled by this, she sat up, attempting to lift open the lid of the crate, but finding it locked from the outside.

Catherine had closed her in, and now, despite her cries, nobody knew she was there.

She could hear men’s voices, cries from the dockside, and to her horror she realized she was being lifted aboard ship.

The Duke had made his fortune in New World, running sugar supplies back and forth from his plantations, and dealing in other dubious trades better left unsaid.

He owned a fleet of merchant ships, traversing back and forth across the Atlantic, carrying goods to trade and returning laden with sugar.

It was thanks to this trade that he had amassed his fortune, and now his daughter was to become part of the cargo.

Samantha was horrified, terrified of her plight, but she could do nothing but feebly call out for help, a cry that was entirely ignored.

The crate had been loaded onto one of the ships, and the rhythmic bobbing up and down suggested that now they had put to sea, bound for the Caribbean and returning weeks, perhaps months, later.

What would Catherine say when she returned to the warehouse?

And what would her father say when the ruse was discovered?

Suddenly, Samantha’s plan seemed only foolish, and she cursed herself for her stupidity.

That had been several weeks ago, and Samantha now lay hidden in that same crate, awaiting her fate.

The captain of the merchant ship had discovered her three days after setting sail, when the confines of the crate had become too much to bear, and she had shouted so loudly that help had come.

He had been angry at first, later bemused, and when he had discovered her true identity – not a stowaway but the daughter of his employer – he had taken pity upon her, treating her as an honored guest and promising to return her to England at the first opportunity.

With the sighting of the pirate ship, she had been bundled back into the crate, the captain ordering that they make all haste for the harbor of St Kitts, and the protection of HMS Honoria which was moored there with her compliment of British troops.

Alas, they had not made it, and Samantha had listened in terror to the sounds of the boarding, and the arrogant words of the pirate captain who had commandeered the ship.

Now, she held her breath. Listening to the sounds of a conversation above, the pirate captain, whom she had learned was named Nox, and another man he kept calling Strap, which seemed a perfectly ridiculous name to Samantha, who had never met a pirate, much less found herself onboard one of their ships.

This was the first time she had ever been to sea, and she had vowed that it would be the last.

“Maybe my heart is no longer in it, Strap. Can a man be at sea for too long?” came the voice of Nox from above.

The crate creaked, and it seemed as though he was leaning upon it. Samantha held her breath.

“Too long? How far does the ocean stretch, Nox? No, a man cannot be at sea too long, but the sea can grow weary of him. They say that about some men, their fortune has run out, the sea no longer loves them,” came the reply.

“I would gladly sail these seas for the rest of my life, but for the mystery which surrounds me,” Nox replied.

The crate was large, and wide enough for Samantha to stretch herself out in fully, and tall enough so that she could comfortably sit up.

The captain of the merchant ship had packed food into the crate for her, telling her to remain there whatever should happen.

By her reckoning, Samantha had enough food for three days, the dim light which came through several holes in the sides of the crate enough to see this by, though it seemed to be getting dark outside, the interior of the crate growing gloomy.

The other crates contained doubloons, the money which was to be used for the expenses of the sugar plantations, money which would be easily recuperated with the export back – what her father would refer to as “sweet gold,” owing to its exorbitant price in London and the provinces.

But this crate had, it seemed, contained a cargo of spices at some point, the remnants of which still dusted its wooden bottom.

The scent was pungent, an aroma of pepper, nutmeg, cinnamon, and other exotic scents, such that the atmosphere was close and heady.

Samantha was holding her breath, trying not to make any movement until Nox and his friend were gone.

But as she tried to inhale a scant breath, the scent of the pepper caught her nose, and without warning, she sneezed.

There was quiet from above, and she sneezed again, cursing herself for her foolishness, and praying that she would not be discovered.

“What was that?” Nox asked, and Samantha listened, praying they would suspect no one to be inside the crate.

“Someone listening in on us,” Strap replied, and Samantha sneezed again.

“Inside the crate,” Nox exclaimed, and Samantha could do nothing but wait, listening to the sound of a crowbar levying open the lid.

She shrank back into the corner, as though huddling herself into a tight ball could save her from the inevitability of being discovered.

With a splintering crack, the lid was forced open, the crate flooded with the last of the evening light.

Samantha was shaking, and she turned her face slowly upward, to find two men looking down at her in astonishment.

One was old, with a long black beard, a weather-beaten face, and missing teeth, an old tricorne hat pulled down over his head, but the other was young, tall, strong, and athletic looking, with black hair and bright green eyes.

He had a scar running down his left cheek and was dressed in a long waistcoat, buckled with gold buttons, patterned in exotic silk.

A look of astonishment was upon his face, as Strap leaned down into the crate and grabbed Samantha by her arm, hauling to her feet with a cry.

