Chapter 7
“Wherein a villain is forced to play the hero.”
Alexander Sinclair, the fourth Earl of Falmouth, regarded the woman in front of him with no little scepticism.
Despite Lord Morton’s assurances that the woman was telling the truth, the truth sounded far too close to some outlandish Gothic novel to have anything other than a passing acquaintance with the real world.
And yet, despite the fact that the woman appeared to be quite unsuited to the task of being lady’s maid to his future wife, and more at home walking some of the seedier streets near the quay, he felt the fear and anguish in her eyes was indeed genuine.
So, she at least believed her story to be the truth.
“Let me get this quite straight,” he said, keeping his tone cool and clipped and completely devoid of any human emotion.
He abhorred outpourings of emotion of any kind and had been forced to speak to the woman quite severely when she seemed likely to succumb to a fit of hysterics a few moments earlier.
“Miss Morton left the house in the middle of the night, alone, and proceeded to make her way down to The Nag’s Head, a notorious spot for smugglers and low-lives,” he added.
He shook his head once again struck by how unlikely the whole story appeared to be.
“You followed her, without making her aware of your presence and watched while she entered the tavern alone.”
He paused and fixed his icy, grey gaze on the woman. “You made no attempt to stop her or dissuade her from this foolish and possibly fatal endeavour I take it?” he added with contempt.
The disgraceful creature just put her chin up and glared back at him, her arms folded across her ample bosom. “She’s a big girl, knows ‘er own mind. ‘Twas ‘er business, not mine to interfere in.” She held his gaze, totally unrepentant.
“If that is the case,” Alex said, with growing frustration. “Why the devil were you following her?”
“She’s my girl,” the woman retorted with some asperity, daring to look at him as if he had said something out of turn. “I’ve been with ‘er since she was a child, and I love ‘er like my own. I wouldn’t see any harm to her.”
Alex took a deep breath and struggled to keep his temper in check. “And yet, you allow her to walk in to a den of iniquity like the Nag’s Head all alone?” he repeated, quite incredulous. “I take it you believed no harm would come to her there?”
Although he had neither raised his voice nor changed his body language, he had no doubt she could see the anger and disgust clearly enough in his eyes.
“Forgive me, my lord,” the woman said with a sneer, using his title like it tasted unpleasant in her mouth.
“But my Henri’s resourceful an’ brave, and ‘twould be a foolish man who got on the wrong side of ‘er.” To his astonishment she said the words as though he was to blame for everything that had happened.
“You just don’t know ‘er, not like I do.”
“And now never likely to!” he said with such froideur and contempt that the brazen abigail had finally crumbled and buried her head in her hands, sobbing.
The girl’s father, Lord Morton, who had been dithering ineffectually while this conversation took place, ran to the woman’s side and patted her shoulder. “There, there, Annie, Lord Falmouth will bring her back to us, don’t you fret.”
Henrietta’s father was a well-known and despised figure to the earl.
The early death of his beloved wife had apparently robbed the man of his heart and his sense, and he’d turned to gambling to ease the loss.
Sadly, the man had no aptitude, and all too predictably found himself without a feather to fly with, mortgaging his family home with selfish lack of regard for his daughter that bordered on criminal.
That the man himself was foolish and hopeless rather than cruel and heartless did little to soften Alex’s opinion of him.
In the society that he himself kept, Morton was a pitiable creature, and it was oft said when he told people with that familiar mournful expression that he’d lost his dear wife, one could never be quite sure he hadn’t meant at the roulette table.
The ridiculous man looked up at him now with such hope in his eyes that even Alex’s cold heart was unable to contradict him.
If the rest of the story was true and his daughter really had been kidnapped by the notorious Rogue, she was already beyond saving.
Indeed, Alex was moved to hope the girl was already dead, for he could not contemplate what fate awaited her at the hands of a pirate and his crew.
“I will of course do everything I can to return your daughter to you, Lord Morton,” he said, knowing it was unlikely he would return with anything more than a coffin, if that.
To his horror Morton embraced him, sobbing upon his shoulder and giving Alex further cause to pity the appalling creature as he noticed the frayed collar of his jacket. “Oh, thank you, thank you, my lord. You are indeed a good man. I will be forever in your debt.”
In the circumstances Alex decided not to mention he was already forever in his debt as he had paid off all the man’s outstanding bills and forwarded a considerable sum to cover the costs of his impending nuptials to his now missing fiancée.
With a promise to do all in his power, he ejected the pair of them summarily from his office before they could taint his sanctuary with any more of their hysterics.
On the one hand he was furious that his own time and finances would be frittered away on such a pointless exercise.
He would not be able to sail before the next tide, by which time the wicked bastard that had taken her would have a good head start, though he had no doubt that his ship was more than capable of outrunning anything else on the seas.
What the foolish chit had been thinking was beyond him though. He hadn’t wanted to take a wife at all, and it had only been the endless nagging of his elderly aunts about his responsibilities to the family and the need for an heir that had moved him to offer for her.
Alex had only seen Miss Morton in passing and made her acquaintance a handful of times and she had appeared sensible and level-headed, particularly so considering her beauty and her youth.
He could not abide simpering and giggling and had been more than relieved she appeared inclined to neither.
His own preferences did not run to seducing innocents, she was far too young and green for his tastes, but he overcame any scruples in that direction by dint of the fact that her father was about to ruin her for good by his own idiotic behaviour.
Miss Morton at least, despite her father’s frivolous nature seemed, in his estimation, the kind of independent girl who would be grateful for a house of her own and a husband who was often away to leave her to her own devices, rather than harbouring any foolish romantic notions.
But now this! He wondered if she had made some ill-advised assignation to meet a lover.
It was the only explanation. It was just good fortune that meant his own ship, The Revenge, was provisioned and ready to sail for France the next day.
On the other hand, his blood quickened at the idea of engaging with The Rogue.
He had read of the man’s exploits like everyone else and had to admit to a grudging admiration for him.
He appeared extraordinarily courageous and, in his own way, rather honourable.
Though if Miss Morton really was on board, it would cause rather a lot of complications as he could hardly wreck the ship and risk her dying at his own hand.
Alex smiled. Whatever was to come it would at least be an adventure and a relief from a growing sense of ennui.
After he’d been injured at the battle of Trafalgar, he had promised his dying father that he would take his responsibilities seriously and give up his naval career.
As earl, his responsibilities were many and varied and . .. interminably dull.
At first, he had simply taken to whoring and drinking too much and spending any free time he could snatch indulging in pleasures that had gained him a reputation that was wholly deserved.
Anything to feel alive again. But in the past few years his actions had been rather more dangerous and if he was discovered he would lose everything, the ancient family name would be disgraced, and he may even hang.
But bringing a notorious pirate to justice and saving his fiancée in one fell swoop, well that should do his reputation no harm at all.
And, if nothing else ... the coming days were unlikely to be dull.