Tom as her friend, no more. “I was hoping to convince Captain Perkins to carry me there.”
“Ye would have the old man set his course for Newport jus’ because ye asked him nice? Jus’ like that?”
“I’m not so great a fool that I’d believe he’d do it from kindness alone,” said Jerusa dryly. “Of course he’ll be paid for his trouble.”
Lovell looked at her shrewdly. “Have ye the blunt on ye then, missy?”
“I told you before, Mr. Lovell. I may need your captain’s assistance, but I’m not a fool.” Though she smiled sweetly, her voice crackled with irritation. “If you know my father, then you know he could buy this pitiful excuse for a deep-water vessel outright with the coins he jingles in his waistcoat pockets. Captain Perkins need have no fear on that account.”
“Sharp little piece, aren’t ye, for all that ye pretend to be such a fine lady. Ye musta got that from yer pa, too, that ye did.” He winked broadly, then emptied the bottle and tossed it carelessly over the side. “But consider it done. Ye have my word as the first officer of the Hannah Barlow that we’ll clear fer Newport with the next tide.”
It was now her turn to be skeptical. “And what captain lets his mate decide his next port? Thank you, Mr. Lovell, but I do believe I shall wait to speak with Captain Perkins himself.”
He made her a sweeping caricature of a bow. “Then come below to take yer ease in the old man’s cabin, missy,” he said with another sly wink. “Ye wouldn’t be wantin’ that wicked Frenchy to spy ye on the deck, would ye now? I’ll fetch another bottle so’s we two can pass the time proper between us, all companionable.”
How great a fool did the man truly believe she was? She’d take her chances with a Frenchman like Michel any day before she’d go below for any reason with this rascally Englishman.
“Thank you, no, Mr. Lovell,” she said more politely than his invitation deserved. “I believe I shall wait right here instead for Captain Perkins’s return.”
Lovell scowled and swore and scratched his belly. “Well, then, what if we go ashore together to sniff out the old bastard and fetch him back to the Hannah Barlow? Or is ye too genteel to be seen steppin’ out with the likes of John Lovell?”
Jerusa listened warily, wondering how far, if at all, she could trust him. The sun had nearly set over the green Connecticut hills, but by the lanterns hung outside the waterfront taverns, she could see that nightfall hadn’t diminished their business at all. Raucous laughter from both men and women drifted out toward the water, mingled with the giddy sound of a hurdy-gurdy. With all those people for company, how much grief could Lovell cause her? And if they really could find Captain Perkins, she would be that much closer to returning to Newport.
A little breeze rose up from the water, and absently she pushed a loose lock of hair back from her face. In the fading light she could just make out the spire of the meetinghouse that stood near to the right of Mrs. Cartwright’s public house. She wondered if Michel was there now, and what he’d thought when he’d discovered her gone. Wistfully she realized that she’d probably never see him again. Would he miss her even a tiny bit, or would he only regret the satisfaction she’d stolen from him?
“Lord, how long can it take ye to know yer mind?” demanded Lovell crossly. “All I’m askin’ ye to do is walk along this wharf until we reach that tavern at the end of the lane. Ye shall find the old man sittin’ as near to the fire as he can without tumblin’ into it, pouring the Geneva spirits and limes down his throat as fast as the wench brings it.”
“Very well, Mr. Lovell,” she said before she changed her mind. “We’ll search for Captain Perkins. Perhaps we’ll be lucky enough to find him before he’s—what did you call it?— ‘so bloody guzzled.’”
“Aye, aye, missy,” agreed Lovell as he knuckled his forehead. “Mayhaps we will.”
But as Jerusa followed him off the schooner and along the wharf, she found her uneasiness growing. He said nothing, nor did he try to take her arm like the other man had, but that in itself made her worry. He’d been interested enough earlier. His wiry frame was larger than she’d first thought, and now that he was ashore, all his initial unsteadiness from the rum seemed to vanish, making him menacing enough for other men to move from his path.
She stopped and peered into the open door of the tavern where he’d told her Perkins would be drinking. From where she stood she couldn’t see any older men near the fireplace, but perhaps if—
“Quit yer gawkin’,” growled Lovell. “Ye said ye would follow me, mind?”
“You told me Captain Perkins would be in here, and I—”
“Quit yammerin’ and mind me!” He grabbed her wrist and yanked her along after him, around the corner into a murky alleyway. “There’s another way to enter that the old man favors.”
He jerked her wrist so hard that she yelped and stumbled. After the lantern’s light, the darkness here swallowed everything around her. But Lovell was still here: she could hear his breathing, rapid and hoarse, smell the fetid stench of cheap rum and onions and unwashed clothes, feel the pain from the way his nails dug into the soft skin of her wrist.
Why, why had she trusted him? Why hadn’t she listened to her instincts and left him when she had the chance?
With a terrified sob she tore her wrist free and stumbled again, pitching forward. As she fell she felt his hands tighten on either side of her waist, dragging her back to her feet, only to slam her hard against the wall behind her, trapping her there with the weight of his body.
“Not so proud now, are ye?” he demanded. “Every bitch looks the same in the dark, even bloody Sparhawks.”
Frantically she tried to shrink away from his body, but he followed relentlessly until she could barely breathe. The bricks were rough against her back, snagging at her clothes and skin.
“Too good fer me, ye thought,” said Lovell furiously, grinding his hips against hers as he dragged her skirts up around her legs. “Ye gave yerself to that Frenchy, but still ye was too good fer me. But ye shall make it up to me now, won’t ye? First ye give me yer money, ye little trollop, then yer body, and then, ye high-nosed little bitch, yer precious little life.”
She squeezed her eyes closed, fighting to shut out the terror of what was happening to her. Yet still she felt the cold edge of the knife as he pressed the blade against her throat, and with awful, sickening clarity she knew she was going to die.
Chapter Twelve
Instinct drew Michel to the alley behind the tavern. Instinct, and what he’d overheard from the indignant whore out front about a girl in a green gown dipping into her trade with the sailors.
As it was, he was nearly too late. Back in the shadows, her face was hidden behind the seaman’s back, but at once Michel recognized her legs, forced apart on either side against the wall beneath her upturned skirts, legs that were pale and long and kicking as she fought for her virtue and her life. He would have recognized her legs anywhere; he had, after all, seen them that first night in her parents’ garden long before he’d seen her face.
His
