Page 32 of Thief of Hearts

C HAPTER T HIRTY-ONE

L UCY CLAPPED A HAND OVER HER MOUTH to smother a moan of horror.

To Lord Howell’s credit, he looked genuinely aggrieved, not the least bit elated at the prospect of hooking such a remarkable catch. “I say, Claremont, are you trying to tell me that you’re Captain Doom?”

Kevin plunged down from the fo’c’sle. “Balderdash! He’s nothing but a craven impostor. I’m Captain Doom!”

Without even looking, Gerard swung his fist back and smashed it into his brother’s face. Kevin went down like a stone.

Gerard’s merry grin was unrepentant. “I’m Captain Doom. He’s unconscious.”

When Lucy came rushing at him, Gerard sighed, reluctant to dispose of her in like manner. One look at her frantic face and Lord Howell would clap them both in irons. Feinting to make it appear her motion was his, he seized her around the shoulders, whipped his pistol from his breeches, and pressed it to her temple.

“Unless you’d like our next dance together to be the gallows hornpipe,” he muttered into her ear, “I suggest we make this convincing.”

Lucy had no trouble making it convincing. She was furious. Gerard was proving to be no less a tyrant than the Admiral, always making high-handed decisions about her future without consulting her.

“Why did you confess, you idiot?” she bit off beneath her breath, squirming wildly in his less than tender embrace.

“He’s a smart man,” Gerard replied through clenched teeth, wincing as her ruthless heel ground his toes into pulp. “It wouldn’t have taken him long to figure it out for himself. Dammit, listen to me! We haven’t much time. When we get to London, I want you to go straight to Smythe.”

“And you, sir, can go straight to Hades,” she snarled.

If Lucy had reverted to addressing him formally, Gerard knew he was in dire straits. Afraid she was going to incriminate herself out of sheer spite, he raked back the hammer of the gun.

Lucy went limp with shock, wondering if he might actually shoot her for smashing his toes. She suppressed a hysterical giggle, finding it utterly absurd that even while he was holding the balance of her life in his unscrupulous hands, she could take such perverse pleasure in the warmth of his arms around her.

The deck threatened to erupt into anarchy, the crew of the Courageous drawing steel to compensate for their waterlogged pistols, their reluctant hosts bristling at the threat to their captain. Apollo stepped forward, using nothing but his imposing size to coax one whey-faced lad into sheathing his sword. The Retribution ’s crew might be outnumbered, but they weren’t out-manned.

Gerard’s voice rang with authority, stilling them all. “I have only one condition for surrender, Lord Howell.”

The Earl’s worried gaze flitted across Lucy’s face. “What might that be, sir?”

“That my crew’s valiant and self-sacrificing actions in coming to the aid of the Courageous be duly noted and amnesty considered for each and every one of them.”

Lord Howell nodded somberly. “I shall note it in my log with all due gravity. But what of yourself, son? Have you no plea to make on your own behalf? For leniency, perhaps? A more merciful execution by shooting? A promise not to display your body for the amusement of the masses?”

Gerard felt Lucy’s flinch all the way to his bones. Not even Lord Howell could grant him the one thing he wanted—time. Time to stand before a minister of God and vow to cherish this woman for the rest of her life. Time to watch her slender body ripen with his child. Time to romp in the autumn leaves with their grandchildren. But most precious of all, time to explain to her that he was tired of running. That without her by his side, there was nowhere left to run.

“I’ll tell you what I want, sir. To be rid of this spoiled little bitch.” Gerard gave Lucy a shove, praying it would be hard enough to remove her from harm’s way for good. She stumbled to her knees at Lord Howell’s feet. Tossing her hair out of her eyes with a jerk of her head, she glared at him disbelievingly, her gray eyes smoky with hurt. He sneered down at her with all the contempt he could muster. “There ain’t no ransom worth having a woman like her aboard my ship.”

Laying a hand on Lucy’s shoulder, Lord Howell said gently, “I’m afraid it’s no longer your ship, sir. Seize him.”

