A Gentleman 'Til Midnight. Alison DeLaine
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“If you don’t want him chained to your bed, I’ll happily allow you to chain him to mine. Even in this sorry state, that man has more virility in his little finger than most men have in their—”
“Enough! As soon as we’re through the strait, he won’t be chained to anyone’s bed.”
Just then, India stormed into the cabin. “Millicent says she hopes we’re captured by Barbary pirates in the strait!”
“Millicent is a fool,” Phil snapped. “Does she think they would return her to Malta?”
“She’s just angry.” India plopped down at the table. The dark waistcoat she favored fell away from her hips, revealing the gleaming pistol that was her prized possession.
“She’ll thank Katherine one day,” Phil said.
Katherine doubted that—not after she’d resorted to trickery to force Millicent to return to Britain with them. Even had Millie succeeded in her plan to gain admission to Malta’s School of Anatomy and Surgery by applying as a young man, eventually the truth would have been discovered. She would have been expelled from the school and left to fend for herself on Malta, and Katherine refused to be responsible for that.
“We shall sail on tonight’s tide,” Katherine said.
A smile spread across India’s face. “Just imagine how infamous we shall be in London.”
“Just imagine how ruined you’ll be,” Katherine said. The thought of returning to Britain turned the screws on every nerve. Society would accept neither her nor Anne. All the reasons why she had shunned her homeland after escaping Algiers still existed—all but one.
When you are countess of Dunscore, Katie...
She slammed the door on Papa’s old, familiar words. Dunscore meant nothing to her now except a means to Anne’s security.
India gave a haughty shake of her head, managing to look regal even in her ridiculous tricorne. “I am the daughter of an earl, and still a virgin, and my chaperone has been ever with me,” she said. “I am not ruined—just well traveled.” Katherine looked at Phil. Life aboard the Possession would not be regarded merely as travel.
“How is the castaway?” India asked.
“Not still a virgin, I daresay,” Phil answered slyly.
“Blech!” India made a face and covered her ears. “Auntie Phil, you’re disgusting. I’ll wager he’s fifty if he’s a day!”
“Certainly not.” Phil’s blue eyes twinkled like the sea on a clear day. “Do you think so, Katherine? Fifty?”
“I shall leave such judgments to your expertise.” Thirty-five or forty, more like. And judging from the smile playing at Phil’s lips, bound to be a distraction. Of all the dangers she had considered, that one was easily addressed. As soon as Mr. Barclay recovered, she would either lock him in the brig or put him with the crew under the boatswain’s supervision.
Either way, Mr. Barclay and his virility would be out of sight and out of mind.
“BOY-O, JAMES.” The sound of the door and a familiar voice jolted James out of near sleep. “Sounds like you could use another dunking—perhaps in the waters of the Arctic. Got the ladies all in a tither.”
A blond, blue-eyed corsair stood grinning at him. James took in the turban, gold earrings and billowing trousers. “Good God. Jaxbury?” A slightly apprehensive relief eased through his weak body. “Haven’t seen you since...” His mind raced to remember. “Good God. That time in Marseille.” And before that, not since their youth.
“Ah, Marseille. Fine wine, finer women.” Jaxbury dragged a small chair closer to the bed and straddled it backward. “Devilish good fun we had. Must have had—I barely remember it.”
“Had no idea you’d taken up—” James dragged in a breath “—with Corsair Kate.”
“Don’t let her hear you call her that,” Jaxbury laughed. “Things won’t go easy. Of course, you haven’t heard. Those of us of the masculine persuasion aboard the Possession aren’t the stuff of wild stories. Nothing interesting about us at all.”
James tried to raise his hand but couldn’t fight the iron. “I don’t suppose you’ve come to unlock these shackles.”
Jaxbury shook his head. “Never hear the end of that one. Especially not after the show you put on for the ladies.”
Bloody hell.
“Nothing to worry about,” Jaxbury said. “Weakened state, some things hard to control—don’t have to explain it to me, old boy. I’ll sound you a caution, though—Phil’s been two years without an affaire d’amour, and she’s getting damned restless.”
James looked at the sky-blue ceiling. “This is a bloody nightmare.”
“Is it? I can think of any number of men who’d be contemplating how to turn the situation to their advantage. Won’t work with Katherine, though, and of course, I’d have to kill you if you tried,” Jaxbury said conversationally. “But Phil—damn me if you wouldn’t be doing us all a favor.”
“Are you and Captain Kinloch—”
“Good God, no. Like a sister to me.”
A sister. Only a corpse or a blood relative could look at Captain Kinloch and feel that way. His disbelief must have been evident, because Jaxbury laughed. “You’d feel the same if you’d been the one to deliver her child.” Her child! Jaxbury made a face. “Bloody disgusting! At the same time, a damned miracle. Never look at her the same. May as well be the Virgin Mary.”
“So you haven’t told her my identity.” But Jaxbury’s other revelation still had him reeling. Captain Kinloch had a child. Whose child?
“Wouldn’t want your blood on my hands. I’ll give you fair warning, she holds no affection for you.” And James knew why. Even ten years later, the sight of those Corsair xebecs butted up against that British merchant ship was as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. He’d let loose with everything in his power to save it, knowing full well what awaited those on board if they were captured. If he’d succeeded, he might have saved Katherine Kinloch, as well.
“So sorry about the Henry’s Cross,” Jaxbury said solemnly. “Tragic.”
A strangling grief ripped his chest. Memories of the recent wreck swarmed like bees, and for a moment he relived the terror—giant, nighttime waves, splintering wood, the invincible Henry’s Cross pulled under like a bit of flotsam. Had any of his men survived? “We were headed back to Britain,” he managed. And it would have been his last voyage. The moment his feet touched land, he’d planned to go directly to the Admiralty to tender his resignation.
“You’re in luck, then, on that count,” Jaxbury said. “We, too, sail for Britain.”
“Britain!” He said the word with too much force and ended up in a fit of coughing.
Jaxbury filled the mug and held it for him. A simple necklace of mismatched beads on braided twine peeked out from beneath his tunic. “Aye. The captain has business to attend to in Scotland. No doubt you’re aware of her change in status.”
James managed a drink of water and nodded once. “Nothing to drive a person home—” he coughed again and inhaled deeply “—like a title.” It hadn’t worked for him, but it should have.
Jaxbury leaned forward, his eyes glinting with a seriousness James would never have believed his carefree childhood friend capable of. “Do not presume to understand her.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” God, they could not reach Britain quickly enough. Perhaps he would not spend even a single night in