The Devil's Necklace

Her shoulders remained stiff, but he could see the relief in her face. She managed a nod. “I would appreciate that.”

Ethan made a slight bow of his head, turned and left the cabin. Once outside, he took a deep, steadying breath. If Grace Chastain had confused him before, she had done an even more thorough job this afternoon. She had fought him like a tigress, as few men were willing to do, and yet some how retained her dignity.

He found himself smiling one of his rare, sincere smiles. He couldn’t help admiring her courage. Or enjoying her fierce display of passion. If only he could harness that passion, put it to a far more pleasant use.

It seemed even more urgent that he do so. The idea he had been mulling over the past several nights returned with even more clarity. As much as he desired her, he wasn’t the sort to use force. As he came to know her better, to appreciate her spirit, the idea appealed even less.

Seduction, however, was an entirely different matter.

He hadn’t forgotten her response when he had kissed her, or the sight of her nipples stiffening beneath the cloth when he had caressed her in the tub. The more he thought about it, the more the notion of seducing her appealed to him. In the end, the lady would warm his bed and having her there willingly would make the victory all the sweeter.

And there was the added possibility that once he had gained a little of her trust, she might confide the viscount’s current location.

His decision was made. He had promised her a stroll round the deck. Ethan intended to keep his word.

It would be the perfect time to put his plan into motion.

At the knock on the door, Grace sat up straighter in her chair. She had been working on the sapphire silk, using the black lace from the orange crepe, which matched the lace on the blue, to modify the neckline, adding a fichu and narrowing the silly puffed sleeves, making small capped sleeves that were much more flattering.

Still, it was a gown one would wear for evening, not day. Fortunately, at the bottom of the last box, she had discovered a simple gray muslin skirt and white cotton blouse, something her benefactor might have worn round the house when she wasn’t working. The hem would have to be let down but the waist fit perfectly. And the blouse had a drawstring, making it somewhat adjustable. She had donned the change of clothing with some relief and done her best to freshen the aqua silk.

Dressed in the clean skirt and blouse, Grace set her needlework aside and went to answer the knock at her door, wondering who it might be. She knew Freddie’s light knock and the captain did not bother.

She was surprised to find her nemesis patiently waiting in the corridor, as if he were a suitor instead of her jailor.

“I promised you a walk. The clouds have lifted and the stars are out…if you are still interested.”

She had already finished a heavy supper of roast mutton, cabbage, pudding with gravy, and ale. Getting out of the cabin sounded divine.

“Thank you, I would like that very much.” If he could be formal, then so could she. When he presented his arm, she placed her fingers on the sleeve of his coat and let him guide her up the ladder to the deck.

“I see you found something to wear after all.”

She smoothed the front of the skirt, reminding herself not to be grateful. If he had brought her trunks along, she wouldn’t have been without clothing in the first place. “Not exactly high fashion, but they are better than nothing.” There was also a serviceable woolen cloak that at first she had not seen. He took it from her hand and draped it over her shoulders. “I suppose I should thank you after all.”

He smiled, reached down and rubbed the spot on his calf where she had bitten him. “I only wish you had opened that box first.”

Her lips quirked reluctantly. He was teasing her—she could scarcely believe it—and she couldn’t help being amused. “I suppose it would have been better. In truth, it was the confinement not the clothes that was mostly the problem.”

“Then I’m glad I came to help in that regard.”

They strolled the deck, Grace on the captain’s arm, cir cling the perimeter of the ship at least three times. It felt good to stretch her legs, to feel the salt spray on her face and breathe the fresh sea air.

She studied the man beside her, taller than most of the men she knew. With his slashing black brows, straight nose, and sensuous mouth, she had to admit the man was incredibly handsome. His limp was barely noticeable as they walked companionably along, and she wondered how he had got it.

There were dozens of questions she wanted to ask. Who was he? How had he discovered her part in the prison escape? What was he going to do with her?

But she was afraid that if she did, they would argue and she would wind up back down in his cabin. She wasn’t yet ready to return.

