Her Favoured Captain (2 page)

  
She could not speak, even if she had wanted
him to desist his awful tease, but it was no tease. His lips embraced hers, and
she in turn succumbed to pleasure, to sense of safeness as opposed to danger.
How was this possible, with a man met only moments beforehand? She gave sway to
pressure of his mouth forcing her lips to part, and plundered by his tongue
sensations never experienced before washed over her.

  
His sudden withdrawal was sweet agony, and
voice husky with desire caused her heart to blip. “Ah, that you were mine,
sweet Emerald. Alas, that is not so and I apologise for my ungallant behaviour.”

  
He stepped back, and she said, “I shall not
hold it against you.” She drew breath, voice choked, mixed emotions erupting
along with welled tears. “I shall keep secret the knowledge of your ship at
anchor. For here, surrounded by my brother’s estate, it is unlikely anyone will
happen upon you from the land. But beware, fishing boats do sometimes enter the
creek.”

  
“Tears Emerald, more tears? Have I now
upset you, too?”

  
“No, and strange as it may seem, I felt . .
.” How to express what she had actually felt upon meeting him was now of little
consequence, and present feelings far more difficult to quantify in words. “I,
I feel safe in your company.”

  
He cast a glance at the woodland,
unforgiving steep as it rose upward from the creek floor. “To get you back up
to the path in that gown of yours is pretty much impossible, unless you care to
hoist it up to your waist at the front. I climbed up no trouble, but did return
faster than expected. Hence our bumping into each other.”

  
“No, no, it is far too steep.” She nodded
to a bend in the creek, her intended path before their collision occurred. “I
shall follow the creek until I reach a bridge, where steps are located.”

  
“Then I shall escort you to be sure your
beautiful self safe and back on a footpath.”

  
“The steps actually lead to the main ride
from highway to the house, so you had best not escort me that far,” she said,
setting off with her buccaneer alongside.

  
“Wise thinking, dear lady, if my presence
is to remain a secret. I have no wish to incite attention from estate hands nor
from that brother of yours.”

~

Who would have thought it
could happen. Of all the people to bump into while on a secret mission it had
to be Penhavean’s sister. Ned Penhavean, dis-reputable bounder, a rake, gambler,
drinker and a decidedly enchanting beautiful sister?

  
With the tide incoming fast he glanced at
his companion hurrying beside him, her burnished brown hair tumbling over
delightful feminine shoulders: torn dishevelled gown leaving little to the
imagination. All of which had caused him to break the rules of social
etiquette, but how could a man not have tended to her tearful grieving?

  
The bridge she had mentioned suddenly came
within view. She stopped, semi breathless in a somewhat concerned manner. “Pray,
do not come further, for I shall soon reach the steps. You need to go back,
now
,
if you are to reach the outcrop of rock and your boat, before the tide washes
over them.”

  
Eyes locked, was it wishful thinking on his
part that she lingered as though awaiting a kiss before taking her leave? To
draw her close and snatch a kiss was unbelievably tempting but to err caution
was the greater part of gentlemanly spirit. “I would much rather see you safe,
out of harms way.”

  
“I will be, if I go now. Thank you, thank
you for being so kind, and I shall have you know you saved my life.”

  
“I did?”

  
“I quite came here with intention of
throwing myself in the creek.”

  
Already aware his ship had forestalled her
reason for coming to the creek, it was gratifying to think
it
and
he
had prevented a grief stricken tragedy. “For love of a horse?” Something in her
eyes declared a deeper reason, and with luck she might reveal what had driven
Emerald Lady Penhavean to consider death preferable to life.

  
“Not entirely, but Tobias was and always
will be my greatest love,” her reply.

  
“Hmm. To be second best to a horse might
well be termed affront by a potential suitor ”

  
“I do have a suitor, and have tried my best
to escape his hand in marriage but my brother insists it will happen, either
with my permission or without it.”

