Chapter Nine

“As fit as a fiddle,” Sloane declared.

Griffin studied the bow-legged fellow who wore streaks of grime down the front of his apron. “And how, my good man, did you determine the fitness of Miss Fitzhugh?”

“I asked her, sir. When I arrived with coffee, she was at the desk writing. I inquired as to her health, and she smiled at me.” A rhapsodic glow bloomed over the man’s bony face, which nettled Griffin. “A pretty smile she has—”

Griffin waved a hand impatiently. “Go on about her health, man, not her physical attributes.”

“Well, I set the tray down on the table and inquired as to her welfare. To which she replied, ‘Prime, my good man, prime.’”

Griffin rolled his eyes.

“Her exact words, sir. Then she asked if I would bring her soup, bread and cheese. Don’t reckon a person can eat so much if they be sick.”

“Thank you, Sloane,” Griffin grumbled, astounded he should be so unaccountably annoyed. No doubt the sour mood would soon pass. “You may go.”

Sloane turned. Before he reached the door, Griffin added, “If she should refuse food or be in any way aggrieved, inform me immediately.”

The man agreed and left Griffin to his thoughts and coffee.

After pouring a cup, he eased once again onto the only comfortable chair Samuel Church owned. Out of necessity and privacy for Lily, Griffin had yielded her his cabin and agreed to Church’s offer to share his tiny quarters. Three nights bedded down on a straw-filled pallet on the floor left him cranky while his achy hips and spine cried out for a more accommodating arrangement. Even worse, Church’s love-struck comments about the lovely Miss Fitzhugh drove him barmy. Clearly the man was besotted, as he supposed was half the crew.

As to the ship’s only temptress, he suspected Lily would choose the solitude of her room, confined or not, rather than risk a chance encounter with the captain. Each day, he checked on her. Though polite and sparse in her comments, it was clear she didn’t want his company. A rap on the door swelled his hopes it might be her.

“Yes?”

Church stuck his head inside, a black slip of hair angled across his forehead. “French ship off the starboard.”

Griffin’s heart kicked a beat. “Thank you, Mr. Church. I’ll join you topside in a moment.” He spoke in an even, unrushed manner; his gut, nevertheless, churned with excitement. The news harkened the arrival of the pirate ship and the guns. He closed Shakespeare’s Henry IV, shrugged into his jacket, and bounded from the cabin. Breathing faster, he stepped next door to his cabin and rapped.

No answer. Alarmed, he opened the door. “Lily?”

Dishes, an apple core, and several books decorated the table. A nightgown lay on the bed, and something new graced his desk—a miniature oval portrait. But no Lily.

“Damn.” Why today, of all days, did she venture out alone? If she saw the guns come aboard, it would raise unnecessary questions. He wanted her below, out of Mulworthy’s sight. Where had she gone? Topside, most likely. He headed in its direction.

A bank of gray clouds hovered in the sky. On deck, brisk wind riffled Griffin’s hair. He glanced beyond the complicated network of masts and riggings but didn’t spot Lily.

Church flanked Mulworthy near the starboard rail. Spyglass plastered to his eyeball, the older man tittered with delight. Griffin joined them, astounded to see the rapid approach of a frigate, the fastest known vessel on the seas. The black painted craft slipped through the waves, its forward motion as sleek as a porpoise.

“Is it Le Chien Noir?’ Griffin asked.

“Aye. The Black Dog. See for yourself.” Mulworthy handed over the spyglass. Griffin adjusted the monocle. The picture clarified. Bold as ever, a flag of a black dog snapped in the stiff wind. A thrilling jolt shot through his body. “Are the conditions right?”

Mulworthy squinted at the horizon. “Aye, it’ll be rocky, but we’ll manage.”

The vessel drew nearer. Griffin no longer needed the spyglass for he could plainly see the crew of the visitor ship loading a launch with cargo. An exhilarating charge surged the length of his arms and pulsed in his fingertips as he gripped the teak railing. The arrival of the military officer and the English guns would serve the Colonial army well. Once they’d transferred the property, his mission would be one step closer to completion.

“Mr. Church, raise the flag and sound the canon,” Mulworthy directed. His pebble-sized eyes gleamed with intensity. “We’re about to have guests.”

The fellow hustled away, barking orders like a seal. The men scuttled to perform their duties with hasty efficiency. Within minutes, the big gun bellowed a message of welcome. Moments later the first launch set off from the Black Dog and cut across the choppy water to the Providence.

“Is something amiss?”

