Chapter 38
Henry’s black domino mask obscured his peripheral vision, adding to the tension he could not shake as he descended the staircase.
Jennings and Carruthers would be at the masquerade. And though it felt wrong to allow the smuggling that would surely be happening under the cover of night while half the island was gathered in Windvale’s ballroom, being among the lackeys hired by either man would not secure him the one in charge.
Steps on the stairs behind him brought Julia into view. She stepped up beside him, taking his arm.
“Stay away from Jennings as best you can tonight,” Henry said, looking down on her.
“I always do,” she said with a smile.
“No, I am serious, Julia.”
Her brow furrowed up at him. “What did you find out?”
He looked around. They were nearly to the entrance hall where a horde of listening ears would be about. “I will tell you later. But keep clear of him, and don’t let him secrete you away.”
She gave a stiff nod as they joined the end of the queue to the ballroom. It was a veritable crush, worthy of any London Season.
Henry’s heart twisted to think how that must affect Alice. She had to be out of her mind with anxiousness. And he could do nothing to help her.
The couple in front of them moved into the ballroom, opening the space for Henry and Julia to greet Alice.
Mrs. Seymour.
The woman’s gaze went immediately to Julia, grasping her hands and complimenting her Greek costume. Then, as if dreading the action, her eyes slowly moved to Henry.
She was as beautiful as that first night. Vibrant hair contrasting magnificently with the orange feathered mask. Beads bounced along her cheeks, and a black dress set off the entire ensemble incredibly.
“Good evening, Mrs. Seymour,” Henry said, his voice low.
Her smile was small, but it was there.
And then it was time for them to move aside and make room for the rest of the waiting guests.
“Do you see Jennings?”
Julia broke from studying him to look around the room. “No.”
“If you find him,” Henry said, “tell me. Him or Lieutenant Carruthers.”
Her responding glance was confused, but she nodded, then slipped into the crowd. Henry moved to a wall with a good vantage point of the room, eyes glancing across the attendees. Everything felt reminiscent of that masquerade years ago. Would that it did not end the same.
It was because of that spot that he saw the moment Alice entered. Someone would soon approach and claim her hand for the first set. She would be engaged the entire night. That was safe. It was best for her.
Yet Henry’s feet were moving in her direction. He was weaving through the crowd toward her, dodging cups of punch and conversing groups.
“Mrs. Seymour, might I claim your first set?”
She stared at him, her eyes unreadable. “I . . . yes. You may.”
Couples were moving to the center of the room, and Henry offered his arm. Alice placed her hand on it, and together, they moved through the crowd.
It was a mistake. Having her so close, her hand on him, was intoxicating. It nearly made him forget his purpose that night.
He noted how the dancers were lining up, heard the strains of the orchestra as they warmed their instruments. “A waltz?” he asked Alice.
Her cheeks tinged pink and she nodded.
Oh heaven help him.
They turned to face one another. Henry slipped his hand around her waist, his fingers trailing the embroidery on her gown that felt as flames to his gloved skin. His other hand lifted above his head to hold hers, and their eyes locked from only inches away.
Alice could hardly hear the music, her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears. She’d entered the masquerade looking into every guest’s eye, wondering if they, too, were a part of the smuggling afoot, but now all that had vanished. There was something strangely familiar about this moment.
His hand shifted against her waist, strong fingers propelling her just the smallest bit closer. “I need to tell you something,” he murmured into her ear.
She did not respond, only waited.
“Six years ago,” he began. “I attended a masquerade as part of my job. I wore a far more elaborate costume than I ought to have for a spy.”
Both his hands grasped her now, and hers came to his shoulders as his strong arms lifted her. When her feet touched the ground again, her eyes collided with his.
“I was a lion. And I danced with a tiger.”
Her feet tripped over one another.
“I did not know until you told me your costume. Is there a chance—could you possibly also remember . . . ” he trailed off, eyes intent on hers.
“Yes,” she breathed, hardly recognizing her own voice. “I remember.” Her heart stampeded within her chest. He could not mean . . . but then he was . . .
Henry was the man from all those years before?
His eyes were steady on hers. His jaw tight. “I am sorry I never came for you after.”
“Why didn’t you?” Had her desperation to know the answer bled into her words?
She’d always considered the man at the ball as the reason she married George.
That had been why she told herself she remembered the charming, gentle man.
Had she not interested George by unintentionally giving away his dance to the lion-masked man, not left the mysterious stranger possessed of increased bit of confidence, she would never have caught the commander’s eye.
But in truth, she had always wondered what would have happened had that masked man found her again.
“My father. That was the day he died. And I . . . rather lost myself for a time. When I resurfaced, I was not in a state to find anyone. To court anyone.”
Her chest filled with pain for him. “And I was likely already married.”
His throat worked. “I am sorry.”
She nodded. “As am I.”
Her head spun with the dance. What did this all mean?
Why bring it up now, after he’d made it so clear they had no future?
It cut to her core to know of their past. To know that the man who had marked a turning point in her life was the same one to send her tumbling hopelessly in love now, years later.