  
It always astonished him how women on
occasion of much distress were prone to smiles and tears in tandem, and he had
not expected her to reach up on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. What torture, what
agony to let her slip his grasp. But it had to be, for she was not his. “Come
down to the creek again, tomorrow, same time.” Short of immediate kidnap as
instant solution to her dilemma, happen a few facts about her brother might
enlighten a more sensible path in alleviating her dilemma. “Perhaps, between
us, we can hatch a plot to scupper this betrothal you so despise”

  
“I would like that even if mere dream, and
I shall come by way of the bridge. It is a little safer that way, unless I go
further along the path where it runs level with the creek.”

  
“If I say, I will be at this very spot,
will that please you?”

  
“It will, and I shall think of you as my
buccaneer. I do not wish to know your name, for I know what ever you choose
will be a mere teasing nom de plume.”

  
He could not help but wince at her
shrewdness, and her emerald eyes were all a glitter with mischief and caused
such pain in the groin it truly stirred the very devil within.

  
“I must go,” she said. “So must you, or you
will drown, and I should be terribly distraught if my buccaneer is not here on
the morrow.”
 

  
With that she turned and ran, skirts
hitched up in the manner of a serving wench at a bawdy tavern. His heart
thumped a tattoo. Dare he hope for more than kisses on the morrow? Nay, to
indulge in lustful engagement with Lady Emerald Penhavean, utter folly. He
would be gone soon enough, and might never return to England full-bodied man if
not already dead and food for sharks.

Chapter Two

~

She ran as though the very
was Devil at her heels, and the man behind her the handsomest ever seen. On
reaching the bridge she glanced back to be sure he was equal in haste to be
safe from the fast-rising waters of the creek, but he had not moved one inch.
She waved, and knew him safe for she spied the rowboat and men paddling
upstream toward him.

  
If her buccaneer had happened to be Lord
Moorby, she would have no hesitation in accepting his offer of marriage. Sadly
he was not, but had nonetheless stirred a kind of rebellion within her. No matter
what, she would never cave to Ned’s insistence she marry a pompous, be-wigged,
fat old man.”

  
She trod most careful on the slime covered
stone steps, for although she had come to the creek for one reason only,
something about her buccaneer had set her on a new path of discovery, one of
excitement and expectation.

  
Upon her return to the house she noticed
farm hands with picks and shovels, one man with rope coil slung over his
shoulder and standing by the meadow gate. She hurried toward the men and spied
fresh soil on their boots: their rolled up smock sleeves and reddened faces
indicative of much hard labour not long ceased. The man with rope noticed her
on approach and barged through the group to stand out front.

  
“Yer ladyship,” he said, removing his hat,
“we been an’ buried yer oss as we thought yer’d like us to.”

  
“Thank you, thank you.” Ned would be so mad
if he could hear her thanking farm hands, but she didn’t care. She would reward
each and every one without Ned’s knowledge, just as soon as he went off back to
London, as he would and fairly soon no doubt. “I cannot thank you enough.”

  
“Begging pardon, yer ladyship, we said a
prayer o’er oss as well.”

  
She so wanted to hug each man in gratitude,
but instead hurried toward the meadow gate. The men drifted away leaving her
with Tobias’ resting place. The mound was quite noticeable and located centre
of meadow, to which she sped and fell upon it. She recalled having galloped
Tobias most cruel in wont to see how fast he could cover ground from one end to
the other of Baddington Beach. Later he had coughed and coughed and it was
thought he might choke to death, but he survived four days and then…

  
Tears flooded forth.

  
“I am so sorry, so sorry Tobias. I had
quite thought to join with you in peace and release from Ned’s scorn.” Her
kerchief was now lost somewhere in the woodland, and she utilised the hem of a
petticoat to wipe away tears. She blew her nose on it, too. Not a very grown up
lady like thing to do, but necessary. “I have found a new friend, whom you
would like I feel sure. His hands, although callused are gentle in touch, and I
think . . . think I am a little in love. Silly, really, because I don’t even
know his name.” Not caring the dusty ground she laid her head upon the grave.
“I know, I know, how is it possible to be in love with someone met only this
very afternoon.” A sigh escaped, her buccaneer’s teasing smile and deadly
attractive eyes memorable. “I shall come every day to see you, my sweet horse,
I promise.”

