Dajon eyed the red-haired beauty walking beside him, her delicate fingers tucked into the crook of his elbow as he led her up to the main deck. A solemn mood had settled upon her after the discussion of pirates and treasure ships. No doubt the thought of battles and death upset her—or did it? Dajon perceived a strength beneath the swish of lace and the flutter of dark lashes she so frequently offered him. He could not shake the feeling she was hiding something.
Shame struck him. Although she had urged him to show her the entire ship, he should not have shown her the most repugnant sections aboard. He supposed he had been trying to humble her, but in reality his own pride had reared its ugly head, for he rather enjoyed watching her brazen demeanor slowly dwindle. Silently he repented, for she had obviously suffered under the sights and smells below, but surprisingly, no more than any man unaccustomed to them. In fact, she had moved through the ship with ease, not once losing her footing or cowering in the dark shadows. And her interest in the guns. By thunder, what a fascinating woman.
“Mr. James, prepare the jolly boat,” he ordered one of the men standing by the capstan, sending the sailor into action as he shouted orders to the men around him.
As they waited, Faith gripped the railing and closed her eyes. Dajon watched the evening breeze slide its cool fingers through the loose curls adorning her neck, playing with each silky strand, and he found his own fingers aching to do the same. An overwhelming urge to kiss her forced him to tear his gaze away. What was he thinking? His orders were to protect this woman—protect her from letches like himself—a task made all the more difficult when she insisted upon flirting with him all day. Or had she? Perhaps it was simply his own wishful desires.
Oh Lord, give me strength, strength to resist such a tempting morsel laid before me, strength to stay upon the course I have vowed to pursue.
He dared another glance her way. The setting sun transformed her skin into shimmering gold, and Dajon swallowed. Surely this exquisite creature would not be interested in him. More likely, she sought the most convenient alternative to that lecherous Sir Wilhelm Carteret. Dajon flexed his jaw. He would not be so easily taken in by her feminine wiles. Forcing his gaze from her, he watched the sun fling lustrous streams of crimson, orange, and gold into the darkening sky as it sank behind a flowing sea of trees.
Faith smiled and flashed her auburn eyes his way. “Beautiful, is it not? God’s creation—untamed and untainted by man.”
“Am I mistaken then?” Dajon recalled the animosity toward God she had so blatantly expressed the night before. “You do believe in an almighty Creator?”
“I believe in Him, Captain. I simply do not believe He gives much thought to us, at least not as the Bible implies He does.” Faith tossed her chin in the air.
Her declaration stirred both sadness and curiosity within him. “I am sorry.”
“Do not be.” She raised one brow. “I am not. ’Tis freeing, actually.”
“Might I ask what made you give up on God so easily?” He leaned on the railing beside her.
“Easily?” She waved her hand in the air. “You would not understand. You have no doubt led a charmed life.”
“Nay, I would not say so.” Dajon glanced over the railing and saw the sailors climbing aboard the rocking jolly boat and loosening the ropes. Hardly easy. His life had been riddled with strife and heartache.
Mr. James approached and tapped the brim of his bicorn. “Ready, Captain.”
“Very well.” Over Mr. James’s shoulder, Dajon saw Borland staring at them in a most peculiar way. The first lieutenant dropped his gaze and disappeared below hatches before Dajon could acknowledge him.
“Shall we?” He extended his arm toward Miss Westcott but found she had retreated toward the foremast, allowing two sailors carrying a barrel to pass by. A gust of wind struck the ship, flapping the slack sails and tousling the red curls of her loose bun. She offered Dajon a sultry smile that sent a spark through him. And something else—a memory triggered deep within him. He paused, trying to grab hold of it, but whatever it was evaded him. Perhaps it was her exquisite crimson hair—a rarity among women. He’d seen only a few ladies who had been graced with such an audacious color.
By the time they had rowed ashore and entered Charles Towne through one of the three gates breaching the massive rampart that circled the city, darkness had begun to descend. “My apologies, Miss Westcott, for keeping you out so late.”
“I do thank you for showing me your boat, Mr. Waite,” Faith replied as she took the lead, weaving around piles of horse manure that littered the dirt of Bay Street.
“Ship, if you please.” Dajon rushed to catch up with her and offered her his arm.
Faith smiled but did not take it. “Of course. But there is no need to see me home. You must have preparations to attend to on board. I am quite safe within these walls.”
