My Bonny Heart (Pirate's Progeny Book 1) (21 page)

Chapter 23

Addison returned to Cranford Hall, perspiration beading on his brow. Sweat had trickled freely down the back of his neck since leaving his office. Not from the Carolina heat, but from anxiety. The thought of losing Anne was inconceivable. More so, since they’d turned a grand corner in the somewhat rocky path of their relationship.

Cormac had visibly winced at the scorn in his daughter’s voice before she exited, his bushy brows scrunched upon his forehead. He had the wherewithal to look sheepish, as if he knew what hell Addison would await upon his return home. If she even returned . . .

Anne’s father apologized for playing a part in his current plight. “I’m very sorry she overheard our conversation, Lord Blackhurst. Anne is a bit hot tempered, and I fear you will have a rough time of it, if you have not already. But, should you capture her loyalty, you’ll not regret it.”

Addison merely grimaced at the older man, “I will handle it. She just needs a few hours to calm down, I’m certain.” He only said the words to make Cormac feel better, but the older man’s facial expression was doubtful. His future father-in-law had then thanked him and left the office.

Wasting no time, and so as not to let Anne stew for too long—lord knew how many vases or dishes she’d break in the meantime—he gave each of his ships one last check, and sent them off into the Cooper River. Granted, these preparations and last-minute send-offs took over an hour, but once they were completed, he knew he could rest easy for a few weeks.

Guilt assailed him as he nodded to Raphael as they passed one another along the lawn to the house. Anne assumed, rightly so, that he’d only agreed to marry her for financial gain.

A hard truth.

But, he’d not made love to her for those reasons. One look at her, even while destroying the items in his bedchamber, and something had shifted within his heart. She’d captivated him from the onset. Her temper, sensuality, vivacious personality, the love she bore her children, and the ease with which she’d interacted with the slaves; she’d wound her way into his heart.

He’d never encountered
any
woman like her on either shore, or ever loved anyone with such fervor or possessiveness.

Love?

A hard thump in his chest confirmed the emotion he’d only just discovered to be another truth.

He loved Anne Morgan. Lady or not, fiery or stubborn, he loved the woman.

The morning round of lovemaking harkened a truce between them, and a turning point. Perhaps love was the emotion he’d seen reflected in the pool of her emerald eyes?

“Should I saddle Apollo for you, milord?”

John’s voice broke through the haze of thought.

“No, John.” A hopeful excitement bubbled through him, and he clapped him on the back, grinning. “Thank you, but I think I shall go find my bride.”

Dark eyes widened, making Addison feel as delirious as he sounded.

He’d explain as much as she’d let him. Anne would be spitting mad, but he’d throw her over his knee, if needed. A familiar stir in his breeches made him smile broader as he entered the house. She would forgive him or he’d lock her in his room until she gave into him.

No one stirred within the entry, but Addison knew Anne would be in the nursery if she were anywhere.

She was a good mother.

His stomach dropped, something akin to wonder filled him. Anne could even now be carrying a child. Their child. The thought of it warmed his heart.

Opening the nursery door, he frowned to find only the twins sleeping soundly in their cribs. He strode down to Anne’s bedchamber, throwing open the door. She was not within, nor was she found in her sitting room. Addison checked the formal and family entertaining areas of the house. Empty, all but for some of the servants.

He’d questioned each servant, all giving him the answers he did not want to hear. They’d not seen her since the morning. Raphael’s presence in the stable at least told him she’d returned from town, but where had she gone?

An icy hand gripped his heart. Eliza took Holt for a walk down the river, and when she returned, not even she had seen her mistress. Addison dispatched every one of his servants to find Anne. They combed the property. Even Raphael had a concerned frown marring his brow after a few hours of the same news.

Anne, for all outward appearances, had disappeared.

The only evidence she’d even been in the house was the dagger Eliza had spied stuck into nursery room floor. The look in Raphael’s eyes worried Addison, a sinking sensation deep in his belly. The dagger was the one she’d had at the tavern where he’d found her earlier in the week. When she’d tried to convince him she was no lady.

Could she have returned there? To spite him? To begin her game anew to keep from marriage?

Determined this to be the only answer—that she fumed in the
Hound and the Hare
, eating biscuits—Addison readied his boat. Raphael stood before him on the bank, and gave him a look that said he would be helping finding Anne, and that was that.

Addison nodded grimly. “We might as well begin before it night hinders our momentum.”

Raphael assisted rowing them to Charles Town, aiding them in making quick work of the chore. They were both alert down river, and on the streets of Charles Town for any sign of her. He prayed to God she had not drowned in the river behind Cranford Hall, but he told himself that made no sense. If anything, Anne would intentionally anger him by returning to the tavern.

Yes, he’d find her there.

At this time of the evening, the tavern’s occupancy swelled to near quadruple to the day he’d found Anne inside, the crowd loud and boisterous. Grateful for Raphael’s intimidating presence along beside him, they walked through the door.

His eyes met that of the barkeep, who clearly remembered the lord who’d ravished a lady in his storeroom. The man nodded his head, not pausing to clean the mugs before him with a towel.

“Do you recall the young, red-haired lady here with me?”

“Aye, no one can forget that hair, milord.”

“You haven’t seen her this evening, have you?”

The man’s eyes narrowed, but he shook his head. “No, milord. Only the other day.”

“I saw a fiery-headed lass.” A young man to his right slouched at the bar, a mug to his lips.

Addison turned to the stranger, meeting his eyes over the mug.

“Is that so? Can you describe her?”

The young man swallowed, wiping the back of his sleeve across his mouth. He squinted his dark eyes, as if remembering the image of her in his mind. “Long, red-hair . . . floating about her head this way and that. Er, voluptuous, what me pa would call it. Wearing a dark blue dress.”

