CHAPTER 10

Ancelote Bussiere was a woman used to enjoying a good deal of secrecy in her life. She was the bastard daughter of a French merchant named Olivier Bussiere, and he'd kept her hidden for the vast majority of her life. Her mother, a lovely but poor wench by the name of Ninon Patenaude, had had no assets to speak of and thusly had been left in the dirt to care for her child on her own. If Ninon had let him, Olivier probably never would have seen Ancelote – but Ninon would have none of that. She threatened him continuously, finally swearing to expose him to his wealthy sweetheart, Sabine Faurot. After that he finally began to visit his little girl, bringing her presents and always looking about furtively lest he be caught.

Since that time, Ancelote had had to keep many secrets - her mother's status as mistress to an important diplomat; her father's store of smuggled objects, which were hidden in Ninon's storeroom; the sailor working for Olivier with whom Ancelote had once fallen in love; that same sailor's love affair with a girl named Narcisse, who was far prettier than Ancelote; and on and on into the years. Secrets were Ancelote's life, and thusly she had made a business of them, in the form of peddling information.

Ancelote had been traveling the globe for a few years now, typically as a stowaway via her father's ship. She made it her business to learn everything she could about wherever they landed, and then she kept hold of that information until it was needed. Then she sold it for ridiculously high prices. She lived meagerly and saved most of her earnings in a safe place at Ninon's. She had a small fortune saved; enough that she could live comfortably for quite a few years if she chose.

If she was being honest with herself, though, the life she had chosen thrilled her. She disguised herself as a man wherever she went, although most soon discovered that she was in fact a woman; she saw parts of the world that most women, especially those of her station, could never even dream of visiting; she was constantly desired and sought after because of her valuable store of information; and when she was on land she rarely had a dull day. Retirement was certainly an option, but it wasn't something that twenty-six-year-old Ancelote wanted.

She had originally been planning to stop traveling after her last trip – a trip to China for silk, where she had sold someone some information on the Pirate Lord Sao Feng and had almost been killed for it. Ninon's diplomat lover wanted both Ninon and her daughter to move to his country estate with him, and at first Ancelote had relished the idea of gathering up information on the French Court and selling it to the nobles. Her excitement at this idea had quickly waned when the diplomat had displayed a clearer interest in Ancelote than in Ninon. "Twenty-six, and no husband," he'd said to her mother in mock sympathy. "The poor virgin girl… how she must suffer…"

Being a virgin was no burden to Ancelote, and she had no desire to freely hand her body over to the corpulent slug her mother had chosen to work for. So she had been quick to accept Tyris Burton's proposition for information. Never mind that he was a pirate, even though she disliked pirates a great deal – she had to escape France before she was forced into virtual enslavement like poor Ninon.

This was how Ancelote had found herself in the English-controlled port of Bombay, in far-off exotic India. Ancelote had been to Bombay many times before in her time, and she was relatively well-known in the area – hence the reason Tyris Burton had come to her seeking information on the legendary treasure of Midas's Hand. She was an expert on the lore of this part of Asia, and she was one of the only people who knew the location of the Hand. This alone was enough to make her something of a celebrity in Bombay, and rumors flew about her throughout the city and a fair ways beyond – doubtlessly, this was how Tyris had found her.

Nonetheless, she was generally left alone and expected that privacy to be respected. So she was more than a little surprised when there came a sudden banging on her door. She froze and stared at the wooden slab standing between her and the intruder, eyes wide. She didn't speak; instead, her hand began creeping towards the pistol lying on her small bed just a few inches away.

Another knock came on the door. "Miss Bussiere?" The accent was English, but lower class – more provincial than those Ancelote was used to hearing. Generally she had spoken only to young English aristocrats' sons wasting their early years in the French Court's debauchery, and their accents were far more well bred and elegant than this man's.

"Who asks for her?" Ancelote called suspiciously, grabbing the pistol and cocking it. Her French accent added a delicate lilt to her voice, belying her much harder, colder nature.