At the sound of the feminine voice, Griffin spun around, his heart in his throat. Lily stood just beyond the ladder of the poop deck, a paisley shawl around her shoulders, her expression curious. So lovely.

“Go below,” he snapped.

Hurt flared in her face.

“You need to go below.” He forced an even, insistent tone. This was not the place for her. Not here. Not now. “Please, Lily.”

Mulworthy flapped a hand, seeming oddly unconcerned by her sudden appearance. “Let her stay. Saves me the trouble tae fetch her later.”

“What do you mean?” Griffin asked wary at the man’s unexpected calm.

“‘Tis where she gets off.”

“Off?” Lily repeated, coming closer.

“I’m unloading ye.”

“You can’t,” she cried before Griffin had a chance to protest. As if he sported three heads, she gaped at Mulworthy, incredulous for an instant before fear and anger twisted her face. “I won’t go. I won’t be hoisted about like a sack of oats.”

“Captain, consider—”

Cut off with an arm wave, Mulworthy cocked a coarse brow, his stony expression absolute. “I aim to see the back of ye today, girlie.” The snorting, mirthless laugh raised the hackles on Griffin’s neck.

What scarce color Lily possessed drained away. “My uncle will see you in jail.”

Mulworthy hesitated, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue. “Perhaps. ’Tis more likely Lord Coventry will have my hide if I dinna send ye back.”

In a clear dismissal, he rotated away from her. “Ah, gentlemen. Good of ye to join us.”

Two men, off the first launch, picked their way across a deck congested with barrels, rope and animal pens. Griffin knew Jacques Dumelle, Captain of the Black Dog from when he’d arranged the theft of guns in London a week ago. The other man, Commander Moreau, he’d never met but knew from shared correspondence.

Dressed in a stylish embroidered topcoat and satin breeches, Moreau had agreed to play the part of Charles Laurent, a wealthy merchant, until his safe delivery into the hands of the Colonial Army. Well-experienced in the art of light infantry, Moreau’s services would enhance the discipline and skilled marksmanship so dearly required of the young and disordered army.

Mulworthy’s bunched cheeks beamed with good cheer as he made introductions, neither concerned nor aware Lily glowered at his back. If she’d had a knife in her fist, the captain chanced being nothing but tattered cloth and bloody strips of meat. Over his shoulder, he flicked a thumb at her. “This, gentlemen, is Miss Fitzhugh.”

Lily gawped at Dumelle as if he were a slavering dragon. His jagged tattoo held her attention. A snaky swirl branded both sides of the pirate’s neck and climbed up his shaven head to circle with an artistic flourish around his ears.

“What better way to divert oneself from the boredom of travel than a beautiful companion.” Laurent’s heavy French accent laced his words.

“Don’t get yer hairs up,” Mulworthy groused. “She’s leaving.”

The Frenchman drew back in surprise while the captain added, “I’d be grateful for a bit of talk with ye, Black Jack.”

Lily said, “Captain, I—”

“Take her below, Faraday. Get her out of me sight.”

Griffin bit down hard. His pulse pounded with the certainty things were about to spiral out of control. He reached for her but she twisted away from any touch. Her scowl was murderous, yet in the depths of her anger, terror lurked. “Go below. I’ll come to you soon.”

As if rooted to the deck, she didn’t budge.

“Lily. Please.” The urgency to conceal her from the captain and the pirate drove into his chest like a sharp blade. A second clicked and then another. His stomach churned along with the roiling sea.

Off to the side, Mulworthy, Laurent and the pirate hovered close together, as they spoke in hushed voices. Dumelle’s bald, tattooed head bobbed up and down, doubtless in agreement to some plan. When his black, greedy gaze slid over Lily, Griffin turned cold.

The pirate would take Lily and command a good price for her, even when he ruined the goods before the sale.

Lily huffed and stomped off while a third launch, laden with more crates, sliced through the choppy water.

Griffin joined the men, wanting to curse at the cruel twist of fate that threatened to upend his life.

Mulworthy pried open a crate brought onboard. A quick survey confirmed the cache of sleek and deadly weaponry. From his coat pocket, Griffin extracted a leather pouch. The remainder of the money owed to the pirate. He handed it to Dumelle.

He thought of Lily. What price did a human life command? Would a hundred, a thousand, or a million pounds be enough to secure her safety? Though clever and resilient, she would never survive her ordeal with the Black Dog and come away unscarred.

“Captain. A word if you please.”

