Captive Hearts (17 page)

grasping the rope sides of the ladder, she mounted the wooden rungs. Holding tight to each bar, she began descending to the deck below.

Matthew breathed an oath and followed her. He had hurt her. He had seen the quick flair of pain in her eyes and the way her features stiffened into that damnable emotionless mask.

But, by God, he had his limits too! When first he’d seen her in the crow’s nest he’d felt fear, gut clenching, breath stealing fear. Once he had climbed up to her, she’d seemed so unaffected, so at ease surveying the world below in the thigh hugging breeches and his sweater, he’d wanted to shake her and kiss her at the same time. Even the cold hadn’t affected his rampant desire to rip the breeches from her. He had had but two choices: rage at her or ravish her. He’d chosen the only option open to him. He looked down to check her progress and saw her reach the bottom of the ladder.

Henry and Georgie stood at the railing looking over the side of the ship. Matthew swore again as Edward gained the deck.

The man’s bearing stiffened the moment he spied Katherine and he stomped toward her. His movements angry, Edward grabbed Katherine by the shoulder and shook a paper in her face. “Did you do this?” The words carried to Matthew, though he couldn’t hear Katherine’s reply, and he hastened his efforts to reach the deck. The sharp sound of a slap landing against flesh and a soft cry had Matthew twisting to look over his shoulder. Katherine staggered and fell to one knee.

Edward clenched the neck of the sweater in his fist and drew his hand back for another strike. Katherine threw up an arm to ward off the blow.

A feral growl of rage tore from Matthew. Unmindful of the distance beneath him, he leaped to the deck landing in a half crouched position on the balls of his feet. A red haze clouded his vision as he sprinted toward Katherine and her uncle. Edward, his features still twisted with anger, looked up at Matthew’s approach. The momentum of his stride carrying him forward, he punched Edward in the face and felt the satisfying crunch of bone beneath his

fist. Blood spurted, the powerful stroke driving the man backward, his arms flailing as he sought to regain his balance. He struck the bulkhead of the quarterdeck with a meaty thud, staggered, then fell to the deck. He lay writhing upon the bleached planks, holding his nose and squealing in pain.

His bloodlust still burning hot, Matthew dragged the man to his feet by the collar of his coat and the back of his pants. Edward’s feet scrambled for purchase as Matthew half dragged, half marched him back to the railing then threw him forward toward the open balustrade. Edward caught a post, barely saving himself from pitching head first into the water. His movements clumsy, unbalanced, he swung around to face Matthew. The man’s nose appeared squashed to one side and was already swelling in the midst of a face smeared red with blood. He cowered back as Matthew crowded close, his fists clenched.

“If you ever lay a hand on my wife again, I’ll kill you.

Get off my ship.”

“You do not know what she has done,” Edward managed, his voice a mewling whine that resonated strangely through his shattered nose.

“I don’t give a damn what she’s done. You’ll never raise your hand to her again.” Tempted to heave him over the side, Matthew stepped back. “If he’s not off my ship in five seconds, throw him overboard, Henry.” The man stepped forward his expression gleeful.

“Aye, Cap’in.”

Matthew spun on his heel. His gaze swept the deck in search of Katherine.

“You will be sorry you ever married her,” Edward said. Amazed at the man’s persistent desire to dance with danger, he turned to look over his shoulder. “If I do, it won’t be her I’ll hold responsible, Leighton. It will be you.”

Katherine watched Matthew’s long purposeful strides eat up the distance between them. His coat was ripped at the shoulder, and the dark blue waistcoat and lace trimmed white shirt he wore beneath were spotted with blood.

“Are you all right, Katherine?”

“Yes.”

He caught her elbow and guided her down into the ship to his cabin. He moved immediately to the washbasin to cleanse his blood-streaked hands.

The sickening coppery scent wafted upward. A memory of Johnny lying in a pool of dark rust, his skin white, cut across her thoughts like shards of glass. Struck by a wave of nausea and a hollow ringing in her ears, she sought the support of the window seat. She bent double to rest her head on her knees.

Several moments passed before the awful woozy feeling subsided and the cramping queasiness diminished.