“Freddie says you’re a privateer.”

They paused next to the rail. “Freddie talks too much.”

“A privateer is a ship or a man approved by the government to pirate enemy ships. Is that not correct?”

“I work in the interest of Britain, yes.”

“You’re a pirate, then.”

A corner of his mouth edged up. “Of a sort, I suppose.”

“Freddie worships you. He thinks you are incredibly brave.”

“Freddie’s a child.”

“I was surprised when I first met him, surprised you would have a young boy aboard with such a disability.”

He shrugged those wide shoulders. “The lad does his work. That is all that matters.”

But she thought that few men would take on the care of a handicapped child and wondered if there might be a side of the captain that wasn’t as hard as he seemed.

She looked up at the stars, determined to keep the conversation light, hoping to gain as much time on deck as she could. “Lovely night. Do you see that constellation there?” She pointed to the right. “That is Taurus, the bull. In Greek mythology, the bull is Zeus in disguise, swimming through the Hellespont to fetch Europa, his lady love.”

One of his dark eyebrows went up. “You have an interest in Greek mythology?”

“Only as it pertains to the stars. The heavens have long been an interest of mine. Believe it or not, I even know how to navigate using a sextant.”

“How did that come about?”

“My father’s brother was the navigator aboard a ship called the Irish Rose.” Not her real father, but Dr. Chastain, the physician married to her mother, the man who had raised her. “The ship carries passengers along the Irish coast. At any rate, Uncle Phillip taught me when I was much younger.” Her uncle, kinder to her than her father ever had been. It was only these past few months that she understood the reason why. Understood that another man had actually sired her, and that because of it, her mother’s husband had resented her all her life.

“If you know the stars, then you recognize that group there.” He leaned close and her gaze followed the direction he pointed.

“Perseus.”

“Yes…” he said softly. “He lies close to his future mother-in-law, Cassiopeia.”

She smiled, oddly pleased that he knew. “And also Andromeda, his future bride.” She could feel him beside her, tall and lean, exuding unmistakable power and strength. He was standing so close she could feel the heat of his body, see the gleam of moonlight on the inky hair at his temple.

She was studying his profile when he turned and looked down at her. For an instant their eyes met and held. Grace wondered at the turbulence she read there the instant before his mouth settled softly over hers.

Her entire body went rigid. She started to pull away, but instead of the hard, taking kiss she imagined, there was only the merest brush of his lips against hers before he ended the contact.

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “It is time I took you back,” he said.

She hadn’t noticed how cold it was, hadn’t really felt the biting force of the wind that had begun to build as the evening progressed. “Thank you for bringing me up on deck.”

“I keep my word, Miss Chastain. That is something you will learn. From now on, you may come up whenever you wish, as long as Mr. McShane or myself accompanies you.”

A rush of relief swept through her. Her imprisonment, at least below deck, was over.

She gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you.” It seemed a powerful concession. She was a criminal, after all. He could lock her up in the ship’s brig if he wanted.

He didn’t say more and neither did she. She steadied herself against him as he guided her down the ladder to the quarters they shared.

It wasn’t until well after midnight that she heard him enter the cabin. She was dressed in her borrowed night rail, lying on her side at the very edge of the bed. She heard him begin to remove his clothing and her heart started pounding at the thought of what he might do.

But he merely removed his outer garments and climbed into bed on the opposite side of the mattress as he had done before. She tried not to think of his feather-soft kiss, or wonder at its meaning.

But it wasn’t until just before dawn, after the captain was dressed and gone, that she finally fell into a troubled sleep.

Angus McShane ambled across the quarterdeck on his way to speak to the captain, who stood behind the big teak wood wheel. He had known Ethan for years, served with him aboard his first ship. Eight years later, they were still together, though the captain had become a far different man.

The months he had spent in France, beaten and tortured in a stinking French prison, had changed him, hardened him into the man he was today, made him seem far older than his years.

He was troubled now, Angus could see on this cold February morning, had been since he had brought the lass aboard.