"That's neither here nor there," the man answered. "We have a business proposition for her."

Ancelote's eyes narrowed. "Miss Bussiere is not here for your pleasure, gentlemen," she said coldly, assuming that by 'we' her mysterious visitor meant there was at least one other man with him.

The man speaking laughed. "It's not that kind of proposition," he said. "We have heard rumors of some information Miss Bussiere has – information regarding a certain treasure in the area."

Ancelote pointed the pistol at the door, chewing her lip thoughtfully as she listened. "Miss Bussiere has a good deal of information about this area," she said. "But it does not come cheaply."

"We're willing to pay."

"How much?"

"More than Tyris Burton has offered you."

Ancelote let the pistol drop to her side and her mouth hang open, momentarily stunned. She was very careful to protect her clients and to keep her business dealings to herself – so she had no idea how anyone, let alone an Englishman, would have discovered her agreement with the pirate captain. "No one was to know of that arrangement," she said coldly.

"It's hard to keep secrets from Lord Beckett, Mademoiselle Bussiere."

She inhaled sharply. She knew of Lord Beckett, of course. As Olivier was a French merchant, he railed against the infamous lord regularly – about how he had taken over the seas, and how he controlled every business transaction ever to occur in the world, even by merchants not under his command. She had always held a certain admiration for the man, even though she had never met him personally and even though his death grip on trade should have infuriated her. "I didn't realize Lord Beckett had a spy network," she said, struggling to keep her voice level.

"A smart woman such as you should have thought as much a long time ago," the man outside disdainfully. "Can we talk business now? It's difficult to come to an understanding through a large wooden door."

Ancelote hesitated, then carefully hid her pistol in her skirt. She strode across the room, unlocked the door, and pulled it open, looking over the two men standing before her with considerable condescension. "You're the best Beckett has?" she said incredulously. The tallest man in front of her looked like nothing special; he was plainly getting older, his face creased with wrinkles and scars, and he wore a rumpled old brown suit. The man behind him was dark-haired and probably younger, although it was hard to tell through the mass of scars on his face. He was grinning wolfishly at her, and she almost wanted to pull her pistol from its hiding place and shoot him right there.

"You don't look like much either, Mademoiselle," the man in front said with a small smile. "But I don't plan to underestimate you."

"Smarter than you look," she groused. She stepped aside to allow them in. "So you know of my deal with Tyris Burton. I don't suppose you know where he is?"

"We assumed you would have that information," the elder man said. He held out his hand to shake. "Mr. Mercer at your service," he said. "And that's Savage."

"Lieutenant Savage," Savage corrected irritably.

Mercer waved a hand carelessly. "Savage," he repeated. "We're willing to offer you double what Tyris has offered you if you'll lead us to the Hand."

Ancelote kept her expression blank, but inwardly her heart leapt. Double? She could use that much money to run anywhere in the world. She'd never have to work again – and she'd never have to fear the damn diplomat waiting for her back in Paris. "I can give you the information that will lead you to the Hand -" she started.

Mercer held up a hand to stop her. "We want you to take us there," he said calmly. "We know you've traveled there before. You'll know the dangers, the landmarks to look for – everything we need. You will go with us."

That was something Ancelote hadn't bargained on. "That was not part of Tyris's agreement with me," she protested.

Mercer smiled icily. "This is not Tyris's agreement, is it?" he said.

Ancelote crossed her arms over her chest. "If I lead you there, I'll expect a higher payment."

Mercer inclined his head gracefully. "That can be arranged," he said.

Ancelote hesitated, but the bargain seemed almost too good to refuse. She would be paid enough to support herself for the rest of her life, and she'd have an excuse to stay away from Paris. "Then we are agreed," she said, holding out her hand to shake on it.

Instead of taking it, Mercer arched a brow. "One more thing," he said. "These… pirates. They're something of a nuisance to Lord Beckett. He wants them exterminated. If that's to be the case, we'll need you to meet with Tyris and arrange a location to meet him. We'll see to the rest from there."

