Hart's Passion (Pirates & Petticoats Book 2) (3 page)

Daniel became thoughtful. “Mr. Hart doesn’t seem to be the type of man to let anything like this dictate his actions. If he changes his mind, we’ll simply book passage on the next passenger ship heading north, if you wish to do so.”

Slaney harrumphed. “Well, a choice like that would brand him a fool, I says.”

Keelan swallowed. Daniel made it seem like the decision had no real significance, but it wouldn’t be so easy for her.
 

Sailing away with Landon had been the only thing keeping her own shadow of grief from blanketing her in darkness over the past two days. Also during that time, a niggling fear had been swirling in the back of her mind as well. Given her current requirements, would Landon assist her? Would he want any part of her quest to find her true father?

“I’m glad you’ll both be with me. It gives me comfort knowing I’ll not have to make the journey on my own should things change between me and Captain Hart.”
 

“We wouldn’t ever leave ye at a time like this, Mistress. We’ll help ye find yer Da,” Slaney squeezed her arm.

“First, we must gather our things and take them to Captain Hart’s ship. The blue flag means he’s ready to leave port.” With fresh eyes, she took in the ocean in the distance and the infinite blue of the South Carolina sky. “We don’t have much time to pack our trunks, hire a livery and leave before Uncle Jared and Aunt Sarah return home from the luncheon.” Uncle Jared would try and stop them. He wanted her to marry and stay in Charleston. He certainly wouldn’t approve of her eloping with Landon Hart.

Daniel nodded his agreement. “I’ll arrange for transportation to the
Desire
while you and Slaney have the trunks brought down.”
 

“It shouldna’ take long,” Slaney said. “I haven’t unpacked much yet, seein’ how we just got to town yesterday.”

“Good.” Keelan had a little more confidence now. A shiver of excitement shot through her chest. She tugged the red ribbon holding the signet ring around her neck. Papa told her it belonged to her real father.
 

Four lions, a knight’s helm, shafts of wheat. What did it mean?

Who was the man who sired her?
 

What was her real surname, if not Grey?
 

Who
was
she?
 

The man who murdered his family and fiancé was finally dead.

Yet, Dr. Everett Garrison, after more than a week, still waited for the burden of grief to lift.
 

But it didn’t.

A brief swell of panic pushed against his chest. Once Commodore Grey was dead, things should have changed. The rock in his stomach should have disappeared, the sharp pain clenching his heart every time he inhaled should have subsided and the black emptiness filling his soul should have receded.
 

Yet the morning light was still dull, his feet were still heavy, the air still empty, and his hands still stained with blood. No matter how many times he washed them, the blood returned.
 

He had committed a heinous sin.

Commodore George Grey undoubtedly deserved to die, but Everett was used to saving lives not taking them. If Rachel hadn’t screamed for vengeance in his dreams every night when he closed his eyes, he wouldn’t have even considered it.

“Rachel,” he whispered in anguish. “Rachel…I miss you.”
 

Everett didn’t bother to brush away the tears or dry his cheeks. Good God, how he missed her smile and adoring gaze. Her quiet words. Why was he still so tormented?

He stared down at the letter on his desk.
 

And now, the bank was unwilling to extend him any more credit.
 

This presented a problem.
 

In exchange for Dr. Garrison’s personal medical care, the commodore and his older brother, Jared Grey had given him money to set up a practice in Charleston. Instead, Everett had used it to fund his plan for revenge. The slow poison he carefully dosed to the commodore had been expensive to procure in a discrete manner.
 

He tossed a bundle of papers on his desk. It had been worth every cent he paid for justice to be done. That idiot had given the order to sink the ship carrying his parents and brothers.
 

And his fiancée, Rachel.

It didn’t matter that the commodore had claimed to have mistaken the passenger ship for a devious French privateer. The commodore had deserved to be punished, and Everett had complained loudly and frequently to those in charge of his court martial. But, before justice could be done, the commodore’s friend, an aristocrat, had used his wealth and influence to whisk away the disgraced Navy commander and his daughter, Keelan, to Charleston, South Carolina and even purchased a small plantation for them. A place for them to hide…far away from the gallows in London where the commodore belonged.

