Lord of Devil Isle (10 page)

Eve’s heart pounded against her gown’s whalebone bodice.

There hadn’t been this much hostility in Nick’s eyes when he faced that shark. She sensed his seething fury was directed at that Captain Bostock for some reason and not her, but it still made her pulse race.

“Have a care, Captain,” she warned softly as he led her through the intricately controlled steps of the minuet. A muscle ticked along his jaw and a vein had popped out on his forehead. “You’ll have a fit of apoplexy if you don’t calm yourself.”

He laughed as if she’d uttered a witticism, and the dancers around them smiled. Only she seemed to hear little mirth in the sound.

“My dear Miss Upshall, I find your concern for my health deliciously ironic.” His lips scarcely moved as his silky tone continued. “Especially since you are principally responsible for my life’s reversals of late.”

“Indeed?”

“Shall I catalog them for you so you may gloat?”

“I’m surprised you think my arrival has made a speck of difference to you. It would mean admitting someone with less than gale force winds behind them can turn you from your purpose.”

The dance steps required them to raise their joined hands and step toward each other. Nicholas lengthened his stride to make sure his body was flush with hers for an instant. The vein disappeared from his forehead.
Even through the layers of silk, she felt his hardness and her breath caught in her throat. He’d obviously channeled his bloodlust into animal desires of a different sort.

She felt suddenly as if her temperature had spiked several points. The blood in her veins sang a hot, seductive tune beneath the violin’s melody.

“If my presence has been of any real consequence to you whatsoever, I confess to utter surprise,” she said, determined not to allow him to sense her body’s response to him.

“Let us see.” He executed a turn with masculine grace and raised his other hand for her to palm. “Since I met you, I’ve lost the chance to claim a prize vessel, dismissed my mistress, spent a small fortune at the modiste and milliner—with no return on that investment, I might add—and lost virtually all control over my own household. Is that not consequence enough?”

“Then you should be anxious to be rid of me instead of creating obstacles to my departure,” she countered as she made a slow turn under his arm.

His raised brow acknowledged her point. “I really should. And yet, it’s because I see great potential for you to redeem yourself that I do not.”

When Nicholas leaned to deliver the prescribed kiss, she turned her head to avoid his lips and immediately wished she hadn’t. His warm, whiskey-laced breath tickled her ear.

“You may start by allowing me to watch you bathe again,” he whispered.

More heat spread up her neck.

“I could wash your back,” he mouthed when the dance called for them to be close enough for another whispered suggestion. “Or your front. Your choice.”

Her cheeks flamed, but it wasn’t from embarrassment.
She was strangely pleased. He liked seeing her naked.

All of her.

Eve had never thought a man would be able to bear her horrible disfigurement. Even if someday she married, she expected to hide her scars from her husband. She didn’t think it should be too hard since respectable women never undressed completely before a man, even during marital relations.

Her belly offered its approval to the captain’s lewd suggestions with a couple of slow backflips. But her knowledge of society’s dictates rose up to counter her body’s weakness.

“I have greater plans for my life than being a convenient object for your lust.” She turned a graceful pirouette.

“Somehow I suspect Mr. Pennywhistle of the Carolinas is not at the heart of those plans.”

Drat the man! Can he read my mind?

“But back to you being the object of my lust. There are those who could assure you it is a high calling, with many pleasurable benefits.” He bent over her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles with perfect correctness. “For example, I feel certain I could satisfy
your
lust better than these lovely fingers seem able to.”

The urge to curl those very fingers into a fist and pop him in the nose was almost more than she could bear. But so many eyes were upon them, and the dance was nearly over. She could surely last a few more measures, but only if she refrained from speaking or even looking at him more than necessary. The sight of his wickedly handsome face infuriated her.

“You could do much worse than becoming my mistress,” he said when the dance allowed him to bend close enough again.

“I take leave to doubt that. In fact, I could hardly help but do better.”

“Smile, Eve,” he said, the corners of his own mouth forced upward. “People will think you aren’t enjoying yourself with me.”

“They’d be right.”

“Liar.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and dropped into the final curtsey of the dance. The last note of the tune faded into silence. “Pray, excuse me, Captain. I find I need a change of air.”

“Then you will require an escort.” He offered his arm.