Still shaky, she sat up and dragged the knit cap from her head freeing the heavy braid she’d secured within it. Her skin clammy with sweat, she brushed the rough sleeve of the sweater over her forehead.

His expression grim, Matthew handed her a damp cloth. He peeled the straps of the pack she still wore from her arms and set it aside.

The coolness of the cloth eased her burning cheek very little. The genuine concern she read in his expression as he watched her had her throat tightening with emotion.

“I am sorry, Matthew.”

“For what?”

“For involving you in this. Had there been any other way I would not have.”

“Perhaps you should explain to me what you’ve done,” he said, his tone quiet.

She fished inside the pocket of her breeches and brought forth a piece of paper. She smoothed the wrinkles from it then handed it to him “It is only part of it. The rest tore away and blew out into the water.” He bent his head and silently perused the small section of paper. His features grew still as he began to read. Her hands fisted then she twisted the cloth she held as she watched him. Of all her regrets, losing his respect would be the hardest for her to bear.

“When was this hawked upon the streets?”

“Today. Fleet Street refused to print it. They said it would inflame the populace. Do you not find that amusing? Everyone I have met, save your family, seems to thrive on gossip, the worse the better. I paid to have it printed and sold.”

“The day you slipped away, this was what you were doing.”

“Yes. I could not tell you what I was about. You would not have allowed me to do it.” She paused to draw a deep breath. “I had to do this, Matthew. The longer the killers go without being caught, the less chance they will ever be punished.” She cleared her throat then continued.

“Edward would not help me, nor would he allow me to speak about that night to anyone who would.”

“My mother was a gentle, unassuming, beautiful woman. She never harmed another living thing in her life.

My brother and father did not deserve to die trying to defend her. Nor did our driver.”

“Why would Edward be so upset with you over this, Katherine?”

“He believes that appearance is everything. He will not forgive you for breaking his nose.” Bitterness laced her tone. “It shall curtail his schedule of engagements, until he deems himself presentable again.” One black brow rose. “He shouldn’t have hit you.” The flat dangerous gleam that lit his eyes brought a hitch to her breathing. One broad shoulder lifted in a shrug.

“’Twill take about the same amount of time for the bruising to subside from his injuries as it took him to release me from the cell. There’s a sort of justice in that.” She bit her lip. “You are not angry at me for what I

have done?”

Matthew tossed the paper into her lap. “Not because of this.”

But he was angry—no, furious. The cool control she witnessed was more frightening than all her father’s violent rages. She felt as though a great storm built before her and there was no shelter available to protect her from it. She looked away. “There is more. I did drawings of the man I remember from that night and hired a man to do prints of him. I have had them posted in every pub and alehouse around the city and offered a reward for information about him that will lead to his arrest. Once he is captured, he will lead them to the rest.” When he remained silent, the knot of anxiety in the pit of her stomach grew to painful proportions and she looked up.

“Anything else?” he asked, his expression benign as he took the rag from her and turned her face to examine the damage Edward had done.

“No,” the word came out almost a whisper.

“I’ll ask Webster to prepare some tea and see if we have some liniment to put on your check. You’ll have a bruise by morning.”

Her mouth dry as dust, she swallowed painfully.

“What about Talbot and Clarisse? I do not want to cause them any trouble.”

His pale blue eyes focused on her so intently her stomach did a slow roll.

Matthew got to his feet and crossed the room to his desk. “We’ll be staying the night aboard ship. I’ll have Henry deliver a message to Talbot and Clarisse.” He withdrew paper, quill, and ink.

“Please tell them how sorry I am.”

“That, my dear, will be something you’ll have to convey when face to face with them. You owe them that much.”

She flinched from the biting tone of the comment.

She had never been more aware of his size and strength in comparison to her own as he came to stand over her.

He braced a hand upon the bulkhead that framed the window seat and studied her for a long silent moment.

“I understand why you’ve printed the story and have

had the likeness printed and posted. I can even admire your courage and determination in seeking justice for your family. But—you’ve lied to me repeatedly since we exchanged the vows that made us man and wife. You’ve lied to me by omission and through trickery and deceit.

