The Pirate Next Door

“Send this back,” Grayson said. “When we reach the Argonaut, we split. I’ll go starboard, Burchard turns port.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Ian O’Malley continued to stare ahead through the spyglass, watching his own captain’s ship cut toward them. “We’re leavin’ the plan far behind, Finley.”

  “As far as I have to.”

  Ian lowered the glass and glared suspiciously. “You going to cross-cut the Argonaut? Broadside her from both sides?”

  “Not with Alexandra aboard. No one lights as much as a candle until I get her away from there.”

  He grinned. “Ooo, captain, I do believe you’re smitten.”

  “I am more than smitten, Mr. O’Malley. I’m madly in love.” He gave the Irishman a faint smile, then held out his hand. “I’ll relieve you of your pistol now.”

  The Irishman started. “You’d leave me defenseless? Burchard is out there. The one who’s peeved at me and me captain for sinking her ship.”

  Grayson’s calloused palm remained steady. “Your pistol, Mr. O’Malley. Or you spend the next hour locked in my hold.”

  “You don’t trust me?” He sounded hurt. “After all I’ve done for you.”

  “You are Ardmore’s man, first and last.” Grayson said dryly, “No, I don’t trust you.”

  Ian regarded him for a long time. Then he sighed, dipped his hand beneath his coat, brought out his pistol, and plopped it into Grayson’s hand.

  “Prepare to fire on my mark,” Ardmore said, his voice hard.

  Cold wind lifted Alexandra’s hair and burned across her skin. The chain between her wrists was wrapped around Ardmore’s hand. He held her against him, his bulk at least cutting some of the sharp breeze from the sea.

  The other officers on deck—Henderson, the pilot called Forsythe, and a Frenchman she had not seen before-averted their eyes at her nakedness. But the fear within her erased most of the humiliation she might have otherwise felt. Ardmore was truly mad, and he would certainly kill Grayson.

  Ardmore watched the two ships approach, his face set. The Majesty, riding high in the water, cut right, swinging around to the left, or port side, of the Argonaut. The second ship, a little behind, began to veer to the Argonaut’s right.

  The Majesty neared swiftly. The two bowsprits passed, not a shiplength away. The dark wooden hull of Grayson’s ship slid by, then the stern came into view, and the quarterdeck. Grayson stood firmly on the deck, his blond hair loose, one booted foot braced on the deck’s bench.

  Ardmore positioned Alexandra in front of him, and pressed his pistol to her temple. The cold circle touched her skin. “Signal him. Tell him to come aboard. Unarmed.”

  Henderson turned and gave the abrupt command. The Majesty’s stern slid past, slowing as the Argonaut’s sails blocked the wind. The French lieutenant shouted through a speaking tube. After a few moments, an answering shout came from the Majesty. “He’s on his way, sir,” Henderson said.

  Grayson’s ship turned neatly and came alongside the Argonaut’s starboard side now. The second ship veered to give it room. The sailors grunted and strained, furling sails. Officers bellowed orders, calming the ships and drawing them quietly together. On the quarterdeck of the second ship stood the slim form of Mr. Burchard, hands on the wheel.

  Alexandra gasped and looked quickly at Ardmore to see if he’d noticed the man, but Ardmore’s gaze was fixed on the myriad lines of Grayson’s ship, and the grappling hook that grabbed the rail of the Argonaut.

  “Just you, Finley,” Ardmore called across the sliver of water. “No one else.”

  Grayson did not answer. In economical movements, he stepped to the rail, caught a line, and swung easily onto the deck of the Argonaut.

  Ardmore dragged Alexandra around. Grayson mounted the steps to the quarterdeck and stopped.

  They faced one another across the rocking stretch of boards. Grayson’s face was hard as granite. If the anger that filled Ardmore made his hands shake, made sweat drip in rivulets down his face, Grayson’s anger was bottled, contained. The stiff breeze blew hard from the water, whistling through the lines, the only sound on the suddenly silent ship.

  “Let her go, Ardmore.” Grayson’s voice was deadly quiet.

  Ardmore’s grip on the chains tightened. “Why? When she is so lovely?” He leaned down and casually bit her ear.

  Grayson made a sudden move forward. Ardmore shoved the pistol into Alexandra’s temple, and Grayson stopped, as if he’d hit a wall.