~

Water on face stirred her
awake to sense of darkness all around, and realisation that it was raining. She
clambered to her feet, lights in the house casting sufficient glow to see her
way through the meadow gateway and along the ride to the front door.

  
As soon as the door slammed shut Ned called
from the blue room his voice slurred, sleepy. “Issss that you, Emerallll?”

  
“Of course, it is I.” She hurried to the
blue room, its vast opulence at odds with her wet muddied and torn clothing.
“Who else would come bounding in uninvited?”

  
Leaning on the mantel’s sill, Ned yawned,
said, “In God’s name, Emerald, where have you been?” He was no longer the
loving Ned of their youth, and she with reason enough to despise the beast he
had turned into. “Have you no thought for those of us worried by your absence?”
He moved forward, steadied his frame with hands to chair, as though feeling
unwell but his eyes implied him wine sodden. “Have you no shame?”

  
“Shame?” she snapped, fairly sure someone
must have spied her in company with her buccaneer. “I have nothing to feel
shame for.”

  
“Look at you,” he snarled, the spiteful
Ned, the too familiar adult Ned with vengeful thoughts and tongue as sharp as
his sword. “You disgrace the family name with your actions.” He came around the
chair to stand before her. “And your state of dress.” He toyed torn silk at her
shoulder, then let fall his hand to ripped lace at neckline. “What pray about
Lord Moorby disgusts you so?”

  
“He is more than twice my age.” Ned’s eyes
settled on her plump bosom, his soft fingers idly drifting upward across bared
flesh to neck. He had never committed such a despicable act before, his drunken
state utter repulsive. She swept his hand away, and stepped back from him
intent on departing his company. “You are drunk, your lordship.”

  
“Drunk, you think me drunk?” He stepped
toward her. Arm coiled about her waist snakelike he drew her hard against his
body, too close for the likes of a brother and sister “You think yourself a
lady tonight, Emerald? Well let me tell you, I’ve bedded better dressed whores
who would not be seen dead in rags and tatters such as these.”

  
She squirmed, his words vile. “Ned, you are
drunk, and beastly cruel. Let me go. I beg of you, let me go.”

  
His grip upon her slackened a little, his
hand instant to centre of her bodice. He tugged at it until it ripped almost
clear to waistline, her chemise too ripped open to expose breasts for his
obvious delighting. Shamed by it all she fought to cover exposed flesh with
hand and arm. He laughed and wrenched her arm away. “Older men disgust you, do
they? Well then, have a younger man instead.” He hauled her to a chaise, threw
her on it and fell upon her.

  
She fought to push him off. Unable to
dislodge him she sought any means to quell his arousal and slashed his cheek
with her fingernails. He reeled back blood trickling, but it was momentary.
“Wild cat, you need to be taught to obey your master.”

  
“You are my brother, Ned, not my master. Do
this and you will regret it come the morrow, can you not see that?
Ned
,
think what you are doing. A wicked deed such as this committed will haunt your
sobered wakeful hours. Stop this, right now.”

  
Face crestfallen in comprehension of what
he had done and about to do he suddenly rolled away from her and fell to the
floor a crumpled heap of miserable male. “Forgive me, please forgive me,” he
mumbled, attempting to get to his feet. “You must marry Moorby. Have you not
realised we need his money to save this estate from ruin?”

  
For sake of modesty and sense of dignity
she clutched a cushion to her breasts. “How will my wedded to Moorby save this
estate from ruin, and why does it need to be saved?”

  
“I am ruined, Emerald. The estate is
mortgaged beyond means of paying the outstanding debt and I owe trades people
large sums of money.”