Chapter 31

Tomorrow at noon.

Less than a day to live. One more sunup—one he wouldn't get to see from the dungeons of the garrison.

Hanged by the neck on the British gallows in Bridgetown, branded as a traitor to the King he had once sworn loyalty to.

Adrian had no regrets for his actions, only sorrow for his fate.

He shifted the weight of his heavy chains, trying to relieve the gnawing at his wrists and ankles.

For days, he had stayed awake, save for brief spells of half-unconsciousness when his body had surrendered to exhaustion. His eyes were swollen, his head throbbed like the drill drum that echoed from the parade ground above, and his limbs were numb and rigid from standing in the same strained position over time.

His eyes remained open despite his exhaustion, focusing on the faint gleam from the torch, but his vision was fading, and the torch cast eerie shadows on the rough walls of the rocky vault. If he closed them, he would be haunted by the faces of his crew, who had trusted him and followed him to their doom. He could see their eyes staring at him with accusation and betrayal, their mouths twisted in pain and anger.

Elias's happy smile flashed before his eyes, the excitement in the boy's eyes when he had taught him the ropes and the rigging, the pride when he succeeded in his tasks.

The fear he must be feeling. Fear and disappointment, just like Adrian had seen in his father's eyes the day he was sentenced to death as a traitor.

He had promised to protect Elias, but he had failed him like he had failed them all.

Were they still alive? He hadn't seen them after being tossed in the brig on board the Ranger .

And why the fuck had Scott betrayed him? Adrian ransacked his soggy brain but couldn't come up with motives other than riches. The bastard was greedy, always had been, but not even Adrian had seen such treachery coming. Scott had been treated well, like the rest of his crew. He had been promoted and had gotten his fair share of the prizes.

And yet, it hadn't been enough.

The door at the far end shrieked as it was opened, sending sunlight gushing into the dim cell.

"This way."

He squinted toward the source of light piercing the darkness, but then the heavy oak door closed behind the newcomers, and the shine died. The echo of footsteps drew nearer, each step bouncing off the cold stone walls enclosing him.

A sudden memory assaulted him, taking him back to the horrors of Newgate when the warden stopped outside the iron bars with a woman in tow—a woman clearly of compromised virtue.

She resembled the prow of a ship, cutting through the waves of men with her ample bosom that threatened to spill from her plunging neckline. The hood covered her face, and the red skirt swayed above her ankles, too daring to come from anywhere north of the docks.

Somebody in Bridgetown had graced him with a last wish. Ashcroft, as a mocking gesture to rub in his victory?

Or Captain Rogers?

For whatever reason, his eyes remained on her ankles. Not because he longed for a woman, but those ankles…

The metallic jangling when the guard stuck the key in the lock and opened the gate jolted Adrian out of his momentary lapse.

"Take her away. I'm not interested," Adrian grumbled, his voice rusty and his mouth dry as a hardtack.

As if he hadn't uttered a word, the woman entered his cell, and the guard left.

"I said, I'm not interested. You're wasting your time. Take the money somebody gave you and go elsewhere."

The stuffed bust strained to break free as she raised her arms to pull back the hood. Adrian's eyes dragged up, but then they betrayed him by lingering on her bosom. A faint heat stirred within him, followed by a pang of unease, but he had no time to examine the feeling settling over him before he lifted his eyes and saw her face.

Avaline.

She darted across the narrow cell and caressed his scruffy cheek. "Oh, Adrian!"

Her warm and soft hand on his skin was like the caress of the sunbeams his dark cell didn't allow him to feel. He was tempted to lean into the gentle thumb running across his cheekbone, but he was caught in a whirlwind of emotions and settled for the one that prevailed. Jerking his head—the only part of him not shackled—away from her caress, he sneered at her. "Are you here to offer your services one last time? To keep up the charade?"

His scorn didn't put her off; she just looked over her shoulder as if worried somebody had heard him. A faint bruise shadowed her cheek, and upon examining her throat, a string of bruises lined both sides.