Ancelote arched an eyebrow. She had no love of pirates, but murder was not usually a part of her dealings. "I don't play a direct role in assassinations, Mr. Mercer," she said.

"I'm not asking you to do any such thing," he replied. "I'm paying you to help us in the pursuit of justice. It's a perfectly reasonable request."

"I'll expect more extra payment for it."

"Will triple the price Tyris offered you suffice?"

She grinned. "Agreed," she said elatedly, and this time when she held out her hand to shake, Mercer took it.

The deal was sealed. Ancelote would betray her former client – something with which she was not entirely comfortable – but she would be able to buy her freedom – forever.

For that alone, it was worth it.

Charlotta Harris was dressed in her most ostentatious gown that night – a new one she had insisted on purchasing, covered in bows and lace and dripping with jewels. If she had had any taste she would have realized how ridiculous she looked, but instead she felt that the dress flattered her figure in the best way while displaying her extraordinary wealth and privilege to anyone who would look.

Well, that last part was true enough…

Her dark hair had been combed over a massive form and powdered, so that it stood in an enormous gray tower above her head. She had extra curls pinned into her hair, and she had decorated the massive coiffure with large pastel bows, just to match her dress. She believed she was the height of fashion, and everyone at her ball that night had told her so.

She did not dress this way just to make them jealous – although of course she relished their envy. No, she had made certain to have such a gown because she knew Cutler Beckett would be coming, and she wanted to look impressive.

Emma Clark had been giving subtle hints that Victoria was no longer a barrier between Lord Beckett and Charlotta for quite some time now, but a few weeks ago she had finally come out and said that she had heard Victoria had been kidnapped by Capitaine Chevalle and, after being brutally tortured, was murdered. Thus, Beckett, although doubtlessly in mourning after the silly chit, was on the market for a wife again. And Charlotta had no intention of letting him get away this time.

She and Emma were in the midst of gossiping happily about the horrifying murder of Lady Victoria Beckett when the latter's husband arrived. At first nobody noticed him – he was a small figure at the top of the stairs dressed in rich, royal blue, with a blonde at his side dressed in silver. Nobody recognized the duo until the very stunned butler announced them to the enormous chamber: "Lord and Lady Beckett now entering the ballroom."

Emma, who had been in the midst of gruesomely describing Victoria's bloody death to a group of horrified listeners, froze mid-sentence, eyes widening in disbelief as she looked up at the stairs. But there was no mistake: it was certainly Victoria clinging tightly to Lord Beckett's arm. Her blonde hair was not done in the massive up-do that was fashionable, but was piled up atop her head and hung in neat ringlets around her face, with a few dripping down the back of her silver gown. Even more astonishing was her rounded, obviously pregnant belly – the reason she was clinging so tightly to her husband, and the reason he was staring at her with such concern, guiding her with incredible delicacy down the stairs.

It was amazing how dead silence suddenly settled over the entire ballroom. Never had any entrance made such an impression as theirs just had. Everyone in the aristocracy had quite believed Emma's story about Victoria's murder – and to see her standing there, looking quite healthy and carrying a child no less, was beyond shocking. The silence hung in the air a few moments longer, and then suddenly the ballroom erupted with voices – whispers, too-loud speculative conversations, and cries of either dismay or delight. Many young women hurried forward to cluster around Victoria and give her their regards, tell her they were so glad she wasn't dead, and coo about her belly.

Charlotta and Emma simply stood there and stared.

The young women who had been listening had long since moved away in something of disgust and had hurried over to the Beckett couple to see what was going on. They were mostly alone, surrounded by older, more proper married couples whispering in disbelief about what they were seeing. The Becketts were so crowded by people that they almost could not be seen any longer.

Charlotta turned on Emma with an accusing stare. "You said she was dead," she spat furiously.

Emma drew herself up in an insulted stance. "I heard she was," she sniffed, although this was most likely a lie – Emma loved to exaggerate, and to humiliate. "It's not my fault that someone took advantage of my naïve nature and lied."

