The Pirate's Duty (Regent's Revenge #3)(68)

Riddled with disgust, he glanced at Oriana, examining the faraway look in her eyes, swearing never to abandon her. The past couldn’t be changed, but he sure as hell could make sure Oriana never suffered another moment under her brother’s devious control.

“Where did they bury her?” Ice spread through his veins at the audible bitterness he detected in his own tone. “Talland?”

The blood drained from her face as she shook her head. “Charles said old churchyards were haunted and that Eliza would never find peace there. He buried her in a field, in an unmarked grave so piskies could dance over her head.” She exhaled a disillusioned sigh. “I planted sweet Williams and lilacs there, just the same, and visit often.”

“I’m sure Eliza appreciates not being forgotten.” He closed the box and handed it back to Oriana.

She put the ribbon back around her neck and tucked the keys inside her bodice for safekeeping. “I will never forget her.”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Walsingham tensed, instantly moving Oriana behind him in an effort to protect her. “Are you expecting anyone?”

She blinked. “It might be a customer impatient to get in.”

“We should get out of here before we’re discovered.” Ducking his head to avoid a hanging slab of meat, he handed her the lantern. “Wait here.”

“No,” she said, hurrying to catch up to him. “Stay where ye are. Ye mustn’t be found here. I’ll go first, and then I’ll let ye know when it’s safe to come out.”

“I don’t like this.” He cupped the side of her face. “I should be the one protecting you.”

She grabbed the back of John’s neck and stood up on her tiptoes to reach him. “If my brother killed ye, I wouldn’t survive it.” She pulled him down until their lips met and kissed him fiercely, demandingly, almost as if . . .

No, she couldn’t be saying goodbye!

“Oriana,” he whispered as his hand fell beside him and she skittered away. He watched her go, determination fueling her movements like an avenging angel. Taking off after her, he’d be damned if he’d allow her to face whomever it was alone.

Walsingham stopped at the sound of metal bars rattling, then launched into motion as recognition dawned. No one was banging on the entrance to the cellar from within the kitchen. Someone sought admittance via the tunnels!

And damn me to hell, if it’s Carnage . . .

“Saints be praised, it’s ye,” he overheard Oriana say, excitement filling her voice.

Iron grated loudly, echoing about his head, as the grated door leading to the tunnels squealed on its hinge.

He hustled out of the storage room, not caring who saw him. “Don’t unlock the door!”

But it was too late. She’d already invited the intruder in. And not just one, but several lethal-looking men who stood farther back in the tunnel behind a man dressed in black.

“The Black Regent has come back, John!” she exclaimed, widening the door. “It’s been a long time since you’ve been here. I’d begun to lose hope.”

The dark-haired man dressed in black froze. “No need to worry your pretty little head. I am here now, Miss Thorpe.”

Impostor!

The skin prickled along Walsingham’s spine as he surveyed his deadly rival. The man’s physique—average height and bulk—made it hard to decipher the differences between the real Regent and his imitator at sea, but not up close. The disguise wasn’t complex, but it was obvious the man he looked at wasn’t Carnage because Oriana would have recognized him. But who was the fraud and why had Carnage chosen him to play the part of her valiant savior?

Slightly disappointed that greater care had not been given to the mask Blackmoor had tailored to fit around the real Regent’s eyes, Walsingham forced a smile. If either he or Oriana made the wrong move, showed they suspected the Regent was an impostor, or revealed the whereabouts of the gold, they would be killed.



The Regent had returned, armed with pistol and sword, and perhaps now all her worries would be put to rest! He’d been successful at repelling Charles once. Was it too much to hope for that the pirate would best her brother yet again?

Oriana moved forward to welcome the man when John caught her wrist and held her back. “Give the Regent room,” he said.

The Regent’s eyes, a brilliant blue sky peeking out of a black-banded mask, landed on Walsingham and then hardened perceptibly. “And who are you?”

Warmth flooded Oriana. There were so many words to describe John: dependable, considerate, handsome, haunted. But all she said was, “John Hunt is a fisherman stayin’ at the inn.”

“He’s with you, then?” The Regent’s hawklike stare took on a hostility she couldn’t quite understand as he looked at John.

“Aye.” A cold knot twisted in her stomach. “He is.”

“Carnage is headed this way. We haven’t much time.” Looking over his shoulder, the Regent passed along an order that sent his men retreating down the tunnel. “If you want to stay alive, you must come with me, Miss Thorpe. It isn’t safe to be here anymore.”

She nearly laughed. When had the Roost ever been safe? Undaunted by the Regent’s slip of the tongue, Oriana put her hands on her hips. “This is my home. No one can make me leave unless I want to.”