Chapter 44
Shelbourne prodded Alice to the outer circle of working men, then pushed her to the ground. She fell to the sand, eyes frantically searching faces around her.
But all avoided her silent plea for help. Once or twice, she thought she saw someone familiar, but none allowed her a good look at their shadowed faces.
She’d worked so hard to make Windvale her home. To make this island her home . . . and now it turned its back on her.
“Get the last of these on the ship!” Shelbourne yelled, sending men scurrying for the boats, laden down with crates. Then he crouched in front of Alice, spitting on the ground before meeting her eye.
“Now, I’ll ask you again. Where are the jewels? Jennings tells me he never received any—which means Seymour pocketed them. Where. Are. They?” He enunciated every word, a bit of spittle flying from his lips and landing on the sand between them.
Alice forced herself not to show fear as the last of the men rowed off to the boat.
Her mind worked furiously. Henry had suspected her husband of involvement—and apparently he was more than involved—he’d been in a position of power.
Evidently, he’d stolen goods that were meant to be smuggled, and now the man who had taken over was seeking them.
But why now? Years after George’s death?
“My husband died four years ago, lieutenant,” she said, voice strained. “And his secrets died with him. I knew nothing of his involvement in . . . this.” She gestured around them, but flinched back when the man shoved his face close to hers.
“It takes a while to rebuild a crew that was fractured from the top down, Alice,” he snarled.
“Takes a while to get them to see who is in charge. But I am now, and I will find those jewels. Or else”—he twisted his fist around the barrel of his gun—“I can take you with me. I’m sure you’d fetch a pretty penny yourself.
” He leaned forward, grazing the edge of the pistol along her chin.
Instinctively, she lifted a hand to push him away, but she wasn’t quick enough. He lashed out, backhanding her with the gun. She fell back into the sand, grains spilling into her mouth, cheek throbbing with fire.
And then there was a shout.
Though she’d never heard such rage from him, the voice was unmistakable.
She scrambled to a seated position, spitting sand, to see Shelbourne on his feet, gun lifted.
And pointed directly at Henry.
Henry gazed down the barrel of a pistol but all he could see was Alice being hit. He forced his eyes to keep from checking on her; forced them to remain on Shelbourne.
Shelbourne, who he’d looked into and deemed innocent. Who he’d assumed was too drunk and lazy to be a part of any of this.
Now his drunkenness would work against Henry and Lucas. A man inebriated did not make good decisions. Henry was living proof of that, after all.
Lucas came to stand at Henry’s shoulder.
Henry wanted to tell him to see to Alice, but with no guns on their side, they had only numbers.
As far as he could tell, they were alone on the beach.
The rest of the men must be on the ship, though they could return any moment.
Which meant the time for action was now.
Henry lunged, knocking aside the pistol with the back of his forearm.
It disappeared into the dark sand, and the lieutenant roared, throwing a punch at Henry’s head.
It clipped Henry’s temple as he ducked, returning a hit of his own to the brow and then another to his middle.
Shelbourne grunted, and his next move was slower, giving Henry the opening he needed.
He kicked at Shelbourne’s knees, his boot meeting its mark.
The lieutenant fell to the ground with a muted thump. Henry loomed over him, chest rising and falling rapidly and planted a boot on the man’s chest.
He couldn’t chance a glance her way, but threw words back to Lucas. “See to Alice.” And he felt his friend move her way, one small knot within the dozens across his shoulders lessening to know she would be taken care of. “Take her to the house.”
Then, ignoring Alice’s noise of objection, he looked down at the lieutenant’s twisted face. “Who do you work for?” he demanded. Shelbourne swiped at his boot, but Henry pushed down more firmly.
“Myself,” Shelbourne spat.
“No,” Henry said. “Six years ago . . . who did you work for?”
“Her husband,” he said, grunting under the force of Henry’s weight. Blood had begun to gather at a cut above his eye.
“The Gentleman Pirate,” Henry said, something tightening in his gut. He’d found the man, after all.
But death had already claimed Henry’s rightful revenge.
“Lofty name for a self-serving cur.” Shelbourne’s mouth twisted in half a grimace, half a smile.
“One thing doesn’t add up though,” Henry said.
“Seymour wasn’t called the Gentleman Pirate for nothing.
No casualties during his piracy, if he could help it.
Respect given to the ships he boarded. Blindfolds instead of musket balls.
Every fragment of intelligence was that, despite his actions, he acted the gentleman.
It leant to his notoriety. How could a man known for stealing goods from English ships and selling secrets to the French armies be such a walking dichotomy? ”
“He was a strange bloke. I don’t pretend to understand his moral code.” Shelbourne squirmed, attempting a kick. Henry only shifted to avoid him.
“And yet he killed my father in cold blood? Slit his throat in the middle of a masquerade, dancing and music only a room away?”
Shelbourne stilled, looking up at Henry with a new understanding in his expression. “That was your father?”
Henry dipped his head in a single nod. “Yes.”
The lieutenant barked a laugh, but his eyes were humorless. Dead. “He was going to have us hung. Something had to be done.”
“But murder? Seymour wasn’t man enough for it.” Was it possible that Seymour had not held the knife that fateful night years before?
The man’s lips twitched. “That he wasn’t. But I was.”
Cold gripped Henry, sliding down his spine with all the force of realization. The Gentleman Pirate had not killed Daniel Ainsley; Henry had been chasing the wrong shadow all along.
Shelbourne was his father’s killer.
Henry pushed harder on Shelbourne’s chest, his foot sliding to the man’s throat, an all-consuming need flooding him to see this man hurt. See him suffer as his father had. As Henry had. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you now,” he ground out.
“Can’t think of none.” Shelbourne’s hands reached out in the sand, groping for a weapon. Henry swept the area with his eyes. There were none. A glint in the sand several feet away told him where the gun might have landed, though.
Yet his inattention cost him. He pulled his eyes back as Shelbourne’s hand dipped to his boot, and in a flash, he held a second, palm-sized pistol in his hand. Henry had no time to react before the dark barrel was pointed at his chest.
Lucas shouted from behind, and Henry’s heart sank. They’d not left. Alice was still in danger.
The sound of a boat thudding against the shore was the final nail to his coffin.
“Let us talk about this, Shelbourne,” Henry said, lifting his hands and cursing himself for not moving faster. For not incapacitating the lieutenant when he had the chance.
“Get off me, first.”
Henry moved his foot, backing up. If he could coordinate with Lucas, together they might be able to take Shelbourne even now, but—his eyes darted to the shoreline.
Two men were climbing from the skiff. Two against three wasn’t terrible odds, especially when the two included Henry and Lucas.
But to win and keep Alice safe amidst a fight? Her life was not worth the risk
“I’m going to leave now,” Shelbourne said, stepping for the skiff. “And you aren’t going to stop me.”
After years of pain, Henry had been sure nothing would matter more to him than finally exacting revenge against his father’s killer.
And yet, as Shelbourne took another measured step toward the boat, Henry found he hardly cared.
His thoughts were all for Alice, for her safety.
He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and assure himself she was unharmed.
He had Shelbourne’s name and several of his cronies.
They would be able to get any information needed to send to Carlton. And the Crown too.
A bush rattled, and Henry chanced a glance to the side.
Lieutenant Carruthers stood there, surveying them all and holding a pistol at his side.
Henry’s stomach clenched. His breath seized. The smugglers at the waterline paced toward them and they were surrounded on all sides. Shelbourne might have planned to slip away, but with another, armed friend on his side, there was nothing stopping him from killing them all right here and right now.