An Inconvenient Mistress Read online

  Kolton reached down to help Phillip to his feet. “Don’t rightly know. The girl was a bit tight lipped.”

  Phillip groaned as he rose to his feet. He swayed as his knees buckled from the stiffness that had set in. His head throbbed even more furiously than before, so it took some time to survey his crew’s progress, but he gauged they’d be ready to sail within the hour. They were too damned efficient, he cursed silently. He took a hesitant step and his stomach roiled. There was no way he was in any shape to sail—not today. Not ever. And especially not for an ill-tempered cat like Mrs. Marshall.

  Kolton held a cup full of drinking water to Phillip’s mouth, and even though he hated to be hand-fed like an infant, he was too thirsty to refuse. He drank deeply, letting the cool water ease his anger a fraction. If he weren’t so damned hung over and irate he might appreciate the young woman’s pluck. It took courage to lock a grown man in irons.

  Of course it was going to require even more courage to unlock those irons, he mused darkly. Because once she did, Mrs. Marshall was going to pay for this outrage.

  Dearly.

  Phillip waited impatiently, helplessly. What seemed like an eternity, but was probably little more than a quarter hour, passed before a small carriage pulled up. Relief washed over him at the knowledge that salvation was at hand. His newly discovered nemesis descended and spoke a few words to Kolton, who’d rushed to greet her. Before Phillip could protest several members of his crew—at the quartermaster’s direction no less—grabbed two trunks and a few sacks from the carriage. They hauled them toward the ship with the efficiency that Phillip had learned to expect from them.

  Phillip waited quietly, watching as the odious woman called to someone in the carriage. A child, a boy of no more than five or six, emerged and looked around shyly. He had white-blond curls and a stubborn set to his chin. It mirrored Mrs. Marshall’s, Phillip noted dryly.

  The young woman said something to the boy and took his hand to help him climb down. After a moment’s hesitation, the lad followed Mrs. Marshall as she picked her way down the slight hill to the wharf. She spotted Phillip glaring at her and for the space of a heartbeat it seemed as though she faltered. It must have been a trick of the faint light because a moment later she squared her shoulders and began marching toward him as though he’d soon be on the receiving end of a thorough dressing down.

  Phillip took great pleasure in scrutinizing her as she approached. Her gray muslin gown was unadorned and ill-fitting, and the bonnet she held in her hand was the color of dirt. She was clearly not well-off, though if his memory served her manner and speech indicated that she had been well educated.

  He considered the woman striding purposely toward him. She may be dressed like a schoolmarm but she wasn’t plain as he’d first thought—she just didn’t wear the heavy makeup he’d grown accustomed to seeing on the granddames in polite society and on the doxies in the taverns he’d frequented. It had been awhile since he’d been around a fresh-faced beauty.

  She was pretty enough, he supposed, though she was painfully thin. Her hair was the color of burnished gold, though she had it pulled back so tightly that Phillip’s scalp ached for her. Her cheekbones were high and her jaw was delicate in spite of its stubborn set. Her pert little nose was stuck in the air, of course, as she assessed him with large brown eyes. Phillip guessed those eyes might even be warm and sweet if the glare from them wasn’t palpable.

  If she weren’t so stiff and severe she’d be an absolute stunner, he admitted reluctantly. It was obvious from her manner that she was too mulish for her own good. She never dropped her gaze even though her milky complexion turned pinker with every step closer to him. Phillip snorted inwardly. He had little patience for obstinate females.

  Something about her made him inexplicably uncomfortable, like a sudden itch he couldn’t scratch. Phillip quickly changed his assessment of the woman marching toward him. She wasn’t beautiful, he decided, ruthlessly cataloging her flaws. For one, her eyes were much too large for the rest of her face—although it may only have appeared that way since they were burrowing into him. Also, her mouth was full but not soft. A woman’s lips should be soft, not pinched tight. There was no softness to Mrs. Marshall, he decided crushingly. All he could see were angles and edges.

