Her Favoured Captain (3 page)

  
“So you offered my body to the Earl of
Moorby, and he promised to pay your debts in exchange? Is that the bargain you
have struck, Ned?”

  
“Yes,” his reply, as he struggled to kneel
before her. “This is our last chance to keep the estate within the family. Once
clear of debt I can seek a wife to bear heir to the Penhavean Estate.”
 

  
It all appeared so simple to Ned, one
favour deserving another, and she the bait. In reality, perhaps it was the only
way to save the family home, for she would hate to see it fall into a state of
disrepair and be lost to them forever. Worse, for all his rotten deeds she
could not bear to think of him in a debtors’ prison or banished to far distant
colony. Despite thoughts of marriage to Moorby most unpleasant, she said, “If I
marry Moorby, what guarantee is there that he will pay all the outstanding
debts?”

  
“Is not a gentleman’s word of honour
sufficient for you? Damn it all, Emerald. You are nine and ten years of age,
and unmarried still.”

  
“No Ned, a gentleman’s handshake and verbal
agreement is easily ignored come time of payment upon delivery of goods.” She
had to say it, but knowledge of their dire straits meant only she could save
them from ruin. “Unless Moorby agrees to written contract of your debts paid
the day before the wedding, and paid in full, the marriage will not happen,
simply will not happen.”

  
“I cannot propose such a thing.”

  
“Then invite him here for a weekend stay,
and we shall see if he will agree to my terms.”

  
“He might, I suppose, if for once you could
see your way in to being a tad flirty with the fellow. Hell Emerald, his
daughters are unable to inherit his vast estates. So marry him, give him the
son he craves and then beget a young lover to pleasure and excite you.”

  
“I cannot believe I am agreeing to
something that so repels me, I shall for certain be sick upon the wedding
night.”

  
Ned chuckled. “Lie back and let him have
his way. The old bugger might surprise and delight you in ways you never
thought possible.” His eyes levelled on hers, and he looked somewhat sobered by
their conversation. “What happened here, I truly do not understand, and pray
you will see fit to forgive me in time.”

  
“I know not what to say, Ned, and your
behaviour tonight has quite shaken me.”

  
“What of Tobias, will you ever forgive me?

  
“No Ned, I cannot and never will forgive
you for taking him from me”

  
He struggled to his feet head bowed in
shame. Shoulders hunched, air of defeat about him, he shifted awkward as he had
as a child when verbally chastised by their father. “Then I bid you good
night.”

Chapter Three

~

A lark in full song high
above the meadow drew her attention. She paused, seeking it out, but a
cloudless sky as blue as the bluebells in nearby woodland and bright sunshine
made it impossible. She shaded her eyes, the little bird still obscured to
human eye. She dare not hurry to the bridge in excited haste, for it might draw
undue attention. After all, she was not a child she was a grown woman.

  
She dallied a little longer, the bridge
ever distant. Now and again she paused to pluck wild flowers from the grassy
verge. Nonetheless her heart skipped while silk slipper-clad feet ambled
onward, taking her ever closer to her buccaneer. He would be there, where promised
to be. She did not doubt his honour in that, but was it folly to have agreed to
engage a second time with a relative stranger?

  
He was a man of dubious means and
intentions. Why would a buccaneer drop anchor in the creek, if not to avoid
ships of his majesty’s fleet or that of a customs cutter? She was, in truth,
rushing headlong heart leading and it might all prove to be a terrible mistake.
What if acceptance of his suggestion to meet again had roused impression of her
willingness to . . . Oh Lord, the mere thought caused a flush to cheeks.

  
The bridge now before her she slowed her
pace, and although sensible to check to be sure no one happened to be watching
her she resisted temptation of blatant over shoulder glance. Instead she
paused, crouched down and picked an array of differing wild flowers, then cast
a subtle eye to the ride and house. There was no one within sight, and no face
at a window. She rearranged the flowers in hand, and only then moved into the
shade of trees and began her descent of the steps to creek bottom.

  
A few paces taken along the dry sand her
heart dived. She could not see him, could not yet see if the ship was still at
anchor. Her heart said run to the bend in the creek, while her head said walk
in dignified manner eyes to ground. All kinds of emotions welled within, and it
was best to assume the ship had weighed anchor and away. Tears brimmed. She
hastily wiped them away with a kerchief. This was all so silly, and a sad case
of fascination for someone she knew nothing of. His relative handsomeness and
charming manner was an asset to be sure, if nose tad prominent. But, had she
remembered his features accurate, she could not be sure.

  
She rounded the bend of the creek and there
it was, the ship, and smoke again drifting upward from behind the rocky
outcrop. Taking into account the fact the ship had to have a crew, the silence
all around was really quite eerie bar for occasional bird singing within the
steep wooded slopes. Where was he? She could not dare approach the rocky
outcrop, and about to turn around, a short distance ahead she spied a pair of
boots standing proud amidst a heap of clothing. Such caused undue sense of
alarm, and instinct drew her eyes to the waters of the creek: sure enough a man
swimming mid-channel. What should she do?