Charlotta wanted to hit the girl, but knew she couldn't. "Don't expect to be invited here again," she spat – a threat she had made many times before to Emma when it turned out that some tidbit she'd shared was false – and then turned and stomped off in the direction of the newest guests.

She had to shove her way through the rather large crowd gathered around Victoria, but they made way when they realized it was their hostess pushing through. When she finally got to the center of the group, the Becketts had their backs to her and were speaking to the Webbs – Vincent and Varinia. Varinia was also pregnant, and since she was blissfully happy in her new marriage she had long ago forgiven Victoria for stealing Lord Beckett from her in their courting days. Both of them were chattering happily about babies' names and what sex they thought their babies to be while Beckett and Vincent stood by and rolled their eyes in a commiserating fashion at one another.

"I was actually thinking of naming her Helena -" Victoria was saying to Varinia.

"Except that it's a boy," Beckett interjected.

"Cutler thinks Alexander is the appropriate name for a boy," Victoria explained, more to humor Beckett than because she actually felt it relevant.

"It's a good strong name for a boy," Vincent said approvingly. "I was thinking Edward, myself. Or Peter."

"I like Charles," Varinia said lightly. "And Penelope for a girl."

"I hate that name," Vincent muttered.

"We also thought Serena might be a pretty name," Varinia said, a bit grudgingly. She was clearly quite set on Penelope.

"Serena's a lovely name," Victoria said approvingly. "I also thought Eleanor would be a good name for her."

"Except that it's a boy," Beckett said insistently.

Victoria sighed. "Is Lord Webb this insufferable?" she asked, touching Beckett's hand in a tender gesture to indicate that he was not, in fact, insufferable.

"Oh, yes," Varinia said sympathetically. "Worse, in fact."

"I'm not!" Vincent said in false affront. "Do you believe these ladies, Beckett?" he said to Cutler.

"I'm afraid in dealing with them we must be generous," Beckett sighed. "The delicate feminine constitution is often thrown off-balance when they're with child."

"Is that an insult?" Victoria exclaimed. "I'll have you know that -!"

"Ah-HEM." Charlotta coughed loudly in order to get their attention.

Beckett glanced over his shoulder and eyed Charlotta with something akin to disgust. "Our hostess craves our attention, my dear," he said to Victoria. He glanced at Webb with a small smile. "We'll talk later. Thank you for the amusing conversation."

"Don't let his pigheadedness trouble you and the baby," Victoria said to Varinia – and then she turned around.

Charlotta inhaled sharply. For although Victoria looked very much the same – if healthier, happier, and perhaps a little bitter – there was a long scar running from her eyebrow to the base of her nose. It spliced a bright white line across the once-unblemished face, an ugly trophy from her pirate attack.

For a moment, Charlotta was horrified; then, suddenly, she felt elated. It was unfathomable that Beckett could possibly love a woman so disfigured. "So it's true then," she said with mock gravity, taking Victoria's hands in an insincere gesture of sympathy. "You really were attacked by pirates."

Victoria's expression was momentarily full of venomous hatred; then it went curiously blank. "I was," she said in a soft monotone. "It was… a terrifying experience." She pulled her hands back from Charlotta's and forced a smile. "I've been spending the past months recovering," she explained. "I'm sorry I haven't been present, but I'm sure you can see I've had many other things to occupy my time." She laid a hand on her swollen belly with considerable satisfaction.

"Ah, yes," Charlotta said, glancing downwards with a slight twitch of dislike. "Congratulations."

Victoria smiled serenely. "Why, thank you, Miss Harris," she said. She laid a mock-comforting hand on Charlotta's arm. "I'm sure you'll be just as happy someday."

Charlotta jerked back with an angry glare. She turned away from Victoria to look penetratingly at Beckett. "My lord," she said with a deep curtsy. "You must be very happy."

Beckett smiled. "Couldn't be happier," he said, and his sincerity was plain.