Lucy watched in fierce misery as the crew of the Retribution was stripped of their weapons and directed to the lower fo’c’sle for interrogation. Gerard vanished into the shadows of the hold, flanked by two burly sailors.

Lord Howell tugged at her elbow, helping her to her feet. “Don’t worry, child. The rascal will soon be in irons where he belongs.” Attributing her bleak shudder to the cold, he draped an arm over her shoulder to block the frigid wind. “I can’t even imagine how overjoyed your father will be to see you.”

Lucy averted her grim face from his kindly gaze. “Neither can I, sir. Neither can I.”

Over a century earlier, the body of Captain William Kidd, preserved by tar and bound in a metal harness, had been left to swing from a gibbet over the choppy waters off Tilbury Point. Some claimed that on windy nights his chains could still be heard dancing in the wind, their eerie creaking a reminder to honest seafaring men everywhere that the path to hell was paved with noble intentions.

As the Retribution cut through the water of the Thames toward Greenwich, crowds of curious onlookers gathered on the banks to pay tribute to a man who had failed to heed that warning.

Rumors flew up and down the river on wings of excitement at the odd spectacle of a pirate schooner boasting the rippling splendor of the King’s own standard. Six years before, London had welcomed the man now calling himself Gerard Claremont as a conquering hero. A city that loved its sinners with no less ardor than its saints, it prepared to embrace Captain Doom with equal enthusiasm, its delighted denizens thronging the dock where he was to disembark hours before his arrival.

Ignoring the grumbling of the sailors and dock-hands trying to carry out their duties, they milled in pleasant chaos, both the poor, starved for a taste of romance in an existence consumed with daily survival, and the wealthy, thirsting for a thrill to flavor their jaded lives. Many of those were content to watch from the open doors of their luxuriant carriages rather than risk offending their delicate nostrils with the salty stench of rotting fish and the earthy taint of the merchants, prostitutes, and costermongers peddling their wares on the narrow planking walks.

Shortly before noon, the ship was finally spotted by a small boy who had honed his vision with expectation. A pall of speechless wonder fell over the crowd. Even the reporters paused in making their notes, their imaginations captured by the forbidden majesty of the outlaw schooner, her grim beauty unscathed by the winter sunshine. An approving roar went up from the crowd, infusing the scribes with purpose. Their pencils flew over their pads in a desperate attempt to describe a legend with only the fickle vagaries of the written word.

The crowd’s excitement surged as the schooner was brought to heel and a ramp laid in place. Both sailors and rogues spilled out with utmost haste, as if eager to escape the vessel’s cramped confines and the displeasure of each other’s company. Even the most casual of observers would have wagered that the short journey had not been an uneventful one.

A freckled lad in civilian garb sported two black eyes, presumably earned by defending his captain’s honor. His plump companion, wearing a pair of cracked spectacles and a scarlet kerchief, leered at a bouquet of well-dressed ladies huddled beneath pastel parasols, eliciting a trill of delighted giggles and at least one convincing swoon. The woman was revived by the fluttering attentions of her companions only to faint dead away as a towering behemoth, his skin the rich hue of ebony, strode past in stoic silence.

Anticipation mounted as the ramp cleared. The throng craned their necks for a glimpse of a breed of rebel whose era had come and gone, leaving their mundane world safer, but duller, for its passing. They barely noticed a diminutive figure hovering on deck, her hair smoothed into a neat chignon beneath the hood of a navy cloak.

Their patience was rewarded by the emergence of a man, flanked by four armed guards, at the top of the ramp. His disheveled appearance did nothing to detract from his striking good looks or his air of authority. Even shackled, his step was laced with the fleet grace of a man born to reign on the high seas.

Gerard blinked, blinded by the pale sunshine, deafened by the unexpected roar of adulation. Fearing his presence might incite mutiny, Lord Howell had kept him chained belowdeck for the brief duration of the voyage. The seething mass of humanity on the docks jolted his drowsy senses to life.