“A stowaway, have we? Well, now, what a pretty thing,” he exclaimed, as Samantha struggled in his grip.

Her limbs were stiff and ached from being confined to the crate, and despite the terror of her discovery, she was pleased to breathe in the fresh salty air of the sea, after the spiced atmosphere of the crate. Now, she faced them defiantly, her eyes fixed upon Nox, who stared at her in fascination.

“Have you never seen a woman before?” she demanded, determined not to show her fear to him.

“Not one hidden inside a crate. No, I have not,” he said.

His accent was strange, not gruff like that of Strap, but well mannered, like one of her father’s aristocratic friends, and she looked at him curiously.

“And you are Nox, the pirate who boarded my… the merchant’s ship,” she asked, and he nodded.

“That is right, and what were you doing hiding in that crate? Did you stowaway on board there, too?” he asked.

“No, I was… a guest,” she said, not wishing to explain who she was or why she had found herself aboard the merchant’s ship.

“The mistress of the captain, well, she shall make a fine prize for us, too,” Strap said, leering at Samantha, who pushed him away.

“Enough, Strap. What is your name? And why do I find you hiding on board my ship?” Nox asked.

Samantha pursed her lips, unsure of how much to tell him. He did not seem angry with her, more bemused, as though he could only admire a woman who had been so courageous as to stow away aboard a pirate ship.

“My name is Samantha… Ferguson,” she said, using Catherine’s surname, for she knew that if it was discovered she was the Duke of Hampton’s daughter then she would certainly be used for ransom.

Nox looked at her, pondering her for a moment, as a smile spread across his face.

“Well, what a find, and they hid you here? Thinking you would be safe from us pirates, did they?” he asked, as Strap laughed.

“And am I?” she asked, summoning her womanly charms, and fixing him with a searching gaze.

There was something odd about him, as though he did not entirely fit the mold of a pirate. He seemed more like a gentleman than a swashbuckling outlaw, and she recalled his words of mercy to the captain of the merchant ship and his crew.

“Many are afraid of me,” he replied, still looking her up and down with a smile.

“I suppose you will tell me you have overrun many ships, that you are the scourge of these seas, and that I have been lucky not to feel your wrath already,” she said, deciding to play to his vanity.

Nox laughed, shaking his head, and holding out his hand to her.

“Let her go, Strap, I will see to her in my cabin,” he said, and Strap smiled a broad and gaping smile.

“You have your way with her, Nox. It is a long time since we have put into port. The worker deserves his wages,” Strap said, and Nox smiled.

Samantha backed away, but Nox only shook his head, taking her by the hand and leading her up a flight of steps toward the cabins.

The rest of the crew were below deck, and the ship was anchored off some rocks below a small island, the sun sitting like a half ball of flame on the horizon, sinking slowly into the ocean.

“Come along, let me get a good look at you,” Nox said, ushering her inside.

Samantha was shaking with fear, convinced that any moment he would seek to take advantage of her, or throw her from the side of the ship. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she struggled in his arms, but to no avail, for he was strong and held her in an iron grip.

The cabin was small, but comfortably furnished.

Lamps burned at the windows, and large table at the center was covered in maps and charts.

A bed was built into an alcove in the wall, and along the other wall three large chests sat, each locked with a gold chain.

The remnants of a meal lay on one edge of the table, and Nox took out two glasses, pouring what looked like wine into one and handing it to Samantha.

“Sit there,” he said, pushing her down into a chair by the window.

“If I am to be your prisoner, then I would prefer to be locked up. I am not afraid of you,” she said, though she felt terribly afraid, but Nox only laughed.

“If you were a man, and I had found you there, do you know what I would have done?” he asked, slumping down into a chair by the window, as Samantha stood meekly with the glass in hand, still not trusting him.

“Killed me?” she asked, and he nodded.

“One way or the other. I do not take kindly to stowaways, Miss Ferguson,” he said, and Samantha looked at him defiantly.

“I am not a stowaway on board this ship, for if you had not attacked an innocent cargo then I would not be here. I am part of the theft you have gained, and I owe you no further explanations,” she said, folding her arms and turning away from him.

She eyed the food on the table hungrily, though did not want to give him the satisfaction of showing her desire.

Samantha was a plucky woman, but this was almost too much, and it was all she could do to stop herself from screaming.

But with nowhere to run, she felt helpless and entirely at his mercy.

“You speak the truth, but that does not change the question of what I am to do with you. If you were a man, then it would be infinitely easier,” he said, reaching behind him and taking up a bottle of brown liquid – rum she presumed – which he poured into his own glass, raising it in a toast.

“Then I would already be dead. Kill me,” she replied, and he laughed.

“I am not in the habit of killing people, not when they interest me, and you have certainly aroused my interests,” he said, a searching smile spreading across his face.