An Improper Proposal (30 page)

Sir Marcus chose to ignore this, however, and concentrate on being pleased that his command had been obeyed.

“Captain Drake,” he said, rolling the syllables over his tongue with obvious relish. “The great Captain Drake. Oh, I am sorry. That isn’t your proper title anymore, is it? No, not since the unfortunate death of your brother. Do you prefer to be called Sir Connor?”

“You can call me whatever you like,” Drake said with a shrug. “I’m at a slight disadvantage to stop you.” He lifted his chains pointedly.

“Yes, unfortunate, that.” Sir Marcus made a tut-tutting noise with his tongue. “But necessary, I’m afraid. We couldn’t run the risk, you see, of the great Captain Drake choosing to abandon our hospitality before we’d had a chance to get to know him properly. You’ve acquired quite the reputation for narrow escapes, you know. Why, you even managed to slip through the marriage knot. I must say I’m all astonishment to find you a bachelor still. I thought your wedding quite a certain thing.”

Drake nodded. “You were not alone in thinking so. But in the end, I’m afraid, there were some objections against the lady.”

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am to hear that.” Tyler actually sounded sorry, too. “Might I ask what it was about the young lady that so offended you?”

“The fact that she seemed to have ties to you was part of it,” Drake replied, affably enough.

“Ah.” Sir Marcus looked a little glum. “Do you despise me so, then, Captain, that the thought of aligning yourself with one of my kin—even one as lovely as my Rebecca—is repugnant?”

If Drake had not known before that moment that Rebecca Whitby was Marcus Tyler’s daughter, he dissembled nicely. “Certainly, sir,” he said politely. “Considering that any offspring of yours must necessarily be devil’s spawn.”

Sir Marcus laughed as if delighted by the insult. “If you can claim to have spotted a resemblance of any sort between Rebecca and me, then I congratulate you. You’re a shrewder man than I. I swear, it took me a while before I saw any hint of Tyler in her. You see, it was only a few years ago that a woman of somewhat … er, questionable virtue with whom I’d dallied in my youth presented me with a scrawny redheaded thing that she insisted—rather stridently—was my daughter. I wouldn’t have even considered the fact that this girl—whom the woman rather vulgarly called Becky—might have sprung from my loins if it weren’t for the fact that, well, as you so baldly put it, Drake, our minds seemed to be of quite a similar turn. Frighteningly so, at times. You see, it was Rebecca who put together the fact that her mother had once dallied with the Marcus Tyler of Tyler and Tyler Shipping. It was Rebecca who thought that I might be applied to for a bit of conscience money. I paid, rather skeptically at first. After all, I’m a businessman. I don’t need any negative publicity, especially with that bastion of all that is upstanding, Sir Henry Dixon, as my primary competitor. But eventually, Rebecca and I became friendly, and I began to see the advantages in having a beautiful young woman about to help with my more … delicate plots. She had no objections, of course. Rebecca, like most women, is extremely fond of money. There’s little she won’t do for it.”

“And you wonder,” Drake said slowly, “at my objections against marrying the lady?”

“Oh, yes, I see.” Sir Marcus, laughing, shook his head. “Yes. A blackmailer, and even worse, one related to me. Weighty offenses, indeed. Ah, Drake. I shall almost be sorry when you are gone. I do so enjoy your company. You are one of the few men in my acquaintance who will tell me exactly what he thinks of me. Most other men are much too frightened, you know. I wield a certain power, particularly around these parts.”

“It’s not you they’re afraid of,” Drake growled. “It’s La Fond.”

Tyler looked perplexed. “La Fond? Oh, well, yes, I suppose I could see it. He can be a fearful fellow—if you don’t know him too well, that is. I, unfortunately, have a more than passing acquaintance with him, so I am not quite so impressed.” He sighed. “I ought to have known, of course, that a man as resourceful and shrewd as the intrepid Captain Drake would see through my humble little scheme. Not one of my better ones, perhaps.” Then he added, as if as an afterthought, “But your brother fell for it so readily, you know. You could see how, after that, I might be led to hope—”

“Hope?”

“Well, certainly. That the new baronet would be just as … oh, how should I put it? Besotted by the lady?”

“I’ve rather begun to suspect,” Drake replied stiffly, “that my brother’s attraction to your daughter was what ended up getting him killed.”

