The Lucky One (Brethren Of The Coast #6) Read online

  “Perfect.” With a final assessment of the precious gem, she sighed and placed the antique between stacks of papers. “There. He should have no trouble locating it.”

  Then she strolled to the bed, picked up a cushion, and buried her face in it. Dalton’s scent filled her senses, as she closed her eyes and envisioned him, as he had danced with her. Little by little, she shed the whimsical aspirations that had sustained her since his arrival, as trees drop their leaves in autumn, until nothing remained, except loneliness and defeatism.

  As a cold chill nestled in her chest, she resituated the pillow, turned on a heel—and shrieked in horror.

  “Well, now.” A surly tar rested hands on hips, as he kicked the door shut behind him. “What ‘ave we here?”

  “I am here to see Captain Randolph.” Myriad excuses rendered her dizzy, as she sought a valid defense. “But I seem to have missed him.”

  “Cap’n has taken a room in town, missy.” The stodgy sailor pulled a length of rope from his pocket. “And even without your mask, you look like one of those vagabonds who stole from us, when we first dropped anchor. They had a woman with them. Where are your partners in crime?”

  “Wait.” In that instant, she recognized the man as the gun-toting mariner, and she seized on the details from the illfated invasion. “You are mistaken, Mr. Shaw. I am a friend of Sir Dalton’s, and I was to meet him.”

  “You are not Cap’n’s usual fare, and I would know, as I have served him in some capacity for more than ten years.” He narrowed his stare. “And how do you know my name?”

  “Because I am telling you the truth.” She splayed her hands. “I am sorry if I startled you. Perhaps I misunderstood Sir Dalton, and I should contact him at the inn.”

  “You are going nowhere.” Mr. Shaw neared, and she sprinted to the desk. “Come now, dove. Do not make me chase you.”

  “Keep your distance, sir.” When he lunged across the blotter, strewing various items, she leaped beyond reach and sheltered behind a small dining table. An eerie sensation of déjà vu shivered over her flesh, and she shuffled free, just as he toppled a chair. “Please, let me go, and I will say nothing.”

  “Not a chance, as Cap’n bade me guard the Siren with my life.” Mr. Shaw swerved and blocked her path. “You are my prisoner.”

  “No.” Daphne gulped and ran in the opposite direction. As he pursued her, she knocked over another chair, and Mr. Shaw tripped and fell to the floor. And that was her chance to flee, so she made for the exit, threw open the oak panel, and struck another sailor square in the chest.

  “Not so fast, lovey.” The cook dropped his now familiar cast-iron skillet and caught her in a bear hug. “What are you doing on the boards, Mr. Shaw?”

  “The chit is a fast one.” From behind, Mr. Shaw grabbed her wrists. “Hold her, while I bind her for Cap’n.”

  “I beg you, this is wrong.” She squirmed and kicked the cook in the shins. “Unhand me, you brute.”

  “Ouch. And you look like such a nice lady.” When she screamed, he winced. “Hurry up, Mr. Shaw. Before she takes out something important, tie her ankles, too. And use one of Cap’n’s cravats to gag her, as I will not listen to her screeching until dawn.”

  It was then she realized her grave error in judgment. Never should she have ventured to Dalton’s ship. Trussed as a Christmas goose, and dying of shame, Daphne wept when the men threw her atop the bunk. But the worst was yet to come, and she struggled against her tethers, as Mr. Shaw laughed.

  “That will teach you a lesson, nasty thief.” Mr. Shaw snickered and then addressed the cook. “Send Tommy to fetch Cap’n at first light.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  As was their custom since they were in shortcoats, and before his elder brother married Rebecca, Dalton and Dirk broke their fast before dawn and set off for an early morning ride. Competitive even in adulthood, they charged along the beach, racing, laughing, and jumping dunes. When the sun peeked over the horizon, Dalton drew reign and pondered his parting words to Miss Daphne.

  “The governor’s daughter is quite beautiful.” Well that comment had come sooner than anticipated. Dirk chucked Dalton’s shoulder. “Admit it, you are fond of her.”