Everett slammed his fist on his desk. “Did he not deserve to suffer the same pain as I?”

The man he’d hired in England arranged the carriage accidents killing the wives of both the commodore and his older brother last fall, after murdering the commodore’s nephew. According to the assassin, the women were low-hanging fruit, easy to pluck. Everett didn’t have the stomach to do it himself. He was a physician trained to do his best to preserve life, not take it. Besides, such things were best left to a professional. He had no desire to risk botching the job and getting himself hanged in the process of attaining justice.

But the loss…the agony. He tried
everything
to relieve it. Brandy and opiates wore off, left him groggy and sick, and didn’t solve the problem, only delayed the execution of a solution. It was, however during one of those binges when he came up with the brilliant idea of hiring a man to exact revenge
for
him.
 

Less guilt to deal with if they didn’t die by his hand. A deed he could live with, so he’d thought.

Everett opened his desk drawer, cradled a pale lavender handkerchief, pressed it to his lips and inhaled. Rachel’s perfume grew fainter each time. Soon, like her, it would be gone forever.

“The commodore needed to feel the same suffering,” he murmured into the scented cloth. “He had to understand that his transgressions had
consequences
.” He hadn’t expected he could actually go through with it. The first time he had dosed the commodore with a small amount of poison, the man complained of an upset stomach and went to his cabin. Everett had puked over the side of the ship. His hands quaked for an hour afterward.

The assassin he’d hired in London had been thorough. He’d
 
finally sent the announcement of the death of the commodore’s eldest brother, along with a letter requesting the last and final installment owed for his services.
 

Everett returned the handkerchief to his drawer and then picked up the missive next to the one from the bank.
 

He reread the letter from the assassin. His gut clenched. The words blurred. His heart thrummed in his ears, sounding like a drum of war signaling death to the enemy.
 

Doctor Garrison,

We agreed upon the notification of completion of the duties required of me, that payment would be available for me at your barrister’s office. Unfortunately, according to the documents your barrister showed me containing your signature, it appears you withdrew the funds prior to traveling to Charleston. This is not acceptable. I request you rectify this immediately. Should I not receive your payment in a reasonable amount of time, I will consider you in breach of our contract. In which case, I will contact a man in Charleston to perform the same duty for me, which I have so diligently performed for you.

Regards,

Munsford

The problem was, Everett had to use some of Munsford’s funds to keep up appearances here in Charleston and to handle a slight problem in the form of Captain Landon Hart.

The gaping hole Rachel’s death left in his heart didn’t shrink with time; it grew. If he didn’t find someone to fill it soon, it would continue to grow bigger and bigger. It would eventually consume him until there was nothing left but the edges of his soul.

It seemed like poetic justice to have Keelan Grey be the one to fill the void.

He’d not been prepared for the ripples Captain Hart had caused, though. Everett’s scheme had been progressing well until Hart showed up at Twin Pines. He sat heavily in his chair, gripped the hair on each side of his head and rested his elbows on the desk.
 

It had taken Everett months to court Keelan to the point where she’d agreed to marry him. Then the captain interfered with his courtship, distracted her, and made it difficult to gain her full attention and affection.
 

Everett had been at the table one day when Hart explained the attack by Gampo’s ship which had crippled his. Apparently, Hart’s fleet and the pirate had some sort of ongoing feud. It only took a couple inquiries in the pubs near the wharf and a meeting with Gampo’s first mate to get a message to Gampo himself.
 

The pirate and Hart had a history of clashes on the open sea. Gampo helped Everett develop a scheme to distract Hart. In exchange, he was supposed to find out if a woman named
Marisa
sailed with the fleet. How was he supposed to obtain that information? It was almost impossible. However, he had indeed tried. One bright morning he walked to the pier, up the ramp and asked the first mate. The man looked at him as if he was daft.
 