The roughened, wind-blown man gave him a skeptical appraisal, as though anticipating some problem or perhaps a battle. Mulworthy spotted his assistant and snapped. “Mr. Church, take our guests to my stateroom. See to their comfort. I’ll be along shortly.”

Once the men were out of earshot, Griffin took a steadying breath, aware he was to embark on the most foolhardy mission of his less than noteworthy existence. “Captain…” He struggled to find the right words, to set the tone and make his announcement believable. In the end, he simply said, “I wish to marry the woman.”

For a moment, the old goat was speechless. Then he barked a laugh. “Are ye daft?”

To marry her was absolute insanity. “Possibly. Many a good man is brought to his knees by love, eh?”

“Love?” The feisty codger scoffed and unfurled a slug of saliva on the deck. “Ye can’t mean it. Ye dinna love the little baggage.”

“It’s love as sure as I stand before you. We’ve known each other since we were children. I think, even then, I loved Lily.” His impassioned plea almost made it sound believable.

“Children?”

As shrewd as the old man could be, Griffin doubted he would swallow the drivel. He’d never lied to him before, and it didn’t go down easily. Still, against all logic and duty, he felt compelled to help the woman. “Being with her again, on this voyage, well, we can’t deny our feelings for each other—honest, loving feelings.” What a load of cow shit.

“Hmmm.” Mulworthy tugged at his whiskered chin with thumb and forefinger, puzzling over the strange news. “I have seen ye moonin’ over her…a regular sap, gawping and such.”

Griffin startled. Gawping? He’d done no such thing, had he?

His brothers always joked that he fell too easily for a pretty face—as if one could control an emotion like love. After his last disastrous affair, he’d come to agree with them. Fortunate for him, love didn’t figure into marriage with Lily.

The captain lobbed a doubtful gaze as though the odor of deceit lingered in Griffin’s very words. “Do ye ken what ye’re doing? She’ll be the anchor around yer neck.”

“I’ll thank you not to speak ill of my future wife.”

Mulworthy shook his head, pity plainly written on his leathery face. “I never took ye for a skirt-chasin’ hero. Do ye ken the damage she can bring ye?”

Only too well. “I’ll keep her in line.” He’d keep a close eye on her. What better way to discover if she was a spy?

“Aye, ye do it. Mayhap ye can turn her to yer side.”

“Ever the optimist.”

Their laughter rang with a bleak, ironic hollow.

“I do want to marry her.” The lie unsettled him.

The other man made a crude noise. “I dinna trust her. The lass is trouble.”

Griffin agreed but, too proud to admit the man was right, remained silent.

“I dinna like this. Still, a good Captain will no refuse his duties. Aye, I leave it tae ye tae work out the challenges.”

****

“He can’t do this!”

Lily stomped across the cabin and stopped abruptly when she reached the windows. Outside, the pirate ship bobbed in the choppy water like a hideous sea monster. The idea of placing even a foot upon its deck made the terror press against her chest, squeezing the very breath from her lungs.

She was so close to Papa. So close. Now Mulworthy meant to destroy her life. “Terrible, terrible man.”

Her fingers itched to claw at his horrible little eyes. At the desk, she picked up a book. Spinning on her feet, she hurled it across the room. To her absolute surprise, Griffin stood in the doorway. The book slammed into the wall only an arm’s length from his head. Horror-struck, she watched it plunge to the floor with a resounding bang.

“Take care to show more respect for my possessions, madam.” The sight of him caused her heartbeat to leap.

“Oh, I…I…” Heat stung her cheeks. She stamped her foot. “Must you sneak up on me?” The words flowed harsher than she’d intended. Hot with shame, she marched over and snatched the tossed item from the floor.

He lingered in the doorway, all lanky beauty, observant and still. With a grace seldom seen in men, he stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him.

“I’m sorry.” She did her best to smooth a crinkled page before she replaced the book on the desk.

He glanced about, taking note of the shawl flung hastily over the back of a chair, her raggedy horse propped next to a stack of books, and her hairbrush and ribbons. “I see you’ve made yourself at home.”

“I hope you don’t mind.” Fretful all at once, she worried she’d overstepped her bounds. Seeing the miniature portrait of her parents on the shelf filled her with such longing she wanted to cry.

“It’s as much your cabin, Lily, as my own.”

She flashed a brief and grateful smile. “Since Mulworthy is so intent to get rid of me…” Bitterness rasped in her words. “I suppose I should pack, but I can’t seem to do it.” If she could have chained her feet to the floor, she would have. “I won’t go.” Hands planted on her hips, she met his grim-lipped demeanor with a bold challenge. “Do you hear me?”