  “What do you know of anything?” He peered at Dirk, who smirked. Dalton rolled his eyes. “Oh, all right. While your ability to read my thoughts remains the bane of my existence, I must confess she is altogether fascinating. And you never told me what brought you to Portsea.”

  “Can you not guess? I will give you one word.” Dirk arched a brow. “Rebecca.”

  “What—why?” Dalton huffed a breath and shifted in his saddle. “She is not my mother, I am not a child, and I have no need of a nursemaid.”

  “She was concerned, and you know how my wife worries.” Dirk shrugged. “And she is pregnant, so her emotions are on alert for the slightest sign of trouble. You remember what happened when she carried Angeline, so I was reluctant to leave her, but she insisted I check on you.”

  “Have the nightmares returned?” Dalton glanced at his sibling and frowned. “You do not have to answer that question.”

  “It began just after we found out she increases with what she insists is my heir. She wakes in the middle of the night, screaming in terror. Dr. Handley supposes her condition stimulates vivid recollections of her imprisonment, as she lost our first child, in captivity.” Dirk lowered his chin and shook his head. “If I could kill Varringdale again, I would do so, if only to give her peace.”

  “I am so sorry, brother. As this should be a happy occasion.” At one time, Rebecca had served the Counterintelligence Corps as the spy, L’araignee, the spider. Dirk met her, when he was tasked with her safe passage to England, after her partner in espionage was murdered. After a surprise attack rendered Dirk wounded and incapacitated, Rebecca led their assailants on a merry chase, before she was apprehended, tortured, and left for dead. “But to be honest, I still suffer the odd hideous dream of Varringdale’s sadistic chamber of horrors and how we located her.”

  “So do I.” Dirk rubbed the back of his neck. “Yet I would have no other, as I love my Becca, to distraction. But I suspect she hides something from me, some hellish detail of her ordeal she does not want me to know.”

  “To what purpose?” Dalton considered the possibility and shuddered, as what he knew of her misery was bad enough. “What could she hope to achieve?”

  “Who can say, for certain, how the female mind works?” Dirk scratched his temple. “But I think she withholds information in the misguided but well-meaning attempt to spare me additional distress, regarding her trauma. In short, she does not wish to cause me pain, yet I believe her refusal to reveal the full extent of her experience festers as an open wound and fosters renewed torment.”

  “Have you talked to her about it?” He swallowed hard, as he remembered discovering Rebecca’s torn and bloody riding habit. “She may confess everything, if you confront her.”

  “Would you treat my wife thus, given your knowledge of what she endured?” Dirk cast a menacing expression. “She will tell me when she is ready. Until then, I will indulge her every desire, as I owe her my life, and I am nothing without her.”

  “My apologies, brother.” Dalton gazed at the clouds, as he had on the cliff that terrible day. “Dr. Handley confirmed, based on her injuries, the beating and the starvation. And we found her chained to a pike, on the shore, almost drowned. That she may have survived even worse—I cannot fathom it. I do not want to fathom it.”

  “Neither do I.” A gull keened in the distance, and Dirk pointed at the bird. For a long while, they simply sat in companionable silence. “I have never shared with you what flashed before me, what ravaged my innards, as I stood on the precipice, overlooking the ocean, having just realized Rebecca was, for all intents and purposes, dead. In those few excruciating minutes, I thought my world at an end, as I could see no future without her in it. The loss, the indescribable agony was more than I could bear. When I crawled to the edge of the esc
arpment, I had planned to—”

  “No.” He wanted to cover his ears against the harsh truth his sibling, the lone person Dalton had always admired and emulated, had imparted. “You are the strongest and best man of my acquaintance, and you will never convince me otherwise.”

  “You mistake my aim in apprising you of these events, little brother.” Dirk sighed and then smiled. “I want you to understand that nothing compares to what I enjoy with my bride and our daughter. What I found with Rebecca—there are no words to adequately relate what we have, but I can only pray you find a woman of such estimable qualities, so you may know how it feels to exist as something more than yourself, to prevail as partners, as lovers, and as friends. I want that sort of deep, abiding devotion for you.”

  “Me, too.” Dalton compressed his lips and pictured Daphne. “And it will happen.”