Prodded by the muzzle of a musket against the small of his back, he started down the ramp. One of the guards muttered a curt warning as his brother elbowed his way to his side.

Kevin’s voice carried beneath the roar of the crowd. “Would you listen to that? And they haven’t even heard of your daring rescue of the crew of the Courageous yet! Why, I’ll wager you’re destined to become a popular hero.”

“Sort of a seafaring Robin Hood, eh?” Gerard snorted in bleak bemusement. “They’re a fickle lot. They’ll cheer just as loudly when I’m convicted.”

“As should I after that nasty poke you gave me.” Kevin pinched the bridge of his nose, reducing his rich baritone to a nasal tenor. “I think you broke it.”

“It’ll do you good, brother. Now maybe you’ll be able to find a wench prettier than you are.”

“I wasn’t lying, you know. I was Captain Doom. For two brief, glorious months.”

Gerard didn’t care to remember how he’d spent those brief, glorious months. For a man with no future, dwelling on the past was an exercise in futility. But as they reached the bottom of the ramp, he could not stop himself from murmuring, “How is she?”

The determined thread of cheer in Kevin’s voice unraveled. “Holding up. Bravely struggling to maintain this charade you’ve forced upon her. But I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time before she cracks—”

“Father!”

The joyous ripple of sound jerked both their heads around. Lucy flew past them in a rush of fresh, lemon-scented air, her arms thrown wide as if to embrace all of London. Fascinated by this new drama, the crowd parted to let her through. Her hood fell back as she flung herself into the arms of a regal figure garbed in the blue and gold braid of an Admiral of the Fleet. Only the most astute observer would have noted the infinitesimal heartbeat of hesitation before he welcomed her into his arms.

“—beneath the strain,” Kevin finished lamely.

Gerard sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, stunned by the force of his unjust anger. “Quite convincing, isn’t she?”

Crippled with irrational jealousy, he watched the Admiral bend his snowy head to his daughter’s sunny one, earning the crooning approval of the charmed crowd. The Admiral could not resist angling a glance of gloating triumph in Gerard’s direction.

A musket prodded him between the shoulder blades. “March, Doom. You’ve a rendezvous with the hangman.”

Gerard wheeled around with such ferocity that the man recoiled as if the chains binding him were nothing more than silk ribbons. He curled his lip in an icy sneer. “Don’t fret. The bastard won’t start without me.”

Gerard’s last sight as they ushered him into the cart that would bear him to his dark, cramped cell at Newgate was Lucy’s coolly averted profile framed by the gilded window of her father’s carriage.

Lucy sat stiffly in the carriage seat opposite her father, her hands folded in her lap. She wished for a muff to hide their betraying tremor and tried not to think of the many times she had shared this vehicle with her bodyguard.

She stole a glance at the Admiral from beneath her lashes, reminding herself that he was no longer her father. His formidable presence made that reality more difficult to remember. She studied him with a newly critical eye, wondering how she could have been so blind to the debauched corpulence weighting his features, the spidery webs of dissipation around his eyes.

It seemed she had never stopped seeing him through the adoring eyes of an affection-starved child. She didn’t know whether to feel pity or contempt for that poor deluded creature.

The Admiral gazed out the window, watching the scenery unfold with blunt indifference. He was biding his time, she knew, like a hawk waiting to swoop down on a helpless mouse. She only prayed that by the time he realized she’d sharpened her teeth on a predator far more worthy of her efforts, it would be too late to spit her out.

He turned his penetrating gaze on her. “Are you well, daughter?”

So that was how it was to be, eh? They were to fall right back into their roles of overbearing father and dutiful daughter. What did he expect of her? That she rush home and resume work on his memoirs as if he hadn’t tried to murder her in cold blood? The scope of the man’s vanity was astounding. All she had to do was twist it to her advantage.

She forced a smile, hoping to inject just the right note of wry bitterness into her voice. “Quite well, Father. Our devoted Mr. Claremont was nothing if not shrewd when it came to his own profits. He knew he’d get little reward for returning damaged goods. I rather think he enjoyed playing the gallant with me. For those not born to it, it must be a challenging diversion.”

