Surrender of a Siren (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #2)(106)

—I’d bet a hundred sovereigns to one, Sophia will be there waiting for you.”

“Sophia?” Gray blinked. “Her name is Sophia?”

Joss chuckled. “I was right. You didn’t know.”

“But—” Gray scratched the back of his neck. “But how did you? Since when have you known her name?”

Joss shrugged, his expression composed. “Since sometime yesterday.”

He laughed at Gray’s befuddled silence. “When you dropped your trousers to take a piss. It’s painted on your arse.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“The Aphrodite hailed us, so we approached. Backed our sail, prepared to speak. Bastards had us right where they wanted us. Before my officer even called out our port of origin, he”—Mallory jabbed a finger at Gray across the courtroom—“was blowing our mainmast away. You’ve only got to look at my ship to find proof enough of that.”

Judge Fitzhugh nodded gravely. “Continue.”

Gray’s teeth ground like millstones. At this rate, they wouldn’t need a hanging. The effort required to hold his tongue in the face of these scurrilous falsehoods—it was likely to kill him.

But he had to remain composed. Argument served no purpose now. Whether he dangled at the end of a rope or imploded from sheer irritation, the result would be the same. It all ended here. Here in this stifling chamber with its weathered paneling and scent of decay. In this very room he’d been awarded scores of prizes, stolen his entire fortune from the unfortunate merchants who chanced to cross the Aphrodite’s course. He’d bartered his soul in this court. There was a strange justice to it, that his life should be traded here, too.

“Well, he boarded the Kestrel,” Mallory continued, sneering at Gray. Beneath the table, Gray’s hand balled into a fist. “Him and his men. He had me bound in ropes, took command of the ship, and raided my cargo.”

Fitzhugh cocked an eyebrow. “And all this with no provocation.”

“None whatsover.”

Gray tightened his fist until his knuckles cracked. Behind him, the crewmen of the Aphrodite and Kestrel grumbled loudly in protest. With a sharp look over his shoulder, he quelled the dissent.

Next to him, Joss nudged Mr. Wilson. “Lying bastard. Ask him about the storm,” he whispered. “The fire. The rum.”

“Don’t.” Gray cleared his throat. “He’ll only spin more lies. And this court isn’t interested in the truth. No more than it was when we brought in ships we’d seized. Judges in this court care only for the prize.”

“But there’s no prize at stake here,” Joss argued.

“Oh, there is. It’s just not a ship.”

The judge finished his questioning of Mallory, then turned to Gray. “Mr. Grayson, please stand.”

“Joss,” Gray murmured. “I shouldn’t have forced you into taking the Aphrodite. It’s my fault you’re here, and I’m going to fix it. Take the money, do what ever makes you happy. Sell the ships, plant sugarcane—”

“What are you on about?” Joss whispered. “Don’t do something stupid, Gray.”

“Mr. Grayson,” Fitzhugh called out, impatient. “You will stand.”

Gray whispered to his brother, “I’m not doing anything stupid. For once, I’m doing something right.” He pushed back his chair and stood, bringing himself to eye level with the judge seated at the elevated bench. Fitzhugh couldn’t have been much older than Joss. Sallow, thin, and sweating profusely from under his wig, he appeared ill-adjusted to the tropical climate. He had the look of a boy in a man’s attire—a boy who’d been on the losing end of many a schoolboy brawl. Presumably in an attempt to appear older, or perhaps wiser, he affected an overly stern mien that belonged to a caricature. But it was the look in Fitzhugh’s eyes that amused Gray. Anticipation, laced with awe. No doubt the judge had heard tales about him; Gray’s privateering success had been a matter of local pride.

Gray didn’t expect the measure of reverence in Fitzhugh’s gaze would work to his advantage, however. Rather, he suspected it would make the judge all the more eager to see Gray brought low. He was the seafaring equivalent of the school bully, and this was Fitzhugh’s chance to finally beat one down.

Just to provoke him further, Gray spoke first. “This is an informal hearing, I understand. This court has no power to convict on charges of piracy.”

Fitzhugh’s eyes narrowed within their round wire frames. “Not alone, Mr. Grayson. It does, in concert with the governor.”

“Who would be most displeased to be summoned from Antigua without sufficient cause.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Fitzhugh replied, “That is the purpose of this hearing today, Mr. Grayson. To establish sufficient cause.” The judge scowled at him, and Gray nearly laughed. For all his facial acrobatics, Fitzhugh had already ceded control of their conversation. The courtroom was Gray’s to command.

He relaxed his posture and allowed himself a grin. “You look familiar to me, Mr. Fitzhugh. I believe we must have met at Oxford?”

The judge harrumphed. “I sincerely doubt it.”

“Ah. Not an Oxford man, then. Cambridge?”

“Edinburgh.”

“Oh. Edinburgh. I suppose now the war’s over, the Admiralty’s relaxing its standards?” Gray studied him. “Still, your face is so familiar to me. Did we meet in Town? At White’s, perhaps.”