  “When you least expect it.” Dirk chuckled. “And you will wonder what you ever did without her. Now, shall we journey to the inn, as you must move the Siren to Portsmouth, and I should like to depart for London, as I am anxious to return home.”

  “Of course, brother.” Dalton heeled the flanks of his stallion.

  “And what are your intentions, in regard to Miss Harcourt?” Dirk averted his gaze. “As you could have assigned the requisite duties to your first mate, so I gather you wish to remain here for other reasons.”

  “As I informed you during breakfast, she is in trouble.” And her predicament had kept him awake most of the night. “And I must discern the governor’s whereabouts. Given the Treaty of Fontainebleau, Napoleon’s exile to Elba, and our recent orders to stand down, I thought I could be of assistance.”

  “You could leave such business for the constable to investigate.” Dirk’s accompanying grin belied his seriousness, as they galloped down the lane. “There is no need to take personal involvement in their private matters.”

  “As I have nothing better to do, I disagree.” And he would never hear the end of it. Braced for all manner of ribbing, he had not long to wait.

  “I am sure you do, but can you explain your rationale?” Dirk inquired, with a snort. “As I am sure you are not the only one capable of aiding the damsel in distress, though you may be the most bumptious.”

  “No.” Dalton groaned. “But if I think of a reason, you will be the first to know it.”

  Dirk burst into laughter, just as they reigned in and stopped before the inn.

  “Cap’n, I have urgent news from Mr. Shaw.” Tommy, the carpenter’s mate, made his obedience. “He asks you to return to the Siren, at once, sir. We caught a thief.”

  #

  Mad as a hornet’s nest, Dalton boarded his ship, with his brother in tow. Problem was he knew not who had angered him more, Daphne or Mr. Shaw. While he had his suspicions, regarding Miss Harcourt’s second assault on the Siren, he could not begin to comprehend the first mate’s decision to imprison her as a common criminal.

  “Cap’n.” Mr. Shaw saluted. “She is locked in your cabin, sir. And she is bound and gagged.”

  “What?” Dalton halted in his tracks, as seething ire poured through his veins. Without warning, he lunged and grabbed fistfuls of the first mate’s shirt. “I ought to keelhaul—”

  “Easy, brother.” Dirk intervened and separated Dalton from Mr. Shaw. “Let us check on the lady, and then you may kill your first mate.”

  “Right.” After flinging aside Mr. Shaw, Dalton charged down the companionway toward his quarters. Guarding the door, a young tar glanced at Dalton, jerked, saluted, turned the key, set the oak panel wide, and retreated a safe distance.

  He had expected a hailstorm of curses intermingled with feminine sobs of lament. Instead, the room was quiet. Lying in his bunk, a sight that should have summoned bawdy innuendos and salacious images, Daphne slept on her side, but he could muster nothing more than gut-wrenching remorse, as he assessed her condition.

  As he perched at the edge of the makeshift bed, he discovered her tearstained cheeks, but it was the bloody, raw skin on her wrists and ankles that left him gritting his teeth, especially when he noted she wore the slippers he had gifted her, after Mrs. Jones apprised him that all of Daphne’s shoes were too small.

  “Fetch some fresh water and bandages.” Dalton pressed a clenched fist to his mouth. “And have cook prepare a pot of tea—she prefers the Indian blend, and a light repast.”

  “Aye, sir.” Mr. Shaw all but ran from the chamber.

  “You should wake her, before you release her.” Dirk produced a knife, which he gave to Dalton. “Else you risk frightening her.”

  “I would prefer to untie the gag, first.” Dalton grasped the knot and attempted to loosen the linen.

  With a violent flinch, Daphne came awake. Wide-eyed and shivering, she bucked as an unbroken horse and mumbled incoherently. How his heart ached, when he spied the sheer terror in her gaze. As Dalton tried to hold her still, she wriggled and kicked.

  “Easy, love.” He splayed his palms. “I am not going to hurt you. I only want to cut your bonds, and then we will talk.”

  When he approached, she recoiled, and he paused. After he displayed the blade for her inspection, she nodded once. Dalton reached behind her head and severed the cravat. He had anticipated a sharp rebuke delivered in her customary haughty tone, but she just whimpered, as he removed the ropes. Then he drew her into his lap and held her, as she wept and trembled without restraint.