  A second man swung onto the deck from the Majesty, the small Irishman, Ian O’Malley. He took in his captain, Grayson, and Alexandra. Unlike the other lieutenants, he did not avert his gaze, but raked it up and down Alexandra’s naked body. His look was troubled.

  “Let her go,” Grayson repeated.

  Ardmore jerked the chain. “Did you let my brother go?”

  Grayson remained still. “I told you what happened.”

  “Many times.” Ardmore pulled Alexandra back against him, holding her in a bizarre parody of an embrace. “You’ve told me so many times.”

  “You know I did not shoot him.” Grayson yanked open his loose shirt to reveal his bronzed shoulder. The white bullet scar stood out on his tanned skin. “Because of this. I was down. I was dying.”

  Ardmore did not seem to be impressed. “Tell me, Finley, if one of my sailors harmed her—murdered her—who would you blame?”

  Grayson did not answer. Ian O’Malley looked on, his lined face expressionless.

  “Let her go,” Grayson said again. His eyes fixed on Ardmore, clear and blue and crystal sharp. “Face me alone.”

  Alexandra felt Ardmore’s heart beat, swift and hard. “I want you on your knees, Finley,” he said with strange hunger. “You once begged for your life. Now beg for hers.”

  Ian O’Malley drew a breath. Mr. Henderson remained at the rail to Ardmore’s right, his face frozen, fixed.

  Grayson never looked away. Slowly, silently, as if stiff strings pulled him down, he lowered himself to one knee. His eyes glittered with suppressed fury. His posture might be submissive, but he never would be. “Please, let her go.”

  “Do you love her?”

  Grayson’s mouth tightened. He said nothing. Alexandra’s heart beat rapidly. His eyes were so grim, so angry.

  Ardmore dragged her a step forward. “I said, do—you—love—her?”

  “Yes,” Grayson roared. He leapt to his feet. “I love her. With all my heart and with every breath. Now leave her the hell alone.”

  Ardmore chuckled, a mad sound. “Do you even know how to love? Do you know how to care so much that if one thing happened to her, you would grieve for a lifetime?”

  He shoved the pistol against her cheek. Alexandra yelped. Grayson remained rooted in place, his fists at his side. “You hurt her, you are dead before you take a step.”

  Ardmore did not seem to hear. “If you love her so much, Finley, ask her to marry you.”

  Again Grayson said nothing. A muscle in his jaw tightened.

  “What?” Ardmore hissed. “I hear nothing. Did you plan to make her your whore? She is a lady. If you cannot make her honest, she will have to remain with me.”

  “Please,” Alexandra said, shaking all over. “Stop.”

  “Alexandra,” Grayson said. “Will you marry me?” His baritone grated on the harsh wind.

  Tears stung her face. She shook her head the slightest bit. “No,” she said.

  Grayson stared at her, not certain he’d heard correctly.

  His rage barely let him see straight. Around the red edges of his vision, he saw only Ardmore, tall and towering, his face dark with fury, and his blue-coated arm wrapped about Alexandra’s middle. He saw the pistol shaking in Ardmore’s hand, and his enemy’s fingers white on the chain. Ardmore dwarfed Alexandra’s slim body, which was covered with the sweep of her red-brown hair. The tips of her breasts were dark and tight with cold. Her long, slim legs were bare, shaking; the swirl of hair at the join of her thighs exposed for all to see.
r />   Her white skin showed no bruising, no marks of Ardmore forcing himself upon her. Just the rust-red manacles circling her wrists and the heavy chain between them. But her eyes held terror.

  He gave her an incredulous look. “No?”

  “No,” Alexandra repeated, her voice sweet and shrill above the wind.

  What was the matter with her? “Alexandra—”

  She lifted her chin. “I will not accept a proposal forced upon you by Mr. Ardmore. You would not be happy if I did. You would always wonder.”

  “Whether you meant it? Right now, I am not inclined to care.”

  “You see?” She glared at him with her lovely brown-green eyes.

  Ardmore smiled above her head. What he had in mind, Grayson was not certain. Ever since the day he’d pulled Ardmore from the rat-infested cage on that pirate ship, the man had been unpredictable and untrustworthy. Whether he intended to kill Alexandra in front of him, or make him believe so until he turned that pistol on Grayson, Grayson did not know. He did not want to guess wrong.

