Chapter 25
Nick helped Lord Matlock into the gig, widening his stance when the narrow boat wobbled.
“At the front, Yer Lordship,” he said, earning a grunt from the man who, since his arrival in his carriage earlier that same evening, had insisted that if Nick was not ready to claim him as his uncle, he could at least address him as a friend without the formalities.
Nick couldn’t explain why he hesitated. It just didn’t feel right for him to take such a liberty … it probably never would.
Along with Richard, Nick had ridden ahead of Lord Matlock, passing Mr. Bennet and arranging for changes of horses and allowing the older men to travel in greater comfort.
His Lordship must have been exhausted—he, too, had overtaken Mr. Bennet, who did the best he could but did not have as sturdy of a constitution—but he did not complain.
Once Nick had learned from the local fishermen that the Fancy, with its scantily clad figurehead, moored ten miles off the coast, he had insisted on accompanying them out to the ship.
They took their seats. The gig rocked and bobbed on the water. It was built for speed, and with the oarsmen aboard (Nick included), they would sneak up noiselessly on the Fancy. It was the only way. Alex would shoot them out of the water if she suspected their threat.
He pursed his lips, his nostrils flaring as he exhaled and gripped the oar to plunge into the water. The familiar burn in his shoulders brought some comfort. At least that was the same. Unlike her.
He’d thought he knew Alex, but if that was true, then he’d need more answers from her. Why’d she moor ten miles off a busy port? Why’d she let him leave? Why had she betrayed him?
And the biggest one of all: Why was she here? He doubted she chased after him to apologize. Alex rarely suffered from a guilty conscience. So what was she up to?
Lord Matlock interrupted his thoughts, asking, “No doubt, you and Richard have discussed the matter at length, so my apologies for making you repeat yourself. However, while I see clearly how she mistook Darcy for you, I cannot comprehend what that has to do with Miss Bennet. As if one kidnapping is not enough!”
Nick answered honestly. “I’m not certain. Alex doesn’t change course. When something gets into that fool woman’s head, she’ll stop at nothing to see it done.”
“Why do you suspect she is behind both disappearances?”
Nick dug into the water, his breath more forceful now.
Whether that was Alex’s fault or the exercise, he couldn’t distinguish.
“It’s all in the timing. Darcy disappeared Sunday night and Miss Bennet only four days later.
” He shrugged. It had started out as a hunch and had gained strength with every clue they had discovered along the way.
Lord Matlock looked out over the water and shuffled his thumbs impatiently. “Your hunch led us to Lafitte’s ship, so I am inclined to believe you are correct. I only pray that Darcy is still there … and unharmed … along with Miss Bennet.”
Richard asked, “With the navy actively patrolling our waters, how has she managed to avoid discovery?”
Confound it if Nick knew. Her choice to moor off Weymouth Harbor was nonsensical …
like everything else the backstabbing siren had done lately.
Taking a deep breath to calm his ire, Nick explained, “The Fancy’s a fast little frigate, and Alex knows not to stay long in any one place.
Her strength is in her speed. She can outrun any ship.
And if one of the King’s finest stops her, she has a hold of spices to convince ‘em she’s a merchant.
If that doesn’t work, she’s got several letters of marque. ”
“From whom?” Richard asked, shocked.
“From whichever country’s handy,” Nick replied with a wry grin. The lawless had to take extra precautions when flaunting the laws of the land and, had the colonel asked, Nick could have elaborated half a dozen other means to escape notice.
Lord Matlock grunted. “How did you know she would sail this direction when it exposes her to danger?”
“Alex hates the cold,” Nick shook his head at the weakness of his reasoning, but the truth was that once he had heard of Miss Bennet’s disappearance and her attachment to Darcy, he had known.
He had felt it in his bones. “I believe her plan, when she thought she had kidnapped me, was to go south, where she could pillage merchant ships and capture Spanish warships for the crown. When she learned her mistake, she could either return north—a foolhardy option sure to earn her unwanted attention—or head west with the rocks and islands to hide behind and bide her time until she formed a new plan.”
Lord Matlock nodded. “Intuition can only carry you so far, Nick. How did you know to ask at Weymouth? The Fancy might have reached Falmouth by now.”
One of the oarsmen scoffed. Looking around him uncomfortably, he looked down and mumbled, “Begging your pardon, Your Lordship.”