  Mr. Shaw reappeared, bearing a tray with an ewer of water, a towel, and some rolled cotton. “Shall I tend her, Cap’n?”

  “No.” At that instant, Daphne sobbed and clung to Dalton. “I will care for her.”

  “Beg your pardon, sir.” The first mate situated the tray on the bunk and shuffled his feet. “I had no idea—”

  “Get out.” Dalton snatched a cloth, wet it, and pressed it to Daphne’s wrists, and she winced. “I know it burns, but I need to clean your wounds.”

  “Let me help.” Dirk knelt and treated her ankles. “Have you any salve, else the bandages will stick to her flesh?”

  “Top right drawer of my desk.” At last, he could bear no more of her torment, so he tipped her chin and covered her lips with his. It was a kiss meant to comfort, not to arouse, and he licked and suckled her tender flesh until she relaxed in his arms and ceased shuddering. When he lifted his head, Dalton found himself the subject of intense scrutiny, as Dirk stood there, mouth agape and brows cocked in surprise. “Not a word, brother.”

  “I shall be as quiet as the grave.” But Dirk’s smile declared what he had not stated, as he rubbed the balm to her injuries. “For now.”

  “Better?” He caressed her cheek and then smeared ointment on her wrists, which he swaddled. “Are you hungry, love?”

  “Yes.” When she rested her head to his chest, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the table. With his foot, he pulled out a chair and then sat, again cradling her in his embrace. After pouring a cup of tea, he held it for her. “Here, sweetheart. Take a sip.”

  “Oh.” She tensed and brought her shaking fingers to her chin. “My jaw is sore.”

  “Go slow.” And with that, Dalton proceeded to feed her bites of fruit, scrambled eggs, and toast, suffering her groans of discomfit as vicious marks on his conscience. All the while, he fought to ignore Dirk’s ever-present perusal. “I am so sorry, Daphne. Never did it occur to me that my men could be such bloody idiots.”

  “But it is my fault.” She scooted from his hold and walked to the stern windows. “I should not have come here.”

  “Why did you raid my ship a second time?” To calm his frayed nerves and ease the tension investing his shoulders, Dalton toyed with his lucky coin, which he pulled from his pocket and tossed into the air. “You knew I remained at the inn.”

  “I wanted to return the missing brooch, which I tucked in the center drawer, between your maps and charts.” With her arms wrapped about herself, she emitted something between a sob and a sigh. “I had hoped you would not notify the constable
.”

  “You lost Lady Amanda’s family heirloom?” Dirk inquired with an air of incredulity, as he located the priceless heirloom. “I would not want to be in your boots when you tell the admiral.”

  “He did not lose it.” Daphne peered at Dirk. “My younger brother Richard stole it, so we might sell it to purchase food, as we are starving.”

  “Daphne, I know of your financial difficulties, as there is talk in the town, but I have no idea how you arrived at such dire straits.” At long last, Dalton hoped to learn the truth of her situation, as he stood. “Where is your father?”

  “Papa is—” Slowly, she rotated to look at him. Stock-still, Daphne clutched her throat, her face paled, and she swayed. Then she launched herself at Dalton, and he almost toppled to the floor. Hugging him at the waist, she squeezed hard. Before he could respond, she wrenched free and snatched his talisman from his grasp. “This is yours?”

  “Aye, but it is hardly fit for a young lady of character.” When she studied the crude sexual depiction, appropriately engraved on the tail end, he shifted his weight and prayed Dirk would forgo a witty rejoinder. To Dalton’s relief, his brother pretended an interest in the timbers. “You should not view such things.”

  “What is it?” She traced the jagged edge with her fingertip. “Never have I seen anything of its nature.”

  “I should think not, as it is a Roman brothel token.” Most women would have been shocked by the purposive nature of the piece, but Daphne seemed intrigued, and he could make no sense of her fascination. “Wealthy men purchased them to exchange for the particular service depicted thereon.”

  “Where did you get it?” She flipped the gold coinage in her palm. “Is it rather commonplace?”