Addison’s heart sped up, his hands trembling. “Where did you see her, mister . . .?”

“Sullivan, Davey Sullivan, milord.” The man’s eyes darted from side to side.

“Mr. Sullivan, and where did you see this woman?” Addison raised his voice over the loud chatter of the tavern patrons.

Davey’s eyes sized up Raphael for a moment, widening, before he swallowed nervously. “It were about a few hours ago, maybe four. She was getting on a ship with Mr. Dobison.”

Addison’s stomach clenched. Had she left him that quickly? “Mr. Dobison? What ship, and who is this man?”

“He came on the
Sparrow
. I overheard him talking to his men here in the tavern. British gent.”

“You say she walked on board his ship? Has it embarked?” Without realizing it, he’d grabbed the man by the shoulders, giving him a good shake. “Has she sailed?”

Davey’s eyes were wide with fear, but not near the fear Addison felt down in his bones. The young man nodded. “Aye, milord, shortly after the red-haired woman and Dobison boarded her. I believe I heard Dobison mention something about Port Royal, milord.”

Anger and something akin to despair flowed through him. He’d lost her.

Nodding, he released young Sullivan. “I do apologize. Thank you for the information, Mr. Sullivan.”

In a daze, and no longer hearing the voices and clatter around him, Addison stumbled from the tavern, as if in a fog, and back out into the street. He looked out at Cooper River, the sun setting on the horizon.

Anne was out there, somewhere, with a British man named Dobison. He’d no idea if she’d gone of her own accord or against her will. But, if young Davey said she’d walked onto the ship, she’d certainly not been forced. He’d have mentioned that, surely.

A hand gripped his shoulder, and he turned to see Raphael’s turquoise eyes, a sad light in them.

Growling, he threw his fists into the air. “Damn you! There was no chance to tell her the truth.”

The door to the tavern opened behind them, shutting with a thwack. Addison cared not who emerged, but began to pace the street, like a caged animal trapped on the shore. All of his ships were hopelessly out to see, of no assistance. He had no easy recourse or way to go after her in such a short amount of time. What was worse, he had no idea where he would find her. He paced the street in frustration.

“My Lord? Might I be of assistance?” A deep, raspy male voice called to him. A Welshman, judging by the heavy accent. The man leaned against a horse post across from the tavern, just near the river’s edge.

Addison frowned at the stranger for he was odd, indeed. The dark-eyed Welshman stood taller than even himself. Dressed finely in high black boots, dark trousers, and a flowing black shirt, several gold chains looped about his neck. His long, black hair was clubbed behind his neck with a bright red ribbon, his face and hands deeply tanned. If Addison could guess, he’d say the man was a gentleman who had a distinct pirate past. Or, a pirate with a gentleman’s education. An arrogant but intelligent gaze gave him the impression the man was successful at whatever endeavors he entertained.

“With what might you be able to assist, sir?” The man exited the tavern, he was sure, but if he’d heard Addison’s conversation with Davey, he was unsure.

“You seek to follow the
Sparrow
.”

He frowned. “Aye.”

“You’ve no ship of your own to sail, then?” The man rested casually against the post.

“No. My ships sailed earlier this afternoon.” He was damn curious of the stranger. “How might you help me, sir?”

The man moved away from the post, his bracelets jingling with the movement, and the waning sunlight glinted off the small golden hoops dangling from the man’s ears.

“I’ve a ship. I am headed, coincidentally, in the same direction as Mr. Dobison. As it turns out, Mr. Dobison and I have some business to discuss.”

“Why would you aide me?”

“I have my reasons, My Lord, but know I could have us close to them well before they reach Jamaica.”

The decision was made in an instant. Pirate or gentleman, this man was willing to sail after the woman he loved. He’d have her back, or die trying.

“Noted, and appreciated. How soon can we set sail?”

“My ship is being readied as we speak.”

“Excellent.” He turned to Raphael, who nodded, but eyed the stranger with a narrowed glance. Addison turned back to the man, deciding not to question exactly
why
the gentleman had offered his help, and bowed. “After you, then, sir. I would be forever grateful for the assistance.”

The Welshman grinned, his white teeth flashing. “Fabulous. This way, gentleman.”

Addison followed the man onto his ship, the
Royal Fortune
, without a backward glance. He’d left strict instructions with Eliza should he not return forthwith and to contact Cormac, and asked the barkeep to send word to Cranford Hall of his departure. Once onboard, the stranger, who turned out to be the esteemed captain, began barking orders. A pirate perhaps, but Addison shook off the possibility because he cared not at the moment about the man’s profession.

Anne was out there somewhere, with Mr. Dobison, and he was damned sure going to find her and bring her back.

Raphael stood at his shoulder as the ship moved away from the dock. The captain grinned widely while barking orders at his men. The crew bellowed in return, but worked steadily as they were used to the sound of their captain’s booming voice.

He would not be surprised to see the man climbing the rigging and swinging from sail to sail with a cutlass in his mouth.

Frowning, Addison never acquired the stranger’s name, almost walking blindly onto the vessel. His only thoughts were of reaching Anne and explaining how he needed her. He peered over the railing, curious. He counted eight cannon holes upon the aft side, all neatly closed of course. Brass clanged against wood, calling his attention to the main mast. Midway down the wooden structure, a flag billowed from the wind coming off the river; a flag ready to be hoisted at a moment’s notice.

The black flag contained the white silhouette of a man standing with its boots on two white, glaring skulls.

Bloody hell
.

He sailed into the open waters of the Atlantic on a pirate vessel named
Royal Fortune
.