“Harrumph.”

Lucy had almost forgotten how infuriating his snorts of disapproval could be. Perhaps he wasn’t a hawk after all, but a bellicose moose, pawing at the ground, preparing to charge. She smothered an ill-timed giggle behind a delicate cough.

His cold gaze raked her, chilling her everywhere it lingered. “It might still be wise to have my physician examine you. You may have suffered an injury you’re not aware of.”

Lucy suppressed a shudder at the memory of the doctor’s icy, invading hands. This time, she might not pass his impersonal examination. She wondered how the Admiral would react if he inadvertently discovered she was carrying Gerard’s child. Not even her dread of the consequences could entirely squelch a primitive thrill at the possibility.

She met his heavy-lidded stare coolly. “Whatever you think best, Father.”

Ego soothed, he settled back in his seat. The squabs groaned beneath his weight. “I suppose the rogue kept you entertained with tales of your depraved father’s villainy.”

Whatever reaction the Admiral might have expected, it was not Lucy’s chiming laughter. “I had never heard such fantastic fables. Royal commissions that vanished into thin air. Buried treasure. Noble men imprisoned unjustly. Why, I thought I’d stumbled into one of those absurd fiction novels you’d always warned me against! I half expected to return and find you’d taken to the high seas with a patch over your eye and a jug of rum in your hand.” She swiped at her streaming eyes. “Can you believe he thought me harebrained enough to accept such ridiculous accusations without even a shred of proof? The man is clearly unbalanced, driven by his own delusions to these desperate acts.”

The Admiral favored her with an indulgent smile she would have gladly given her life to receive only a few short weeks ago. “The man obviously forgot whose daughter he was trying to dupe.”

And just whose daughter would that be?

His ruddy face clouded and, for an instant, Lucy feared her expression had revealed too much. “I must confess that I’ve been deeply troubled by a certain unresolved matter between us.”

“What is it, Father? It aggrieves me to see you so distressed.”

“Men who are given great authority are often required to make great sacrifices. Such was the grave position I found myself in at Tenerife.” His sigh was so heavy, it ruffled her hair. “I could not afford to concede to the miscreant’s demands, nor could I allow him to slip from my grasp to continue his reign of tyranny over the seas. I had no choice but to fire upon his vessel despite your presence. I only hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

Had playing cards with Kevin not taught her the strategic value of a bland countenance, Lucy would surely have betrayed herself with a skeptical snort to rival any moose’s. “There’s nothing to forgive. If anyone understands what you’ve sacrificed in the pursuit of your duty, it would be me. No harm was done, Papa, so let us speak of it no more.”

For a moment, Lucy thought she’d overplayed her hand. She’d never called him Papa in her life.

But to her surprise, he reached over and patted her folded hands. “You’re a good girl, Lucy. A fine daughter.”

His praise, delivered too late and for all the wrong reasons, nearly choked her with rancor.

As they descended from the carriage to the paved cobbles of Ionia’s drive, Lucy’s step was lightened by a nervous expectancy so acute she was afraid she was going to float away if it wasn’t soon relieved. She took the Admiral’s proffered arm purely to anchor herself. It might have been her overwrought imagination, but he seemed to be leaning on her more than his cane.

Guided by Fenster’s gnarled but capable hands, the carriage rolled on to the stables as they marched up the walk to the front stairs, their identical postures so rigid they might have been leading a formal processional.

The front door creaked open. Lucy’s heart danced in her chest to the seductive song of hope.

The music came to a discordant halt as a cadaverous figure in satin livery and powdered tie wig appeared in the doorway. “Good afternoon, sir,” he intoned, his ponderous voice lacking the crisp snap of Smythe’s. “And this must be your lovely daughter.”

Lucy’s step faltered. “I don’t understand. Where …?” For the first time, her courage deserted her, scattered by the unthinkable nature of the question.

The Admiral shook his head sadly. “I didn’t want to mar your homecoming, my dear, but I’m afraid there’s something you should know.”