Charlotta felt her last hopes starting to shred. "But of course you must be suffering from the mark left on Victoria's face," she ventured a little desperately.

Beckett turned slightly to study Victoria, and his face flooded with such overwhelming affection that Charlotta finally recognized her battle was lost. "Not at all," he said softly. "I think it makes her look very noble – distinguished. Unique." He brushed gentle fingers against the scar before letting his hand drop. He turned back to Charlotta with a pleasant smile. "So what's the occasion for this charming ball, Miss Harris?" he inquired. "Dare I assume you've been proposed to?"

Her eyes dropped, her expression crushed. "No," she murmured gloomily. "No, not at all. Just… an entertaining social gathering, I suppose."

"I'm sure you'll have a proposal soon," Victoria said sweetly. "Or, at the very least, a suitor."

Charlotta winced at Victoria's tone. She wished she could think of a nasty retort, but she had nothing to say. Instead, she mumbled some polite response and then turned and hurried away across the ballroom in humiliation.

Beckett took Victoria's arm and guided her to a chair at the edge of the ballroom as Charlotta rushed away. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone look so disappointed to see you," he laughed. "Or so happy to see that scar."

"Miserable little trollop, trying to steal my husband," Victoria grumbled as she dropped into the chair. "Dear lord, this little girl is getting heavy…"

Beckett laid concerned fingers on her shoulder. "How are you feeling? Do you need to return home?"

Victoria waved him off. "Don't be ridiculous," she said, smiling slightly. "I'm fine. I just tire rather easily, what with the extra little body."

"I suppose, then, that I can't expect you to dance with me tonight."

She smiled up at him. "Not tonight, I'm afraid," she sighed. "Perhaps after the baby is born – but likely not before."

Beckett grinned boyishly. "One more reason to avoid attending all these irritating social occasions," he said merrily. He started to say something else, but another voice very abruptly interrupted him.

"Allow me to offer you my congratulations, Lady Beckett."

Both Beckett and Victoria looked up at the speaker with considerable dislike. "Duke Lawless," Victoria said coldly. "What a… pleasant surprise. I didn't realize you'd been invited."

"I imagine if you had, you wouldn't have come," he said with a sly grin. He was a tall man with rugged, masculine good looks and warm, heart-melting brown eyes. He wore a powdered wig like the rest of his fashionable company, but at its edges some locks of his jet-black hair could be seen. He was dressed in a rich, chocolate brown suit decorated with gold.

If she hadn't known of his generally cruel nature, Victoria might have swooned at the sight of him. But Victoria had known terrible secrets about Drake Lawless for a long, long time – since she was fourteen, in fact – and everything she had learned about him since made him thoroughly repulsive to her. "I suppose any reputable guest list can't afford to exclude you," she said sourly.

"You would know," Lawless replied, raising his wine glass slightly to Beckett. "I've been invited to all your social functions, and I know neither of you like me."

Beckett's blue eyes were pure ice as he glared at Lawless. "I trust you have a good reason for coming to inconvenience my wife?" he said through clenched teeth.

Lawless pretended to be affronted. "Why, Lord Beckett, I merely wished to offer you both my sincerest congratulations," he said. He grinned nastily. "Such an obvious display of your marital bliss is certainly to be applauded."

"A pity that there is no such marital bliss in your future," Victoria drawled, arching an eyebrow at him. "Tell me, Drake, how is dear Catherine… and how is her child?"

The smile tightened at the edges – the only indication of his distaste for the subject. "You would know, wouldn't you?" he said evenly. "Since she lived with you for a time. Though I hear she gave you the slip and ran off. Going after her lover, was she? I should have known better than to offer my generosity to a coming-woman like her."

Victoria would have leapt to her feet at that if it weren't for the baby heavy in her womb. "You bastard," she hissed, her eyes narrowing to angry slits.

Beckett's hand on her shoulder pressed down more firmly to quiet her. "I trust you received the invitation to Rosemary Wellington's wedding?" he asked lightly. "Such a happy occasion, that. Presbery will make an honest woman of her. I'm sure you're very pleased."

