Wrong Kind of Paradise Page 14

  groin. He groaned and leaned forward. She slammed his head into the paneling, splintering the wood.

  Searching for a weapon, she ran out of time as he regained his footing and crashed into her. They

  landed on the floor with a loud thud and he attempted to pin both her arms down. His hood had long since

  come free, and she stared into coal-black eyes. Angel reared up, smacking the bridge of his nose with her

  forehead and put a foot into his stomach to fling him off.

  She scrambled to her feet, heading for the dresser. One of his hands clutched her ankle and yanked

  her down. She fell, kicking out with her other foot and struck him in the nose again. He howled, blood

  spattering across the floor.

  Angel made it to the dresser and opened it. But the force of his weight as he slammed into her, took

  the breath from her. A dagger appeared at her throat. She stalled. Her breath rushed out of her lungs, and

  she swallowed. Fear inched its way up her spine to settle deep into the pit of her stomach.

  “He said ye wouldn’t fight back. I was supposed to kill ye quiet-like.”

  “Who hired you?”

  He chuckled and tightened his grip on the knife, lifting her chin a notch. “Ye think I’m gonna tell ye

  that?”

  Her hand found the opened drawer and searched for the letter opener, but instead found the quill.

  “Ye know, he didn’t say ye’d be so young.” His hot, soured breath brushed her ear and she cringed.

  “Or pretty.” The man pressed his lower body against her rear and she almost gagged. He smelled like

  rotten fish and musky bodies.

  A whimper escaped her and tears threatened to fall. Please, not this.

  He licked her ear and she recoiled. With a single move, she drove the end of the quill into his eye.

  Blood streaked across the side of her face, and he released her with a howl to grab his eye. She reached

  into the drawer, found the letter opener and pierced the soft flesh of his neck. He dropped to his knees.

  With one last gurgle, blood oozed between his fingers and from his mouth as he toppled face-down on the

  floor.

  Angel sucked in air and wiped the blood from her face. Tears burned her eyes as she searched the

  room for anyone else. Her heart thundered inside her chest. Certain there weren’t any other assassins, she

  sat on the settee and caught her breath.

  Why would anyone want her dead? And how had anyone known she would be here?

  She had to get back to Blac somehow. She couldn’t stay in this house. There would be others when

  whoever wanted her dead figured out his assassin had failed.

  She leapt to her feet, tore the dagger from the man’s dead hand, and slipped it into her waistband.

  She cracked the door and peered out. Nothing stirred. Easing the door open, she stepped out and followed

  the wall to the stairs. Still no movement.

  Just before she reached the top step, a picture on the wall caught her attention. She stopped. Moving

  closer she peered at the face and dread flowed over her.

  Why would her grandfather have a picture of the lieutenant in his house?

  Thirteen

  Angel yanked the picture from the wall and strode down the hall with purpose. She opened every

  door until she found her grandfather’s room.

  The door banged against the wall and stuck into the paneling. He sat upright in his bed reading a

  book. Piercing blue eyes peered over the edge of the book at her before he laid it across his stomach.

  She crossed the room and tossed the picture onto the bed. “Why is the lieutenant’s picture on your

  wall?”

  He wasn’t bewigged and his short, white hair stood on end atop his head. His eyes captured all her

  attention. They were direct, intelligent. Even at his age, her grandfather was a force to be reckoned with.

  “What is it about his picture that you don’t like?”

  Angel sighed. “You’re being obtuse and you know it.”

  A flicker of something— malevolence and violence — shone in his eyes, and Angel hesitated.

  Civility returned to his composure and he actually smiled. “Come, Angel, and I will explain all.”

  Unease niggled in the back of her mind, but curiosity won. She eased onto the foot of the bed and

  waited.

  He tapped out an annoying rhythm on the hard cover of the book with his index fingers. The slow,

  calculated tempo seemed to draw out the seconds. A gold ring on his left hand winked under the muted

  firelight. Tap, tap, tap, tap. The motion of his fingers almost mesmerized her.

  He finally broke the silence. “Your mother was a good girl. She married soon after she turned

  sixteen to the Viscount Worthington. Once I helped get rid of that imposter she was infatuated with. It was

  a good marriage.”

  Angel gasped, recognizing the name and tore her attention away from his hands. “For whom? It was

  my understanding that my mother hated her first husband. He beat her and locked her in her rooms day in

  and day out. Who would consider such a marriage a success?”

  He pursed his lips at her interruption and stopped the movement of his fingers. “Nevertheless, she

  had married and her course was set. She was on a ship bound for England to join her husband there when

  she was captured by De’Haviland.”

  Bitterness laced his words, and the sharp blue eyes narrowed to thin slits. “The viscount’s first

  wife died in childbirth with her second son.”

  The obvious pause told her there was a riddle in that sentence somewhere and then it dawned on

  her. “The lieutenant is the viscount’s first son.”

  He nodded. “The boy grew to love your mother fiercely, because she was the only mother he’d ever

  known. And he was incoherently upset after Elizabeth’s capture. In fact, he became obsessed with the

  details over the years.”