“Aye, I do have a bit of work to do on my ship, but afterward, I’ll be staying in the guesthouse per your father’s request.” Dajon glanced at the stone enclosure that blocked their view of the bay. “To find such a fortified city in the colonies, complete with moat and drawbridge, is quite astonishing.” He fingered the hilt of his sword as they passed one of the port’s taverns. “But with Spain’s recent attacks and the Tuscarora Indian war, ’Tis no wonder the settlers thought it worth the added protection. Not to alarm you, Miss Westcott.” He grabbed her arm, forcing her to slow her pace. “But the wall is not impenetrable, and there are dangers lurking within the city as well.”
“I realize, Mr. Waite, that you and my father have an arrangement, but any fool can see that it was forced upon you against your will. My father has a way of doing that to people.” Faith halted and placed one hand on her gently rounded hip. “Believe me, there is no need for your constant watch. I have been caring for myself and my sisters since my mother died, and I will continue to do so.”
His blood began to heat under her ungrateful and dismissive attitude. “You seemed to have need of me when Sir Wilhelm came calling.” He gave her a sideways glance. “And when you begged so ardently to see my ship.”
She stared at him with the look a spider might bestow upon a fly caught in her web. Finally, she let out a sigh. “My apologies. You have been most gracious.” She offered him a smile that seemed to strain the muscles of her face.
However befuddled by the woman’s teetering moods, Dajon felt he could not leave her without an escort. “It is unsafe for a woman to traipse through town alone.” He cast a wary gaze around them. “Especially this one. And regarding your sisters—surely you do not expect to protect them against everything, Miss Westcott. There are some things best left in the hands of men, due simply to their physical strength and ability.”
Her creamy face reddened, darkening the cluster of freckles on her nose. “No doubt another one of your grand opinions? Well, I, for one, have found that conjecture to be naught but a lie perpetrated by men to keep women in submission.” Turning, she stomped forward as if she were trying to lose him and turned onto Queen Street. Music from a harpsichord chimed from a tavern to their left.
“Indeed?” Keeping pace with her, Dajon shook his head, baffled by her insolence, her independence, but most of all, her foolishness. No wonder the admiral worried for his daughters. This one in particular seemed to go out of her way to find danger. He chuckled.
Faith huffed and flashed a dark gaze his way. “I amuse you, Mr. Waite?”
“Amuse and confuse, miss, for not an hour ago, you played the temptress below hatches on board my ship, and now you play the shrew.”
“Of all the … I did no such thing.” Clutching her skirts, she picked up her pace and stumbled over a ladder. The boy perched on top ceased nailing a sign over a doorpost and clung to the wooden tips of the ladder for dear life.
Dajon settled the tottering steps and gave the wide-eyed boy an apologetic shrug before turning to find the wayward redhead. A mob of workers had spilled onto the street from a two-story brick warehouse and joined a surging crowd of sailors and merchants who were headed toward the nearest tavern. Horses clopped by in every direction, weaving around the throng and spewing clumps of mud into the air from their hooves.
Faith was nowhere in sight.
Dread gripped Dajon. His first day as guardian and he had lost one of the admiral’s daughters—at night, in one of the worst sections of town. The crowd became a muted blur in the encroaching shadows as Dajon searched for a flash of red hair. Barreling through the throng, he bumped into a well-dressed man in a fine ruffled cambric shirt, swinging a cane. A curled gray periwig perched atop his head.
“I beg your pardon,” Dajon said.
The man clicked his tongue in disgust as Dajon dashed across the street before an oncoming coach. The horse reared, neighing in protest. Dajon jumped aside before the beast’s hooves could pummel him. They landed with two thuds in a puddle, spraying mud through the air.
“Watch out, you bumpkin!” the driver yelled.
Dajon glanced down at the thick mud sliding down his white breeches then scanned the street once more. No sign of Miss Westcott.
His chest tightened.
Feminine laughter bounced into the night—familiar laughter. He rushed forward, parting the crowd. A tall man with a portly woman on his arm ambled unaware in front of him. The woman blubbered in laughter at something the man had said, and Dajon darted to the left to bypass them.
Up ahead, light from a crowded saloon spilled onto the street. Three men surrounded Faith.
Sweat broke out on Dajon’s forehead. His mouth dried. He bolted forward when another couple stepped in front of him, blocking his way.
Over their shoulders, Dajon saw Faith say something to a burly man then nod in Dajon’s direction. Two other men stood on each side of her, smirks on their grimy faces. Passersby quickly looked the other way and crossed the street. Why didn’t anyone come to her rescue? Angling toward the right, Dajon sped past the couple and shoved his way through a mob of sailors, ignoring the curses they flung at his back.
Faith grinned before turning and strutting away.
Dashing past an oncoming carriage, Dajon rushed to catch up to her, but the three men who’d been harassing her formed a barricade of human flesh in his path.
The burly man lowered his thick brows and scowled. “The lady don’t be wantin’ ye followin’ her, sailor.”