  She disliked him; Phillip knew that without a doubt. Everything about her screamed it. So because it would rile her, and because her presence made him tetchy, he let his gaze wander languorously over her. She met his eye coolly, though by the time she reached him her pink cheeks had turned a satisfying crimson.

  Rather than look sheepish or apologetic like an ordinary person would after keeping another person in chains overnight, she looked irritated. As if he’d wronged her.

  “Captain.” She nodded curtly.

  “The key,” he said uncivilly.

  “Allow me to introduce Charles,” she said politely, ignoring his rudeness. “My...son.”

  The boy looked up at her for a moment then inclined his head like a little gentleman. When he straightened he looked up at Phillip with enormous brown eyes full of curiosity and unfettered hero worship. Phillip suddenly had a very uneasy feeling about what was to be transported across the Atlantic. He narrowed his eyes at her.

  “Your cargo?” He jerked his head to the boy, already certain of the answer.

  “The two of us,” she affirmed.

  “I’m not running a passenger packet, Mrs. Marshall,” he said firmly.

  She flashed him an unpleasant smile. “I realize that, Captain, as I have agreed to pay three times the price for this voyage while receiving none of the amenities.”

  “Then we can both agree,” he said smoothly, trying to control his simmering temper. “You need different accommodations for your journey home.”

  The woman shook her head. “The next packet doesn’t leave until the end of the month and I don’t wish to wait that long. We need to return to England as quickly as possible.”

  Phillip snorted derisively. “That’s too damned bad,” he snapped. “The Intrepid does not take passengers.”

  “Charles,” she said calmly to the boy. “Why don’t you play in the sand while I talk to the Captain? Don’t wander too far.” The boy happily trotted off to dig.

  Mrs. Marshall turned back to Phillip and said through clenched teeth, “You are a smuggler. As long as I’m paying you to transport my goods, what does it matter if your little boat is carrying an illegal cask of brandy or an extra person?”

  Phillip’s jaw dropped. “Little boat?” he repeated furiously. “Little boat? That little boat, dear lady, is an American sloop built by the Brown brothers of New York—famous, I might add, for their superb engineering and innovative designs. She is one hundred seventeen feet long and weighs in at just over three hundred tons and crews up to one hundred men. She can reach a top speed of thirteen knots and can outrun anything. Her draft is shallow enough that she can easily navigate the trickiest shoals and even sail into shallow waters. She is one of the most impressive vessels ever to sail the open seas...not some little boat.”

  Clearly his rant did nothing to impress the little termagant because she folded her arms across her chest and blinked at him. “So it’s a fast ship?”

  “Fast?” Phillip hissed in irritation. “The Intrepid is the fastest ship in the bloody Caribbean!”

  “Excellent.” Mrs. Marshall brightened. “Speed is of the utmost importance. I’ve already explained to Mr. Kolton that I’m willing to pay well beyond the standard passenger fare of sixty guineas each for Charles and myself. Once we arrive safely in England, I can offer an extra fifty pounds for your inconvenience.”

  “Inconvenience?” he echoed. His headache was getting worse. “You consider crossing an ocean an inconvenience?”

  She forced a smile, but her brown eyes flashed angrily. Phillip wondered why he enjoyed seeing this woman so riled up. “One hundred pounds,” she said.

  Phillip squeezed his eyes shut and tried to regain a modicum of composure. “You are not welcome on my ship, Mrs. Marshall. Not for any price.”

  “I saved your life,” the woman protested, her voice rising. “Piracy carries a death sentence. I think we can both agree that sailing across an ocean is a minor inconvenience compared to the hangman’s noose.”

  “I’m no pirate,” Phillip scoffed. “I’m a smuggler and a privateer, sweetheart. I have letters of marque—from several governments, I might add—stating that I am authorized to board foreign vessels and relieve them of their cargo.”

  “During war,” she shot back.

  “And during peace I attack pirates and slavers,” Phillip retorted. “My actions have never been outside the letter of the law.”

  Mrs. Marshall shook her head. “Maybe so, Captain. But whether your piracy is sanctioned or not is of little concern to the lieutenant-governor. You’ve made a mockery of him and he’s howling for your blood. A few scraps of paper and a dubious reputation won’t protect you if you go to trial.”