Because of that you’ve make it difficult for me to know what is truth and what isn’t. You’ve made it impossible for me to trust you.”

He drew a deep breath. She could see the effort it took for him to rein in his temper.

“If it’s your hope to provoke the killers—you may get your wish. If someone is hurt, they won’t be the only ones responsible.”

He straightened. Katherine had never thought to see him direct such a flat, cold look at her. “I’ll return shortly.

While I’m gone make yourself presentable.” She had not the spirit left to take exception to his dictatorial tone. When the door clicked shut behind him, she released the breath she was holding. Her entire face aching, her limbs shaking uncontrollably, she slid back upon the window seat and folded her arms around her up drawn knees.

She had expected his anger, but she had not expected his disgust. She had been prepared to face the disapproval and contempt of strangers, but not Matthew’s. She had only herself to blame.

****

Matthew swore aloud as he pulled against the ores. His temper banked a fire beneath his ribs that made him want to beat his fists into something more than Edward Leighton’s face.

“Do ye want me ’elp, Cap’in?” Henry asked as he held the lantern aloft.

“No.”

“Yer missus aint ’urt, is she?”

“No—Yes. She’ll have a bruised cheek by tomorrow.”

“That bastard ’it ’er, but she didn’t cry. Most women would ’ave been a wailin’ like a pack of ’ounds at a ’unt.

But she just got up and dusted ’erself off.” Matthew swore again with less heat, his temper cooling. He focused on the dimly lit dock in the distance.

“Makes ye wonder if ’e ain’t done it before.”

Someone had. She had talked about her mother and brother, but had little to say about her father.

“Is she in trouble, Cap’in?”

Matthew gave a gusty sigh and stopped rowing. The boat bobbed gently upon the water, drifting toward the dock. “Yes, Henry. There are men who may try and harm her, the men responsible for her family’s death. There will be people who may sit in judgment of her, though she had no control over what happened.”

“The men stood with ye when charges were brought agin ye, Cap’in.. They’ll stand with ’er as well because she be yer missus, if you ask it of ’em.” Matthew shook his head. It could be dangerous for his men.

“Webster, me, and Georgie will stand with ’er Cap’in.”

Katherine had worked her magic upon the men in only an afternoon. A niggling jealousy took root. She had never tried to work it on him. He had slept with her for nearly a fortnight, held her against him in sleep and in waking, and still she denied the burgeoning intimacy between them. The trust he had thought he had earned was just within his mind.

The thought was still tormenting him when they reached the dock, and he sent Henry to find a handsome cab to have a few moments alone. The seaman returned with the conveyance, and Matthew swung himself aboard the coach.

It had grown completely dark by the time they pulled to a stop before Willingham’s front steps. Matthew exited the coach, but when Henry moved to climbed down from atop the conveyance, he waved him back. “Stay where you are, I’ll not be long.” As he reached the steps, a woman’s laughter, high and pure, carried to him on the still air, like the tinkling of bells. Matthew paused to look overtop the shrubbery toward the west entrance. Beneath the soft glow of light escaping from the window above them, he glimpsed a man with a slender blonde woman wearing a black cloak. As he watched, the fellow cupped her small, pointed chin in his large hand and pushed her back against the brick wall and kissed her. The plum of moisture their breathing

released obscured both they faces, but Matthew recognized the woman as one of the maids.

With a shrug, he continued up the steps to knock on the door. Elton let him in and offered to take his cloak.

“There’s no need, I’ll only be a moment upstairs. Are my aunt and uncle home?”

“No, sir. They have gone to Lord and Lady Abingdon’s house to play cards.” Perhaps the news had not reached them yet. “When they return, please tell them Katherine and I have decided to spend the night aboard the Caroline. And please see that my uncle receives this.” He reached inside the inner pocket of his coat and withdrew a copy of the paper that had been hawked that afternoon, as well as a note. Talbot would understand their absence.

It took only moments for him to pack a satchel with their belongings. The thick hall runner muffled his steps as he walked down the passageway toward the stairs. A strange rhythmic squeaking caught his attention.