Chapter 24

Adrian swung his arm and let the lash rain down upon Morris's lacerated back. With every crack of the leather, his guts twisted and rose like a tide in his throat.

Haunting memories ripped through him, choking him under a heavy storm of pain and despair. Morris's agony coursed through every fiber of his being, searing his own back as the leather flayed the sailor's flesh, and he was all too familiar with Morris's desperate wish to let the dark swallow him.

And yet he continued.

Drawing back the whip, he locked gazes with Thomas across the sand. The gloomy expression on his lieutenant's face reflected Adrian's decision as the two officers shared a knowing look.

Adrian had no choice, no matter how much he wished for a different solution. He needed a firm hand to keep the crew in check, and with a woman on board, he was forced to make an example to retain his authority over his men.

He had known Morris was a rotten apple, but he had underestimated the extent of the man's dark side.

The only thing that made him able to flog the skin off Morris's back was the ugly picture plaguing his mind: Morris between Avaline's thighs, her shirt dragged up, breasts exposed, and her hands forced above her head.

His fingers tightened around the leather grip, but his anger was as much directed at himself.

He had made a grave mistake when he seized the Chirton . Things were getting out of hand in ways he had never known to foresee, but who in blazes would have thought that an old spinster with a dowry to pay off Ashcroft's debts would turn out to be something close to a goddess?

He had failed to protect her and jeopardized her safety, not once, but twice. He had brought a sweet little lamb to a ravenous pack of wolves, and he was the fiercest of them all, shattering her reputation beyond repair, potentially leaving her with life-long consequences.

Adrian channeled his self-loathing into the lash and let the leather strike Morris's back with brutal force. After a dozen lashes, he cast the shunned whip aside.

"Kinsley, have him salted." He turned away from Morris's limp body. "The rest of you get back to work."

The crew resumed their tasks in silence while Adrian plunged into the water to cleanse his sweat and the blood from Morris. The water cascading down his front soothed his heated skin and invigorated his freshness, but he couldn't wash away the inner turmoil. Seeing Avaline pinned under Morris had awakened something dark in him, something he thought was reserved for Ashcroft alone.

But now he had, for the first time since his imprisonment in Newgate, flogged one of his crew members, a punishment he'd sworn never to resort to.

Because of a woman.

Would he have done that regardless of which woman Morris would pick to toy with?

Yes.

And would any other woman have ignited that same dark fury in him? He glanced toward the forest line, at Avaline's tent behind the first line of vegetation.

No.

The realization struck him like a thunderbolt, stunning him with its force. She made him feel things he had never felt, something other than hatred.

She was a mystery, a challenge, a temptation, but he couldn't afford to have feelings. He couldn't allow himself to be involved. It wasn't fair to her. He had a dark past, a complicated present, and no future.

Avaline wasn't in her tent, and neither Freddie nor Elias had seen her after the flogging.

"She dinna touch ‘er food either," Freddie grumbled and jerked his head toward the platter of stew that had grown cold and unappetizing. "Nary a nibble. Bloody waste, all o' it."

A quick round of inquiries confirmed Adrian's dawning suspicion. She had left the camp.

Damn.

"Please find her, Adr—Captain," Elias pleaded, his chin quivering.

"Don't worry, Elias. She hasn't wandered far. She likely sought some space to breathe."

He looked toward the dense forest. It was a dangerous place to venture without a weapon, and he couldn't be certain the island was uninhabited. Fugitive slaves or other outcasts might have found sanctuary on the island.

He fastened his sash and baldric and took off into the greenery. Half an hour later, he spotted Avaline gazing at the endless ocean from a small clearing on an escarpment. She was sitting beneath a blossoming dogwood, hugging her knees to her chest as if to shield herself from the world.

Something squeezed in Adrian's chest. She seemed so fragile and vulnerable, so lost.

He stepped forward. "May I join you?"

She turned to face him, her sweet features twisted in anguish.

The tightness in his chest turned into a sharp sting that sliced through his guts. "Avaline, I'm sorry for what happened–"

"I couldn't stand the screams." She sniffed.

He sighed as he squatted next to her. "Morris had to be punished. These men are the most skilled seamen you can find, but they need a firm hand to govern them. I must show leadership and enforce discipline; otherwise, I have no authority."

She shook her head and sniffed, and he pushed down the surge of irritation. "Avaline–"

"I'm not crying because of Morris's fate. He deserved what came to him."

