But even beneath his turmoil, Grayson had a glimmer of understanding. Ardmore was a man slow to love. The few things he had truly loved—Sara, his brother—Grayson had had a hand in taking from him. Sara, because Grayson had not realized what Ardmore felt for her; his brother, through unfortunate happenstance. Grayson embodied all of the pain in Ardmore’s life. Small wonder the man hated him.
But he was well on the way to receiving more pain. If Alexandra died, Ardmore’s life was forfeit.
Grayson’s arms and legs were already tiring in the cold water. Ardmore’s own breathing was labored. Even if they managed to make shore or be fished out, she might well die of freezing.
“Boat,” Ardmore said suddenly. He jerked his chin at something over Grayson’s shoulder. Grayson risked a look. The cutter that usually rested on the Majesty’s main deck bobbed and foundered on the water. Jacobs had made time to at least get them that. No one manned it; it rocked on the swells, drifting back from the wake of the Majesty.
Without speaking, he and Ardmore made for it, towing Alexandra between them. They matched each other stroke for stroke, balancing their pulls automatically so Alexandra would not slip underwater.
An explosion rocked the morning. The Majesty had fired all guns, right into Burchard’s ship. Dimly Grayson heard Burchard screaming. Her ship survived, limping around to launch another volley at the Argonaut.
Ardmore reached the boat. It swung perilously, but he grabbed it with a white-knuckled grip and held it hard. Grayson seized the gunwale, and with the other hand pushed and boosted Alexandra up and into the boat. Her torso and backside were ice-cold under his hands, her slim legs unmoving. She landed in the bottom of the cutter with a clank of chains.
“Get in,” Ardmore rasped.
Grayson launched himself with the last of his strength into the boat. He rolled over the gunwale and landed next to Alexandra, gasping like a fish on dry land. He coughed and coughed, his loosened hair sending rivulets of water back into his mouth.
Alexandra lay curled in the bottom of the boat, her lips blue, her limbs shaking. She had landed on a pile of blankets, supplied no doubt by Jacobs. A wine skin lay on the stern bench. Grayson sent his first officer a silent thanks.
Ardmore’s hands and torso appeared over the gunwale, then dropped out of sight again. Once more, he heaved into view, his face strained, his eyes half-closed. He was running out of strength. Grayson crawled past Alexandra to the bows. He leaned over, grasped Ardmore by the waistband, and hauled him into the boat.
Ardmore fell to the bottom and lay still, his breathing hoarse. Grayson left him there. He stripped off his own sodden shirt, then stumbled back to Alexandra. He lifted her from the blankets, and wrapped one around her, cocooning her limbs in the thick, warm wool. He held her close, pressing her to him, the blanket prickling his bare chest. She breathed heavily, eyes closed, but she had stopped coughing.
He leaned to her, tears stinging his cheeks. “I love you, Alexandra,” he whispered. “I love you.”
Alexandra returned slowly from the place of darkness and fear. She felt strangely warmed and content for someone who was drowning. Solid arms wrapped her, and heat touched her ear. “I love you,” came the whisper.
It warmed her to her toes. “Grayson,” she murmured. “I saved you.”
“Sweetheart?”
Alexandra opened her eyes. She stared, perplexed, at the side of a wooden boat and the rocking sea beyond, but Grayson held her safe in his arms.
“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice breaking. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“I am right here,” she said. “Is Captain Ardmore dead?”
“No.”
The captain’s voice rumbled from the other end of the boat. She lifted her eyes, an action that hurt very much for some reason, and found Captain Ardmore in the bow, slumped against the gunwale. He’d peeled off his shirt and lay limply, his bronzed torso gleaming with water. “Why the hell did you push us in?” he croaked.
“I had to stop you murdering Grayson.” She lifted her chin. “And I will stop you again.”
Ardmore gave her an incredulous look. “She is a dragon, Finley.”
Grayson’s laughter rumbled. “She is my dragon.” He had a wineskin in his hand. He pulled off the top, and the sharp scent of brandy drifted to her. “Drink this.”