Lawless finally lost composure, eyes going cold. "No matter who she marries or beds, Rosemary will always belong to me," he snarled. "Whatever she pretends, she won't stay with that chit for long."

Victoria was amazed at her husband's ability to find the weak points even in the armor of men like Lawless. Drake had been Rosemary's first man – not by Rosemary's choice, either – and ever since then he had held her chains. He was right, to a point; no matter who Rosemary chased, no matter who had shared her bed, she had always had to come back to him. Victoria had never understood it, but she had had no power to free Rose from Lawless. But from everything she'd seen and heard, William Presbery had done just that – freed her from her apparent need for the man who had made her into the Lady Whore. And Victoria was not about to let Lawless reclaim Rose's mind.

Apparently, neither was Beckett. "I suppose you won't attend," he said coolly. "It would be in rather poor taste for you to do so, you know. Actions might have to be taken."

Lawless glared sullenly at Beckett. "Actions?"

Beckett stared calmly back. "Actions. I'm sure I don't need to elaborate for you of all people."

Lawless tried to stare Beckett down, but finally he looked away. "I have better things to do than watch Rose ruin herself," he spat. "But I'm sure you'll both thoroughly enjoy watching Presbery cage her."

"That's rich, coming from you," Victoria said hotly, but stopped when the pressure on her shoulder increased again.

"I hardly think you should be concerned for Rosemary's future, Duke," Beckett said. "I'd worry more about your own. You have a good deal of debts to pay off, you know – many of them owed to the Company as well as the Crown. I'd suggest finding a rich wife while you still can."

Lawless looked unnerved. "Nobody knows of those… er… debts," he said, sounding very uncertain. "The ladies will still follow me like begging puppies."

"It won't be long before the debts go public, Lawless," Beckett warned. "And then no one will want you, no matter how charming you try to be."

Lawless looked around the large ballroom a little desperately. Beckett smirked to himself and added helpfully, "If you're looking for an available heiress, I'd try our hostess for the night. She has no suitors and quite a fortune to inherit from her parents. Harris family friendship certainly wouldn't hurt your reputation, either."

Lawless's expression suddenly cleared, and he smiled arrogantly again. "Well then, I'm sure you needn't worry about those debts," he said, turning and starting off towards Charlotta. He called over his shoulder, "Give the Lady Whore my regards, Lady Beckett."

Victoria watched him go with a hateful stare; then, as she watched him speaking to Charlotta, who was practically swooning off her feet, she said, "That was rather cruel of you."

Beckett glanced at her in surprise. "What was?" he asked with a slight frown.

"Sending Lawless after Charlotta," Victoria said. "I don't think even she deserves that."

"Oh, I'm sure they'll be perfect for one another," Beckett said with a careless shrug.

"Lawless isn't perfect for anyone," Victoria said heatedly. "The only thing he deserves is an early grave."

Beckett pressed a comforting hand to her shoulder. "Soon, love," he promised quietly. "Very, very soon…"

Victoria was about to ask him what that meant when a group of giggling young women hurried up to her. "We want to hear about the pirate kidnapping," their leader, a bold brunette, announced.

Victoria arched a brow. "Do you, now?" she said. "What if I don't particularly feel like talking about it?"

"Oh, please!" a different girl, short and blonde, begged. "Everyone was claiming you were dead before, and we're all so anxious to hear what really happened. It'd be better to hear it from you than from some other busybody… don't you think?"

Victoria couldn't argue with that; and anyway she loved being the center of attention after such a long absence from the company of anyone but those living in the Beckett household. "All right," she said, sounding much more grudging than she felt. "Gather round, ladies; you'll forgive me if I don't stand. The baby, you understand…"

Beckett smiled to himself as more women rushed to join the circle. A few curious men even joined the group, anxious to hear what Victoria would say. Beckett quietly slipped off, leaving Victoria to her own devices. She would be fine on her own for the time being. At the moment, he had a little business to take care of.