“Enlighten me, good sir,” Lord Matlock insisted.
“It’s only that nobody be sailing anywhere in the fog we’ve had. No stars, no direction.”
Nick agreed. He’d counted on the fog to hold her back. Not even Nunez, as capable as he was, could navigate through that dense fog. No one could.
“You assume a great deal too much for my taste.” Lord Matlock leveled his gaze at Nick.
Nick smiled. Richard had said the same over the past three days of riding. He responded to the father the same way he had to the son. “Men like me learn to live by our instincts and act quickly, or we get caught and hanged.”
“As you have proved. However, we are creeping up on Miss Lafitte, who by your account has lived a life similar to yours. What can we expect from her? I do not assume she shall be pleased to receive us.”
Nick’s shoulders tensed, and between the strokes of his oar, he twisted his neck from side to side, his bones crunching and cracking.
He looked forward to the altercation. Just wait until he boarded Alex’s ship.
Wouldn’t that be the perfect revenge—taking the Fancy as his prize?
He already knew her crew. Once he made them aware of what she’d done, they’d mutiny.
They’d vote captain, and he’d throw her in the bilge with the rest of the rats.
He’d lock the door himself and toss the key over the side.
Avoiding a direct answer, he whispered, “We’re getting close.”
As he’d expected, the ship was dark. What he hadn’t expected to hear was music and laughter. They drew closer, careful to paddle softly, and listened.
The crew silenced for a few seconds before they rose in a cheerful roar. Some game must be afoot. Good. A distraction.
Nick guided the gig to the starboard side, where a wooden ladder stretched up to the main deck. Making sure his weapons were ready, he crept up the ladder and slipped over the side, signaling for the others to follow when he went unnoticed.
Alex’s sailors faced the center of the deck, fists pounding the air, their loud whoops piercing the night. Nick couldn’t have asked for a better distraction. Even the lookout watched the deck when he ought to have spotted them approaching.
Curious, Nick used his height to peer over the crew. A man was flat on his back. A young lady knelt down at his side, then rising to her feet, she held a hand out to help him up.
That was when Nick heard Alex, saw her out of the corner of his eye, laughing and clapping.
The hairs on the back of Nick’s neck rose on end and, before he thought better of it, he shoved through the crowd, pulling his loaded pistol out of his waistband.
Whispered exclamations—“There be two of ‘em!” “If I didn’t see it with me own eyes…” “Which be which?”—faded under his heartbeat drumming in his ears.
Alex, vixen that she was, smiled at Nick and stepped forward, closer to him and the pistol he pointed at her. “Nick!” she exclaimed, not in the least bit concerned. She didn’t think he’d do it.
“Don’t test me, woman. I’ll shoot.” He gritted his teeth and cocked the pistol.
Her smile wavered. She looked confused, but he wouldn’t let the treacherous siren fool him again.
She’d sooner lead him to the rocks and let him drown than let him leave to find whatever it was he’d thought he was out to find.
Anger and the prospect of revenge had fueled him over the miserable weeks crossing the Atlantic to London, but now that she stood close enough for him to shoot…
Drat it all to the crushing depths, he couldn’t do it.
Lord Matlock’s voice broke the silence. “There shall be no bloodshed, Nick.”
The man the lady had handed up earlier spun around. “Uncle?”
Nick felt his eyes bulge and his mouth drop. His hands shook, and he dropped them to his knees. There was no pistol there. When had someone plucked it from his grasp?
Richard and Lord Matlock brushed by him to the man. To Darcy. They embraced him and bowed to the young lady they called Miss Bennet. Their greetings were happy.
Nick thought he would be sick. He seemed to have a head cold, complete with a useless, stuffy nose and a swollen throat. His chest ached, and his eyes blurred. Definitely sick. He closed his eyes and filled his lungs.
A hand fell on his shoulder. Two boots stood before him.
Taking another deep breath, Nick forced himself to stand straight.
After twenty-eight years of searching for something he couldn’t name, something which had always been just out of his reach, the truth crashed over him like a rogue wave he couldn’t have foreseen or prepared for.
Darcy held him by the shoulders, steadying himself as much as he steadied Nick. In a low voice, he said, “You are my brother.”
Sweet, warm release flooded through Nick like a double ration of rum. He had never been happier. His cheeks were wet, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t alone anymore. He had a family.
And then, he saw her.