She ignored him and strode away. He was beside her in a heartbeat, placing her hand on his arm and covering it with his other palm, so she couldn’t yank it away without causing a scene.

“Captain, I do not wish to take the air with you.”

“Check your bearings, Miss Upshall. You dare not go alone.” He continued walking her toward the door, smiling and nodding, as if they were having a pleasant conversation. “We may dress ourselves in the outward trappings of civilization here on the island, but it’s a thin disguise at best. Most of the single men in this hall and half of the married ones would love to catch you by yourself someplace and indulge in a quick game of hide the sausage, whether you were willing or no.”

“And you don’t count yourself in that number?”

“Of course, I do.” He cocked his head at her as if he thought her daft. “But I’m not likely to play until you’re ready for the game. And besides, I’m the one you want.”

“You conceited swine,” she murmured through clenched teeth.

“Now you’ve the right of it,” he said pleasantly. “Show me a man who doesn’t think himself the center of his
own universe and I’ll show you a man without the brass to accomplish anything.”

They passed through the open double doors and into the fragrant night. Once clear of the hall, she pulled her hand away from him and lengthened her stride.

“On the contrary,” she said over her shoulder. Eve hoped to put some distance between them, but found him flanking her handily, “Not all men think the sun rises and sets on their own…brass.”

He laughed and plucked a hibiscus blossom from a nearby bush. “Eve, that’s what I like about you. Stand still for half a moment.” He tucked the bloom behind her ear and then caught up both her hands. “You play at being a lady with great conviction and do it as well as I’ve ever seen. But sometimes, the real Eve slips out and the jig is up.”

“There’s no need to insult me.” She jerked away from him and quickened her pace across the cobbled square, past the empty stocks toward the wharf.

“How is it an insult that I enjoy who you are?”

That stopped her short. He didn’t think less of her for her stripes. He was amused by her lapses into vulgarity. It was tempting to lean into his casual acceptance of her faults. If only his acceptance wasn’t also a prelude to seduction. For an unmarried woman of no great dowry, a maidenhead was her only real wealth. She’d fought like a wildcat to keep it in Newgate. It would be pure folly to surrender it now, just for his asking.

She started walking again.

“Haven’t you ever wanted to be more than you are?” she asked.

“Aye, but I got over that notion fairly quickly.” He caught her hand and held her fast. “Stay a bit, Eve. There’s no need to chase the night. The air will come to you.”

She drew a deep breath, a lungful of night-blooming narcissus, the fishy-tar scent of the wharves and the brisk tang of the sea. A breeze whispered through the nearest palms, sending the fronds fluttering in soft sibilance.

“The island whispers its secrets,” she murmured, remembering little Reggie Turnscrew’s tales.

“What’s it saying to you?” Nicholas thumbed her wrist, sending little waves of pleasure up her arm.

“It’s saying I shouldn’t trust you farther than I can throw you, Captain Scott.”

“Then the island lies, because if I give my word on something, it’s good.” He took a step closer to her, so she had to tip her head back to meet his gaze. “I fought off a shark for you, Eve. Don’t you think you might find it in you to call me Nicholas?”

She tested the name on her tongue. “Nicholas.”

He smiled down at her and for the first time, his eyes smiled, too. “I was just wondering how we might put the notion of my trustworthiness to the test.”

She arched a brow at him.

“I’ve an hourglass in my chamber,” he said. “It keeps excellent time.”

“How nice for you.”

“Will you let me finish?”

She drew her lips in a tight line and nodded.

“I propose that you come to my chamber and allow me to touch you in any manner for the duration of one hour—”

“But—”

He put a finger to her lips. “You were supposed to let me finish.”

“And you were supposed to tell me how you could prove yourself worthy of my trust. So far, I’ve heard nothing that leads me to that conclusion.”

“Then listen. If at the end of one hour, you do not wish to remain with me for the rest of the night, I will see you back to your chamber and trouble you no more.”

“And all you would do is touch me?”

“For one hour.” He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss between her first and second knuckles. “If you enter my chamber as a virgin, you will still be one when the last grain of sand falls.”

“Very well,” she said softly.

“You agree?” He started to pull her into an embrace, but she straight-armed him.

“Aye. On the day you show yourself in church, I’ll come to your chamber by night.” Eve smiled smugly at him.