Ashcroft?

His insides tensed, and he cursed his protective reaction. She deserved nothing from him.

"Adrian, please listen to me," she whispered. "I know it looks like I betrayed you–"

"It's crossing my mind!" The look he raked over her outfit was meant to be derisive, but he couldn't help himself from admiring the healthy tan kissing her cheeks and those soft waves framing her sweet features.

Mere days ago, he had fisted his hand in those silky tresses as he had lost himself in her slick core.

"I understand your hurt and anger, but it isn't what you think." She lifted her hand to touch him again but then lowered it.

He cursed the disappointment that surged within when she refrained from touching him. She ran her gaze over his pathetic state, but he saw none of the aversion or disgust he had expected. "I would never do that–"

"Forgive me if I don't believe you."

Avaline putting his mistrust into words made his suspicions so much more real. He drew his breath to steady his anger. God knew what he would have done if he hadn't been chained.

"The night I left the Ranger , Will came to me and told me the French soldiers had shot you, that you were asking for me, and that I needed to come with him if I wanted to see you. I was led to understand that you wouldn't live to see the next morning, so I left with him."

"Didn't you wonder why he came to you instead of alerting the crew?"

She looked down. "No, and in hindsight, I was gullible, but I panicked." She lifted her eyes, but he averted his gaze so he wouldn't lose himself in her depths. "We walked to Fort Royal, and only when we arrived did he reveal his scheme to deliver me to the governor in the hopes of a bounty. He wanted us to start anew in America with the money."

"He revealed to the French who I was. Governor Bertrand invited me to stay in his mansion, and I never saw Will again. Francis tells me he is dead. Morris colluded with Will to get the bounty. He was the officer of the watch that night, and he let us leave the ship."

"I'm not interested in your excuses."

"I want to help you. I offered Francis my dowry, without the ties of wedlock, provided he let you and your crew go."

He chuckled, but there was no joy in his voice. "How atoning."

"Adrian, I thought the French Governor was your friend, and he confirmed that he was, too, when I asked him. I didn't think it was risky when I told him where to find the Ranger. "

She had done it. For whatever reason, a fleeting doubt had lingered even after Ashcroft's visit, a trace of defiance resisting the notion of her betrayal, yet now, her words obliterated all doubt.

"I also tried to look for something in Francis's office that connects him to what you told me, but I couldn't find anything."

"I don't need your help, nor do I want to see your face again! You're here to ease your conscience before I'm executed so that you can feel better about yourself afterward."

She huffed. "I won't dignify that with an answer."

"I meant what I said. I don't want to see you anymore."

"Adrian, please." Her voice choked. "Let me know if there is a way to help you, if there is a way I can find evidence of his betrayal."

"Leave."

"No, Adrian–"

"I said leave !"

His chains rattled through the gloominess as he strained against them in a dismissive yank. For reasons he couldn't fathom, he lacked the guts to meet her gaze, to see the tears running down her cheeks.

She remained motionless as if she had turned to stone by his rejection. "Adrian?" she whispered, her chest heaving at the edge of his vision.

As she turned to leave, he forced himself to lift his gaze from the dirt floor. He wanted to call her back, to beg her forgiveness, to beg her to say she hadn't been a part of this evil plan all along, to implore her not to wed Ashcroft, but he didn't.

He had lost that right the day he seized the Chirton , and she had lost that privilege the day she set foot on the Ranger .

The cell door squeaked when she opened it, a jarring sound wracking through him like a blunt cutlass as if to emphasize his graceless demise.

She stopped outside the bars and turned. The moisture glistening in her eyes stabbed Adrian worse than the sting from the English scourge, but he refused to be snared by her tricks. A small part of him tried to loathe the way he hurt her, but she had fucking betrayed him, and now she was wedding his nemesis.

"I love you, Adrian."

He scoffed. "Right."