“He has a pistol in the waistband of his trousers.” Her mother pointed as she scrambled from beneath the fallen man.
Nicole dropped to her knees and grabbed the weapon just as the second man lunged forward, his gun targeting Nicole.
“You killed him!”
Nicole extended her arm, pointing her newly acquired pistol directly at Will Jenkins’s chest. His brother, Fletcher, must be the man on the floor. Which was a good thing. He’d always been the meaner of the two. The smarter one, as well. If she had to pick a Jenkins to face, she’d choose Will every time. “He’s still breathing,” she snapped. All those days of playing pirate with Tommy Ackerman were finally paying off. She’d managed to inject just the right amount of disdain into that statement, and her hand wasn’t even shaking. “Now, collect your brother and leave our house.”
His gaze moved from her face to the gun, then back to her face, an annoyingly smug expression creeping across his features. “I don’t think so. You ain’t got the first notion how to shoot that thing. Can’t even find the trigger, can you.” He took a menacing step toward her.
Nicole raised her left brow. “You mean this trigger?” She cocked the hammer of the Colt Paterson revolver and released the folding trigger mechanism. Will stopped. “You forget, Will Jenkins—I’m a Renard. Daughter of Anton Renard and granddaughter to Henri Renard, privateer and compatriot of Jean Lafitte himself. I know a thing or two about weapons.”
Will swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as his attention locked on the gun once again. His own pistol wavered.
Nicole stepped closer to her mother, clearing a path for Will to get to Fletcher and the door without having to go through her. Now if he’d just take the hint. . . .
Fletcher moaned. Will glanced down at his brother. At the same time Nicole’s father, all but forgotten in the background, slid his hand around a cane that stood propped against the back wall and leapt forward. He brought the cane down on Will’s arm.
Will cried out. His pistol clattered to the floor. Papa kicked it under the bed.
“My daughter told you to leave. I suggest you do so. Now!” He roared the last. Will jumped to obey.
Latching on to his brother’s wrist, Will drew Fletcher’s arm over his shoulders while shoring him up on the other side with an arm about the waist. The still-reeling Fletcher offered little in the way of assistance. Nevertheless, Will managed to get him up and out the front door. Nicole followed them, the Colt aimed at their backs until they mounted and rode away.
Lowering the weapon, Nicole rubbed her upper arm, suddenly aware of the vicious ache in her muscles. It was amazing how heavy such a small revolver became when one found it necessary to hold it aloft for several minutes at a time. Being in Boston for most of the last two years hadn’t done her any favors in that regard. Not much opportunity for target practice in a fancy girls’ school. She’d gone soft.
But not so soft that she couldn’t run off Will and Fletcher Jenkins. Nicole’s mouth curved in a self-satisfied grin as she strolled back into the house and latched the door. All in all, not a bad night’s work.
Nicole paused to arrange her dressing gown in a less haphazard manner and to properly tie her sash before reentering her parents’ room.
“Do you think they’ll be back?” Her mother’s voice drifted out to the hall.
“Of course they’ll be back. Now that they’ve seen for themselves how pitifully weak this cursed illness has left me, they’ll not stop until they have the dagger.”
“But Nicole is here now, surely they wouldn’t—”
“Nicole caught them by surprise. It was sheer luck that saved us this night. No matter how well-versed in weaponry she is, no slip of a girl will keep Carson Jenkins at bay. He has two strapping boys who’ve just proven they’ll do anything to help him secure their family’s future. What do I have? A daughter.”
The disdain-filled word crashed through Nicole’s chest and bludgeoned her heart like a carelessly flung carpenter’s mallet.
“Anton! That’s not fair.”
A heavy sigh echoed through the bedroom. “You’re right. Forgive me. I just wish . . . Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
But it does matter, Nicole thought. It always had. All her life she’d striven to please her father. To earn his praise, his respect. Yet the one thing he wanted above all else, she couldn’t be—a son.