That agreement was safe as houses. On their first Sunday on the island Mr. Higgs had squired the three women to services alone. After some wheedling questions from Sally, Higgs admitted that the captain would sooner swallow tacks than darken a church door.

Strains of a fiddle wafted toward them.

“Now walk me back in, if you please. I owe someone a gavotte,” she said taking his arm and glancing at the dance card dangling at her wrist in the moonlight. “And it is not you.”

Twenty-six steps led up to the broad double doors of St. Peter’s. Nick knew for a certainty how many there were because he’d counted them himself the last time he attended a service at the little Anglican church.

The coach he trailed stopped at the base of the steps. He dismounted and tied his horse to the rear of the conveyance. Then he nipped round to hand the ladies out.

Only two ladies.

“There you go, Miss Munroe,” Nick said as he helped her alight. Peregrine was at his heels ready to assist her up the steep steps.

When Miss Smythe popped her head out of the coach, her mild face was marred by a worried frown. “This isn’t like Eve at all. Even on the crossing, she never had a moment’s illness. I wonder if I ought to have stayed with her.”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Nick said. Eve had taken unaccountably ill with a sudden sick headache when he announced his intention to accompany them to church this morning. He’d called her bluff and she’d thrown down a losing hand. It had been all he could do to keep a straight face as he expressed his sympathy and hoped she’d be on the mend by nightfall. “Daya will tend her. I’m sure it will turn out to be nothing. Mr. Higgs, kindly escort Miss Smythe also and I’ll be along directly.”

Higgs stopped where he was, about ten steps up. With a nod to Miss Munroe, he left her side and hurried back
down to collect Miss Smythe. It wasn’t often Peregrine squired around even one young lady. His gangly frame seemed to stretch all the straighter for having one on each arm.

Nick rapped on the coach’s side and the driver pulled away, leaving him alone at the base of the steps. He looked up at the whitewashed structure, its steeple stabbing the lowering sky. Higgs and the ladies disappeared into the church.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. By rights, he supposed lightning should strike him down. Never had anyone attended St. Peter’s with a less pure motive.

“All right, Lord,” Nick said, taking a deep breath as he scanned the darkening clouds. “Let us see if You have a sense of humor.”

He mounted the steps, taking them two at a time.

And arrived at the top unscathed. The Almighty either didn’t notice or didn’t care that Nicholas Scott had come to call.

He removed his tricorne and entered the sanctuary as the pipe organ began its wheezing prelude. A bass pedal seemed to be stuck and droned on unchanging beneath the wandering melody. No one had bothered to fix it since Hannah’s funeral.

Or maybe no one but he noticed it. The continuous low rumble set his teeth on edge.

A whispered murmur followed him as he trod down the aisle. The good folk there were undoubtedly surprised to see him, but as far as he could tell, nothing had changed in St. Peter’s since he was there last.

The same families huddled together in the same boxed pews. The gallery overhead was filled with the same black faces, the faithful servants who were expected to attend, but were not allowed to sit on the main level with the white congregants.

Nick had never understood such divisions. His black crewmen were seaman same as the whites, with shares in keeping with their abilities instead of their skin color. Surely the Lord God didn’t divide his flock on the basis of the hue He gave them.

Nick found his assigned box. He’d endowed the church handsomely enough at Hannah’s death. Pews were set aside for his household even though his own attendance was scarce as hen’s teeth. Higgs and the ladies were already seated.

On the cushions Hannah had lovingly embroidered and donated to the church before she and Nick were married there.

Was it really only five years ago?

He took his seat next to Higgs, choosing not to face the altar. He hung his tricorne on the peg Hannah had insisted they should put there. Was it his imagination or did a little of her lilac fragrance still linger?

No, that was impossible.

The organ stopped. The priest began intoning the liturgy, but Nick barely heard him.

There was a swirling knot in the cedar pew between Miss Munroe and Miss Smythe. His gaze chased around that little wooden maze, just as it had during Hannah’s interminable funeral. Curving back on itself like a sea snake, the knot wound around in tight loops. He never could find the end of it.

Memories he’d thought buried with Hannah rose to life, clawing their way through his mind.

He realized suddenly why God had chosen not to cut him down on the church steps. Memories of losing Hannah were far greater punishment than a mere lightning strike.

Two mortal hours later, the last chord of the postlude finally died away. The stuck pedal sighed on for another
heartbeat or two before it faded into the open beams over the sanctuary.

