The Pirate's Duty (Regent's Revenge #3)(4)

Blackmoor had first enlisted the Seatons when he’d turned pirate, requesting their aid to restore the fortunes of mineral lords associated with the duke’s father. The Earl of Pendrim, patriarch of the Seatons, has letters of marque, an invaluable commodity that had kept him and his sons out of Bodmin Gaol. Walsingham, on the other hand, had been promised the use of their fleet should the need arise. It had. And now he’d called in favors. Together, they’d constructed a plan to lure Carnage back to the Marauder’s Roost once and for all.

“A French ship built to look like ours?” Pye asked, brow furrowing.

Walsingham nodded. “No good can come of it.” He stopped in front of the stern windows and swirled the rest of the brandy in his glass. “Carnage is attacking English ships in our name.”

“Nay!” Pye choked. “’E ’spects to frame us, then smuggle his gold to Boney? God’s teeth, Cap’n! What do ye suppose the Frenchies ’spect in return?”

Carnage’s diabolical scheme to work with Napoleon and blame the Regent for killing innocent Englishmen assured Walsingham and his crew would hang for the fictitious crimes unless proved innocent.

“Think on it, Pye. What’s in France’s best interest? A ship in exchange for funds to continue aggression against England offers them the most personal gain. It’s a perfect plan. The French are hard strapped to make alliances and do not give away their beloved ships without reason. Few trained commanders remain in their ranks to combat English ships after the revolution stripped their navy clean.”

French allies assured Walsingham that Carnage intended to engage the Royal Navy, enlist their wrath, and turn King George’s ships against the Black Regent before returning to the Roost to destroy the tranquil bay. The tyrant’s villainy surely wouldn’t stop there unless someone stopped him first.

“Mark my words,” Walsingham said. “Carnage has hidden something of value in the Marauder’s Roost. I suspect it’s to be the very payment the French expect for their ship. And we’re going to hide in plain sight, protect Miss Thorpe, and wait for him to come and get it.”

“Makes me blood boil thinkin’ another ship could be out there posin’ as us, killin’ without prejudice.”

“We’ll put an end to Carnage. It’s only a matter of time. But we have to live long enough to do it.”

Pye nodded. “Whatever yer orders, sir, the crew be ready for a fight, down to the last man.”

They better be.

“I will not underestimate Carnage again,” Walsingham said.

“A cornered rat strikes out, but we’ll be ready, sir, and we won’t be by our lonesome.”

“Aye.” The Seatons were a powerful presence along the Cornish coast, thirty years in the making. Long tested by French and Spanish vessels that plied the coast, only one of the Earl of Pendrim’s ships had ever been lost in battle—the Black Belle—and that was only when his own daughter had tried to capture HMS Dragon to deliver her brother’s ransom to the Bay of Biscay.

Six sons bore the Seaton name. The oldest, Garrick, Viscount Seaton, had established a presence near Exeter, west of the River Axe, with his half-Spanish bride. Meanwhile, Keane, the man who’d designed the Fury as well as her sister ships—Priory, Abbot, Creed, Prophet, Allegiant, and Vesper—had offered the Regent and his ship refuge among the Seatons’ fleet in Abbydon Cove, Talland Bay.

Knock. Knock.

“Come in,” Walsingham said, lured from thoughts that reassured him he was making the right decisions.

The door swung open, revealing his quartermaster, Jarvis.

“What is it, Jarvis?”

Jarvis dug his thumbs into the waist of his trousers. “Lord Seaton has arrived.”

“Which one?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“The elusive one, sir—James.”

Walsingham waved a hand dismissively as he turned from the windows. “Send him in.”

James Seaton moved through the door, his footsteps making nary a sound.

“I understand you’re looking for me, Captain.” Lithe, dressed in black leather trousers, boots, and a white linen shirt, he resembled the Black Regent in striking ways as he swept out his arm and bowed. “Your humble servant.”

Walsingham bowed his head. The two of them were sons of lords with no titles to call their own but merely the ones they earned by the sweat of their brows. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, James. Your brother speaks highly of your, shall we say, talents.”

“Ah,” James said. “Keane has a way of embellishing details, especially when it comes to us.”

“Is it not true, then?” he asked.

James furrowed his brows. “Is what not true?” He laughed. “You’ll have to forgive me. My brother makes many claims; I cannot be held to account for them all.”

“Ghastly words, ’eld to account,’” Pye said. “Wouldn’t use ’em aboard.”

“I’m always bored.” James cocked his head, narrowed his eyes, and studied Pye all the way down to his peg. “No pun intended.”

“Board!” Pye looked down and then burst out laughing. “Aboard. Bored. Me peg!”

“Now that you two have bonded . . .” Walsingham held in his mirth as he moved to sit down at his desk. “Your brother says you’re searching for excitement and that three of your other brothers are equally thrilled at the prospect of clearing out the competition. I also hear that you are responsible for convincing the earl to align his fleet against Captain Carnage.”