“Having a woman aboard is bad luck, mister. Any sailor knows that.”

He couldn’t very well approach Hart, his adversary, and ask him, could he? Surely Hart would lie to him. Gampo wouldn’t understand that, however. Unfortunately, he still had no information for the pirate, and that was disconcerting.

Thankfully, the plan they managed to execute may yet generate additional funds. As soon as he found the right buyers for the cargo the men took from Hart, there would be enough money to pay the assassin.
 

He hoped.
 

The damned pirates had some sort of hard and fast rule on dividing things into “like shares.”

Even after they stole the goods, Hart had gotten to Keelan, and she broke her engagement to him, dammit. Their plan could still move forward, but now, he would have to make a few adjustments.
 

And it was going to cost him.
 

Getting to Keelan was going to be more difficult now.
 

Keelan Grey. The commodore’s daughter.
 

Beautiful, cold, and distant, he understood she wasn’t the type to enjoy plantation life. More than once he’d overheard her plead with her father to sell Twin Pines and move to the city of Charleston. She wanted a shop, similar to the one her mother had near the naval shipyards in Chatham. She was not the soft, gentle woman Rachel had been. Keelan was bold and impetuous; Rachel had been quiet and reliable.
 

Rachel was water.
 

Keelan was fire.

He recalled the night when the commodore had called Keelan to his room. The glass he had placed against the wall in the next room allowed him to hear much of their conversation. The commodore spoke of a treasure he’d hidden for Keelan back in his country cottage.

Everett straightened. Why hadn’t he thought of this earlier? Obviously, his grief muddied his mind. Rising, he began to pace the floor and tried to recall the commodores words.

“The contents are of great value…promise me you’ll go back to Wind Briar and find my old trunk…”

There! The answer to his financial woes rested in a trunk at the Wind Briar estate. They only had to find it. Then he could leave the assassin’s funds with his barrister. Everett spun on his heel and snatched his hat from the hook by the door. He had to change his strategy, which left behind a few frayed ends he’d have to clip. Soon, his sword of justice would do its duty. He’d already sacrificed time, money and energy to this endeavor.

He deserved to reap the rewards from his service.
 

It was his due.

And Keelan would share it with him.

As his wife.

Landon waited in Annette Camsby’s parlor, choosing to stand by the window rather than take the seat offered by the house slave. He didn’t plan on being here long enough to relax in a chair. Instead, he gazed down the narrow side street in Charleston.

He’d stopped by Twin Pines earlier. He’d been informed the commodore had been buried earlier in the day, which explained Keelan’s delay in meeting him. He’d not known of the commodore’s death, although he’d been aware the man had been ill for some time. With the hot, humid temperatures in Charleston in June, there was not much time for long wakes. Bodies had to be buried as soon as possible. He’d stop by Jared Grey’s town house and offer his condolences when he returned. Hopefully by this evening or tomorrow morning, Keelan would be able to join him aboard the
Desire
.
 

A small bag of coins clinked in his coat pocket, making him frown.

“Why, if it isn’t Captain Hart!” Annette Camsby floated into the room as if transported by an invisible stream. “What an unexpected, but happy surprise.” She sat on the deep gold velvet sofa and leaned forward just enough to provide him with an unhindered view of her cleavage as she reached for a cup. “Join me for tea?”

Landon’s throat was dry, and he had to clear it before he could trust his voice. He could use a drink, but hot tea wasn’t what came to mind.

“Thank you for the invitation, however, I came to refund your fare for passage to Philadelphia.” He pulled the bag of coins from his pocket and placed it on the desk.
 

Annette’s gaze chilled. “And why, may I ask, do you feel obligated to do that?”

He hadn’t expected Annette to make this easy.

It was bad enough Conal had thrown up his hands in mock terror when he’d asked him to return the fare, leaving Landon to ride to Annette’s town home to return it.