The worshipers filed out in silence, but Nick remained seated. He had no desire to engage any busybodies in conversation on the front steps. Everyone would be abuzz about the prodigal’s supposed return to the fold. He was determined not to give them any more fodder for their gossip.

“Captain?”

Higgs’s voice pulled him out of himself.

“Go on, lad,” Nick said. “See the ladies safely home. I’ll bide here awhile.”

He rose a few minutes after they’d left and made his way out the side door that led to the little churchyard.

The topsoil was too thin for burial belowground in most places, the rocky bones of the island barely covered by its stretched skin of dirt. Stone vaults lined the narrow walkway. Violets wept in profusion along the path. He ducked under the low-hanging branch of a mimosa and continued around the building, dragged inexorably toward her grave.

When he rounded the corner, he ground to a halt.

Adam Bostock was there.

Damn the blackguard!
Wasn’t it enough he’d stolen her in life? Did he think to claim Hannah in death as well?

Nick ground a fist into his other palm. The rain that had threatened earlier finally arrived, first as a fine mist, then pelting him with the relentlessness of a thousand tiny hammers. As he watched, Bostock removed his hat and tucked it under his arm. His shoulders sagged and he swayed unsteadily on his feet. Then he sank to one knee.

Probably drunk.
Adam Bostock could cast up his accounts someplace else.

“You there!” Nicholas bounded across the graveyard. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

Bostock scrambled to his feet, swiping his red-rimmed eyes.

He’d been weeping, Nicholas realized with a start, not just wiping away rain.

“Come to finish our quarrel, Nick?” Bostock asked. His voice was less booming than usual, but his bluster nearly covered for it.

“If you’re spoiling for a fight, you’ve picked a poor spot,” Nicholas said. “This is holy ground.”

Adam jammed his black tricorne back on his head, blinking at the rain. “I never figured you for a praying man, Scott.”

“I’m not. But this is my wife’s grave.” Nicholas emphasized “my wife” more loudly than he intended. He was still furious with Hannah, but he owed her that much respect. “That makes this place holy.”

“And your child’s,” Adam said with a curl of his lip. “Let’s not forget it was your spawn that killed her.”

Nick looked at the small ossuary pressed up against Hannah’s vault. His lips clamped tight. If ever there was a place for truth, a graveyard was it.

“The child was yours,” Nicholas said, his tone as flat as the great organ’s stuck note. “She confessed it as she lay dying.”

“You lie!”

Bostock grasped Nick’s collar. Nick was ready for him and swung. Bostock ducked, but managed to throw a counterpunch that landed squarely in Nick’s belly. Nick bent double as the air rushed from his lungs, but he regathered himself and rushed Adam.

Nicholas lifted his enemy up and promptly lost his balance because of the slick moss under his feet. They
rolled together across the wet grass and the mud of a newly worked flower bed.

A blow connected with Nicholas’s jaw, and stars careened in his head, but he landed a few good licks of his own. When they finally came to rest, Nick was astraddle Bostock’s chest with his fingers around his enemy’s throat.

Bostock’s body bucked under Nick, but couldn’t shake him off. His enemy tried to roll away, but Nicholas continued to squeeze the life out of him. Bostock’s pale eyes bulged as he shoved the heel of one palm against Nick’s chin. Nick turned his head and bore down all the harder. Adam’s arms flailed and he tried to work his fingers under Nick’s grip. Nick held on like one of the alligators he’d seen in a Carolina swamp. Bostock’s eyes rolled back in his head.

He was dying.

“Damnation,” Nick swore as he released him. He stood over his enemy as Bostock rasped in a deep breath and put a protective hand to his throat. “I promised Hannah I wouldn’t kill you.”

A pained expression passed over Bostock’s face. His complexion was pale as he staggered to his feet. “She made…me promise…the same damn thing.”

“Women,” Nick said simply.

Bostock nodded.

“Hannah told me she was carrying your child.” Bostock sank onto the stump of a huge cedar. The rain was coming down harder now, muffling all sounds but its own steady percussion. Neither man seemed to notice. “I figured the babe was why she broke it off with me. I would have taken her away, but she wouldn’t go. She said she wouldn’t separate you from your heir.”

