Page 15 of Barbarous

“William’s leg was crushed between two large pieces of debris and it was all we could do to keep him afloat. Thankfully, the storm relented sometime before morning and we were able to secure some larger pieces of wreckage and form a raft of sorts. I lashed William to the raft but the loss of blood had rendered him unconscious and created another problem.” He refilled his glass and met her eyes. “Sharks. Although nothing in size to the sharks I later saw off Africa, these beasts were nonetheless anxiety-provoking.

“I cannot say how long we struggled to stay on our barely floating collection of rubbish while I repelled hungry sharks. What I can say is I was overjoyed when I spotted a mast in the distance.” He fixed her with a humorless smile. “My joy quickly turned to something else as the ship drew closer. I’m sure you are aware of the Barbary corsairs?”

Daphne nodded. Who hadn’t heard of the brutal pirates who’d roamed the Mediterranean and raided with impunity for hundreds of years?

Hugh absently stroked the side of his face, his fingers tracing the scar. “Their practice was to ransom anyone of value. Will’s injury would have meant certain death if they’d known he was a mere servant, so we contrived to exchange identities.” He snapped his fingers and the sudden noise made Daphne jump. “In the blink of an eye I became Hugh Standish, humble servant to Baron Ramsay, heir to the ridiculously wealthy Earl of Davenport.”

Not for a second did Daphne believe they had contrived anything. If Will Standish had been unconscious at the time, as Hugh indicated, the decision would have been Hugh’s alone. Something occurred to her and she opened her mouth, but then closed it, not wanting to interrupt his fascinating story.

But he’d seen her and he leaned toward her, his gaze uncomfortably intense. “Yes, my dear? You have a question?”

“It just occurred to me—your title. It is not one of Thomas’s.”

His eyelid lowered and he leaned back, once again relaxed, as if she’d not asked the question he was expecting. “It is a title I inherited through my mother—one of the few that pass through a female when there is no immediate male heir. Unfortunately the name was all that was left of the ancient but impoverished barony. The lands and manor that ran with the title were gone even before my mother’s generation.” He shrugged. “I am the last of her line and the title will die with me. To be honest, I had all but forgotten I was Ramsay until Hastings brought it up today.” His gaze sharpened. “About that—”

“I’m sorry, my lord—for interrupting your story. Please, do go on.”

Amusement glinted in his eye, but he didn’t pursue the subject of Malcolm. “The corsairs released Will with the understanding he would arrange for both our ransoms. It was unusual for them to release a prisoner before they had money in hand, but they knew he would die without proper care and then they would receive nothing.”

He stood and replenished Daphne’s wine goblet. “You are not hungry, Daphne?”

“Your story is much more interesting than food.”

“I am gratified to please you,” he murmured, making the innocent statement sound improper.

“We were not the only captives on the ship. The pirates had collected others as they roamed and raided, and the ship was full to capacity as we headed back to their home port of Oran.” His eye narrowed until there was only a sliver of green. “This particular band of corsairs operated at the pleasure of Sultan Babba Hassan, whose palace was on the outskirts of Oran. They would stop in Oran, pay their tribute to the sultan, and sell whatever slaves they did not want, in the market.” He gave her a wry smile. “I was one of the lucky ones and did not have to undergo the humiliations of the slave market after we disembarked. However, I had managed to attract the captain’s attention by behaving . . . well, unwisely during the journey, and I did so again when we reached shore.” He waved his three-fingered hand as if dismissing a fly. “The ship’s captain, Faisal Barbarossa, gave me into the care of Sultan Babba Hassan, for whom I was expected to labor until such time as the ransom money arrived.”

Daphne was still considering the best way to ask what he’d done to earn the captain’s ire when he continued.

“It does not matter what I did to make the Barbarossa so unhappy. Unfortunately, I also managed to make the sultan unhappy. Babba Hassan only spoke directly to me one time, some months later—after my uncle’s agent had come to Oran with ransom money for both Will and me.” His amiable smile hardened into an expression that made her shiver. “The sultan relished telling me that he’d never planned to ransom me—not for any amount of money—and that he had informed my uncle’s agent that I’d died.”

Daphne made a soft sound of horror and he cut her a look of gentle amusement.

“Do not despair, my dear Daphne. The story has a happy ending, at least for me. You see I eventually escaped, and when I did, I took Faisal Barbarossa’s ship with me—right after I cut off his head.” His posture was relaxed and his glass dangled loosely from his fingers, but Daphne’s blood ran cold. For the first time since meeting him, Daphne glimpsed beyond the amiable smile he wore like a mask and saw what that corsair captain must have realized just before he lost his head: Hugh Redvers was danger distilled into human form.

Danger smiled and leaned toward her. “No doubt you’ve heard about the exploits of the Batavia’s Ghost over the years that followed, but that is a story for another day.” He set his glass on the table, his eye as green and hard as an emerald. “Now, I believe it is my turn to ask a few questions.”

Chapter Five

Hugh would have wagered his remaining eye that a look of terror flashed across Daphne’s face at his words, but the expression was gone far too quickly to be certain. Now what the devil might he ask that would terrify her?

He began with a subject that was fairly burning a hole through him. “I admit I am curious as to how you came to marry my uncle. That must be quite a story. Won’t you share it with me . . . Daphne?”

“But . . . you haven’t told me why you stayed away for so long—and left everyone believing you were dead or—”

“No, I haven’t.”

Her mouth opened and Hugh stared at that plump lower lip of hers, imagining it beneath his. Instead of speaking, she took a deep drink from her glass and then set it on the table. Hugh refilled it.

“Do you recall my mother?”

He blinked. “Your mother?” Hugh searched his memory, but the only image he unearthed was one of his uncle’s greenhouse. “She had an interest in orchids, didn’t she?”

“Yes, she was obsessed with them—it was through orchids that my mother met Thomas and through their shared passion that I came to know him.”

The sound of his uncle’s Christian name on her lips caused uncomfortable sensations in his gut and reminded him, with brutal clarity, that his uncle had been a man and this woman had been his lover. She had borne his children—children who were Hugh’s blood relatives.

Jealousy was so foreign to Hugh that he wasn’t even sure it was jealousy bubbling inside him like acid. Whatever the emotion, it was damned unpleasant.