Chapter 28

"Those filthy pirates!"

Madame Bertrand, perched at the head of the bountiful breakfast table in the governor's dining room, scrunched her dainty powdered nose and took a bite of a flaky pastry. She had styled her chestnut hair in a fashionable bun, and her faint sage dress draped her frame in a billowing skirt and a low neckline that revealed her décolletage.

Avaline swallowed back a yawn and sent Madame Bertrand a smile she hoped wasn't too stiff. She had hardly closed her eyes at night. Though exhausted, she had tossed and turned between the fresh linen, cursing Mr. Scott and Morris for their evil betrayal. She had plagued herself with what-ifs, impatient for dawn to break so she could return to the Ranger . Her biggest fear was that Adrian would think she betrayed him by leaving.

Her heart clenched. She needed to get back to Adrian.

Avaline gazed at the view from the governor's mansion on an escarpment above the village. The bay lay as a dazzling mirror of blue and green, dotted with vessels and reflecting the morning sun. Lush vegetation covered the hills surrounding the bay, filling the air with a sweet fragrance.

As if dancing to the melody of the birds and insects in the garden, the curtains swayed in the gentle breeze wafting through the open veranda doors like a lover's tender caress.

Avaline's mind pivoted back to the Ranger and to Adrian's fingers mapping a soft path across her skin, to his lips marking hers, and to his body on top of hers, inside her…

She had seen him mere hours ago and felt his warm skin yesterday, but it felt like days.

A sudden thought hit her like a slap to her face, and the thin porcelain cup in her hand rattled against the saucer. If Adrian thought she had betrayed him and left the Ranger voluntarily, he would leave Martinique without her.

The possibility struck her like a splash of icy water. How would she find Adrian if he had left? And why did she need to find him?

She lowered the cup and saucer onto the table and drew a deep breath. The lavish morning meal faded behind a fusion of emotions.

No.

He was a privateer. A ruthless man, hunted by the British and haunted by his past, with nothing to live for but vengeance and nothing to look forward to but the gallows.

And yet…

His smile flashed for her mind, the tremors in his hands caressing her skin, his firm embrace, the soft moan when he entered her as if her arms were the only refuge from his tormented mind.

Why do you protect him after what he did to you?

She drew a sharp breath, and a tingling sensation spread across her skin, settling as a flutter in her stomach.

She might have suppressed the thought until now, but nothing stood clearer before her this morning in Governor Bertrand's sunlit mansion.

The emotion that swelled deep within her was love.

For Captain Adrian Hainsworth.

"Are you quite fine, Miss Hawthorn?"

"Yes," she breathed and swallowed the thickening in her throat with a sip of coffee. "Quite fine, just tired. Oh, and thank you so much for lending me a new set of clothes. I appreciate it. Such fine quality."

"Non, that is the least I could do. As I said, we were naturally shocked when we heard about your misfortune." Madame Bertrand arranged a piece of cheese on her fork and offered a resigned shake of her head.

"Well, I'm here now, and everything will be all right."

"You have been fortunate to escape." Madame Bertrand barely batted an eyelash before a servant came to refill her coffee from the silver and ornate pot right beside her. "Les Américains, mon dieu, such rogues!"

The servant refilled Avaline's cup, too, and she took another sip of the bitter brew. The steamy coffee soothed her nerves somewhat, but her eyes kept returning to the mantel clock on the shelf above the fireplace.

"At what time can we expect Governor Bertrand to return?"

"I don't know. He mentioned something about a situation at the fort, but the details escaped me. I have no interest in the navy or their affairs apart from them protecting us against those savage pirates. Such matters are beyond a lady's comprehension."

"Of course. Martinique seems like such a lovely place. Have you lived here long?"

"Oui, I have been here for seven years, but it is extremely boring. Martinique is a small island, unlike Paris, my hometown. I oversee the household and accompany my husband to official events with the officers at the fort. Speaking of,"—she craned her neck and gazed out at the bay—"the fleet is returning. A very impressive sight, don't you think?"

Avaline followed Madame Bertrand's gaze to the bay, where the French fleet glided into view from behind the outer cape. "Yes, very impressive," she agreed, but her mind lingered with Adrian.

"Mon Dieu!" Madame Bertrand's brow furrowed, and she reached for the spyglass. "They have been in battle."

"Battle?" Avaline glanced outside again. One of the ships, a large warship, was listing hard, and what was left of her was being towed by a frigate.

One vessel stood out among the fleet of frigates, like a different breed defying the usual conventions. She was sleek and powerful, carrying herself with pride and audacity.