“Perhaps she didn’t know for certain which of us
fathered the child,” Nicholas said through clenched teeth. Hannah had played him false, but she’d chosen him at the last. That ought to count for something.

It didn’t.

“If I’d thought the child was mine, I’d have taken her from you, whether she wanted to go or not,” Bostock admitted. “I should have taken her anyway.”

For a moment, Nick wished he had. Then Bostock would’ve had those haunting memories of the birthing chamber in
his
head.

The screaming had gone on for hours. But when it stopped, Nick found the silence even worse. The midwife turned him away countless times during the labor, but he finally pushed past her.

Christ, there was so much blood. Pools of it in the rumpled bedclothes. It dripped steadily onto the pine floor. He never thought a body could lose so much and yet live. Hannah was as pale as the muslin sheets, but her eyes burned with fear.

“I’m going to God,” she whispered. “I must unburden my soul.”

She told him all in shuddering gasps, how she’d found comfort in Adam’s bed while Nick was on his last triangular run from the Turks to the Carolinas and home. Then Hannah begged his forgiveness, but he was too stunned by her revelation to say the words she wanted to hear. As the stillborn child finally slipped from her body, her spirit left with it.

Along with any chance to ever make it right.

“Was it a boy or a girl?” Bostock asked.

Only SCOTT was carved on the small vault. There was no need to shame the dead. Nick claimed the child as his, so far as the world knew. But he hadn’t wanted to think about the child more than necessary. He’d taken
Hannah’s word that it wasn’t his. Now he wondered if he should have given it a proper name.

“It was a boy.”

A son. A legacy. A piece of himself every man hopes will live on after him. The wee lad might have been his.

And he hadn’t even given the child the simple recognition of a Christian name.

Bostock walked over and placed a palm on the top of Hannah’s vault. “God rest you, love.”

Love.
Why hadn’t Nick ever been able to say the word? If he had, maybe Hannah wouldn’t…he shoved away the thought. There was no going back. No way to undo the past.

“It appears we won’t be killing each other today,” Nick said as he stood across the vaults from Adam. He didn’t want to touch the cold limestone of either raised grave, but Bostock stooped to rest his hand briefly on the child’s stone as well.

“No, not today.” Adam strode away, then stopped and turned back. He shot Nick a grim smile. “But cheer up. There’s always tomorrow.”

Nick watched him go, surprised that he’d been thinking along the same lines. Perhaps he and Bostock were more alike than not. Maybe that was why Hannah had turned to the bastard…

He’d never know for sure. He settled on the cedar stump and kept silent watch over his dead till the rain stopped and the warm Bermudian sun began to turn the puddles to steam.

Eve startled at the rap on her door. The rest of the churchgoers had returned long ago. Penny had brought her some clear broth and offered to sit with her till the
headache passed, but Eve sent her away. She hated to lie to Pen. Her head was fine.

Her heart was not.

It galloped wildly as she rose from her chair by the hearth and went to open the door. She was certain it was Nicholas on the other side.

Come to gloat. Come to claim his winnings.

She could usually count on her clever tongue to get her out of trouble. It had doomed her this time. The Captain had shown himself in church. And she’d all but dared him to do it by declaring she’d come to his chamber on the day that he did so.

Why, by all that was holy, had that thought even popped into her mind, let alone out her mouth?

The sharp rap at the door was replaced by a demanding knock.

Eve slid back the bolt and opened the door a crack.

Captain Scott had propped himself against the frame with both arms. His gaze was fastened on the floor.

“Nicholas, what’s happened to you?” Eve pulled the door wide. His hair had escaped its tidy queue and hung in wet strands across his face. His fine suit of clothing was drenched and plastered with mud. The white stockings would never come clean even if Daya scrubbed them for a week and he’d all but ruined his silver-buckled shoes.

“Miss Upshall,” he said, working his jaw back and forth as if testing its alignment. A fresh bruise purpled one cheekbone. “I have come to discuss—”

“I hardly think the hallway is the place to discuss the indecent agreement in which you’ve trapped me,” she whispered furiously, and waved him in, but he didn’t budge.

“It is if I’m calling it off.”

Eve flinched as though he’d slapped her.

He straightened to his full impressive height. “In light of my attendance at services this morning, you may feel yourself compelled to certain actions this evening. Do not, I beg you. I release you from whatever obligation you may feel you’ve incurred.”