One of the other men took a brazen step toward Dajon. “You navy boys think to be gettin’ all the women.” Though gangly, the man’s frame rose far above Dajon’s as he peered down his hawklike nose. Greasy strands of hair stuck to his forehead like tentacles. The stench of sweat and stale fish burned Dajon’s nose.
The third man spit onto the ground, cast a glance at the retreating Faith, and returned a surly grin to Dajon.
A bawdy tune blasted over them from the tavern as some of its patrons crept out to watch the altercation. A few men stopped in the street and whispered among themselves. Dajon wondered whether he could count on their assistance or if they were merely assembling for the show.
“Three against one.” The first man chortled. “Fair odds, says I.”
“Let me pass at once,” Dajon ordered the men. In the distance, Faith suddenly halted and swung about, but he could not see her expression in the shadows. Blasted woman. Had she instructed these men to delay him? Surely not. She could not be associated with these ruffians.
The burly man laughed. “Why don’t ye go back to yer boat and leave the lady alone.”
Dajon drew his sword and leveled the tip beneath the man’s hairy chin. “Why don’t you step aside and allow me to pass.”
The man did not flinch. Not a flicker of fear crossed his steady gaze.
From the corner of his eye, Dajon saw Faith retracing her steps until she stood behind the men, hands on her hips. He wanted to warn her to stay back, but the men appeared to have no interest in her now.
Her eyes shifted to Dajon’s. No fear, only annoyance burned within them. “I will have you know, gentlemen,” she began in an insolent tone, “that this is the captain of the HMS Enforcer, and he is an expert in swordsmanship.”
Dajon grimaced and lowered his blade. What is she saying? He did not relish a fight. These scoundrels would only take her words as a challenge, especially in front of the crowd forming around them. His palms grew sweaty as he tightened his grip on his sword.
The burly man let out a coarse laugh and slapped his thigh. The other man narrowed his flaming eyes upon Dajon and wiped the spit seeping from the side of his mouth. He eased one hand to his chest. “How are ye with pistols?”
Faith shifted her gaze between her crew and the captain. She’d meant only for them to delay Mr. Waite, not kill him. After she had instructed them to gather the rest of the men at the ship in the morning, her foremost thought was to hurry home, inform Lucas, and get some much-needed sleep, not stroll through town on the arm of the man who would put a noose around her neck if he knew who she was. Besides, the man gave her an unsettled feeling in her stomach, and she didn’t like it—not one bit. The less time spent in his company, the better. But she should have realized her men could not resist taunting a commander in His Majesty’s Navy.
The captain’s eyes drifted to hers again, and in a flash, Bishop plucked a gun from inside his vest and pointed it at Mr. Waite before he could react. But the captain only glared at him—a confident, icy glare that sent a shiver down Faith’s back. Her fear for Mr. Waite’s safety suddenly shifted to a fear for her crew’s.
In one swift motion, Mr. Waite yanked his pistol from its brace and pounded the handle on Bishop’s gun, knocking it the ground, then he whipped his pistol around by the trigger and pointed it straight at the man’s heart.
“I can handle a pistol as well,” he said with an insolent smirk, cocking the weapon.
A cheer rose from the crowd as the three men stood with their jaws agape.
Mr. Waite wiped the sweat from his brow. “Now, if you please, I will be on my way.”
Unwilling admiration surged within Faith as she watched the captain dispatch her hardened crew so quickly and with such skill. Without so much as a glance her way, he sheathed his sword, brushed by her men, who backed away from him, and took her arm. He tugged her through the crowd, his pistol still firmly gripped in his hand. When they were well away from the center of town, he housed it again then whirled her around to face him, seizing her shoulders.
“Of all the preposterous, dangerous things to do—wandering around the port at night without an escort.” His gaze skimmed over her. “Are you hurt? No, of course you’re not hurt.” He snorted and released her. “Did you know those men?”
“Nay.” She gazed up at him, barely able to discern his features in the darkness. A cloud moved aside, allowing moonlight to flood over him. Somehow the mixture of silvery light and sinister shadows made him appear far more dangerous than he did in full sunlight. Or maybe it was because she’d just witnessed him best three of her most skilled crewmen. And his height did naught but aid the impression. Rarely had Faith, who herself was taller than most women, met a man who towered above her.
“They seemed to know you.” Suspicion sharpened his tone.
“I only paid them a shilling to delay you.”
“To delay me?” Mr. Waite said. “They could have killed me.”
“You handled them quite well, Captain. And besides, I returned as soon as I saw the situation escalate.”
“To do what? Protect me?” He snickered and spiked a hand through his dark hair. “All you did was incite them further by telling them who I was.”