Inwardly, Angus sighed. Revenge had a way of eating at a man. And it was never as satisfying as a man believed it would be.

“Ye wanted ta see me, Capt’n?”

“Aye. I wanted to let you know I told the girl she could come up on deck whenever she wished, as long as you or I came with her.”

Angus raised one of his bushy gray eyebrows. “I thought ye meant to punish her.”

He shrugged. “She hasn’t the disposition to stay cooped up. I suppose I understand that better than most.”

And treating a woman badly, no matter how much she might deserve it, just wasn’t in the captain’s nature, Angus thought.

“Ye did right, lad.” Angus turned to look out over the water. A flock of albatross winged overhead, heading for the coast. Sunlight glinted like jewels on the water and the sky was blue as the wildflowers in the highlands of a clear spring morning.

“Ye’ve been sore-tempered of late,” Angus said. “I’m thinkin’ ye haven’t yet bedded the lass.”

The captain raked a hand through his dark hair. “You said once, she is not what you imagined. Well, she is not what I imagined, either, Angus. She’s a good deal more naive. Jeffries must have seduced her. I’ll wager he’s the only man who’s ever touched her and not all that often.”

“So ye plan ta leave her be?”

The captain’s jaw hardened. “She owes me. She owes the dead men in my crew for aiding the traitor responsible for getting them killed. Her innocence is gone and I mean to have her. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Then what will ye do?”

He looked out over the water. A big silver fish arched into the air and splashed back into the sea. “I’ve got to find out if she knows where Jeffries is. And I need to know more about the woman herself. Then I’ll make up my mind.”

A week crawled past. As the captain had promised, Grace was given free access to the deck, as long as the first mate, Mr. McShane, or the captain himself accompanied her.

The brawny old Scot was sweet, she discovered, a longtime friend of the captain’s who wasn’t afraid to voice his opinions. Or ask probing questions.

“Why’d ye do it, lass? Didn’t ye know what would happen if ye helped the man escape?”

Grace sighed as they stood at the rail. “I had to help him. He was…a friend. I couldn’t just let him hang.”

“Did ye love him, then?”

She knew he was asking a far different question but the answer remained the same. “I suppose in a way I did.” It didn’t seem possible to love a father she had met only weeks before. But every year he had written a letter, telling her about his life, telling her how much he wished that they could be together.

Though her mother had hidden the letters away, three months ago the truth had finally come out. Her real father had cared about her, sent money for her education. He had wanted to raise her as his own. Though he was never part of her life, he hadn’t forgotten her.

How could she turn her back on him?

Captain Sharpe asked questions as well, though he usually went out of his way not to broach too volatile a subject. “Do your parents live in London?”

“Yes. My father’s a physician. We don’t really get on very well.”

“Why not?”

Because I’m not really his daughter and he hates me for it. “He doesn’t approve of me. He thinks I’m too outspoken.” Among other things.

“You are outspoken. More than any woman I’ve ever met.”

Her cheeks went warm. “It’s a bad quality, I suppose.”

“Not necessarily.” He lifted her chin with his fingers. “I’m beginning to find I like a woman unafraid to speak her mind.”

She looked into his eyes, wondering if what he said was the truth, or if he was merely trying to win her confidence in order to gain information.

“You rarely mince words yourself,” she said, and he smiled. He seemed to be doing that a little more often, she thought, wondering at the cause.

“I don’t suppose I do.”

It wasn’t until the following afternoon that he brought up the subject of the prison escape. “We both know you’re guilty. You’ve admitted as much. If you would tell the authorities where to find Jeffries, they would be far more lenient in dealing with you.”

She arched an eyebrow in his direction. It was the question she had expected him to ask long ago. “Is that the reason you let me come up on deck, the reason you’ve been so agreeable lately? Because you want me to tell you where the viscount is hiding?”

He glanced away. “Part of the reason, perhaps.”

“At least you are honest.”

“Do you know where he is? If you do, for your own sake, you would be better off to divulge the information.”