He pushed away the hair shielding her face. "Then why the tears?"

"I'm crying because the only thing I could think about when his screams pierced the air was you hanging there, flogged to within an inch of your death because of Francis's greed and cowardice."

For a breathless moment, he drifted in blissful oblivion, conscious only of the distant rumble from the reef and the wind breezing through the greenery, but then the full meaning of her words settled. His chest constricted as the implications of her words thundered through him. He had expected her to be angry, hurt, and shaken because of Morris's brutal behavior, but not this.

The realization pierced his heart like a dagger, exposing his unworthiness and vulnerability. She offered him this gift of generosity and affection despite everything he had done and despite her suffering. A torrent of emotions swelled in him as he tried to breathe, and amid the inner chaos, one sentiment rose above the rest: humbleness. And from a dark corner of his mind, long buried and forgotten, something else stirred.

Compassion.

"Oh, Ava." He sat down and tucked her into the crook of his arm. "Come here."

She nestled into his embrace, resting her head on his shoulder. Sunshine clung to her, its warmth and freshness lingering in her scent. For a moment, he regretted giving Morris only a dozen lashes and cradled her close, nuzzling her hair until her whimpers calmed and her shivers subsided.

"Please tell me what happened," she whispered.

He sighed and leaned his head on the trunk, fixing his eyes on the blue expanse sparkling below them. "A few weeks after Ashcroft's punishment, we docked in Martinique. While there, part of our weapons and ammunition disappeared. When we returned to Barbados, Ashcroft tipped off the commander-in-chief. He also presented a letter confirming the deal between me and the French officers, sealed with my seal ring that had disappeared a few days earlier. He claimed he had intercepted the letter but had been too late to stop the transfer of the weapons. I spent months in Newgate before I was sentenced to death by hanging for treason against the King. Ashcroft was untainted by it all. He even received a medal from ol' George for his loyalty and bravery."

The vastness before him darkened, and he smothered the shudder that always shook him at the thought of the dank and fetid dungeons below the infamous prison.

She rested a hand on his arm, stroking her thumb across his skin.

"What happened in Martinique when Ashcroft set me up was just the beginning. He continued selling English weapons to the French. Later, he became captain and got free rein to unleash his trafficking. When he was appointed Governor, he expanded his illegal business and began to offer privateers and pirates an opportunity to sell stolen loot in Barbados––provided that they pay him a decent chunk of the prizes."

"Dear God," she mumbled, her fingers squeezing his arm.

"Ashcroft is prone to bad temper. He ruined my life with a lie that had dire repercussions not only for me but also for my family. Labeling me a traitor deprived us of everything we possessed—our home, our fortune, our dignity, and our country. My father forfeited a large part of the enterprise he toiled for three decades to establish, and my sisters lost their prospects of respectable marriages. Because of me, because of what Ashcroft did."

"You can't blame yourself for what happened."

"Perhaps I bear no guilt of the accusations, but I'm still the cause of all this suffering, and nobody else can set it right."

"Do you have any proof that he set you up?"

"No." Adrian's eyes fixed on the horizon with a blank stare. "That is why my only path to retribution is to destroy him as he destroyed me—by taking away everything he values. Ashcroft has lived beyond his ability for a long time. He is stone broke. I seized his last two prizes before the Essex , prizes he had already traded and which money he had squandered. His creditors are chasing him, and the more I take from him, the lower he sinks into his quagmire."

"So… where do I fit in?"

You're the final nail in Ashcroft's coffin.

Her question warranted an answer, but the truth would break her heart. Adrian wished there was another explanation for her betrothal. He wished he could lie to her, but he couldn't.

He was silent for so long that she lifted her head and looked at him with dilated eyes. "Adrian?"

"Listen, I made some assumptions. The Earl of Dorset's daughter traveling to the colonies to marry…" He shrugged. "There is more to that than what meets the eye."

"Whatever do you mean, ‘more'? What assumptions are you talking about?"

"As Lord Hawthorn's daughter, I assumed you would come with a dowry."

She drew a sharp breath, and the arm he kept around her fell when she jolted upright. Her body stiffened. "Wha–" She interrupted herself and spun around. "He planned to marry me for my dowry." Her words were flat and emotionless, as if she were stating a simple fact.

He extended his arm and traced his palm along the curve of her back. Her tremors reverberated in his hand, and he had to restrain his fury against Ashcroft lest it seep into his caress. "I can't be sure–"

"Francis has been promised fifty thousand pounds when our marriage contract is sealed."