Torn and shredded, most of her sails hung limp and lifeless. Her bowsprit had been shattered, leaving a fragmented stump behind. Rigging and ropes hung loose, tangling in the wind, and a black curtain of smoke covered her in a veil of misery.

Avaline squinted at the sun glittering on the surface. Those lines… Her heart stilled, and her knife clattered to her plate.

The Ranger .

Avaline's limbs froze, and when her heart started pounding again, she was sure Madame Bertrand could hear it across the table.

The Ranger had been in battle, and Adrian had fought bravely by all appearances, but he hadn't claimed victory.

Her heartbeat slowed from a frantic race to a sluggish crawl that threatened to suffocate her.

Was Adrian alive? What about Elias?

Adrian had told her he had a good relationship with the French. So why had they fought?

Madame Bertrand sat back and refocused on her meal. "We shall know more when Monsieur Bertrand returns later. You must want to rest today, am I right?"

Avaline tore her eyes from the shadow of the Ranger's former glory. "Why, yes. Yes, you're right. I'm still quite exhausted. You seem to have a lovely garden, Madame Bertrand. Would you allow me to sit outside and take in the beauty?"

"Of course!" Madame Bertrand clapped her hands. "It would be my pleasure to show you around. You must tell me about the gardens at Hawthorn Manor. Maybe in the afternoon, when you have rested?"

"I shall look forward to that." Avaline stood. "Do you mind if I borrow your spyglass?"

"Not at all if you care for the view. I find it a bit boring. The ocean is too vast."

Avaline forced herself to walk confidently and leisurely through the garden. At the outer edge of the escarpment, behind a meticulously trimmed hedgerow, she lifted the spyglass to her eye with shaking hands.

As they neared the fort, the first two ships reefed their sails, slowing their speed. The Ranger lagged, flanked by two French frigates. She strained her eyes to see the men on the deck. They were mere specks in the distance, but the spyglass told her enough—they were all clad in the signature blue coat of the French Navy.

Her heart sank.

He had been caught.

Avaline followed the Ranger until she moored outside the fort. The French soldiers worked to reef the few sails that had survived the battle, but there was no sign of the Ranger's crew.

She adjusted the spyglass and focused on the battered French warship. It was a sorry sight, damaged and defeated by a rampaging enemy onslaught, its railing barely above the water line.

Adrian?

If he had blown the warship to smithereens… She drew a shivering breath and refused to dwell upon the most dreadful possible reason the Ranger's crew was missing.

You don't know what has happened. You don't know anything yet. You don't know…

But she knew. Deep inside her heart, she knew that Adrian had battled an overwhelming French Navy and lost. But why? France and the United States were no longer at war, so why would they take on an American privateer fighting their common enemy?

And how had they found him?

A chill ran through her, and she drew a quick breath. She had told Governor Bertrand where to find the Ranger last night.

"Dear Lord!" she whispered to herself. "Dearest, dearest Lord in heaven, what have I done?"

If Adrian thought she had left voluntarily, he might conclude that she had revealed his whereabouts to the French—on purpose.

She needed to talk to Governor Bertrand.

The day stretched on, and when the governor finally returned to his residence at dusk, Avaline's nerves were raw and shredded as if they'd been dragged back and forth across razor-sharp barnacles.

"Miss Hawthorn." Bertrand glided his eyes over her from behind his oak tree desk as she entered his study. "I'm pleased you have recuperated from your ordeals."

"Absolutely, Governor. Madame Bertrand has been very hospitable and kind. I'm so appreciative of all you have done for me."

"Very well. Please have a seat." He gestured to a chair on the opposite side of the table. "I have good news for you. The French Navy has caught Captain Hainsworth. He will no longer be a threat to you or anybody else."

Her body tensed. "W-what do you mean he is no longer a threat? Is he dead?"

"Non. Not dead. Incarcerated."

"Oh," Avaline cleared her throat to mask the relieved tremble in her voice. "Of course."

"He will face the gallows and pay for what he did to you."

"I beg your pardon, Governor. I am ignorant of a conflict between the French and the Americans. I would have expected Captain Hainsworth to stay clear of Martinique if he had been aware of the danger, but rather, he appeared quite calm as if sailing into friendly waters."

Bertrand shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. "Hainsworth is wanted by the British for piracy and treason against your King George."

"But we are your enemies."

He shrugged. "Oui, times are difficult, but we are isolated in the colonies. We need to maintain a certain…"—he waved a hand in the air—"understanding. There are many colonial powers in the Caribbean and many territories. Though enemies, we can take advantage of certain favors when dealing with common foes. By returning Governor Ashcroft's betrothed and his worst enemy, I— we can negotiate a favor with the British fleet in Barbados."