“Nicole is the joy of my life—you know that,” her father said. “She’s twice as clever as either of Carson Jenkins’s boys and has more courage in that tiny body of hers than any man I’ve ever known. But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s female. She poses no serious threat to Jenkins or his plans. If anything, her being here simply gives Jenkins one more weapon to use against me.”
“Then perhaps I should return to Boston.” Nicole stepped through the doorway and tossed the Colt onto the end of the bed, a few inches to the right of where her father sat.
“Nicki!” The color his anger had stirred in his cheeks drained away the instant his gaze met hers.
She gained no satisfaction from his distress. Despite everything, she loved her Papa and knew he loved her, too. He might have always wished he’d had a son, but he’d never once made her believe he regretted having her as a daughter.
“It’s all right, Papa.” Well, not completely. The words still hurt. But he didn’t need to know that. There were bigger issues to deal with than a little girl’s hurt feelings. Time to grow up and be the woman her parents raised her to be. “What we need to do now,” she said, lowering herself onto the padded divan just inside the doorway, “is formulate a plan to keep Jenkins from creating any more mischief.”
Her mother passed by the divan and patted Nicole’s shoulder, favoring her with one of those “speaking” smiles of hers. Pride. Approval. Compassion. Then she moved to her husband’s side, took his hand, and settled onto the edge of the bed next to him.
“Should we report this to Sheriff Sparks? I know he’s got ties to the Jenkins family, but surely when he hears of the threats the boys made—”
Papa shook his head. “Sparks made it clear when he took office that he would not become entangled in our feud, as he calls it.”
Nicole bit back a groan. A feud? That was stating it mildly. Jenkins had been her father’s fiercest rival for years and blamed him for every financial setback he’d ever incurred. Said it was all because the dagger was stolen from his family. Which was ridiculous. Lafitte had bestowed the dagger on Nicole’s grandfather after Henri Renard saved the pirate’s life.
“When that scuffle broke out between our two crews last year, the sheriff wouldn’t even break it up. Remember?” Her father shot her mother a telling look. “All he did was send for the captains and have them sort things out. He staunchly refuses to hear petty charges from either side.”
Maman stiffened. “I’d hardly call what happened tonight petty.”
“No one was hurt, nothing was stolen. For a man like Sparks, who spends his nights keeping the lawless element from killing and maiming each other down at the docks, that’s the definition of petty.”
“We could hire guards,” her mother suggested.
“Guards?” Papa reared back as if his wife had slapped him across the face. “And admit to the world that Anton Renard cannot protect his own family? Bah!”
“There’s no shame in accepting help from people you know and trust, Anton. I’m sure there are men from your crews who would appreciate earning a little extra money for their families when they’re in port by taking on additional responsibilities.”
His shoulders curled inward as he expelled a sigh, his chest—once robust and barreled—caving in on itself. “I suppose we must.” His gaze lowered to the floor, his pride stripped away. “I won’t risk any harm coming to either of you.”
“What if the dagger wasn’t here?” Nicole quietly inserted into the conversation. “What if I took it back to Boston? That would ensure there’d be no more attacks on Rena
rd House.” Her main concern. “Therefore, there’d be no need for guards.” Which would save her father’s pride and reputation among his men.
Her mother shot to her feet. “Absolutely not! Why, anything could happen to you between here and there. Jenkins wouldn’t hesitate to send his boys after you. You’d be defenseless.” She spun toward her husband, hands on hips. “Tell her, Anton.”
“Your mother’s right, scamp. It’s too dangerous.”
Nicole lunged forward. “It’s not too dangerous, Papa. I know how to take care of myself. Haven’t I proven that to you, tonight?”
His head snapped up at the challenge in her voice, his eyes hardening. “You got lucky tonight. Taking a man by surprise is an entirely different matter than inviting him to a fight. That’s exactly what you’d be doing by taking that dagger.”
Did he really have so little faith in her? Nicole folded her arms over her chest. “I can do this, Papa. Just give me a ch—”
“No!” The word stung as if it had been his hand slapping her face. “That’s my final word.”