  “Alexandra, say yes now. Quibble later.”

  She shook her head. “There is no quibbling about being drawn into a loveless marriage. I cannot let you.”

  “It won’t be loveless. I’ve just said that I love you.”

  “Only because Captain Ardmore forced you to. Because you are trying to save my life.”

  “Because it is the truth!” he shouted. He felt the eyes of the sailors and officers upon him. He fought to rein in his temper. “I love you, Alexandra. I loved you the moment you dashed into my bedchamber to rescue me. I love how you look away when I tell you you’re beautiful. I love how you blush when I kiss you. I loved you when I found that blasted list you made. I even loved you when you went behind my back and finished my mission for me.” He paused. “We will discuss that later.”

  Her eyes shone with tears. “Grayson,” she whispered. “You truly love me?”

  “Yes! Even though I am at the bottom of your damned list of suitors. With the query mark.”

  “I tore up the list.”

  He smiled grimly. “I am glad of it. Do you love me, Alexandra?”

  She gave him a watery smile. “Yes. With all my heart.”

  Behind him, Ian O’Malley murmured, “Oh, ain’t it a grand thing.”

  “Then marry me.”

  “No.”

  God’s teeth. “Why the devil not?” he bellowed.

  “Because Captain Ardmore will never let you live. Please go, Grayson.”

  “The hell I will.”

  He started forward. Ardmore snatched up Alexandra and swung her onto the rail. He held her there, balanced precariously between deck and sea. “Stay where you are, Finley.”

  Grayson’s heart pounded until he felt sick. Alexandra’s face had drained of color, her eyes dark and terrified. No, he cried inside. No. Not this time.

  “Sir!”

  Henderson’s voice brought Grayson out of his dark well of fear. The lieutenant was standing a few feet from Ardmore. He had a pistol in his hand.

  Ian took a step forward. “Henderson. Leave it.”

  Ardmore neither moved nor took his deadly gaze from Grayson. “As you were, lieutenant.”

  Henderson’s voice shook. “I am not going to let you harm her, sir. I must draw the line.”

  “This is not your fight, Henderson.”

  “Yes, it is, sir. Let her go.”

  Grayson’s breath hurt. “No, Henderson. You might hit her.”

  “I’m a dead shot,” Henderson said. “The captain knows it.”

  Grayson assessed the distance between Henderson’s outstretched arm and Ardmore’s head. Henderson might be dead on, but pistols were unreliable. And there was wind. One miscalculation and it would be Alexandra who was dead.

  “Henderson,” he said again. “No.”

  Laughter, high and shrill split the air. Grayson jerked his attention from Ardmore. Burchard’s ship had completed its circle, and was now drawing to the Argonaut’s side. Burchard stood on the stern deck, her head flung back.

  “Finley and Ardmore,” she shouted, still laughing. “Together again. And at each other’s throats. How delicious.”

  Ardmore glared across the water at the tossing ship. Burchard cupped her hands to her mouth. “Just how I like you. Bosom enemies. And now, you die.” She turned and shouted down to her crew, her voice filled with harsh glee. “Fire!”

  Cannon fire roared, deafening. Ian O’Malley whirled around. He swore hard. “She’s cutting the rigging!”

  Grayson knew he meant that she’d fired not lead shot but bar-shot, which were small iron bars, weighted on the ends, that twirled with ripping speed through the rigging. Destroying the lines meant crippling a ship so she could be boarded or sunk.

  Grayson tore his gaze from Alexandra and Ardmore. His own ship was moving to circle Burchard’s; Jacobs was attempting to pinch Burchard between them.

  Henderson abandoned them and hurried with Ian to the main deck. Ian bellowed, “Fire!” to the waiting gunmen below. Flint was struck. Cannons roared, belching pale fire into the morning.

  Jacobs continued to turn the Majesty. Shot crunched into the side of Burchard’s ship, tearing down the railing and blasting a gaping hole in one side, above the water. Screaming and shouting sounded from the hurt ship.

  Alexandra cried out. Grayson swung around. Alexandra was struggling with Ardmore. Ardmore had his arm firmly around her waist, and she teetered on the rail, fighting like mad. Grayson sprinted toward them. Ardmore snapped his pistol to him. “Do not come any closer, Finley. I’ll drop you here and now.”