He set it to her lips. Alexandra had never drunk spirits in her life, let alone out of a wineskin. She had learned so much since meeting the pirate next door. How to drink from a dipper, how to climb from a ship, how to make wild love in a narrow captain’s bunk—
Warm, tingling brandy flowed into her mouth. The liquid made her cough, but it also burned a bright path down to her reeling stomach. She felt just a little bit better.
Grayson passed the skin to Ardmore. He drank deeply, wiped his mouth, then drank again, before handing it back.
A bang that sounded liked the end of the world exploded just behind them, and Alexandra yelped. Ardmore jumped from his seat and quickly unlashed the oars that had been tied to the bottom. Grayson dragged Alexandra to the stern seat. He settled her in the corner, kissed her briefly, then took up the tiller beside her.
The Argonaut had turned again, using the wind to put her level with the third ship, where Captain Burchard stood ramrod straight on the deck. Their little rowboat was right in the Argonaut’s path, and the Argonaut was not swerving to avoid them.
Without exchanging a word, Grayson and Ardmore began working to move out of danger. Ardmore pulled hard on the oars, and Grayson fought to keep the tiller steady on the tossing waves. Grayson’s broad arms bumped Alexandra as he moved the tiller back and forth. Ardmore’s muscles bunched and stretched as he rowed with mad frenzy.
Alexandra huddled into the blanket and watched them. She remembered how Grayson’s undress had unnerved her the first night she’d met him. Now she realized just how beautiful his body could be and knew she’d never have her fill of looking at it. His blond hair, dark now with water, curled onto his tanned shoulders, and the morning sun shadowed the hard muscles of his torso. Scars criss-crossed his forearms, lost in the sun-touched hair that grew there.
The two men worked together silently, easily, as if slipping into a routine they’d worked out years and years ago. As hated enemies, they were powerful. She wondered how much more powerful they would be as friends.
The boat skimmed across the water, and the Argonaut slid by. Henderson hung over the rail to watch them, the sun glinting on his blond hair and spectacles. Alexandra untangled her arm from the blanket and waved at him. He’d redeemed himself in her eyes, stepping in at the last minute to defy his captain.
Captain Ardmore rowed them well out of the way of the circling ships, then hoisted the oars. Both he and Grayson turned to watch the battle, each of their gazes locked on their respective ships.
The Majesty, proudly unmarked by gunfire, bore down on Burchard’s ship, forcing it to turn. The Argonaut came about swiftly, despite having two sails hanging limp. The ship picked up wind and raced across the short distance, head on toward Burchard.
Ardmore shouted, “Damn it, Ian, what are you doing?”
“He’s going to ram her,” Grayson said. “Good.”
“Good? That’s my ship!”
Grayson clutched the gunwale and watched, eyes gleaming. The Argonaut charged on. Burchard screamed orders. Desperately Burchard moved the ship forward, trying to slip between the two and perhaps cause them to ram each other. But the proud captain was too slow.
The Argonaut’s bowsprit struck the stern of Burchard’s ship. The groan of splintering wood came to them, then the soft explosions of shattering glass, and screams of the crew. Fire suddenly crawled up one of her masts. Burchard’s cannons tried to fire, but the gunpowder caught fire and exploded with an upward thrust of flame.
Ardmore stood up in the boat. “Ian, get out of there!”
The Argonaut swung to the right, tearing the remainder of Burchard’s stern with it. It dove past t
he burning, listing boat, out to open sea. When it was clear of the flames, Ardmore sat down and blew out his breath.
The Majesty marched toward Burchard. Now it was Grayson’s turn to half-stand, his knee on the seat, and hold his breath while his ship gracefully pivoted and blasted all guns. With a splendid and fiery whump, Burchard’s ship went up in flames. Sailors dove over the side, desperately swimming from the burning wreckage. Boats began lowering over the Majesty’s side, sent out to fetch the survivors.
Grayson sat down hard on the bench and seized the tiller. Ardmore lifted the oars again, and dipped them in the water, turning with Grayson’s pull to come about.
The Argonaut slid by them again. A dark hole lay like a stain just below the railing in the bow. The bowsprit was shattered, a large piece of it dangling like a huge broken arm.
Ardmore made an anguished sound. “Damn you, O’Malley.”