Nicole lifted her chin. “If I were a man, you’d let me go.” She met his stare, daring him to contradict her.
“But you’re not a man, are you, Nicki? You’re a girl. And until you have a husband to protect you . . .” His words died away, and with them died her hope of ever being enough.
So wrapped up in her outrage over the injustice of being judged by her gender instead of her merit, Nicole almost missed the odd glimmer in her father’s eyes, a glimmer that burned steadily brighter until he finally exploded.
“That’s it!”
“Anton,” her mother gasped. “You startled me.”
“Sorry, my love.” Papa patted her hand as she returned to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. “But I’ve just had the most astounding idea.”
“What is it?” The question rang simultaneously from both Nicole and her mother.
Her papa smiled. A scheming, devilish, piratical smile that one would expect to see right before a blade ran him through. Nicole flopped onto the divan.
“Nicki’s going to take a little trip to New Orleans.”
“But why?” Maman asked. “She just got home.”
Papa rubbed his palms against his thighs in anticipation. “Don’t you see? It will solve everything. It will keep Nicki away from Jenkins and secure the future of Renard Shipping at the same time.”
“How?” Nicole ventured, somehow certain she’d not like the answer.
Her papa’s grin confirmed it. “By giving me the next best thing to a son.”
“And that is . . . ?” her mother prompted.
“A son-in-law.”
CHAPTER 3
Nicole blinked once. Then again.
A son-in-law?
Just who did he expect her to marry? One of his cronies from New Orleans? They were all old enough to be . . . well, her father. Besides that, he’d always sworn to let her choose her own husband, promising never to force her into a union simply because it would aid his shipping interests.
She’d thought herself so lucky when talk at Miss Rochester’s school had turned to marriage. Half the girls there were already promised to men who would provide an advantageous match to their families. Two of the young ladies hadn’t even met their intendeds. Nicole had bragged of how she’d be free to choose her own man, how her papa was so open-minded, caring more for his daughter’s happiness than his business. Yet here he sat, ready to shackle her to someone she’d never met, all to secure the future of Renard Shipping.
How could he do that?
“Papa, you promised . . . ” Nicole’s voice shook slightly. She cleared her throat and started again, tamping down the emotion that floated too near the surface. “You promised I could choose. Are you breaking your word?”
“No, darlin’.” Papa stood on shaky legs and crossed the floor to sit beside her on the divan. “I vowed to give you your choice when the time came, and I will hold to that promise. What I’m asking is that you take an active role in the choosing process. Search for a husband yourself, instead of waiting for him to find you.
“I have contacts in New Orleans. Men of good families. Men who would value a wife with your knowledge and talents.”
Men who would value my ties to Renard Shipping, Nicole thought bitterly.
Papa took her hand and squeezed it with what little strength he could muster. “I’m trusting you with the Renard family legacy, Nicki. The Lafitte Dagger will be your dowry. The man you choose will lead Renard Shipping into the next generation.”
Nicole finally met her father’s gaze. He trusted her to bestow the dagger on the right man. That was something, wasn’t it?
Her heart rebelled at the idea of having to marry so expediently, but her papa was giving her the freedom to choose. And trusting her with the family legacy. The entire family’s future, to be precise—a notion that had her insides rapidly knotting into icy lumps.
Yet, if he had a son, he’d expect his heir to ensure the family’s future, too. What he was asking of her was no different. Not really. Nicole sat up a little straighter, a plan of her own formulating. She’d go on her father’s husband-hunting expedition. She’d even choose one if she found one to her tastes. But she’d take steps to ensure the safety of those she loved first.
“I’ll do it.”
Less than a week later, Nicole’s trunks were repacked for another voyage. A large trunk held the majority of her clothes and enough funds to keep her in good stead for at least two months, while a smaller one contained the overflow and the necessities required to keep a lady presentable while she traveled. Her mother had insisted they pack nearly every item Nicole owned, neither of them sure how long she would be gone. But one item remained to be packed, an item Nicole intended to fetch on her own.