His worst enemy. His worst enemy.

Avaline's head spun, trying to make sense of Bertrand's words. How did Bertrand know that Adrian was Francis's worst enemy? Or that Adrian had captured her? Not even Francis had known until the Chirton arrived in Barbados a few weeks ago.

By returning Governor Ashcroft's betrothed and his worst enemy, we can negotiate a favor with the British fleet in Barbados.

She lifted her gaze to Bertrand's dark, cunning eyes. In her mind, the smirk on his lips morphed into a mocking sneer, ridiculing her simplicity and naivety.

By returning Governor Ashcroft's betrothed and his worst enemy, I can negotiate a personal favor.

Her belly plummeted, stirring a burning wave of acid that pushed up her throat.

Bertrand was Francis's French contact, the missing link Adrian had been searching for. And she had led Bertrand, Francis's associate, straight to Adrian.

"I see. Forgive my ignorance."

"Non, non. These are state matters, and I wouldn't expect you ladies to occupy your fragile minds with such boring issues. I will arrange for your transport to Barbados as soon as I have conferred with Governor Ashcroft on the details."

As soon as he had negotiated a favorable deal.

"Would it not be sufficient to barter a favor by returning me and leaving the Ranger's crew in Martinique? I would be ill at ease to think they would be in Barbados, especially now that I'm pledged to wed. There are too many… reminders, if you understand."

"Unfortunately, I can't do that. I have already sent word to Governor Ashcroft, who is probably arranging for the Ranger's crew to be taken into custody of the British Navy in Bridgetown."

Taken into custody.

She shuddered at the image that popped into her mind. She had to talk sense into Francis before they sent Adrian to Barbados.

"I understand. Would it be possible to send me to Barbados before the Ranger's crew? That would make me much more comfortable, which I also assume my betrothed, Governor Ashcroft, would appreciate."

"Hm. Well, I suppose we can arrange for you to travel to Barbados first. As soon as I hear back from Governor Ashcroft and can ensure you a safe passage, you'll be on your way."

To Avaline's devastation, it took the governor two days to negotiate his deal with Francis and secure her a place on board a Dutch ship headed for Bridgetown.

Two harrowing days, from which she had no memory except for lingering by the windows, making sure the Ranger was still anchored in the sparkling turquoise bay, dreading that every time she averted her gaze, the ship would have sailed for Barbados.

But on the early morning of the third day, when the Dutch captain sailed his sloop from the bay to the open sea, the tattered yet sleek Ranger still bobbed in the water outside the fort.

She would reach Barbados before Adrian, and when she did, she would ensure that Francis freed him and the rest of the Ranger's crew.

She held one leverage over Francis, something he craved dearly and only she could bestow upon him—her dowry.

Resolve filled her as she watched Martinique fade behind them in the morning glow, but as they approached Barbados in the twilight, flutters stirred in Avaline's stomach.

She stood at the bow, clutching the locket hanging around her neck as she viewed the island meant to become her new home. Compared to the rugged and dramatic Martinique, whose peaks and cliffs rose from the sea, Barbados was smaller, with gentle hills to the north raising the landscape behind Bridgetown's stretch of glimmering lights.

Avaline wrapped Madame Bertrand's delicate shawl tighter around her shoulders, watching the crew reef the sails. As the dinghy transporting her approached the shore, her eyes scanned the pier and settled on a glossy black carriage drawn by two white horses, like a raven among swans.

A chill swept down her back.

An impeccably dressed coachman swung open the door to the carriage, and a man dressed in white breeches, a white silk waistcoat, and a glaring sky-blue coat with gold embroidery and buttons stepped out. The carriage rocked like the swaying dinghy she sat in as he stepped off the footboard. Once on the ground, he smoothed his powdered wig and crowned the ensemble with a black tricorn adorned with ostrich feathers and a cockade.

Lord Francis Ashcroft, presumably.

Assisted by a sailor from the sloop, she ascended the wooden pier. A storm of emotions raged inside her, a blend of dread and defiance. She had to face Francis, confront him, and save Adrian. Her knees quivered as she walked toward the carriage and Francis, and she wiped her palms in the folds of her skirt.

"Miss Hawthorn." Francis spoke in a measured voice as he stepped forward and offered her a hand. "Welcome to Barbados."

"Lord Francis," she greeted and forced herself not to drag her hand out of his when she curtseyed.

"I'm horrified by what happened to you, Miss Hawthorn. Are you well and healthy?"

She struggled to discern the look in his eyes as they scrutinized her, but she disliked the tight twitch across his jaws. By habit, her hand rose and smoothened her wind-ruffled hair. "Yes, my lord. I'm just tired."

