Chapter 2
“Wherein eavesdroppers hear nothing good, a mystery is discovered, and plots hatched.”
Henri walked home with what she could only imagine was the air of a brigand.
Her eyes sought the shadows and she jumped at the skitter of dead leaves as the wind blew them to dance around her ankles.
Annie eyed her curiously, but kept her counsel and said nothing, for which Henri was grateful.
But try as she might she could not forget the sound of that low growl, the glitter of those eyes or the intense warmth of the first pair of lips she had ever encountered so closely.
With that thought came the idea she may have allowed a dangerous man to go free.
What if someone really did die? It would have been all her doing.
She had, however, read the tales told by the adventurous pamphleteer, Mr Charles Batch.
He had painted The Rogue in the form of Captain Savage as a romantic hero for women to swoon over and men to condemn in public whilst secretly admiring.
Though it appeared the militia had a rather different view of his character.
He was known for his dashing good looks and a smooth tongue that could charm the birds from the trees and certainly had no difficulty in liberating merchant ships of cargo and ladies of jewels, money, and sometimes husbands too.
She had once heard - from Annie of course - that he had abducted the wife of a certain Lord Haversham.
The lady was en route to America and on capturing his pretty cargo, Captain Savage demanded a huge sum to release her.
The monies were duly paid but the wife did not appear.
In a fury the husband demanded why his wife had not been returned to him, at which point the charming rogue explained with deep apology that the lady refused to be rescued.
He was reported to have said he might have to pay the husband to take her away again.
Tales of his antics on the Barbary Coast had placed a sum on his head that would keep any man warm and fat through all the winters of his life.
For all his charming reputation, she wasn’t fool enough to believe his life was that of a gentleman.
He was a pirate at the end of the day and one who used force to steal from others.
And yet she could not believe the man she had just seen was in any way murderous.
She scolded herself internally. How ridiculous, she knew nothing of him and could hardly form an opinion based on a few seconds in a darkened room and a kiss which was hardly the behaviour of a gentleman.
She still did not understand why she hadn’t screamed and slapped him, which would have been the action of a lady.
She could only conclude that she wasn’t such a lady as she had once believed.
Perhaps Annie’s companionship had done more harm than she’d realised after all.
She’d certainly given her an interesting vocabulary.
She was so deep in thought she hardly noticed they were outside her own front door, and with horror she recognised the carriage drawn up outside and the coat of arms emblazoned on the door. It belonged to her fiancé.
“Quick!” she hissed to Annie, “round the back way.”
As one they ducked beneath the window and scurried round to the servant’s entrance.
“What the devil is he doing here?” Henri cursed as they tiptoed indoors through the kitchen, ignoring the cook’s tut of disapproval, and made their way to the library.
This room was Henri’s own personal oasis and, as it was situated next to her father’s office, a place where they could attempt to eavesdrop without being seen.
Annie, as she was shorter, stouter and had sharper elbows, reached her position beside the keyhole before Henri, who was forced to fidget with impatience as Annie relayed the relevant information.
“He wants to hasten the nuptials, miss, so ye can be wed before ‘e leaves for France,” Annie whispered, looking up at her with wide eyes. “Lawd, ‘e’s only gone an’ bought a special licence!”
“What?” Henri imagined the heavy iron of a husband’s hold on her person, close about her wrists and ankles.
She would be shackled to the cold bastard on the other side of that door even sooner than she had thought.
At thirty-six he was far older than she and darkly handsome, but his eyes had as much warmth as a winter sea and there was a cruel turn to his mouth that made her shudder.
It was no secret that all he wanted was someone to supply an heir and a pretty ornament to wear on his arm on occasion.
He had no real interest in her at all. His womanising and rakish ways would continue unabated and Henri’s freedom, such as it was, would be gone forever.
She had already been lectured by her father about the kind of wife this man would expect.
Apparently roaming the countryside unescorted and returning looking like she’d been working down the mines was unacceptable.
The injustice and inequality of the situation made her blood simmer beneath her skin.