  “But I won’t,” Phillip stated confidently. “Jamieson is sensible. Better yet, he’s ambitious. He’d never dare try me publically because if the crown learned of his business dealings with a smuggler, it would damage his precious reputation.”

  “You’re right,” she snapped. “You’ll hang long before a trial. Or perhaps you’ll disappear one day, never to be heard from again.”

  Phillip noted the slight pinch of her face as she spoke. The girl may be stalwart, but he knew genuine fear when he saw it. He narrowed his eyes at her. “Does someone want you to disappear, Mrs. Marshall?” Her thinning lip was the only answer he needed. He nodde
d. “That at least explains why you’re hell-bent to flee paradise.”

  “My reasons for leaving the Caribbean are my own,” she stated imperiously.

  Phillip raised a brow at her. It almost made his head feel better. “Oh ho, it must be worse than I thought. What’d you do?”

  “I beg your pardon,” she huffed.

  He leaned closer into her and caught a faint whiff of her perfume—floral and citrus and surprisingly feminine. It actually made him lose his train of thought for a moment. He shook it off. “I’m trying to imagine how a stick such as yourself could get into enough trouble that stowing away with a known privateer seems like your best option.”

  “That is none of your business,” she repeated, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Phillip eyed her wickedly, letting his voice drop. “Were you shaking the sheets with one of the local officials? Learning crown secrets, perhaps?”

  She glowered at him.

  “Or maybe,” he continued slowly, “you’ve found yourself in a...delicate state. Is that it? But the sorry chap has a respectable wife and a career. He wouldn’t want his get from the wrong side of the blanket to tarnish his halo.”

  The young lady’s jaw was set, but her ears were dark red.

  “Or perhaps Mr. Marshall is displeased by your extracurricular activity,” he said pitilessly.

  “One hundred fifty pounds!” she spat through gritted teeth. “I’m offering you a very generous sum, Captain, for a very simple job. You’d be foolish not to take it.”

  “No,” Phillip said firmly. “I may be a lot of things, sweetheart, but foolish is not one of them—which is why you’ll not step one foot on my ship. I don’t know what or who you’re running from, and I don’t care. I do know, however, that you’ll do it without my help.”

  Mrs. Marshall’s lips thinned. “Two hundred pounds. That’s the best I can offer.”

  Phillip stopped the protest in his throat, hating himself for even considering it. It was almost too much to refuse, considering he’d thought about returning to England anyway. He cursed and shook his head, however. “If you’re that desperate then I definitely don’t want you on board.”

  She studied him for a long moment, and Phillip felt himself growing unaccountably prickly at her scrutiny. Before he could snap at her, she sighed heavily. Her expression was shuttered.

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?” she said, her eyes searching his face. “I could double my offer and you’d still say no.”

  “It’s nothing personal, sweetheart,” he tried to soothe.

  “Of course, Captain. Charles,” she called to the boy. “It looks like we’ll need to make other arrangements.” She rummaged through her small bag as the boy came running to her. When he reached her side, she asked, “Ready to go?”

  The boy’s eyes grew huge but he nodded.

  “Fine,” she said. Producing a key, she brandished it with a flourish. “I guess there’s no reason to keep you in irons,” she murmured. She gestured for him to turn around. “Shall I?”

  Phillip turned so Mrs. Marshall could unlock his chains. She nattered on softly to the boy about what they would do next. As he listened, Phillip’s resolve wavered. She wasn’t so bad, he mused, just a tad overzealous. And she was taking her defeat surprisingly well considering her desperation. In truth, he felt a small pang of guilt that he wasn’t going to help her—though not enough to change his mind. Surely she was more than capable of finding a ship that was better suited to her needs.

  She fussed a bit with the lock and Phillip felt an enormous wave of relief wash over him when he heard it click. It felt wonderful to be free. The manacle slid from his right wrist and he stretched his arms and tried to shake off the soreness in his shoulders.

