WhowasMiss Stanton? She was definitely not the featherbrained socialite she’d first seemed. Was she truly Lady Emeline’s cousin, as Ollie had claimed? It’s not as if Evan could ask Ollie’s wife to confirm or deny the familial connection. He’d never even met the woman. According to Ollie, his wife was too infirm to leave her sickroom or entertain guests.
Come to think of it, every detail Evan had thought he “knew” about Miss Stanton had all been according to Ollie. Who was looking less and less like a reliable source of information.
What if Miss Stanton wasn’t working her wiles on Evan on the magistrate’s behalf, after all? What if she were doing so on Ollie’s bequest? Perhaps the goal had never been to spy on him. After all, Ollie knew just about every detail of Evan’s life, seeing as the overgrown brute tended to be present for most of the law-breaking moments. What if the goal wasn’t to watch him, but to distract him? To set him off course enough that he got himself killed?
Evan belatedly realized the captain was talking to him—and that he should’ve been paying close attention.
The captain was discussing the last mission. The lastknownmission. The one Timothy and Red went on before striking out on their own and probably getting killed for their insolence. The one whose spoils had appeared and disappeared from Timothy’s entryway in a matter of days.
“—an equally fine collection this time,” the captain was saying around a curl of cigar smoke. “My contact was quite pleased with the assortment recovered from the last trip. The painted tea sets were particular favorites with his buyers. When we dock, try to load as many of those on board as you can.”
Evan nodded slowly, as much to himself as to the captain. The booty hadn’t been stolen from Timothy’s receiving room, then. It had been recovered from its temporary location and sent on its way. All on schedule and according to plan.Nothing amiss here, Bothwick. Fetch us some tea sets, there’s a good lad.
Would he be the next to turn up “missing”? Was this his final night aboard ship?
“This may be your last trip,” said the captain, by all appearances reading Evan’s thoughts.
His fingers twitched in response.
“There have been...difficulties... with the crew as of late.” The captain paused to blow a series of smoke rings, as if giving Evan an opportunity to digest those words however he chose.
“Difficulties?” he echoed, attempting an expression of polite interest.
“Among other unfortunate developments, a few important volumes have gone missing from the wardroom bookshelf. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Bothwick?”
“No,” Evan was able to choke out in all honesty. But more than ever, he wished hedidknow what was happening.
“So be it.” The captain’s blue gaze turned calculating. “In any case, I have decided to make a few changes.”
“What kinds of changes?” Evan asked, hoping he sounded more intrigued than suspicious.
“I’m dismantling this crew. For good. We’ll dock in the other cave when we return to Bournemouth.”
Evan frowned doubtfully. “We will?”
The captain tapped the ash from his cigar. “And then we won’t be docking anywhere. I’ve decided not to trust my fortune in the hands of landlocked merchants. When the war ends, there won’t be much use for those who smuggle goods out of France. The rich will buy their baubles directly.”
True enough. Evan had been enjoying the adventure too much to consider how quickly it could all be over.
“So we just say our good-byes and go home?” he asked, unable to keep the disappointment from his voice. The biweekly adventures had been a high point in his life the past several months. Until Miss Stanton came into his life. And Timothy left it.
“Not exactly.” The captain puffed on his cigar and regarded Evan thoughtfully. “This here was a pirate ship, you know, before she became a simple smuggling boat.”
Evan gave a short nod. The war had changed everything, made sneaking in boxes of nonsense more profitable and less risky than pillaging on the open sea.
Less gunfire involved.
“Well,” the captain said, “it’s time she returns to her original state. We’ll lay low for a fortnight, to give my contact a chance to sell this last shipment and pay me my coin, and then those who’ll come with me will sail out of here for good. What do you say, lad? Want to join us?”
Pirates.Real pirates. The captain was offering him an opportunity to live on the high seas. Permanently. No more paying fair prices to transport illegal goods. From here on out, they’d steal whatever they fancied. Most likely from other ships. Leave no survivors.
Never come home.
Much as Evan couldn’t imagine himself living in Bournemouth indefinitely, the thought of never livinganywhere—save below the deck of a ship—wasn’t as appealing as it first sounded. If it ever had. The thought of killing innocents in order to ensure no witnesses remained to tell tales... Evan hadn’t signed up for that, either. The very thought turned his stomach.
Smuggling was an adventure, a fine joke, a lark. He was never gone more than a weekend, and only twice a month at that. Just enough to keep life interesting. Out-and-out pirating, however... Despite the romantic allure of being a wenching, ale-swilling, swashbuckling fortune hunter, pirating was for life. Andforeverwas a very long time.
Evan hesitated. Perhaps now was not the moment to voice these concerns.