Adrian's hand stilled, and he let out the rest of his sentence with a quiet curse. "Fuckin'… Fifty–?"

"–thousand pounds." She scoffed. "I always knew my chances of a decent marriage and my own family were slim. I never expected to find love, but nothing prepared me for being the accessory of my dowry."

"I'm sorry," he said.

She shook her head. "How could I be so blind? What would a British Governor, son of the esteemed Lord Ashcroft, see in me, a bastard child of a lord and his cook? I'm such a simpleton."

"Don't blame yourself. You're the bravest woman I have ever met. You dared to dream of a future and make a major move to build a life for yourself. There is no dishonor in that."

"How did you know I was on board the Chirton ?"

She had the right to know. She needed to know to protect herself. "It is a long story."

She sat back, snuggling into his side. A pleasant flutter spread through his core when she rested her cheek on his shoulder.

"I have nothing but time."

Adrian rested his gaze on the ocean in front of him. "As I said before, as governor, Ashcroft has detailed information about cargo and routes of the navy shipments to the Caribbean colonies. He passes this information on to the captains on his payroll. I've had ears and eyes in Martinique for a long time and learned that My Lady , a Barbadian sloop under Captain Spence, has paid frequent visits to the island over the last two years. I have been looking for My Lady for months and tracked him down last week. His holds were crammed with cargo from HMS Essex ."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"There was a letter in Captain Spence's logbook." Avaline stiffened along his side. "A letter from Ashcroft informing Spence about the upcoming shipments from London, including your arrival."

"So, Francis was the one who leaked the information about my voyage."

"Yes."

She sat motionless with her head bowed. Her hair cascaded around her face, brushing his hands in the light draft. He reined in the urge to thread his fingers through her silken tresses.

"I need to hear his side of the story." She looked up at him. "I believe you, Adrian, but I must hear him say it."

"I understand that. Just remember that Ashcroft poses a grave threat to you. There is no knowing what he might do now that he is in such a dire strait."

"I need to go to Barbados. Molly is there, my things, my whole life."

He disliked the sound of it, but he had promised to restore her freedom, and he meant it.

Besides, he had a different destiny to pursue.

"We set sail tonight at high tide. It is risky to sail with British weapons on board. As soon as we have unloaded the weapons in Martinique, I'll organize your voyage to Barbados."

He fished out a small dagger from his boot. "I want you to take this. Always carry it with you. I suggest you hide it in your boot like I do. Then it will be easily accessible, and you won't stab yourself. Aim for the waist or the neck to neutralize an offender."

She weighed the dagger in her hand. "I wouldn't know how to use it."

"Yes, you do," he teased and poked her waist. "I have a scar on my throat that demonstrates your skills with sharp objects."

Her lips dragged out in a tiny smile that set his blood on fire. "About that…"

"Apology accepted."

This time, a spark of joy lit up her eyes, and she burst into laughter. "I'm so sorry, Adrian. I was horrified with myself afterward."

"It was a swift way to ensure you gained the respect of the entire crew at once." He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face. "And mine."

He brushed her cheek with a feathery thumb. She had earned his respect, his admiration, and his affection through her selfless actions and unfaltering kindness, waking up the man in him he thought he had lost the day he was sentenced to a traitor's death.

He lowered his head and brushed his lips over the discoloration on her jaw, back and forth, gentle as the wings of a butterfly. When he moved to her lips, she parted them in a silent moan, inviting him in as if she knew what he craved. He dove in, plundering her mouth with his tongue, dueling with hers in a rhythmic dance that made his blood rush in his veins like the distant thunder from the reef.

Her hands coiled around his neck, but he reared back when the sun glinted in the blade and caught her arm. "Put that blade away, please."

"Right, I'm sorry."

"Christ," he muttered and shook his head for good measure, though a smile played on his lips.

She concealed the dagger in her boot. "What happens in Martinique?" she asked.

"I'm hoping to find evidence of Ashcroft's weapon running."

She cast him a glance. "Are you going to kill him?"

"I want him to admit what he did. I need him to clear my name."

"And then what? If you get your revenge, then what?"

Yes, then what?

The need for vengeance smoldered inside him. The moment it burst into flames, would it consume his entire soul and leave mere ashes in its wake?

"I don't know." He stared into the air without seeing anything. "I truly don't know."