“In a manner of speaking, yes, of course, that’s correct. It grieves me to say it, but it is the truth. Your brother’s death was ultimately necessary, you see, in my effort to secure your interests in my competitors’ business.”

Drake nodded. “Of course,” he said tonelessly. “You needed me to marry Rebecca so that, upon my death, she would inherit my share in Dixon and Sons Shipping.”

But Sir Marcus only laughed. “Not at all. Good Lord, Drake, I may be many things, but clairvoyant is not one of them. I hadn’t any way of knowing that my old friend Henry—that soft-hearted fool—would be idiot enough to offer you a share in the family business, let alone a share equal to that of his own sons.”

Drake, considering, said thoughtfully, “That’s right. They only made that offer the night before the wedding. So what did you hope to gain from my marrying Becky? Not Daring Park, surely. You must have been after more than that, or you wouldn’t have killed Richard before the two of them had had a chance to wed.”

“I never had much interest in Daring Park,” Sir Marcus replied. “Though I’ll admit, Becky grew quite fond of it. I understand you put it up for sale just before you set sail. Unfortunate, that. She had such plans for settling there, with the child.”

“Ah, yes,” Drake said. “Whom she’d doubtlessly raise to be the next baronet. I could see how a woman of her pecuniary nature would find such a plan appealing. But that wasn’t your plan. You wanted something else. What was it? The map?”

Sir Marcus grinned. “I must say, I’ve always admired you your acuity, Drake. It’s a shame, really, that you aren’t my son-in-law. I might almost be proud to call someone with your perspicacity son, instead of that great foppish Frenchman with whom my daughter had the ill judgment to align herself. Yes, my lord, it was all about that map of yours. Who’d have thought a map you made as a lark would cause so much grief and sorrow? But there it is. As your widow, Rebecca would, of course, inherit all the rights to it, as well as whatever copies you’ve had made. She would be free to do with them whatever she chose. And she would, naturally, choose to give them to her papa for safekeeping.”

“Of course,” Drake said. “The existence of that map must be making a number of your employees uneasy. If a copy of it fell into the wrong hands—the hands of the authorities, say—there’d be no more safe harbors, no place to hide, for those felons and thieves you keep on your payroll.

“Ah.” Sir Marcus smiled. “That’s what I’ve always liked about you, Drake. You don’t hedge. You head straight to the heart of a matter, without flinching—”

“It still doesn’t explain,” Drake interrupted, in a hard voice, “why you felt it necessary to murder my brother. Wouldn’t it have been easier for you simply to send her to my bed, rather than his?”

“Of course. I suppose Becky could have lured you into some Cuban brothel or another, and claimed to have gotten with child by you then. But were you going to marry a girl you’d bedded in a Cuban brothel? Not likely. You’d have thrown some money at her, and gone about your way. But a good girl … a chaste girl … now that kind of girl you’d have felt honor-bound to wed. But when were you ever in port long enough to meet a girl like that? Never. You were always at sea. We hadn’t any choice, you see, but to use your brother in your stead, knowing that a man like Connor Drake would feel honor-bound to do right by his brother’s intended.”

You were always at sea. Drake had gone to sea to escape his family. He had hoped to lose them—and his painful memories of them—in the great blue deep. But it now appeared that because of his decision, at least one member of that family was dead. Because he’d always been at sea.

“Who did it?” Drake asked, his voice deadly cairn.

“Who did what, pray, young man?”

“Who killed Richard? Not you, I would imagine.”

“Lord, no. I don’t like killing. Far too messy. No, La Fond did that. Enjoyed it, too, I’m sorry to say. Well, he would, of course. He wasn’t at all pleased with the fact that poor Becky had to—well, you know—with your brother, in order for our little scheme to work.”

“When I get out of here,” Drake said woodenly, “I’m going to kill him.”

Sir Marcus threw back his head and laughed. It was a hearty laugh, and it filled the small cell, where laughter had previously been a stranger. “Are you, now?” he asked, when he’d regained his composure. “Pardon me, Sir Connor, but I think not. In fact, I feel obligated to warn you that the complete opposite is going to happen. I am going to kill you.”

Drake laughed at that. “You won’t. You’re too much of a coward.”