“Like a bell.”

In a fit of anger, she seized her nightgown from the bed and crushed the fine cloth in her fist. “What am I to do?”

He crossed the room in three steps. “Lily, stop!” A hand settled over her wrist; the other uncurled her stiff fingers. Gently, he removed the garment and let it fall to the bed. He nudged her chin, holding her captive with his magnetic gaze.

“Marry me.”

Her pulse quickened. Too stunned to speak, she simply blinked. Had he stripped her bare, she couldn’t have been more shocked. Studying his face, she expected he would laugh at his joke. Oddly, his expression remained serious, even fierce.

He caught both of her hands and squeezed. She realized hers felt glacial.

“This sounds mad, but I convinced Mulworthy we’re in love.”

Cold skated up her arms, raced across her shoulders and coiled at the base of her neck. Frozen with fear, she couldn’t utter a single word. He was mad.

“It’s the only solution. Mulworthy means to see you off this ship. If you go with Dumelle, you’ll never see New York.”

Blood leached from her cheeks.

“Black Jack will sell you to the highest bidder. I daresay you’ll garner great interest among the middle-eastern princes and sheiks.”

“What?” Surely, she misheard. “He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.”

“He can and he will.” The pressure on her hands tightened until her bones ached.

“Is Black Jack a pirate?”

His gaze banked to the side, confirming her fear. She drew in a shaky breath.

“Marry me, Lily. It’s the only way to keep you safe. Mulworthy won’t deny us marriage.”

No. No. Her head wagged back and forth. Unreality gripped her mind. This isn’t how a woman imagines a proposal.

He tipped his face closer, his expression apologetic. “I realize how idiotic it sounds.”

“Idiotic? This has the makings of a farce.” Perhaps a tragedy.

“It will be a marriage in name only.” His thumb skimmed the length of hers and despite the current craziness, sparked a pleasant reaction. “When we get to New York, we can seek an annulment or a divorce.”

Annulment? Divorce? This was too much to absorb. “Why, Griffin? Why would you do this for me?”

His face reddened. Jaw set, he released her. “A million pounds wouldn’t entice me to give Black Jack a flea-infested, howling cat, much less a woman.”

“Protection? And no other reason?”

Only a fool would expect a heartfelt declaration of love. An act of chivalry and goodwill had prompted his offer of marriage. He didn’t love her. Nor did she love him. Still, she ached with a clawing sense of disillusionment. Sadly, fanciful notions of pretty proposals and everlasting love were not today’s order of business. Saving her life was.

“Mulworthy will marry us but we must hurry. What do you say?”

“A marriage in name only?”

His gaze slide quickly to the bed and back again. If she was a puddle of emotion at the thought of marriage, the notion of coupling almost choked her airway.

“All right.” The words rolled from her lips with so foreign a sound a stranger might have spoken them.

All the tightness in his face relaxed. When he smiled, it stirred a flutter in her chest.

Overcome with an array of powerful emotions, she ran a hand along a fold in her gown and patted nervously at her hair. Watching this, his face grew kind. “I’m sorry. These aren’t the circumstances under which a woman expects to marry.”

The tenderness in his voice warmed her chilled bones. For one brief moment, she almost believed everything would be all hope and light. As she searched his strong, handsome face, she recognized his earnest desire to help, and knew, at least in this regard, she could trust him.

He touched her elbow. “We must leave.”

“Wait! Do I have time to change?”

He hesitated.

“What am I saying?” She felt ridiculous. “I don’t have a gown suitable for a wedding.” Disappointment swelled until she remembered. “I do have something.” She swept toward her the washstand. As she fiddled with hair and ribbons, she watched Griffin, reflected in the wall mirror, unlock his trunk and sort through its contents. He slid something in his pocket before he relocked the chest and slipped the key into his coat. Finished tying the satin ribbon around her neck, she turned and faced him.

He stood quietly, his hands at his sides, seeming reflective. The discerning intensity of his gaze robbed her of breath. He moved closer and touched the tiny bow at her throat. It was a gentle gesture, nevertheless, it made her pulse jump.

“You are the most beautiful of brides.”

She refused to cry, though hot tears threatened to spill. Unable to form a coherent word, she swallowed as a cacophony of emotions thrummed noisily inside.

Offering her his arm, he whispered, “Ready?”

Body a mass of trembling flesh and bone she simply nodded.

He opened the door and like a mama cat with her kitten, prodded her gently over the threshold.