It seemed cruel.
“I do not know how this will all end tonight,” he added, his voice low.
Her hands gripped him. “What do you mean?”
“The constable was no help. I intend to corner Jennings while there are witnesses, but I may have the wrong—” he cut off, eyes locking on something behind her. “Jennings.”
She began to turn, but he steered her to the edge of the dancers. “I have to go. But I will find you later. We have more to talk about.”
“More?” She grasped at his hand, holding him there.
Harried eyes met hers. “Now you know everything about me. Except how I care for you. I will be back. I . . . please stay safe.”
His hand slipped from hers.
“Wait,” she said.
But he was already gone. Her singular word hung forlornly in the air, dissipating to nothing when there was no response.
Henry followed Jennings along the edge of the room, catching up to him near a punch table. “Lord Jennings,” he said, “might I have a word?”
The man flicked him a look, taking a long drink of his punch. Then he grimaced and set it down. “Confound this punch. No alcohol is the most ridiculous—” He cut himself off, straightening. “No, I do not think so. I am seeking your sister, in fact.”
“Julia is not going to dance with you. I have some questions for you.”
Jennings eyed him. “Very well. Lead the way, Sir Henry.” He gave a lazy flourish of his hand.
Henry did not move. “Here is fine.”
The viscount only lifted a brow.
“I would like you to end your engagement with Julia.”
The man barked a laugh. “No.”
“Yes.”
He raised a brow. “I do not think your sister would appreciate your interference.” There was a knowing look in the man’s eye. A look that said he had the upper hand.
Henry intended to change that. “Why exactly do you wish to marry her at all? You are not convincing me with this farce about love. It is clear you do not love her, or you would not force her into the union.”
The man leaned back against the stone wall, entirely at his ease. “She is a beautiful woman, Henry.”
Henry lifted a brow. There had to be more than that.
“And she has connections I appreciate.”
Through her work, perhaps?
“You can find another woman with important connections.”
He crossed his arms. “I want this one.”
“You cannot have her.”
Jennings lifted a brow. “And you cannot stop me.”
The crowd milled around them. Henry spoke low enough that they were not likely to be overheard. His goal was not to announce Lord Jennings’s involvement in the piracy, but to pin the man in a place he could not flee or act out.
“At what point did you take over for Commander Seymour?” he asked.
The possibility had been growing all afternoon.
The simple answer to who was the Gentleman Pirate was neither Jennings nor Carruthers.
It was the man who had been stationed on the island, whose friends were positioned to help him both on land and sea, and who had a slew of servants at his beck and call.
The man who had killed Henry’s father was dead. But someone had taken his place.
Jennings was frozen. He still held his laissez-faire stance, but his eyes hardened. “I am no naval man, Ainsley. I cannot see what you mean.”
“I mean,” Henry said, stepping closer, “that Commander Seymour began a piracy operation years ago.
A reward from the Crown got to his head, or else those long days at sea, and he decided to take his fate into his own hands.
He began boarding ships and stealing their cargo, then passing it off as captured goods.
After not too long, he grew greedy again and upped the ante. He began selling English secrets.
“But then he caught notice of the Crown. They did not take kindly to learn that one of their own men, a man they were paying to fight for their country, was undermining them. The manhunt began, but the Gentleman Pirate slipped away.”
Jennings’s eyes slid to the side, his jaw tight. “I’ve no idea why you think I care to know any of this.”
“Because when Commander Seymour died, someone rose up in his place.” Henry lifted a brow. “Lord Jennings, what would the English government think if they were to look closely into your travel history? Your trips to the coast and this very island?”
The man swallowed, but a sneer warped his lips.
Henry leaned closer, his voice harsh. “What would be found if they were to look at where your family’s wealth has come from?”
“I don’t know what you intend to—”
“I know what is going on, on this island. And I know you are involved. Your time is up, and you’ll soon be turned in. If not by me, then someone else.”
The man snorted, but there was no humor in it. And his relaxed stance had grown rigid. “Who?”
“Your valet, perhaps? If only to keep his own pedigree and involvement a secret.”
Jennings swore. “What do you want?”
“You to end your engagement with my sister.”
“And then you will keep quiet?”
Henry hesitated.
Jennings did not.
He tossed his drink into Henry’s face, who avoided most of it by reacting quickly, but he was not fast enough.
In a flash, Jennings was weaving through the crowd. Henry started after him, but the crush was immense and by the time he exited the room, no one but the butler was in the entrance hall.
“Where did he go?” Henry demanded.
The butler pointed to the door. “Stables.”
Henry had only seconds to decide. Carruthers was still within, but Jennings’s flight was as much of a confession as he needed. He couldn’t let the man get away—slip into hiding and disappear. Henry could topple an entire piracy organization.
And he had to ensure that the man wouldn’t just disseminate the information he held over Julia’s head.
“Milton, I need you to send a message to Alice.”
The butler agreed, at attention.
“Tell her to stay with others and not leave the ball until I’ve returned.”
“Yes, sir.”
But Henry was already gone.