Never Trust a Pirate (26 page)

She was already at the door, one hand on her stomach in a dramatic gesture, when his words stopped her. “Why?” she said bluntly.

“Captain Morgan is not exactly who or what he says he is,” Mr. Brown murmured.

Hell and damnation. Maybe Mr. Brown was a better source of information about the captain than all her attempts at detective work. She might have found out more, faster, if she’d simply agreed to go with him.

Too late for that
, and her instincts agreed. There was more to Mr. Brown than met the eye, and she had no intention of going anywhere with him, no matter what enticement he might dangle in front of her.

So she gave him a slight smile as she clenched her stomach. “No one is.”

The bitch. The filthy little slut had outfoxed him, and he wanted to strangle her. Rufus settled back into his carriage, necessary for even the short distance to his lodgings, given the condition of his leg, and cursed Madeleine Russell to hell and back again. He could almost be impressed with her acting abilities and her quick wit, except there wasn’t any room in his fury for such emotions. He was going to take
a great deal of pleasure in ending her life. This would have been so much simpler if the sisters had been in residence when he’d set fire to their house on Curzon Street, but unbeknownst to him they’d left that morning for the countryside. For Somerset, where they had no business being.

He’d made sure they were tossed out of there soon enough, but poverty and shame weren’t enough to render them harmless. Now he had to go to a great deal of trouble to silence each of them, and the first one, the easiest one, the scarred, shy, eldest sister, had managed to get away entirely.

He wasn’t about to let this one escape. He could employ his old favorite, fire, and burn down the captain’s house with the people inside. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Morgan alive to be a scapegoat, or whether he might serve that purpose just as well if he were burnt to a cinder. And there was Morgan’s damned watchdog in the mews. If he were to kill Morgan he would have to kill William Quarrells as well, or he’d never have any peace again. Quarrells was the kind of man who held grudges and suspected everyone, and he would scarcely believe in a convenient accidental fire. If he could figure some way to get Quarrells into the house as well it would be convenient, but right now he was too weak to manage such a feat with Quarrells’s large body, and he wasn’t completely sure of his man. Parsons seemed to have very few moral qualms, but people were surprisingly squeamish when it came to murdering pretty young women. He was good enough and lucky enough to have managed the sabotage of Morgan’s boat with no one, not even the captain, realizing it, though the bloody man was too good a sailor to die. Parsons could carry off the girl’s death with no problem whatsoever.

Rufus would need to consider things carefully. He’d let his fury get in the way in London, and he’d ended up suffering a major setback. Not a defeat—never that. But matters were much more
complicated with Bryony Russell and her new husband somewhere on the continent, and he preferred elegant simplicity.

He had no intention of waiting. He had no idea how long it would take Morgan to return to Devonport—he gathered the man usually spent a week or more in London when he traveled to the city, but he doubted he’d have that luxury.

He had no idea whether Morgan suspected his housemaid was anything other than what she pretended to be, but he didn’t need Gwendolyn’s jealous whining or his man’s spying to know the captain was going to bed her sooner or later. Not yet—Rufus was a good enough observer to know she hadn’t been whoring around yet.

But she would. And Morgan would be in a hurry to make it happen. He wouldn’t be gone long.

No, Rufus was going to have to deal with the girl promptly and efficiently, and if that involved strangling her with his bare hands then so much the better.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I
T SEEMED TO
M
ADDY
as if she’d slept for days. Leaving Mr. Brown and his very suspicious demands, she’d gone back to her room and lain down beneath the disgraceful headboard. She’d fallen into a deep sleep, and hadn’t woken up until close to dawn, ravenous. She’d raided the kitchen, making herself a plate of cold lamb, crusty rolls with butter, and a mélange of root vegetables seasoned with nutmeg, and seated herself at the wooden table where she’d eaten before under the scornful eye of Mrs. Crozier. There was something almost blissful about the silence of the predawn kitchen, the light just coming in through the windows. Polly and the others would probably be up soon enough—a servant’s day started early, particularly for a cook, but for the moment Maddy savored the stillness, simply happy not to have to rush and do anything.

There were five new servants in the household: Polly, two other maids, and two footmen, and somehow they’d managed to all cram into the attics. Her own meager belongings had been transferred to her new rooms, but she wondered how they’d dealt with all the broken furniture and detritus of an old house. Had they finally managed to rid the place of bats?

And what about the locked cupboard? She’d forgotten all about that in the last few days—she’d been too tired at night to do anything more than collapse in bed, and she hadn’t had time to do more than try to pick the lock with a hairpin. She was going to have to get up there again, though preferably when the new servants were out and about. Though perhaps they’d already opened it—after all, the space up there wasn’t vast. Three beds in one room, two in another would leave things crowded, and what would they do with the leftover furniture? She moved to the window and looked out past the garden into the mews. The pile of broken chairs and rat-chewed mattresses created an almost sinister bulk near the back gate, and she wondered what else had found itself onto that pile. Had they come across anything interesting?