That wasn't entirely true. During the last days in Martinique, she hadn't done anything but rest.

"Please, call me Francis. After all, you're my betrothed."

She refrained from answering as he led her over to the carriage. She reached for the handle to open the door, but Francis's bark made her pull her hand back.

"Hammond! The door, you fool!"

"My apologies, sir." The frock-clad servant beside the carriage opened the door and bowed to Avaline. "Miss Hawthorn."

She sent him a smile she hoped would atone for Francis's conduct. "Thank you, Hammond. It is nice to meet you."

For a fleeting moment, she thought she glimpsed a spark of curiosity in his otherwise hollow eyes, but it was gone so quickly she dismissed it. Adrian was right. Francis suffered from a bad temper. The truth fueled her resolve, making her more steadfast in her quest.

She could never marry Francis Ashcroft.

"I trust that Molly has arrived safely?" she asked when Francis settled on the opposite seat.

"Molly?" He knocked his cane on the ceiling.

"My maid?"

"Right, of course. Mrs. Wright has arrived safe and sound."

Avaline let out a silent breath. Thank God.

Francis rested his eyes on her, and an awkward silence filled the carriage, as did the excessive scent of his perfume. She offered him a nervous smile, but her gaze sought refuge in the window when he didn't return it.

"I trust Governor Bertrand treated you with the utmost hospitality?"

"Yes, he was very kind to an English woman."

"We still have diplomatic relations with France, and piracy is a common evil we must fight together."

Avaline returned her gaze to the window.

Piracy.

Her thoughts went back to the Ranger and Adrian. How was he being treated in the French fort? And what would Francis do when they arrived in Barbados? Have him hanged immediately? Challenge him to a duel?

The journey to the governor's residence was brief. Nestled beyond the main street, a grand adobe building embraced a small atrium with a water fountain at its heart. Torches along the walls illuminated the courtyard, lending the two-story house a gentle glow.

Before Avaline could leave the carriage, the main door flung open, and Molly dashed down the three stone steps as swiftly as her stiff joints would allow.

"Miss Avaline! My dearest, thank the Lord. I have been so worried!"

Avaline jumped down on the ground, flinging herself into the older woman's embrace, the backs of her eyelids burning. "I missed you so much!"

"Me too, my child, me too." Molly's voice quivered with emotion.

"Your maid will show you to your room," Francis said. "I will require your presence in my study in half an hour."

"Half an hour?" Avaline pulled away from Molly, although she'd rather remain in the older woman's warm embrace.

"I need to talk to you, and it is urgent."

He is stone broke. He has squandered the money. His creditors are chasing him.

"I see."

Francis disappeared inside.

"Let me have a good look at you." Molly clutched onto her arms and turned her to face the shine from the torches. "Are you sure you're quite all right?"

"I'm fine, Molly. I'm tired but fine."

"Dear Lord! I have pictured that brute of a pirate in such horrific ways the last weeks that I lost my sleep. He didn't take advantage of you?"

Avaline squeezed Molly's hands. "No, absolutely not. He didn't hurt me." Surely God would forgive her such a minor omission of the truth? "Despite what you think, he was quite the gentleman."

"But he seemed so… rough. So dangerous."

"He is dangerous, but he treated me respectfully and protected me."

"Oh." Molly looked almost crestfallen that the pirate didn't live up to her imagination.

"Are the two of you staying out here all night?"

Avaline turned to Hammond's pure English voice in the doorway.

"Hrmpf! Never mind him." Molly snorted. "Lord Francis's aide, the most vexing creature you will ever encounter. Come on, my dear, let us get you inside. I will prepare your bath and a meal as soon as you have conversed with Lord Francis."

Half an hour later, Avaline tripped behind Hammond as he led her along a lengthy corridor to Francis's study. The double oak door loomed before her, a dark barrier to the source of Adrian's misery. Hammond knocked on the wood and turned the handle.

"My lord, Miss Hawthorn."

Avaline took a composing breath. Every word she uttered in the following conversation could either be a lifeline or a death sentence for Adrian.

"Come in, Avaline." Francis pointed at a padded leather chair in front of his desk. "Have a seat. I trust you have found your room to your liking?"

In the light from the lamps, his eyes were a fusion of gray and brown, like the rotten wood of an aged fence. He was forty-two years old, but his face bore the marks of age and weariness in the saggy pouches nestling beneath his eyes.

"It is most wonderful. I can't wait to see the view come daylight."

Francis's study exuded a gloomy atmosphere, overwhelmed by an excess of somber dark oak and disharmonized mahogany furniture. A Persian rug, weaving an intricate floral pattern of red, yellow, and green, covered the entire floor. A fireplace occupied the short wall, but the sooty hole was cold and empty, like Francis's heart.

