The Devil's Necklace. Kat Martin

her mother had hidden the letters away, three months ago the truth had finally come out. Her real father had cared about her, sent money for her education. He had wanted to raise her as his own. Though he was never part of her life, he hadn’t forgotten her.

      How could she turn her back on him?

      Captain Sharpe asked questions as well, though he usually went out of his way not to broach too volatile a subject. “Do your parents live in London?”

      “Yes. My father’s a physician. We don’t really get on very well.”

      “Why not?”

      Because I’m not really his daughter and he hates me for it. “He doesn’t approve of me. He thinks I’m too outspoken.” Among other things.

      “You are outspoken. More than any woman I’ve ever met.”

      Her cheeks went warm. “It’s a bad quality, I suppose.”

      “Not necessarily.” He lifted her chin with his fingers. “I’m beginning to find I like a woman unafraid to speak her mind.”

      She looked into his eyes, wondering if what he said was the truth, or if he was merely trying to win her confidence in order to gain information.

      “You rarely mince words yourself,” she said, and he smiled. He seemed to be doing that a little more often, she thought, wondering at the cause.

      “I don’t suppose I do.”

      It wasn’t until the following afternoon that he brought up the subject of the prison escape. “We both know you’re guilty. You’ve admitted as much. If you would tell the authorities where to find Jeffries, they would be far more lenient in dealing with you.”

      She arched an eyebrow in his direction. It was the question she had expected him to ask long ago. “Is that the reason you let me come up on deck, the reason you’ve been so agreeable lately? Because you want me to tell you where the viscount is hiding?”

      He glanced away. “Part of the reason, perhaps.”

      “At least you are honest.”

      “Do you know where he is? If you do, for your own sake, you would be better off to divulge the information.”

      “I don’t know where he is. Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. The truth is I haven’t the slightest clue.”

      He eyed her as if trying to decide whether or not to believe her. Then his expression subtly changed. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you? You have no idea where Jeffries is hiding.”

      “I never spoke to him after he was arrested. He has probably left the country. That is what I would do. Why is finding him so important to you? You believe he is a traitor. I can understand why the government would want to find him, but this seems personal in some way. What did the viscount do to you?”

      His jaw clenched so hard she almost wished she hadn’t asked. He took a steadying breath and released it slowly. “I had a ship before this one. Sea Witch. We were on a mission for the War Office. Jeffries had access to information that revealed exactly where the ship was headed. He sold that information to the French.”

      “You don’t know that for certain!” She was shocked at the accusation.

      “He was the only man who knew, the only one who could have betrayed us. Sea Witch was captured and sunk, my men killed or died in prison. Only one of them escaped.”

      “Long-boned Ned—and you.”

      “That’s right. The French kept me alive. They thought prison would be worse than dying and they were right. Fortunately, I had friends, people who refused to give up until I was free and they could bring me home. The rest of my men weren’t so lucky.”

      She didn’t say more. She could see the anger seething beneath his surface calm, read the fury in the ice-blue of his eyes. “You must be mistaken about the viscount. I’m sorry about your crew but—”

      He turned on her, halting her words with a frozen glare. “Are you? If you are truly sorry, you will tell me how to find Harmon Jeffries.”

      “I told you, I have no idea where he is.”

      He took her arm, none too gently. “Come, it’s time to go in. Believe it or not, I have work to do, matters more important than entertaining my guest.”

      She ignored the sarcasm dripping from his voice. He was angry that she wouldn’t help him. What little she knew of the viscount would probably be useless, even if she told him. Which she would not. Harmon Jeffries was her father. She had decided to aid him and she wouldn’t alter that decision.

      Nothing could change what she had done or the captain’s contempt for her.

      In a way she couldn’t blame him.

      Six

      A storm blew in. Great waves washed over the bow. The ship pitched and rolled, dropped into huge troughs and climbed up the opposite side. Sheets of water pummeled the decks and washed into the scuppers. The sky was so dark, day and night seemed to meld into one.

      For three long days, the storm raged, tossing the schooner about like a bit of flotsam and forcing Grace to remain in the cabin. Mal de mer had threatened several times, but so far the crackers and beef broth Freddie brought her had kept the illness at bay.

      Dear God, she needed to exercise her limbs and breathe in some clean sea air!

      When a slight break came in the weather, Grace paced the room impatiently, waiting for Captain Sharpe or Angus McShane to come for her, but the hours slipped past and no one appeared. Disgruntled and sick unto death of being confined, she lifted her cloak off the brass hook next to the door and swept it round her shoulders. Surely she could find one of the two men and ask for his escort.

      Though the wind had lessened, Grace discovered an icy breeze still blew across the deck as she climbed the ladder leading up from below and poked her head through the hatch into the open air. The decks themselves were slippery and wet. She had tied her hair back with the scrap of lace, but the stiff breeze whipped long tendrils around her face.

      She stopped the brawny second mate, a man named Willard Cox. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Cox. Have you seen Mr. McShane?”

      “Aye, miss. He’s workin’ below.” His gaze skimmed over her in a way that was slightly too familiar. Except for the scar on his cheek, he wasn’t bad-looking. She thought that he saw himself as a bit of a lady’s man, which she found faintly amusing. “You shouldn’t be up here, miss. You’d best go back to your cabin.”

      Her chin edged up. Who was he to be giving her orders? “Perhaps you have seen Captain Sharpe.”

      “He’s just there, miss, comin’ up the ladder from the hold.”

      She spotted him walking toward her, bearing down on her with a scowl on his face and his jaw clamped tight. At his angry expression, she took an unconscious step backward.

      “Damnation!” he shouted as he approached, and she stepped back again. At the same instant, the ship dipped into a trough, and Grace struggled for balance. Her slipper caught on a coil of rope, and her foot went out from beneath her. She flailed her arms and tipped sideways as a great wave washed over the deck, the water scooping her up and sweeping her away.

      “Grace!” she heard the captain shout. Then the massive wave carried her over the side of the ship into the sea.

      Grace screamed as she hit the freezing water and plunged beneath the surface. Her nose filled with brine, which started to burn her lungs, and it was all she could do not to open her mouth and gasp in a lungful of air. Instead, she held her breath and fought for the surface, but her hair had come unbound and long strands wrapped around her face. The gray skirt seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, and no matter how hard she swam, the surface grew farther away.

      She was going to drown, she realized,