  “You know, sweetheart,” he said, rubbing his free wrist, “if you’re really determined to leave before the end of the month, I’d recommend Captain Joseph Bower. He’s a good sort—honest to a fault—and he could use the blunt. I heard he’s leaving Jamaica in the next couple of weeks. If you’d like I can arrange an introduction.”

  Mrs. Marshall picked up the loose manacle and nodded. “I am determined, Captain.” Then she closed it over her own wrist.

  Phillip looked at her in disbelief. “What are you doing?”

  She ignored him and turned to the boy. She handed him the key and said calmly, “Quickly please, Charles.”

  “Wha—?” Phillip watched the boy take off with speed toward the Intrepid, and it took him a moment to grasp what had just happened. When he did, however, it was as though she’d thrown black powder onto kindling. Unable to completely control his temper, he grabbed her by the elbows and shook her. “Are you insane?” he bellowed.

  “Quite likely,” she said calmly. “But you’re stuck with me until you deliver us to England.”

  Knowing an argument with this madwoman was futile, he approached the problem from the other end. “Kolton!” he roared. When the big man looked over, he pointed with his free hand. “Get that scrap!”

  Kolton and a couple sailors dropped what they were doing to chase after the lad, but the boy was too nimble. It wasn’t long before he had scampered up the gangplank and out of sight. The Intrepid’s crew lumbered after him. “He won’t get far,” Phillip muttered.

  They waited for what seemed an eternity before Kolton reappeared and called, “Boy disappeared as soon as he got aboard, Cap. We can root around for him if you’d like.”

  “Charles has been instructed to throw the key into the bay if any of your men get too close to him,” she explained. “When we’re safely aboard, he’ll gladly return it—once we’re on the open sea,” she added firmly. “Until then, you’re stuck with me.”

  It took monumental effort not to throttle her. “Leave the boy,” Phillip called through his teeth. Snarling at the young woman chained to him, he shook his head. “What’s stopping me from throwing both of you over the second I’m free?”

  “Your conscience?” She tried to smile and failed miserably. “And my two hundred pounds.”

  Phillip was about to tell her exactly what she could do with her two hundred pounds but before he could, he heard the crack of a gun. An instant later, a bullet whizzed between him and his diminutive captor. Instinctively he threw himself to the ground, taking Mrs. Marshall down with him. Before she could open her mouth to undoubtedly chastise him, he’d dragged them both behind the relative safety of a large crate.

  Someone shouted “Waterguard!” and the Intrepid’s crew roared to life. Several of his men pulled out pistols and returned fire as the final few items were raced onto the ship with as much speed as possible. Phillip reached for his firearm and remembered belatedly that Kolton had taken it from him days—possibly weeks—ago so he couldn’t hurt anyone in his drunkenness.

  “I’m never drinking again,” Phillip swore through tight lips as he looked at the pale face next to his. “We need to get to the ship,” he said in a low voice as he peeked over the crate. He attempted a quick count of the shooters in an effort to determine how many guns were aiming at them and to see if he was the target. Sure enough, the next bullet splintered the wood near his ear.

  Dropping back down, he looked skeptically at his nemesis. “I’m unarmed, so we have no choice but to run. Can you keep up?”

  The young lady nodded, though her eyes were huge.

  “Good,” he said. “Because I won’t carry you, and I have little interest in dragging a corpse across this marina.”

  She blanched but said nothing. He helped her off the ground and then peeked around the crates, looking for the safest route to the Intrepid. There was a rock large enough to shelter them about twenty yards away. Once they made it to the rock, it was probably another thirty yards or so to a cluster of trees that might give them enough protection to avoid taking a bullet. From there it was double that to the ship. Unfortunately there was nothing between the trees and the ship, so they’d be completely exposed once they began the final leg.

  Kolton yelled something that Phillip didn’t catch, though he prayed it was an order to load the cannons. He looked at the young woman crouching next to him and he began wrapping the chain around his wrist and arm to keep it out of the way. As he wound it tight, he ticked off their route. “Rock, trees, ship. Stay close to me and run hard. Don’t look back.”