  Realization hit her and Angel’s eyes widened. “He’s trying to kill me?”

  He shook his head. “Do not be absurd. He does not wish your death, by any means.” Regarding her

  with hooded eyes, he studied her. “Although he does seek your company — for what, I’ve no idea.”

  Awareness washed over her. A prickling of the hair on the back of her neck caused her to ease to

  her feet. Her hands grew cold and she asked, “How would you know that?”

  Her grandfather smiled and continued the irritating drumming. The rhythm matched the pacing of her

  heart. It seemed everything slowed until her heart beat each second by. “Charles was just here the other

  day, as a matter of fact.”

  “Oh?”

  “You see, let me be honest here and tell you that the lieutenant has me by the ballocks at the

  moment. As you must know, James the Second had forfeited his crown back in ’89. His daughter, Mary

  the Second, and her husband William have become joint rulers of England.”

  “What has that to do with me?”

  “I am a staunch supporter of his son, James Francis Edward, and as such, I have helped fund the

  rebellion rising against Mary and William. It’s the whole reason I came to this damned, forsaken jungle

  island. The money from the plantation funds the rebellion, but conceals my real purpose, smuggling in

  weapons and ammunition to the rebellion leaders.” The drumming stopped and he inclined his head. “The

  lieutenant knows of my secret affairs and now I’m in a quandary. He’s promised to keep silent if I give

  him what he wants.”

  An alarm went off in her head and she stepped away from the bed, right
into the waiting arms

  behind her. They closed over her and she screamed. She turned at the deep chuckle at her ear. A pair of

  close-set, hazel eyes and a large, hawk-like nose greeted her. Angel sucked in a breath and her heart

  thudded inside her chest. With a fierce growl, Angel bit down on the offending snout until she tasted

  blood. The assassin’s howl rent the bedchamber. The man released her and she jabbed an elbow into his

  ribs, doubling him over.

  She swung her foot in an arc and connected with his head. The man fell to the floor unconscious,

  and her grandfather moved as if to get out of the bed. With a simple move, she flung the dagger. It landed

  in the headboard next to his head and vibrated from the impact. His eyes widened to saucers, and he fell

  back against the headboard, clutching his chest.

  “You will find I am not as easy to deceive as my mother was. I already knew what a spiteful, old

  man you were before my arrival.”

  Angel didn’t wait to see what he did next. She fled out the door and down the hall to the darkened

  stairs. Her heart pounded against her ribs and her moist palms gripped the railing behind her. Nothing

  inside the house moved as she descended the stairs. Not even the shadows.

  She reached the last step and paused to peer around the room. Sweat beaded across her brow and

  trickled down her temple. Her breath quickened. The left side of the stairwell was lit and to the right,

  darkness enshrouded the house. Angel blended in to the shadows and made her way to the back of the

  house. If there were any other attackers, they would expect her to exit out the front door.

  The room enclosed into a hallway and after several turns, Angel began to panic. Why had she left?

  Even Blac had told her something was wrong but she hadn’t listened to him. Oh Blac, I need you.

  Once again, her impulsiveness had landed her in a heap of trouble. Once again, she’d refused to

  trust those who knew better, and this was the result. When would she learn not to think with her heart and

  instead listen to what her instincts told her?

  Entering the library, she found a door leading to the terrace. She gripped the brass knob and eased it

  open. Soundlessly, she crossed the stone veranda and leapt over the rail, running toward the stable.

  The sliver of moon hung by a thread in the sky and aided her escape. Moonlight inched through the

  canopy of trees overhead and provided ample shadows to move through.

  She didn’t sense anyone in the darkened stables. Carefully, she entered through the rear. She

  removed the bridle from the peg and a blanket off the stall. The saddle sat against the wall on the floor.

  She moved past it to the first stall. A brown, little mare eyed her in the front stall and she opened the

  door. She stroked the mare’s muzzle and whispered softly to her. Slipping the bridle on, she led the horse

  out.

  After sliding the blanket on, she worked quickly to fasten the trappings on the saddle. Minutes later,

  she emerged from the stable at a full-out gallop. Now she just needed to find her way to the docks and

  locate Blac’s ship. The problem with that was she had no clue which way to go.

  ~*~

  Blac paced the floor in his cabin and went over the day’s events in his head. He sipped the brandy

  in his glass, stopped, and twirled the liquid.

  He leaned on the desk beside the book Angel had flung at his head the other day. Memories

  assaulted him. He shouldn’t have let her go. He shouldn’t have brought her here. She’s fine . Her

  grandfather will look after her. Then why did sudden doubts creep in?

  Something gnawed at him. He couldn’t put his finger on it, and it drove him to distraction. Forcing

  himself to go about his day, making plans to depart on the morrow had been impossible. He’d ordered

  Rigo to ready the ship hours ago. So why worry now?

  “Why don’t you just go get her, Captain?”

  He looked up. Rigo stood in the doorway, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe.

  Blac shook his head. “She’ll be all right.”