“Nevertheless, I’m flattered that you were willing to engage them in order to escort me home.”
Mr. Waite released a long sigh. “I do not wish to see you harmed. Regardless of your insistence that you can take care of yourself, Miss Westcott, I fear you do not understand the wicked intentions of most men.”
Concern burned in his eyes—for her or merely for maintaining his position with her father? He took her hand in his, and the warmth and strength from his touch sent streams of assurance through her. She did not care for the unfamiliar sensation.
A salty breeze blew in from the bay and played with the wayward strand of hair dangling over his cheek. The muted sounds of music and laughter from town swirled around them then combined with the orchestra of leaves fluttering from beech trees that lined the avenue.
A horse and carriage clattered by, startling Faith back to her senses.
“We should be going.”
When they reached the Westcott home, the captain took Faith’s elbow and led her up the stairs to the porch. “Quite an interesting evening, Miss Westcott.”
She swung about. “I’m glad I amused you, Mr. Waite.” She lowered her gaze to his muddied breeches and giggled. “But I see you have soiled your pristine uniform.”
“A battle wound worth the pain for your sake.” Amusement heightened his voice.
Faith eyed him curiously, finding surprising enjoyment in their repartee.
“I must return to the ship for a few hours,” he said. “Afterward, I shall be in the guesthouse should you have need of me.”
“And pray tell, why would I have need of you?”
Cocking a brow, he gave her a condescending look. “Simply promise me, Miss Westcott, that you will stay put and not go strolling through the streets at night again.”
“You can hardly blame me for what happened,” she snapped. “Good heavens, ‘twas you who forced me onward with your insulting comments. I simply wished to return home in peace.”
“What insulting …” He sighed and scratched his jaw. “In any case, you should not be so surprised if you draw the wrong sort of attention. Only unscrupulous women wander the streets at night.”
“Why, Mr. Waite.” She pressed a hand to her bosom. “I am quite overcome with your concern.” She fluttered her lashes again but this time with every intent to appear as silly as she felt.
He broke into a grin as he lengthened his stance. “I daresay, Miss Westcott, you have me quite befuddled. I do not know whether you are trying to allure me with your charms or stab me with your words.”
Faith cocked her head and considered which strategy she indeed preferred. “Perhaps both.”
A wicked playfulness danced across his eyes. “Until tomorrow.” He bowed, slapped his bicorn atop his head, and walked away.
Faith entered the house and slammed the oak door then leaned against it with a sigh. What was she doing? Her plan had been to get home as soon as possible, not engage in witty banter with a man who obviously found her company disagreeable. Not that she wasn’t accustomed to that. Her tall stature, intelligent wit, and independent mannerisms never failed to keep suitors at bay. But what did she care?
Confusion trampled over the new feelings rising within her. At least her day had not been a total loss, for she had learned the whereabouts of a treasure ship, and that alone was well worth enduring the captain’s company.
“And where have you been?” Edwin crashed into the room, wringing his hands.
“Why, you know very well, Edwin, I was with Mr. Waite.” Faith sashayed into the room.
“He should inform me when he will have you home past dark,” Edwin huffed.
“I shall be sure to tell him the next time I see him.”
“Very well.” The lines etched in his ruddy face deepened. “I should inform you that Miss Hope went missing most of the day as well.”
Alarm knotted Faith’s stomach, but she couldn’t show Edwin her concern. No doubt the jittery steward would go running to Mr. Waite with the news. “I am sure she was here. Perhaps she was just avoiding you, Edwin. You worry too much.” But Faith well knew her sister’s propensity for wayward adventures—one that had become a perpetual thorn in Faith’s side. While Faith risked her life to ensure a future for Hope, her sister was intent on destroying it. “Is she here now?” Faith’s breath halted as she awaited his reply.
“Yes, miss.”
“Then all is well.”
Edwin released a big sigh that shook his sagging jowls. “I knew there would be problems.” He turned on his heels and headed toward the back of the house. His whiny voice faded down the hallway. “I told the admiral. I warned him.”
At the sound of footsteps, Faith looked up to see Lucas creeping into the entrance hall. “I wanted to make sure ye survived the day with the cap’n.”
“That I did, Lucas.” Winking, she grabbed the banister and whispered, “We set sail at dawn.”
“Do ye know of a ship to plunder?”
Faith grinned. “That I do. A fair prize indeed.”
With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, Lucas scrambled away.
Faith lifted her weary limbs slowly up the stairs. She must check on her sisters. She hoped they were tucked in for the night. She could grab only a few hours of sleep before she had to rise and make haste to prepare the Red Siren to sail.
For she must reach that treasure ship before Captain Waite.