"Avaline, I'm deeply grieved that you had to suffer the ordeal that you have at the hands of Captain Hainsworth. He has been a scourge of the navy for years, ravaging and pillaging our vessels, but thanks to you, he will be brought to justice. I will personally witness him being strung up by his neck so that you may have peace of mind that he will never trouble you again."

Her heartbeat thudded in her ears, nearly smothering Francis's voice. She wanted to scream, to clutch something and squeeze it until her knuckles cracked, but she had to be strong for Adrian.

She took a deep breath. Then another one.

"I can see that this makes you uncomfortable, so the sooner we get this over with, the better. Do you want a glass of wine to summon your strength?"

She cleared her throat. "No, thank you. I'll be fine."

"I need to know what happened."

A cold sweat broke on her forehead as she faced his piercing gaze. "Pray, hasn't Molly told you what happened?"

"Why yes, of course, but I need to know what happened during the weeks you were in… Hainsworth's custody."

She sensed his suspicion beneath the calm exterior, that shade swirling in his eyes that made her fine hairs stand on end. "Well, he took me on board his ship and locked me into the grand cabin. A few days later, a storm raged, and we ran on a reef. We spent some days ashore to mend the damage, and then we sailed to Martinique. The rest I assume you know from Governor Bertrand."

"Did Hainsworth hurt you in any way?"

She shook her head and held his gaze. "No, not at all."

"I see." He paused for a moment. "Did he in any other way… approach you?"

"No, he was very much a gentleman."

He studied her for a while and then said in a low and measured voice: "Hainsworth is no gentleman, and he had every opportunity to ruin me by sullying my betrothed. Why did he let you go?"

"He didn't let me go. He was betrayed by a member of his crew who lured me off the Ranger while docked in Martinique. He thought he would be rewarded if he returned me to the British."

"If you mean that puppy who delivered you to the French Navy, he got what he deserved—a wet grave."

Avaline's eyes dilated, and she blinked as she digested his words. "Whatever do you mean? Is Mr. Scott dead?"

"I'm not in the habit of parleying with pirates. He and his accomplice Morris were both fed to the sharks."

Will had turned on Adrian for silver. Unforgivable indeed, but what about Francis's misdeeds? What about the lives he had ruined without mercy, knowing he had been in the wrong?

"But you do negotiate with the French, our enemy?"

The words slipped out before she sensed to stop them.

Francis stiffened, and he eyed her carefully when he spoke. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Captain Hainsworth told me everything. He was a captain in the British Navy, and you betrayed him on the grounds that he would have traded English weapons with the French."

Francis's face grew hot as she spoke, and the flesh on his fingers bulged around his rings as his hands clenched into fists.

"That is nonsense!" he spat. "Hainsworth is a pirate, a rat in the sewer, and his words can't be trusted. He has no honor. He will say anything to get his way and has no sense of loyalty to anyone but himself. At any rate, it doesn't matter. Hainsworth is where he belongs, in the gloomy depths of the French fort."

"Because of your lies and your cowardice, he was sentenced to a traitor's death. His family lost everything they had and were forced to leave their country. You stabbed him in the back, and now he has nothing left."

Francis smacked his palm on the polished table. "I won't tolerate this behavior in my house. It doesn't become the wife of the British Governor."

"Rest assured, Lord Francis, I will never be your wife. I have long considered our engagement to be over. You have broken my trust and loyalty, and I won't let you manipulate me."

Francis laughed, but his laughter ended in a choke. He pointed a trembling finger at her. "We will wed the forthcoming Saturday, and I will hear no more about this. The agreement between your father and me has already been made."

She refused to yield to him and held his gaze. "The agreement stipulates that the final decision rests with me and is void without my consent. I know you're in dire straits. I'm willing to strike a bargain with you. I'll release my entire dowry to you in exchange for the liberty of Captain Hainsworth and his crew."

He shot to his feet with such force that it sent his chair flying backward and crashing into the bookshelf behind him. He leaned with his hands on the table, and despite the expanse between them, she recoiled.

"You pirate whore!" he hissed. "I knew it! Adrian Hainsworth would never pass the opportunity to take something that is rightfully mine. We will carry on with the engagement and wed as planned. And Hainsworth, mark my words, will suffer the fate he always deserved—hanged, drawn, and quartered for everybody to witness at the main square."

"But my father–"

"Your father isn't here, is he?"

Avaline gasped. "You can't force me into marriage."

"Believe me, I can. If I must drag you to the altar, shackled and gagged, then so be it!"