Grayson laughed into the wind. “Cheer up. It’s still floating. A few repairs and you can run back to South Carolina with no worries.”
Ardmore set his mouth and did not answer.
Sailors in the boats from the Majesty were picking up foundering sailors. The wet men seemed subdued, content to let Grayson’s crew take them in.
Grayson’s eyes narrowed as he spotted something on the waves. He swung the tiller and motioned for Ardmore to row. Ardmore did, his face grim. The waves danced and rippled beneath them, shreds of foam forming and hissing under the bow.
As the boat skipped forward, Alexandra caught sight of what Grayson had seen. A body floated just beyond the others, out of reach of the Majesty’s boats. As they drew near, Alexandra saw that it wore a dark blue coat. Ardmore rowed to it. At the last minute, Grayson dropped the tiller, leaned over, and dragged the body into the boat.
It was Burchard, alive. He coughed and choked, then doubled over and vomited water onto the deck. He hunched there, wet and miserable, then slowly sat up.
Alexandra gasped. Burchard’s blue coat had parted, and the white shirt beneath had torn from neck to waist. The gap revealed small, firm, woman’s breasts, nipples pinched tight with cold. “Good heavens,” Alexandra breathed.
The woman’s short hair lay flat upon her head. With her plain, square face, she could easily pass as a man; her breasts were small enough to need little binding.
Grayson betrayed no surprise. He had known, the rat. Ardmore, on the other hand, stared as if he’d been struck. His stunned gaze roved up and down the woman’s body, and then he said, “God’s breath.”
“You remember me then,” Burchard said, her voice ragged.
Ardmore only stared.
Burchard swung her glare to Grayson. “I knew you would betray me.” She smiled an evil smile. “I also knew you and Ardmore would never be able to fight together, even against me. You had to both be overboard before your lieutenants could act.” She looked from one to the other, her gaze sliding right past Alexandra as if she were invisible. “Even if you kill me, I will die happy, knowing I’ve had my revenge.”
“Have you?” Grayson asked dryly. “Your ship is sinking.”
“What do I care? I purchased it in a hurry and hired an idiot crew. When I got word that Captain Finley had become a viscount, I had to come to London to see how he fared.” She gave him a look of scorn. “I should have known that you’d fall right in with the Admiralty, you hypocrite. But then I learned that it had put you at odds with Ardmore again. Excellent news.”
Ardmore’s dark brows lowered. “What is she raving about?”
“She nurses a hatred for us,” Grayson answered, his voice calm. “Because we embarrassed her all those years ago.”
“We embarrassed her?”
Grayson nodded, his grin incongruously cheerful. Alexandra stared at him in surprise, hoping he would explain. But to her disappointment, he did not continue.
“You humiliated me,” Burchard said in a hard voice.
“It took me years to pick up the pieces after that night.”
Ardmore growled. “Having all our money, clothes, and sundries must have helped.”
Alexandra truly wanted to hear this story. “Grayson,” she began.
Burchard turned her dark gaze fully on her. “You,” she snapped. “I thought I could get to Finley through you, but you proved useless. You are one of them.”
Alexandra still did not much understand what Burchard was talking about. “Why did you not tell me you were a woman?” she asked. “You were courting me.” She looked at Grayson. “She was on my list!”
“What list?” Burchard demanded.
“Um—never mind.”
Burchard ignored her. “All this is worth seeing Ardmore and Finley together again,” she said. She glanced at Ardmore. “I can see that you hate him with great intensity. I like that.”
Ardmore glowered. “I do not need you to make me hate him.”
If anything, Burchard looked slightly hurt. “No, I did it. I drove the wedge between you.”
Ardmore shot her a skeptical look. “You did not tell Sara to go to him. He stole her from me all by himself.”
Burchard threw back her head and laughed. The teeth in the back of her mouth were black. “I did tell her. I was there. I saw the two of you and her in Tahiti. I saw her smiling at Finley. I told her that if she went to Finley, he’d make her wealthy beyond her wildest dreams—take her back to England, let her live in a gilded castle.” The wild laughter again. “And she believed me.”
“What?” The hard, angry word was drawn from Grayson. His eyes went as cold as the gray sea around them.
