The Pirate's Duty (Regent's Revenge #3)(74)

He slapped her again. This time, landing a blow to her mouth.

Her knees buckled. She collapsed, gagging, vaguely aware that somewhere above her, men scuffled and shouted on the quarterdeck. What was happening to John? Had he escaped?

“Tie him up!” they cried as she struggled to rise unsteadily to her feet.

She faced Charles again, wiping away the blood dripping from her torn lower lip, attempting to distract him from the ruckus above. “Father would be very proud.”

Charles’s eyes widened. His face reddened, and he howled loudly. “I should have killed ye months ago!” He reached into his jacket and produced a rag to clean the blood from his hand, the evidence of his brutality, one knuckle at a time. Oriana raised her gaze to the deck, hoping to catch sight of John, to discover that he was free.

“Ye betrayed me,” Charles said, drawing her attention back to the ugly scar that ran from his temple to his chin. The revenue man’s lasting mark was a sinister reminder that Charles had nothing to lose and everything to gain by killing her.

“Ye earned it.” Her face stung and her broken lip thickened, blood engorging the tender flesh. If only the mutilation of Charles’s once-handsome face had persuaded him to turn his back on free trade. “Why have ye brought me here?”

“Ye know why,” he said, tossing the stained fabric aside.

“To kill your own flesh and blood?” But not before making her tell him where she’d hidden the gold. He would be sorely disappointed.

A pirate stepped forward, carrying Eliza’s leather-bound box. He handed it to Charles, and her heart skipped a beat. What would he do when he discovered nothing he treasured was inside?

She struggled to stand, intent on distracting Charles long enough for John to escape. Anger clawed at her insides, shredding the last vestiges of love she held in her heart for Charles as he struggled with the lock.

“There’s your precious Eliza.” Attacking his guilt would definitely rouse his interest. “Those trinkets are all that’s left of her . . . and your murdered child.”

“Spawn of the devil!” He turned and backhanded her again.

“Sired . . . by the same father,” she said. She spat out blood, feeling her tongue go numb. She glared at him through hooded eyes. “But I am my mother’s daughter.”

At the mere mention of their mother, Charles scowled. Shadows played over his face in the lantern light. “And like her, ye will die young.”

A man cleared his throat loudly, and his interference put Charles into a rage. “A pox on ye! What is it, Tom?”

“Tom?” Filled with resentment and humiliation because she hadn’t recognized that the fake Regent was the man who’d helped kill Mr. Owens those months before, Oriana cried out in disbelief. “Tom Digby?”

Tom bowed his head, shifting his eyes across the deck. “Begging your pardon, sir. While kidnapping your sister, I stumbled on some information that might please you.”

“When I need yer opinion, I’ll ask for it.” Charles jerked the lock on his treasure chest, a tired sadness passing over his features. Easily dismissing Tom, her brother transferred his attention to Oriana. “Where’s the key?”

She braced her hands before her and offered him a fake smile. “Where you’ll never find it.”

He snarled. “Why ye—”

“Sir, we’re surrounded!” a topman shouted from the canvas snapping above them.

Oriana’s knees nearly buckled again—this time in relief—but to her horror, Charles wrapped his fingers around the pearl-handled pistol at his belt and shot the man out of the rigging.

“Anyone else?” he asked, waving the gun about his head. “Any. One. Else?”

Men ducked and darted across the deck.

Charles turned to Oriana, dragging her close until she was face-to-face with him. “Give me the key.”

She shook her head back and forth, tightening her fists until her nails dug into her palms. “I won’t.”

He glanced down at her throat, squinted, and yanked the ribbon from her neck. “Ye’re a fool. Did ye honestly believe ye could keep the gold from me?” He struck her again.

She fell to the deck, landing on her arm. Pushing through the pain, Oriana reached into her boot and retrieved John’s dagger as Charles fumbled with the lock on the chest. He opened the box, let out a roar, and dumped out the refuse she’d hidden inside.

“Where’s my gold?” His mouth contorted cruelly as he pointed to Tom. “Get her up!”

“Tell him what he wants to know,” Tom said, tugging Oriana to her feet. “If he doesn’t get the gold, the Frenchies will kill him.”

“Good.” She swayed, slightly dizzy, and then righted herself, gripping the dagger, intent on using it on Charles if he came at her again.

Charles cocked another pistol and aimed the barrel at her forehead. “Drop the blade, damn ye!”

“No!” The weapon was her only protection against Charles.

“I curse the day I kept Father from killin’ ye!” Spittle flew out of his mouth as he shook the pistol in front of her face. “Ye took from me the woman I loved.”

“Ye can’t mean that.” Oriana’s blood ran cold, and the sickening realization stunned her. She gripped the knife tighter, not wanting to part with it. “I had nothin’ to do with what ye did!”