“Well, not me personally, of course, but believe me, you will die. The only reason you’ve been kept alive this long is that La Fond is a complete fool. His cronies weren’t supposed to attack the
Constant
until after you and Rebecca had signed the appropriate documents, making her your legal wife. Since the ceremony was, I understand, interrupted before that could happen, La Fond panicked, and stowed you down here. I don’t know why he simply didn’t kill you straightaway. He doesn’t like you, you know. I don’t know which offended him more: your cutting off his mustache, or your heading off for a honeymoon with his woman. I suppose he kept you alive because he thought that there was some chance that when I arrived, I might be able to force you to go along with our plan, and marry Rebecca, after all. He wants that map, you know, almost as much as I do.”

Drake shrugged. “We all want things we can’t have.”

“Ah, but you see, in this one matter, my daughter’s feebleminded beau was correct. You see, I’m glad he didn’t kill you. I’m convinced you and I can still work something out. You aren’t an intractable man, I know. That’s what makes you so admired as a leader. You’ve a reputation for being quite willing to compromise, and to acknowledge when you’ve been wrong. While I admit it will look a bit odd if the ceremony is performed at sea—and by a skipper in Tyler employ—it will still be legal. The Dixons will no doubt question it, but, after all, you did leave England saying you’d wed the girl when you reached the Bahamas, and since we’re here—”

Drake burst out laughing. “You think I’ll agree to marry thatgirl, after all? You’ve a better chance of marrying her off to the Prince of Wales than to me, at this point.”

“Oh, you’ll marry her. It will all be within the letter of the law. At least, that’s how it will look to your grieving friends, when your widow returns to England and presents them with the facts of the matter. Your signature on the wedding certificate, your ring on her finger, and a touching tale of love and loss on the high seas to go with them. Good God, it will no doubt make the papers.”

“And just how,” Drake asked dryly, “do you propose to induce me to sign anything?”

“Oh, it’s quite simple, really. If you don’t agree to marry Rebecca”—Tyler stepped smoothly from the cell, and then returned a second later, dragging a very alarmed-looking Payton Dixon behind him by the wrist—”then I’ll kill the Honorable Miss Dixon.”

Payton pressed her ear to the brig’s outside wall, straining to hear what was happening on deck above her. She could hear the sound of water lapping—the ships had dropped anchor for the night—and, more distantly, the wheeze of an accordion, and a few snatches, here and there, of a drunkenly slurred sea chantey. Occasionally, footsteps sounded overhead. Apparently, some of the crew were still awake, though it had to be past midnight by now. Still, even with the comparative silence, she could not hear the one thing she’d been listening for above all others—the sound of Drake’s voice.

Was he still alive? She didn’t know. He’d definitely been alive a few hours ago, before the rum had started to flow so freely. She’d heard the deep rumble of his voice, as he’d uttered his vows. Had they killed him directly after? If only she’d been there! If only she’d been allowed out of this dreadful hole! She could have stopped it. She didn’t know how, but she was certain she could have. She’d stopped it once before, after all.

That time, however, she hadn’t had Sir Marcus to deal with. Lord, how shocked she’d been, when he’d stepped out of Drake’s cell and seized hold of her. How had he recognized her? She’d never even noticed him looking in her direction. How had he noticed, in a matter of minutes, that she wasn’t who she was pretending to be, when a whole pirate crew had lived and breathed with her for a month, and never known she was a girl?

Well, no one had ever said pirates were clever. Diabolical, maybe, and certainly merciless, but not clever.

How the color had drained out of Drake’s face when Sir Marcus had produced her! Why, if it hadn’t been for his chains holding him up, Payton was certain he’d have collapsed of shock right then and there. But he’d remained upright and, looking Tyler quite calmly in the eye, said, “If she’s harmed, you’ll die.”

Which had only made Sir Marcus laugh. Because of course what could Drake do to him? He was all chained up, after all, and very much at the disadvantage. Still, Payton had gotten a chill when he’d said it. Because she knew he meant it. Even if he had to come back from the grave to do it, Drake was going to kill Marcus Tyler. There wasn’t any doubt about that.

But he wasn’t given an opportunity to do so then. Instead, they unchained him, tied his hands behind his back, and dragged him away. Payton they left behind, locked in the very cell where Drake had languished for so long. They tried to chain her up, too, but the manacles that had kept Drake imprisoned were far too big for her slender wrists, and kept slipping off. She didn’t suppose they considered her much of a threat, since they just shut the door and locked it behind them
—
though she did think Tito looked a little sad about it. He had liked Hill, after all.