Burchard hugged herself. “She persuaded you to marry her, how delicious. You must have disappointed her; that’s why she ran away so soon. If she had been patient, she would have become a viscountess.”
Grayson’s gaze should have burned a hole right through her. Alexandra hung on to the side of the boat, her heart beating swiftly.
Ardmore broke through Burchard’s laughter. “It does not matter. He still took her.”
“It was a trick,” she said gleefully. “And I thought of it.”
Ardmore’s look turned dangerous. “Did you murder my brother, too?”
To Alexandra’s horror, the woman nodded. Her eyes gleamed, the morning light making her pale skin nearly waxen. “I did it, James Ardmore.” Her face split into a wild grin. “I told your brother that Finley had overpowered a slave ship and was taking the slaves to Barbados. That Finley had butchered the ones he had no room for. He was so ready to believe the worst about Finley that he fell right for it.”
Ardmore stilled, his eyes cold as an ice storm. Burchard, looking delighted, went on. “So easy to arrange one of my men to join Finley’s crew. So easy to convince your stupid brother to ram the Majesty. So easy to have my crewman shoot and kill him. I did it. I broke the famous captains Ardmore and Finley. Me. And I have loved watching you at each other’s throats ever since.”
Grayson’s hand clenched the gunwale until his fingers were white. Ardmore remained still, his gaze fixed.
Alexandra could bear it not longer. “You stupid woman!” she shouted. She clenched her fists, her fury so great that she spluttered. “Why on earth would you want to do such a thing?”
Burchard’s red-rimmed eyes blazed. “Because they took me, my dear sweet Mrs. Alastair. Your fine Lord Stoke, and your fine Captain Ardmore. They took me, and they raped me, and they—”
“Alexandra is right,” Grayson broke in, his words clipped. “You are a stupid woman. Why not tell the truth for a change? We never touched you. What we did was expose you for a woman in that tavern in Jamaica, and you never forgave us. I think you’re a bit confused yourself, despite the roll of linen you shove in your trousers. Was humiliating us not enough? I had never seen Ian O’Malley laugh so hard. Then or since.”
Foam flecked her lips. “No, it was not enough! Do you know what you did to me? I had to quit my ship, find another crew. I had to go back to being an anonymous sailor, and eat maggot-infested bread and wor
k my fingers to the bone before I could rise again. All because of you.”
She spat. The spittle struck Ardmore on the chin, and dropped to his wet chest.
He lunged with the suddenness of a snake. Burchard gave him one surprised look, then found herself locked in his powerful arms. She struggled, hands trying to reach for weapons, but Ardmore pinned her, sinews working in his bare arms.
The boat rocked sharply under their struggle. Grayson steadied it with the tiller. Alexandra remained glued in place, her mouth open.
“You murdered my brother,” Ardmore hissed, his voice deadly. “You murdered my brother, for your pride?”
“For yours,” she gasped. “For your stupid pride and your game of exposing me.”
He roared. He lifted Burchard in his powerful arms. Grayson dove at him, but a second too late. Ardmore got his huge hands around Burchard’s neck. The woman screamed.
Alexandra heard it, audible and sickening, the snap that ended Burchard’s life. She saw the woman’s head fall, saw the terrible fear in her eyes suddenly fade to nothing.
Burchard’s body went limp, eyes fixed and staring. Ardmore looked down at her for a long moment, his breathing ragged. Then, with another snarl, he hauled the body over the gunwale and flung it into the waiting sea.
Silence descended in the little boat. In the distance, Burchard’s ship crackled and roared, flames hungrily devouring it. The Majesty was turning, slowly; the Argonaut, smaller and faster, floated out of its way.
Ardmore watched the ships for a moment, his face stark and drained of all emotion. Then he turned his broad back on Grayson and Alexandra and sank onto his hands and knees.
A choking, horrible sound reached Alexandra. She thought for a moment that Captain Ardmore was sick, but she realized a moment later that he was weeping.
Her heart wrenched. He was hurting—the truth had hurt him, had taken his vengeance from him. Perhaps he was regretting the ending of his friendship with Grayson, the thousand injuries the two had done to one another, the hatred that had been built so needlessly. She clasped the blanket around her and started forward.