“You fought in the battle of Dunsmere,” one man slurred in awe.
“Aye,” Percy grunted.
Another man stumbled forward. “I ’eard all th’ men wot tried t’ leave Butcher’s crew was killed.”
Fuck. Percy’s lips thinned. “At least one man didn’t.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Heather’s gaze swing toward him. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he hid a wince.
“’Ow do we know it’s ’im, then?” a new voice asked. “Lemme see yer tattoos!”
“It’s ’im,” the other man replied. “Y’ can tell…”
The voices faded away as he rounded the corner with Heather, and they started up the stairs. His pulse thundered inhis ears, nearly drowning out his aggravated breathing and the creak of the inn’s wooden stairs.
The air grew increasingly dense with grease and heat with each floor they climbed. At last, they reached the top and closed themselves in their room.
It was precisely as he’d expected: peeling wallpaper, rough-hewn furniture set strategically about the small space, and—Christ, did he just see a mouse dart into the corner of the room? The air stank of sex and perfume. It was positively nauseating.
“Who are you to them, Percy?” Heather asked, whirling on him.
Percy leaned back against the door.
This was it, the end of any association she would have with him. He closed his eyes against the hurt and betrayal he was sure to see on her face. “Despite the public’s knowledge of my chosen name of Percival Baxter, these men also know me as Percival MacDonald,” he began, his throat tight. “Adopted son of Benjamin MacDonald, known as Butcher.”
Heather gasped, and there was a shift of fabric, but Percy refused to look. “As you know, I was born and raised on the sea.” He swallowed past the bile in his throat. “Ben—Butcher—claimed me as his own. Said that while I resembled my mother, my spirit matched his.”
He cringed and pushed off the door, striding deeper into the diminutive bedchamber.
“Percy,” Heather said softly, a hint of pity in her voice.
Pity. Bah! Of course she didn’t pity him. She ought to be aghast at ever having spoken to him, let alone having allowed him liberties…
He raked a hand through his hair.Hell’s tits.
“You are not like Butcher,” she said.
“But I am!” He rounded on her, his cheeks hot and his gut knotted with shame.
She shook her head. “I know you, Percy?—”
“No, you don’t,” he spat. “I was a pirate on Butcher’s crew, Heather. Do you not know what that means?”
Her lips thinned, and her eyebrows curved upward in a look of combined pity and pleading. Percy had to look away, focusing instead on the darkness beyond the window.
“I know that you feel guilt, and that you attempted to change your life for the better. That you dedicate much of your time to helping others. That your best friend, Leo, adores and trusts you, and that you faced imprisonment and death to helpme.” The air stirred around him as she stepped closer, and he breathed in her floral, earthy scent. “You did nothing more than what you were raised to do. And then you got out… Howdidyou escape Butcher?”
“I leapt from a gun port as we sailed away from Barataria Bay—not far from here, in fact—and swam ashore. There, I changed my name, joined another crew, and then another, and another, captaining numerous pirate crews. Despite my change in name, word spread of my apparent lineage. It wasn’t long beforePercival Baxterbecame just as notorious asPercival MacDonald.
“One day, I found myself on a privateer ship, where I met Leo. The privateers embraced me as one of their crew. Eventually, we were permitted to remain in England, though I daresay that is in large part due to Leo.” He sighed, sitting on the foot of the bed.
Deep self-loathing and despair churned through Percy. The truth was out. Now Heather would turn away from him in abhorrence.
His heart gave a hardthwump. He felt ill. Couldn’t bear the thought of her looking at him differently, of her hating him.Fuck.
She deserved so much better than him. Despite her already being ruined in the eyes of thehaut ton, she could still find a good man who would give her the marriage, children, and large home that she probably wanted—that she deserved,damn it.
“No matter what happened in the past,” she said, stepping between his legs and sifting her fingers through his dark hair, “you are not what he tried to make you. If you were, you would not have cared to escape.”