“I don’t know where he is. Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. The truth is I haven’t the slightest clue.”

He eyed her as if trying to decide whether or not to believe her. Then his expression subtly changed. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you? You have no idea where Jeffries is hiding.”

“I never spoke to him after he was arrested. He has probably left the country. That is what I would do. Why is finding him so important to you? You believe he is a traitor. I can understand why the government would want to find him, but this seems personal in some way. What did the viscount do to you?”

His jaw clenched so hard she almost wished she hadn’t asked. He took a steadying breath and released it slowly. “I had a ship before this one. Sea Witch. We were on a mission for the War Office. Jeffries had access to information that revealed exactly where the ship was headed. He sold that information to the French.”

“You don’t know that for certain!” She was shocked at the accusation.

“He was the only man who knew, the only one who could have betrayed us. Sea Witch was captured and sunk, my men killed or died in prison. Only one of them escaped.”

“Long-boned Ned—and you.”

“That’s right. The French kept me alive. They thought prison would be worse than dying and they were right. Fortunately, I had friends, people who refused to give up until I was free and they could bring me home. The rest of my men weren’t so lucky.”

She didn’t say more. She could see the anger seething beneath his surface calm, read the fury in the ice-blue of his eyes. “You must be mistaken about the viscount. I’m sorry about your crew but—”

He turned on her, halting her words with a frozen glare. “Are you? If you are truly sorry, you will tell me how to find Harmon Jeffries.”

“I told you, I have no idea where he is.”

He took her arm, none too gently. “Come, it’s time to go in. Believe it or not, I have work to do, matters more important than entertaining my guest.”

She ignored the sarcasm dripping from his voice. He was angry that she wouldn’t help him. What little she knew of the viscount would probably be useless, even if she told him. Which she would not. Harmon Jeffries was her father. She had decided to aid him and she wouldn’t alter that decision.

Nothing could change what she had done or the captain’s contempt for her.

In a way she couldn’t blame him.

Six

A storm blew in. Great waves washed over the bow. The ship pitched and rolled, dropped into huge troughs and climbed up the opposite side. Sheets of water pummeled the decks and washed into the scuppers. The sky was so dark, day and night seemed to meld into one.

For three long days, the storm raged, tossing the schooner about like a bit of flotsam and forcing Grace to remain in the cabin. Mal de mer had threatened several times, but so far the crackers and beef broth Freddie brought her had kept the illness at bay.

Dear God, she needed to exercise her limbs and breathe in some clean sea air!

When a slight break came in the weather, Grace paced the room impatiently, waiting for Captain Sharpe or Angus McShane to come for her, but the hours slipped past and no one appeared. Disgruntled and sick unto death of being confined, she lifted her cloak off the brass hook next to the door and swept it round her shoulders. Surely she could find one of the two men and ask for his escort.

Though the wind had lessened, Grace discovered an icy breeze still blew across the deck as she climbed the ladder leading up from below and poked her head through the hatch into the open air. The decks themselves were slippery and wet. She had tied her hair back with the scrap of lace, but the stiff breeze whipped long tendrils around her face.

She stopped the brawny second mate, a man named Willard Cox. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Cox. Have you seen Mr. McShane?”

“Aye, miss. He’s workin’ below.” His gaze skimmed over her in a way that was slightly too familiar. Except for the scar on his cheek, he wasn’t bad-looking. She thought that he saw himself as a bit of a lady’s man, which she found faintly amusing. “You shouldn’t be up here, miss. You’d best go back to your cabin.”

Her chin edged up. Who was he to be giving her orders? “Perhaps you have seen Captain Sharpe.”

“He’s just there, miss, comin’ up the ladder from the hold.”

She spotted him walking toward her, bearing down on her with a scowl on his face and his jaw clamped tight. At his angry expression, she took an unconscious step backward.

“Damnation!” he shouted as he approached, and she stepped back again. At the same instant, the ship dipped into a trough, and Grace struggled for balance. Her slipper caught on a coil of rope, and her foot went out from beneath her. She flailed her arms and tipped sideways as a great wave washed over the deck, the water scooping her up and sweeping her away.

