“You have to keep your strength up, Daniella.”
The way he said her name so softly did things to her already upset stomach. “You aren’t eating,” she pointed out, more to distract herself than him.
He shook his head.
“Nervous?” she asked.
“Not so much nervous as terrified.”
She was surprised. “Terrified? Of what?”
“Whom, is more like it. This could go badly at any time for either one of us. For all of us really. Your brother could even now be in pursuit with his pistols already loaded.”
“You don’t know much about my brother then,” she said wryly.
“If you were my sister, I would avenge your honour.”
The way he said the words, she knew he meant it. She warmed slightly towards him. “The only reason my brother would want me back is to marry me to one of his old friends and so be rid of me.” And she did mean old.
“Where was Anthony when you were aboard the pirate ship?” Lasterton asked her.
Grinding her teeth with frustration, Daniella longed to remind him once again that The Aurora was a privateer ship. It had been many a year since they had flown the Jolly Roger: they had a bountiful enough time sailing for the King of Spain. The greedy monarch had no way to discern how much they kept for themselves and how much they returned to his shores.
“My half-brother was away at Eton by the time I was born. He is much older than me.”
“So you have different mothers?”
“We had different mothers.”
“What happened to your mother?”
“She died.” Her stomach did a flip-flop and she put her plate back on the table.
Trelissick waited but Daniella didn’t elaborate. Her mother was no privateer. She was a common Scottish woman of indiscriminate morals and Daniella hadn’t seen her since she was four years old.
Daniella inwardly groaned and nearly rolled her eyes. Behind closed doors, being a pirate’s daughter was exciting and thrilling for the empty-headed debutantes. She should have told them all about her lowborn mother trading her only daughter for jewels and coins and scuppered her chances of a London marriage once and for all. Why did she always choose for herself the most difficult paths?
“Daniella?” Lasterton called her name.
“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I was woolgathering. What did you say?”
“I said I’m sorry to upset you. I shouldn’t ask you such questions when it is none of my business.”
“Tell me about your family,” she prompted, wishing for silence but hoping at least to be allowed to listen rather than speak.
He swallowed: she saw his throat working as his skin paled. Abruptly, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his watch. “Time to go.” Then he rose and walked from the room.
Daniella was left to follow with Hobson, who had eaten only a little, and Mrs McDougal, who had all but polished her plate with a dry crust of bread. Were they not nervous about discovery, terrified of pursuit?
When she flicked a glance at them, they both seemed quite content, as though this wasn’t the first time they’d kidnapped a lady. She gulped. She hoped it was the first time they had kidnapped a lady.
The next hours in the confines of the carriage were very nearly Daniella’s undoing. Every bump in the road, every loud noise between Hobson and the driver made her breath hitch in her throat. She didn’t want her brother catching them up and dragging her back to London. He would never leave her to live a life of her choosing, and now that she’d broken free of the capital the idea of returning made her heart ache.
She sighed and settled back into the soft velvet. Her brother wanted nothing more than an advantageous marriage for her. When she had asked him about independence, he’d scoffed and told her a good husband was all she should hope for, that women are dependent by their very nature and wouldn’t get far in the world on their own. If the truth were to be told, she would have entertained the idea of a man she liked enough to put up with day after day. She might have even married a rich (and complacent) man so she would have money enough to disappear and set sail for her father’s inlet once a year. But no one wanted her. Not one offer had been made. Not even from the more lecherous members of the ton—at least not until it had only been her virginity they were required to take. She was undesirable.
Unwanted.
It was about time her father saw that in her wild upbringing, her freckles and red hair, and took her back. At least on the decks of a ship, she would be happy and free.
She supposed she could ask Lasterton why even he apparently didn’t believe her about that. But it wasn’t a question one blurted out over carriage seats.
*
Apparently what one did blurt out over carriage seats was bad pie.
James hadn’t wanted to stop until traveling became dangerous due to the dark but when Mrs McDougal began to cast up her accounts right there in the carriage, he was forced to re-evaluate for the day.
“Hobson?” he called through the open carriage window.
There was no reply.
He rapped sharply on the ceiling with his knuckles and the vehicle slowed and moved off to the edge of the road. He’d barely taken the breath needed to order Mrs McDougal out before the door was open and the poor woman on her knees in the damp grass.
He threw a glance towards Daniella, who sat poker straight against the squabs, face implacable, hands in her lap like a demure lady. He nearly snorted.
They hadn’t shared two words in five hours. He hadn’t wanted to bring up her family and see the anguish in her eyes again. He was equally worried about her pressing about his own relations so he’d