She went back to the table and her meal, thoughtful. She had no idea how long the captain intended to be gone, but once he was back she would have the devil to face. Literally. The devil with the face of a fallen angel, which was far more tempting. If he stayed away longer than a week she’d have to deal with Mr. Brown, and she certainly wasn’t about to take off into the unknown countryside with the man.

She couldn’t imagine why Mr. Brown was so determined to have her. She believed him when he said he had no interest in her body, but as handsome footmen were a symbol of status in the world she had once lived in, pretty maidservants were probably almost as valuable, and Maddy had no delusions. She was pretty—it was one of the few weapons she possessed along with her intellect and pure determination, and she had every intention of using what a perverse God had given her.

She didn’t trust Mr. Brown. Didn’t trust his determination to remove her, though it might simply be a favor to Gwendolyn Haviland. The woman viewed Maddy as some major rival, which was absurd. Luca would hardly trade a solicitor’s daughter for a housemaid, and while he might be interested in bedding her, that was most likely a
normal male reaction and meant nothing. He would have kissed any marginally pretty woman.

No, his relationship with his fiancée would rise or fall on its own merits, and Maddy had the strong feeling that it was descending rapidly. The captain was too wise to chain himself to a harpy like Gwendolyn Haviland, and Maddy expected the woman would be gone soon after she herself left Devonport, if not sooner.

Of course, that was assuming that the captain wasn’t guilty of conspiring against Eustace Russell. That kind of scandal would send Gwendolyn packing at the first hint—she wasn’t a woman to stand by her man in the face of adversity. Even if Maddy was wrong, and they were married before she found proof, Miss Haviland would be out the door if the captain was accused of murder.

Except if that were the case, she’d be Mrs. Morgan by then. Mrs. Thomas Morgan. Which wasn’t even his name—would the marriage be legal if he used an alias? And wouldn’t the additional scandal be delicious, if Gwendolyn found she’d been living in sin?

Maddy leaned back. She never would have thought she’d be so petty, but the captain’s fiancée had declared her enmity the moment they met. She deserved anything she got. Maddy and her sisters had had disaster rain down on their heads through no fault of their own. At least Gwendolyn might get a taste of it.

Except, of course, she was coming to the reluctant conclusion that Luca was innocent, and perhaps she was wrong and he truly adored Gwendolyn and they would marry, have herds of children, and live happily ever after. Maddy heard an odd noise, and realized it had come from her. She’d made a growling sound.

She shook her head, rising and taking her plate into the scullery to wash it. Far be it from her to add to her fellow servants’ duties. The sun was almost up, she could hear the faint stirrings above stairs, and her stomach knotted.

Not Luca, she reminded herself. He had disappeared again—it was simply the new servants. She wasn’t quite ready to face anyone, though she wasn’t sure why, and she quickly slipped back into her rooms, closing the door just as the first footsteps reached the kitchen.

She leaned her forehead against the panel, listening to the cheerful voices. This wasn’t her life. Neither was cozying up to the captain, chatting with him about his books. She didn’t really belong anywhere. Finding the proof about her father wouldn’t fix everything. Even if she managed to get his name cleared and the money back, the hint of scandal would always attach to their name. The House of Russell was no more, and assuming they all married, even their name itself would disappear. Probably just as well, but it would have broken her father’s heart. He’d almost convinced Tarkington to change his name to Russell, just to keep the name alive. And instead the bastard had deflowered her and run off to South America, leaving her brokenhearted.

Or close enough to brokenhearted that it didn’t matter.

She wasn’t going to think about that. In fact, she hadn’t thought about it in days. And when she did, there was no lingering pain—just a righteous anger that was deliciously liberating. She was over it. She was free.

At least, if she could talk herself out of her ridiculous fascination with the captain. Blast him. And blast her, for being such a cotton-headed romantic, that his gypsy beauty and his dark eyes set off ridiculous longings inside her. She was a practical woman, and she had no proof he wasn’t a villain. She had to remember that.

She would use her time wisely while he was gone. If she were lucky, she’d find what she needed before he returned, and never have to see him again. Never have to risk temptation.

The door to the library was no longer locked—in fact, now that warmer weather was upon them the door was wide open a few hours later when Maddy wandered by with a deliberately casual air. No one
was there to see her, so her affected languor was unnecessary. The two new maids had scoured everything Maddy hadn’t gotten to, but in fact Mrs. Crozier had worked Maddy so hard that there wasn’t much left to work on. Apparently even the formerly sacrosanct library had been put in order.

She slipped inside, then hesitated. If she closed the door then there was no risk of anyone seeing her as they passed by on their various duties. If she closed it, though, it might rouse curiosity. The day was sunny, though the sky over the harbor was hazy, and a light wind was stirring the trees. On impulse she closed the door, turning the key in the lock. If anyone tried to get in she would explain she’d been looking for a book to read, and the door had locked by accident. It was a thin enough excuse, but at least for now there was no one on the premises who would suspect her of anything. Just to make sure she had her excuse in hand, she went straight for the first section of bookshelves.