  He meant it. Grayson stilled, his heart pounding. Ardmore would shoot him, and Grayson would die, knowing that Ardmore had Alexandra. Or he could walk away and leave Alexandra to him, and live the rest of his life knowing that. Just the thought of living a moment without her made his heart bleed. Ardmore truly knew how to exact the cruelest revenge.

  “James,” Grayson said. “Please. Not this time.”

  Ardmore’s eyes burned all the way across the deck. “Sorry, old friend.” His finger closed on the trigger.

  Alexandra screamed. She flung herself at Ardmore, lunging for the pistol, just as it fired. The gun roared, mingling with the noise of the cannon from the three ships. Alexandra and Ardmore balanced on the rail for a sickening moment, then toppled from view, out of sight, down to the waiting sea.

  Grayson gave a cry wrenched from the depths of his soul. Primal and uncontrolled, it welled up from a hot core of pain and echoed over the gunfire and the shouting of pirates and Ardmore’s men.

  He closed the distance between himself and the rail, leapt upon it, and launched himself overboard.

  Chapter Thirty

  Grayson heard Alexandra screaming and screaming, and then the screams stopped with sudden and deadly abruptness. Grayson hit the water a moment later. The Argonaut rode fairly low, and the impact was not as harsh as it might have been. Men had broken limbs when falling from high ships—the least of their troubles if they survived drowning.

  He could think only of the heavy chain hanging from Alexandra’s wrists, a weight that would drag her down, down, into the greedy sea. He broke the surface and gasped for air. His boots had filled, and he wriggled free of them. In shirt and breeches, he tread water, searching the dawn-lit sea for the silhouettes of Alexandra and Ardmore.

  Water fountained not five feet from him, and Ardmore emerged, gasping and coughing.

  “Where is she?” Grayson shouted.

  Ardmore shook his head.

  “Find her!” Grayson screamed, but Ardmore was already diving. Grayson gulped air and plunged downward, kicking hard. He forced his eyes open, letting the salt and muddy water sting them. He could see little. The depths were murky, dark, and kept their secrets.

  He grabbed at a shadow moving past, but came away with only a handful of brown seaweed. A rush of water ahead and to the left revealed only Ardmore’s kicking feet. Grayson’s breath ached, h
is lungs cried for air. He kicked to the surface, dragged in another breath, and dove again.

  There. Was that—? He did not wait to find out if he was right. He swam hard, driving deep, and snatched at the shadow.

  He found his hands full of Alexandra’s long hair, which flowed as if she were standing in a gentle breeze. His heart nearly burst with relief. But she was sinking, her struggles slowing.

  Willing himself to hold his breath a moment longer, he groped down until he found her face, her neck, her arm. He grabbed.

  The chain was heavy. It pulled against him, adding to her weight. If he could only get to the surface, breathe life-giving air, he could hold her up, save her from the sea. He kicked. The drag between the tide and the current that pulled the Thames swirled against his legs, sucking him down.

  The load suddenly lightened. Ardmore had grabbed Alexandra’s other arm, adding his strength to lift her. Together the two men swam mightily upward, pulling Alexandra between them.

  With a suddenness that dizzied him, he broke the surface. Water rushed away and air poured over him. He gasped, letting it flow into his lungs.

  Alexandra coughed weakly. The chains still pulled her down, their weight the way to her death.

  Ardmore broke the surface beside her. Together, they held her high, keeping the waves from swamping her while she coughed and hoarsely gulped air. Her eyes were closed, and she hung unresisting in their grasp.

  They had to get her out of the water. But shore was so far away, and the three ships nearby circled each other like menacing animals. Burchard fired wildly every time the Argonaut or Majesty tried to turn to the three overboard.

  Grayson moved her to rest against his broad shoulder, keeping her nose and mouth above the surface. The chain swung between her bare legs, pulling. He grasped one of the manacles. “Key,” he grunted.

  Ardmore shook his head. One lock of his dark hair was plastered to his cheek. “On board.”

  “You sorry bastard.”

  “She wasn’t supposed to jump.”

  Grayson glared at him. If Alexandra had not needed him, he would cheerfully have taken the time to strangle the life out of Ardmore. He’d hold him down under the waves until Ardmore and his threats were out of his life.