“Grace!” she heard the captain shout. Then the massive wave carried her over the side of the ship into the sea.

Grace screamed as she hit the freezing water and plunged beneath the surface. Her nose filled with brine, which started to burn her lungs, and it was all she could do not to open her mouth and gasp in a lungful of air. Instead, she held her breath and fought for the surface, but her hair had come unbound and long strands wrapped around her face. The gray skirt seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, and no matter how hard she swam, the surface grew farther away.

She was going to drown, she realized, and began to kick with all her strength. Unlike most women, she was a very good swimmer, having learned in secret along with her friend, Victoria, when they were away at boarding school. She could see faint light near the top of the water. If only she could reach it.

But the dress pulled her down, seemed to undo each small gain she made. The air in her lungs began to burn. She couldn’t hold her breath much longer. Dear God, she didn’t want to die! She gave another frantic set of kicks and for an instant her head broke the surface. She caught a breath of air before beginning to sink again. She thought she heard something swimming around in the water beside her, but her air supply was diminishing and she was growing dizzy.

She fought madly for the surface one final time, but couldn’t quite get her head above the water and the last of her strength began to wane. Something brushed against her. She felt the strength of a man’s hand at her waist, shoving her upward. Grace kicked with all of her strength and together their heads popped out of the sea.

One of the ship’s cork life rings floated nearby and the captain grabbed it and wrapped her arm around it.

“Hold on!” he shouted. “We’ve got to hang on until they can reach us!”

She gasped and sputtered, managed a nod, and hung on with all of her strength. She could see the ship in the distance, one of the wooden dinghies being lowered over the side as the ship came about, trying to stop its forward momentum through the turbulent seas.

She could see the small boat pulling away from the hull, beginning to head their way, the men rowing with all of their might. It took a while for the dinghy to reach them, plowing through the whitecaps, disappearing into a trough, then reappearing again. The big second mate, Willard Cox, a sailor named Red Tinsley, and the thin sailor, Long-boned Ned, manned the oars.

They spotted her and the captain clinging to the life ring, and drew the boat up alongside. Working together, the three men hauled Grace into the boat, then reached down for the captain. He sprawled next to her in the bottom of the dinghy, both of them shivering uncontrollably.

Ned tossed a blanket over them. “We’ll ’ave ye back aboard the ship quick as we can,” he said to her. “Ol’ Angus backed the sails and hove to. He’ll slow ’er down and be waitin’ fer us to catch up ta him.”

She swallowed and nodded, the fear she had held back beginning to creep over her, clogging her throat with tears. But the minutes in the icy sea had sapped her strength and she was too frozen to make her lips work.

And grateful just to be alive.

It took a while for the dinghy to battle its way through the pounding waves and reach the ship. Angus paced near the rail, his rugged face lined with worry as the men helped her aboard.

He came to a stop just in front of her, reached out and touched her cheek. “So ye made it, did ye, lass?”

Her eyes welled with tears as she thought of how near death she had come, how Ethan Sharpe had risked himself to save her.

“Aye. The lad saved yer life. Coulda been the death o’ ye both.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know the seas were still so rough or the decks quite so slippery.”

“Ye need ta get out of those clothes,” Angus said, guiding her down the ladder to her cabin. She looked back for Ethan, saw him right behind her.

“I’ll take care of her,” he said, following her into the room. “Send down a hot bath. She needs to get warmed up.”

“And ye, as well, lad.”

“Soon,” Ethan said. He closed the door and turned to face her.

“I’m sorry,” Grace said again, tears burning.

Instead of the anger she expected, he simply reached out and swept her into his arms.

“Sweet God, Grace, I thought we’d lost you.”

She clung to him, grateful for his warmth, the solid feel of his body, the steady beat of his heart, holding him as tightly as he was holding her. “I’m so sorry. Oh, Ethan, you could have been killed.”