  “Then why are you worried about her?”

  Rigo’s knowing, dark eyes studied him from under the dark wings of his brows. Though only a few

  years younger, Rigo was wise beyond his years. Blac had searched his entire life to find his nook in the

  world, whereas his quartermaster had just sort of been handed his lot in life. Blac didn’t know Rigo’s

  beginnings, but he sensed life had never been easy for the Spaniard.

  After running into Rigo in Jamaica, Blac had sensed he might be a runaway slave. He’d hired him

  aboard his ship over a decade ago and never regretted the decision.

  “I’m not worried.” He set the snifter glass on the table and rounded the corner. “I’m simply trying to

  sort my thoughts.”

  Rigo chuckled. “Try telling that to someone who doesn’t know you, Blac.” He moved into the room

  and took a seat in the straight-backed chair. “Now what’s on your mind?”

  Blac shook his head again. “Nothing. I don’t know. Something isn’t right. A feeling...I can’t put my

  finger on it.” He strode across the room, picked up the brandy and refilled his glass. Blac lifted the bottle.

  “How about a round?”

  “Sure.” Rigo crossed his legs at the ankle and leaned back in the chair. “You think something’s

  wrong then?”

  Blac poured the amber liquid into the glass and leaned over to hand it to his quartermaster. “I don’t

  know exactly. I only know that she’s still my responsibility, Rigo, and I’ve no control over what happens

  to her while she’s not in my presence.”

  “And that bothers you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Blac shook his head, his brows furrowed. “Someone shot at her, and we never did find the culprit.

  What if—”

  “Then do something about it. Go get the chit. But make a decision. Take her with you, or let her stay

  here.”

  Blac whirled around to face him. “I’ve made my decision.” His tone was harsh enough to surprise

  even himself. “She’s gone. There’s nothing I can do about it now.”

  Without another thought, he set the drink down and headed for the door. “But you’re right I have to

  go over there, if only to say goodbye.”

  Hours later, his horse lathered from the punishing ride, Blac arrived at the Aubrey Manor. All the

  windows were dark and a prickling sensation crawled up his neck. Something terrible had happened.

  Blac left the horse out front and didn’t bother knocking. The door swung open too easily and after

  he called out, no one answered. He moved through the entry and up the stairs. Every room in the house lay

  in shadows, save for the two rooms at the end of the hall. Blac paused outside the first room. The door

  stood ajar. He pushed it open. The dresser drawers were opened, its contents spilled across the surface.

  The bed coverlet had been pulled half off and the ottoman was toppled over.

  Blood spatters dotted the mirror behind the dresser and the wall. And across the floor at the foot of

  the bed was a dead body. Blac moved forward. A letter opener protruded from the man’s neck and blood

  pooled under him.

  Blac shot to his feet and strode down the hall, slamming open the door. Nigel, Angel’s grandfather,

  sat upright in bed, his head tilted at an odd angle. He was dead, Blac could already tell, for his chest

  didn’t move.

  He�
�d turned on his heel but a crash brought him back around. A dark, cloaked figure exited the room

  through the opened window. Blac raced after the figure and peered down. The man scrambled down the

  trellis to the ground. Blac swung one leg over the frame and ducked out the window. Climbing down, he

  made it half-way. But the man was already on the ground.

  If the bastard thought he would get away so easily, he was mistaken. Blac leapt the rest of the way,

  landed on his feet, and rolled. Agilely, he gained his footing and ran. They cornered the house, the man

  headed for the side yard.

  Blac increased his stride and within seconds caught up. He reached out but couldn’t quite catch him,

  so Blac dove. His arms wrapped around the figure and they crashed to the ground.

  A bone-jarring crunch had Blac wincing just before the man’s elbow cracked into his chin. The

  figure scrambled to his feet, but Blac’s hand shot out and seized an ankle. With a quick yank, the assassin

  toppled back to the ground. Blac scrambled over him and a blow to the face disoriented the assailant

  enough he ceased to struggle. “Where is she?”

  The desperate eyes sought escape. Another jab to the already bloody nose brought forth a howl.

  “Where is the girl?”

  “I d-don’t know. I passed out cold, so she got away!”

  “Good.” Blac pinioned the man with his legs and bashed his head against the ground until the man

  was out cold. “Too bad you won’t.”

  He trussed him up inside the house by the front door, hoping someone would find him. Now he

  needed to find Angel. So where would she go? The only answer he could come up with was back to the

  ship.

  He didn’t make it back to the docks until the sun’s early rays fingered across the horizon in soft

  pastels. Pinks, yellows, and blues chased the navy blue of night away. Blac raced up the gangplank and

  shouted to get everyone up. He relayed the night’s events to his crew and had everyone search the ship

  and the surrounding docks. “Until she’s found,” he demanded.

  The door to his cabin crashed open and the morning light filtered in through the gallery windows

  spilling across the floor. And then he saw her, crouched beside the bunk bed, shivering.

  Blac didn’t hesitate. He gathered her into his arms and she burst into tears on his shoulder. He