She would be expected to behave, to embroider and give tea parties and speak politely to her husband’s guests no matter if she liked them or not.
She would be a prisoner, his property to do with as he wished, simply because she was a woman and had no way to fight back.
And all the time her worthy husband would continue to lavish grand sums on the likes of the scandalous Mrs Morris.
His favourite mistress had just last week set the ton on their ears by driving his latest gift to her, a high-perch phaeton with two matching grey horses in violet and silver harness, through Hyde Park at the fashionable hour.
“When?” she asked, hearing the fear in her own voice.
Annie looked up at her and pity shined in her eyes. “Saturday.”
Henri swallowed, the cold chill of those imaginary shackles making her shiver.
With a sudden wave of empathy she remembered the way the pirate had looked as he saw the redcoat closing in on him.
He had sworn low and fierce, but he hadn’t panicked; he’d not despaired.
Henri gritted her teeth. Well she might not be about to dance with Jack Ketch at the end of a rope, as she’d heard the servants say, but she was facing a lifetime imprisonment which looked damn bleak to her.
She wasn’t caught yet though. She wouldn’t give in to despair, and just maybe there was another way to pay her father’s debt.
Henri jolted as she heard movement from the next room as the men exited and she held her breath until the sound of wheels on gravel could be heard drawing her fiancé away outside... for the moment.
Henri crossed the room and reached for a decanter of brandy she kept to hand when her father came to chat with her.
She poured herself a measure and downed it before drawing in a shocked breath as a fire lit in her throat and belly.
Instead of the recriminations and gasps of horror that most lady’s maids would utter on seeing their mistress act in such a manner, Annie merely snatched the decanter from her and picked up another glass.
“Don’t hog it, girl, I’ve ‘ad a shock ‘n all, ain’t I?” Annie muttered as Henri huffed and sat down by the fire.
Taking a deep breath as the inferno in her belly dulled to a warm glow, Henri reached into her reticule and took out the folded piece of paper that her pirate had dropped in his hurry to escape. The seal had been broken and she opened it with care.
L,
Though it seems incredible, the story was true, he lives.
It appears, however, that the boy you wished to hear of did not escape after all, indeed he died that night and has been long put to rest. A body was washed up a couple of weeks later and was identified by a gold ring.
It bore the family crest and so there was no doubt in the matter.
In the circumstances I think you should meddle no further in the affair, as it is too dangerous, for you more than any.
If the truth of the events of that night were to come to light, many would suffer for it.
There is already a price on your head, but you live yet, so be content.
I’ll be at the Nag’s, Wednesday as you wanted, but I implore you to stay clear. The militia is everywhere, and you should trust none but your own men.
Your friend.
S
Henri bit her lip as her mind began to turn.
Though the contents were cryptic to her, there might be others to whom this letter would give intelligence which her pirate might prefer to keep to himself.
She wasn’t so cruel as to turn him in, not after having gone to the trouble of saving him, but the fact was this could be information that others might pay for, or that, if pressed, he might pay to keep hidden.
The idea of blackmailing him - and there was little point in trying to pretend she was planning anything else - was appalling.
Her stomach clenched in protest at the very idea of it but being forced to spend the rest of her days married to that .
.. that fiend, was not an option either.
She folded the letter with care and put it back out of sight before she realised she was being scrutinised.
“What you be plottin’, my lady?”
Henri looked up and scowled in response to the shrewd expression on Annie’s face.
“Nothing to concern yourself about,” she replied, trying to sound haughty to put Annie in her place, which was pointless as it had never worked before. As predicted Annie just put her hands on her ample hips and scowled.
“Don’t ye be talkin’ at me all la de da, like butter wouldn’ melt. Them big brown eyes might fool yer father, but I got more sense. You’ve got that look on ye face that means trouble, so ... what’s brewin’ in that mad brain of yourn?”
Henri huffed at her. Well there was no point in not asking. She needed to know. “Do you know where the Nag’s Head is?” she asked, hoping she sounded nonchalant.