The Pirate's Duty (Regent's Revenge #3)(78)

“N-no.” She let go of Walsingham, recoiling. The loss of her warmth cut through him. “Ye destroyed that ship, Charles, the day Lady Chloe . . .” Her voice trailed off on a rasp of pain. “Captain Walsingham is dead. The Flying Post reported—”

“Don’t listen to him, Oriana,” Walsingham rushed out. “He’s baiting you.”

“Interestin’ choice of words. That’s what ye are to him, Oriana. Bait.” His mouth twisted, and his eyes narrowed cruelly. “Ask yourself this: why would a pilchard fisherman seek revenge on me?”

Footsteps pounded above their heads, and pistol shots erupted. In the distance, there was a rumble of cannon fire.

Oriana moved closer. He felt her presence before she touched his forearm. “What was the name of your ship, John?”

Air whooshed out of his lungs. The moment he’d dreaded had come. He’d used Oriana. He’d lied to her, all in the name of protecting her and ridding the world of a much bigger threat—her brother and the intensifying conflict between France and England that Charles meant to fund.

“Answer me, John,” she said. A suffocating sensation tightened around his throat at the defeated tone in her voice.

He stared at Carnage. “The Windraker.”

“The Windraker?” Her voice broke. “That means—”

“He’s Captain Pierce Walsingham of the Windraker,” Carnage interrupted. “The Flying Post’s celebrated hero. Aye. And he’s not only been lyin’ to ye, he’s been spyin’ on ye. Usin’ ye to get to me.” Carnage waited long enough for that information to sink in before continuing. “And who better to portray Robin Hood than a dead man, eh? No one would ever suspect Walsingham of being the Regent.”

Confusion seeped into Oriana’s voice once more. “But the Regent has been sailin’ Cornwall for nigh on three years, Charles. If John is Captain Walsingham as ye say, he couldn’t have been chasin’ himself.”

Sweat beaded on Charles’s brow. “Aye, he’s the Regent. I don’t know how, but I know ’tis true.”

She swallowed audibly. “If John is the Black Regent, Charles, who’s pretendin’ to be the Regent topside?” Her hand trembled as she pressed Walsingham’s arm, easing his sword down to his side.

“An impostor, like Tom.” Charles’s gaze darted to the companionway. He knew he had no way to escape. A realization like that made a man extremely dangerous.

Walsingham stiffened. There was only one way to defeat Carnage without anything happening to Oriana. But what he planned to do might cause him to lose her forever.

“Your brother is right,” he said. “I am the Black Regent.”

“But . . .” She moved out from behind him and glared up at him. He could almost see the thoughts flashing through Oriana’s mind as she stood there. “You’re Lady Chloe’s brother? Ye were in the tavern that day? Ye left Girard and O’Malley to watch over me?”

“Aye.”

She swung her hand around and slapped him hard across the cheek. He didn’t stop her, welcoming the sting that enabled him to stay in the moment. Her green eyes wide, she flushed angrily, her nostrils flared, and her lower lip quivered. She dropped her gaze to his chest and jabbed him with her finger.

Tears cascaded down her face. Even in her anguish, with her hair in disarray and clothing in tatters, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She shook her head, continuing. “I trusted ye!”

Carnage cackled triumphantly, and his eyes gleamed wickedly as his shoulders relaxed.

Walsingham allowed him this one moment of glory.

“I had eyes and ears, too, Regent. Dobby. Fergus. Watty and his men.” He inhaled deeply, as hell thundered overhead. “We knew Girard and O’Malley were your spies. We knew it was only a matter of time before ye conferred with them.”

Walsingham took a menacing step forward, but Oriana stopped him. “Don’t move.”

“Aye, Sister. Spies,” Carnage repeated. “After my intolerable defeat, I set a new plan into motion, formin’ an alliance with France. The Frenchies gladly outfitted my ship, makin’ a replica of the Fury for me, and all I had to do was attack English ships—a pleasant diversion—and bring them my gold.”

Impressed with his own cunning, he laughed hysterically. “Though it pained me to do it, I left witnesses to share my—or I should say, the Regent’s—work. It was the quickest way to get the Royal Tars off my back.” Carnage licked his fingers and dragged them down the length of his sword, baptizing the serrated edge for the slaughter to come. “Answer me this, Sister. Who is the better fisher of men, eh?”

Oriana raised her gaze to search Walsingham’s eyes. Hers darkened mercilessly. Had she been pushed too far over the edge? Was she forever out of his reach?

“No more lies. No more half-truths,” he said. The timing was wrong—or right, depending on the point of view—but at last, there would be no more secrets between them. “What I told you about my parents wasn’t a lie. They think I’m dead, Oriana. Only a few people, including my sister, Chloe, know the truth.”

“Lady Chloe is your sister,” she reaffirmed, her features softening.

“Aye. She asked me to protect you. So I sent Girard and O’Malley to you until I could make my presence known. I do not break my promises, Oriana, especially the ones made to a most beloved sister.”