After slipping from her bed in the predawn darkness, Nicole lit a candle and made her way downstairs, taking care to keep her tread light as the rest of the house slept. She held her breath as she passed her parents’ door and finally released it when she reached the privacy of the study.
Nicole crossed the room, purpose driving her steps as her eyes locked on the painting of the clipper ship on the wall behind her father’s desk. Sails billowed, masts jutting tall and proud into the gray sky, wooden hull forging ahead through storm-swept seas. Confident. Fearless. Strong. Everything her father admired. Everything she would prove to be.
Setting the candleholder on the corner of the desk as she strode by, she marched forward, refusing to hesitate. Doubt was for the weak. She grabbed the bottom right edge of the painting and lifted it away from the wall just enough for her to ease her fingers into the small slit in the paper backing and retrieve the key hidden inside the frame. Then she turned to the desk, opened the large bottom drawer, and pulled out the ordinary-looking stationery box buried beneath a pile of ledgers. As quietly as she could, Nicole placed the oak writing box atop the desk and inserted the key into the lock at the front. A satisfying click echoed loudly in the dark room. Nicole shot a quick glance around to be sure she was still alone, then opened the lid.
Reaching inside, she lifted out the tray of stationery that hid a false bottom. Then, using the edge of a penknife, she pried the wooden cover up to reveal the red velvet bag inside the hidden compartment. A shiver ran through her and raised gooseflesh on her arms as her hand closed around the bag.
The Lafitte Dagger. The talisman every sailor on Galveston Island believed protected the one who possessed it and ensured his success. One had only to look at the success of Renard Shipping over the last twenty-five years, they would say, to prove its value. Renard Shipping was one of the few lines that had survived the political turmoil resulting from Texas moving from Mexican rule to revolution, to an independent republic, and finally to statehood. While other companies floundered, Renard Shipping had flourished.
Of course, Nicole believed her family’s success had more to do with her father and grandfather’s work ethic, honorable business
practices, and extensive business relationships than with any pirate dagger. But it didn’t matter what she believed. It mattered what men like Carson Jenkins believed. He would stop at nothing to possess the dagger because he thought it would ensure his success. And taking the dagger was the only way to protect her father and maman from further violence.
Just before her ship embarked, she’d slip a coin to one of the kids who ran errands around the docks and have him deliver a letter to Jenkins so he’d know that any further housebreaking at her parents’ home would be fruitless. It would take him time to discover which ship she had boarded and therefore her destination. By the time he discovered her whereabouts, she’d have the protection of her father’s business associates surrounding her. And if he sent Fletcher and Will after her anyway? Well, she’d have her knife, her wits, and if she knew Tommy Ackerman, an armed escort.
Tommy had moved with his family to New Orleans about the same time she’d first left for school in Boston two falls ago. Mr. Ackerman now ran the Renard Shipping offices in New Orleans, and her father trusted him implicitly. And she trusted Tommy. How could she not, when they’d fought off armadas of imaginary invaders together on the Galveston beaches? He’d made a great first mate when they were kids, and she knew he would have her back as adults, as well.
A creak sounded behind her. Nicole crushed the velvet bag to her chest and spun around.
“Who’s there?” she demanded, as her heart nearly pounded out of her chest.
Her gaze darted from the window to the cabinet to the door that led to the dining room, the flicker of her candle making it impossible to discern true movement from dancing shadows. After several heartbeats of silence, the faint clang of pots in the kitchen two rooms away sent a surge of relief through her. Margie. The cook must have risen early to see to breakfast preparations, knowing Nicole would be leaving this morning. All perfectly innocent.
Nevertheless, the scare ignited Nicole into action. She hurriedly replaced the stationery box and key, shoved the dagger, bag and all, into the garter sheath she wore beneath her nightdress, then scampered up to her room.