Chapter Ten
Dawn’s soft light slanted through the window while Christian sank into the chair at his desk with a groan. His head pounded like the devil. And it should.
After a fruitless search of his property last night, he’d come inside and downed half a bottle of whiskey.
What else was he supposed to do when all he could think about was a fearless little redhead who’d marched into his cabin and given him her virtue?
His cock stirred. More than that. She’d given him the best damn night of his life.
And then, she’d drugged him and vanished without a trace.
He pulled the black mask from a drawer and ran his fingers over the smooth leather.
The sail back to Savannah had been pure torture.
Her presence lingered in his cabin, the soft scent of lemon hitting him whenever he least expected it.
He’d bunked with the rest of his crew, unable to even look at his bed without glorious visions of her naked body writhing beneath him.
He’d spent the days pondering what the hell she’d been up to. Who the hell she was. And what the hell he was going to do about her.
A virgin pirate.
Nothing about her added up. His gut told him there was more to the story than she had let on. And his gut was seldom wrong.
Speaking of said gut, a hard knot twisted there. In all his years, he’d never taken anyone’s virtue. Sure, he enjoyed women plenty, but he preferred them seasoned and experienced. No chance of hurting any feelings.
Damn it.
Any other woman, and he’d be hunting her down and marrying her to take responsibility for what he did. But Red was no ordinary woman. She was a pirate.
Another wave of pain pulsed through his head and he stared at his compass. What did she gain by returning it? Had she followed him to Savannah? How long would she be around?
He’d already sent orders for his men to search all ships on the river and to keep an eye out on the streets. What he needed to do was get some sleep and go out searching himself. He would find her. And then . . .
Hell if he knew. He raked his hand through his hair for the thousandth time.
He could offer her honest work. Hire her on as a maid. His lips curved. To be able to have access to her whenever he wanted . . . no.
No.
It would be taking advantage of her.
Mistress.
The word flitted across his mind.
A pounding at his front door saved him from spiraling with his thoughts and he jumped to his feet. This early, it could only be one of his men with news. They must have found her. A slow smile spread across his lips as tension drained from his shoulders.
He swung open the door and frowned. A footman stood there. Not one of his.
“Lieutenant?” The man’s eyes searched Christian’s face.
Of course, he’d expected a butler to answer.
Christian sighed. Definitely time to put out an advertisement.
Though he’d grown up in a household overflowing with servants, the last few years in the navy had taught him to be more independent. To take care of affairs himself.
He nodded and the footman straightened. “I have an urgent message for you.”
Christian’s brow furrowed, but he held out his hand.
The footman shook his head. “No time for a written message, sir. Your presence is requested immediately at the Warstein manor.”
The headache began to return. Christian rubbed his neck. “I’ll have to get ready. And I’m in the midst of a crisis of my own right now. Whatever it is, it can wait until this afternoon.”
The color drained from the footman’s face as Christian turned away. “No!”
Christian jerked to a stop and looked down where the man grasped his arm. “I thought I made it clear. I have business of my own to tend to. Warstein will have to wait.”
He tugged his arm free and shut the door. Except the blasted man shoved his foot in.
“You don’t understand . . .” the man started.
“The only thing I understand right now is that Warstein needs better judgment in hiring his servants. I could have you arrested for trespassing.”
Instead of subduing the footman, his words incited an intense struggle and the man managed to push his head through. Christian’s fingers curled into a fist. If the man wanted a fight, by God, he’d give him one.
He pulled his arm back.
“Miss Warstein has been kidnapped.”
Christian blinked and dropped his hand. “What?”
The door swung open as he released it and the man stumbled inside. “It’s Captain Thorne. He took her this morning.”
Captain Thorne.
A ringing sound buzzed in his ears and he reached for the wall for support. Kidnapped. If the blackguard had Warstein’s niece, one thing was certain: She wouldn’t last long.
“Fuck.”
The footman drew back at his curse and Christian shot him a look. “Stay here. I’ll be back in a few moments.”
He didn’t bother waiting for the man’s response and rushed back into his study. After penning a quick note to Isaac to make ready to sail, he swept up his compass and shrugged into his uniform jacket. As he turned to leave, he jerked his gaze to the portrait above the mantel.
His throat went tight.
“I’ll find her. And I’ll make that bloody pirate pay.”
His words echoed through the empty room and he pressed his eyes shut. He’d been so young the night his mother had been taken. All he could remember were her screams. By the time he’d made it to her room, she was gone. Five-year-old him blamed himself. If I’d only gotten there faster.
“They would have taken you too. Or worse, killed you,” his father had said.
Then, while the entire household went searching, Christian had been locked in his closet to keep him from following. Hours and hours had passed in wretched darkness. Silence. He’d nearly gone mad.
Christian shivered, pushing the memory away.
But he remembered the hatred. So much hatred. It burned through his gut in the dark hours of the night. Kept him going after his father left to seek his revenge. Turned to an aching grief when he never came back.
His housekeeper rapped on the doorframe and he startled. Damn it. He’d wasted precious minutes. He strode to the front door and she followed.
“Have someone bring my things to the ship. I’ve no idea how long I’ll be gone.”
When she hurried up the stairs, he tossed the note to the footman. “Bring this to the USS Falcon and make sure my first officer receives it.”
Striding outside into the early morning sun, he came to a stop when he saw two horses saddled in the drive. The footman hurried down the steps next to him a moment later. “Warstein sent a horse for you, sir. There’s no time to lose.”
Smart. And efficient. By sending a horse with the footman, Warstein shaved at least a quarter hour off his response time.
Christian swung into the saddle and kicked the grey into a gallop.
He turned toward the Warstein manor while the footman spurred his mount in the direction of the river.
A few minutes later, he pounded down his neighbor’s drive.
Sliding to the ground, he tossed the reins to a waiting groom and hurried up the steps.
The butler opened the door. “I’m so glad you came, Lieutenant. Follow me.”
Inside, a weeping maid stood next to a matronly housekeeper who wrung her hands together. All of these servants cared deeply about their mistress, which spoke volumes about her character. Though shy, she was clearly someone these people respected.
Someone who didn’t deserve to be at the mercy of a bunch of hardened criminals.
The door to Warstein’s study hung open and the butler led Christian in. The merchant stood at the window, looking out over the river. When he turned to face Christian, a glint of something flashed through his eyes. Anger? But why? The man should be relieved to have help arrive.
Obviously, his emotions were heightened by the disappearance of his niece. The man’s hands flexed at his sides before dropping limp and Christian shrugged the cool reception aside.
“Tell me what happened.”
Henry strode to his desk and sat. “Samantha’s maid told me she was missing an hour ago, but we didn’t think much of it.”
Christian’s brow rose. “You didn’t think it was odd your niece wasn’t in her room at the break of dawn?”
“We had an argument last night. She was quite upset.” Warstein tapped his fingers on his desk. “Samantha is an early riser, so we thought she’d taken a morning walk to clear her mind.”
“When did you notice something was amiss? And how do you know—”
Warstein slid a folded piece of parchment forward. “This was delivered not half an hour ago.”
Christian lifted it and a single lock of copper hair fell into his hand. He unfolded the note into a ray of sunlight streaming into the room and read the short lines.
Bring the map to Tortuga. If it is delivered without incident, your niece will live.
The ransom note was signed with an elegant “T.”
Tortuga. The lair of pirates past. With the recent return of piracy in the Caribbean, there was no surprise in Thorne choosing a location steeped in pirate history.
“What map?”
Warstein leaned back in his chair. “A treasure map.”
Christian set the note down and fingered the soft lock of hair between his thumb and forefinger. “What is a merchant like you doing with a treasure map?”
“It belonged to my brother, Samantha’s father.”
“I’ll need it.”
Henry shook his head. “I don’t have it. I gave it to Samantha. I had no use for it.”
Christian frowned. “Search her—”
“I’ve had servants going through her room since the note arrived. No one has found a trace of it.”
“Why would Thorne want this map?”
“I don’t know.” Warstein’s voice came out in a growl and his left eye ticked. A lie.
Crossing his arms, Christian leaned forward. “If I’m going to go after the most dangerous man on these seas, I need to make sure I know what I’m up against. If you withhold any information, it could very well be the difference between your niece’s life or death.”
That should do it.
But Warstein sat in stony silence, his knuckles white from how hard he gripped the edge of his desk. Finally, he pushed his chair back and stood.