  
With each step forward she scrutinised the
pile of clothes, and as she drew closer, smock, hose, a belt and sword became
apparent. How bizarre, a sword instead of cutlass? But, at least he had
breeches on his person. She lingered beside his cast-offs, a blue ribbon noted
within the folds of his smock. Gaze averted back to the creek she watched him
cut water at speed, arm over arm, muscles in back and arms bringing him ever
closer. Before long he was on his feet treading water, chest bared to sun,
bared to her, and other than Ned bare to waist now and then she had never seen
another man half dressed.

  
“Forgive my state of undress, your
ladyship,” he said, a broad grin. “I had thought you of changed mind in paying
visit today”

  
His hands to head to skim excess water from
shoulder length hair drew her eyes to shoulders broad, arms strong in muscle.
His chest, though, by far the greater interest where she had nestled her head
the day prior, and now exposed and shadowed black with hair to point at navel,
his wet breeches luring the eye. “It is a lady’s prerogative to be a little
late.”

  
“Are those flowers apology for your
lateness?”

  
“Oh no
 
. . . well
 
. . .” Damn the flush
to her cheeks and blatant amusement dancing in his eyes. “Think of them as part
of my masquerade to escape undue attention, though I confess no one seemed the
least interested in my departure from the house.”

  
Hint of mischief played on his face. “Am I
to conclude you are under close guard for some reason?”

  
“Not as yet, but if discovered cavorting
with a buccaneer my life not worth a jot hereafter.” She indeed feared her
brother’s wrath, and resistance to his wishes were now dashed outright. “I am
resigned to my fate, but today and the whole of this week is special because it
is to be my last time of freedom here at Penhavean Hall. Next week I am to
attend dinner at the Earl of Moorby’s London residence. And, according to Ned
at breakfast this morning, my entertainment has been planned weeks in advance.”

  
Resigned to her fate sounded, well, rather
weak. She was not, for she had agreed to marry Moorby to save her brother and
the family name from shame and the house from ruin. In the meantime air of
rebellion was her intention and the manner in which she kicked off heeled
slippers was surely a good sign of carefree spirit?

  
“Ah, Ned’s chosen suitor, and her ladyship
not best pleased by his choice,” he said, gathering his things.

  
She scooped up her slippers, the flowers
sadly wilted in hand. “Shall we sit in the shade?” As they strolled to the
woodland verge, she glanced toward the seaward edge of the creek shrouded by
wide sweep of inlet. “How long do you intend to stay moored here?”

  
“A day, a week, who can say?”

  
What madness, a ship, a captain and he with
no plan of action. “Does a captain not know why his ship is at anchor in a
private creek, nor when he is to set sail?”

  
He chuckled. “Private land either side, but
methinks the tidal waterway is crown property.”

  
Beneath shady boughs she plopped her rump
down, peach-coloured silk skirt billowed about her. “You evade my question,
captain, why so?”

  
He cast his sword to one side, threw his
boots and belongings beyond and settled his rump to sand beside her. “I recall
you had no interest in my name, a day past. Now today you wish to know my sail
date, and no doubt your next question in wont to know where I might be going.”
She could not help but laugh, a hand to his shoulder in friendship, though
snatched away as fast as settled upon bare flesh. “That was nice,” his remark,
a sideways glance and big grin.

  
It was nice for her, too, if momentary
frisson of physical pleasure. “It was
I
who found
you
, and I
would like to know how long I am to have my buccaneer to talk with, for I would
hate to rush down here one fine day and find your ship gone and you with it.”

  
“
Your
buccaneer?” He dropped
backwards head pillowed in hands, one knee raised and rather smug expression as
he wiggled bare toes of out-stretched foot. “It may happen that way, your
ladyship. On balance all things buccaneer, I can hardly come to the house to
express my chagrin at having to leave such a lady as yourself wandering the
creek all alone and without good company at hand.”

  
“And shall you be disappointed . . . come
time of your parting these waters?”

  
She could not avert her gaze from his face,
for his tongue might lie but his eyes would reveal truth as they had a day
past.

  
He suddenly dropped his knee, closed his
eyes, his expression unreadable. “Indeed, but we have today so let us make the
most of it.” He chuckled, reopened one eye, as though her thoughts read and
deliberately acted upon. He stretched his arm out flat upon the ground. “Come,
lie with me, put your head to my shoulder, and tell me why this suitor of yours
curls up your toes, so.”

  
She laughed, fell back against his
shoulder, and snuggled to his chest. Her heart somersaulted, pulse quickened,
and sense of haven, safe haven enveloped. She trusted him, implicitly. “Moorby
is fat, ugly, old enough to be my father, and . . .”

  
“Moorby, eh? Admiral of the fleet and Earl
of Moorby, the honourable thief, if one cares to grant that kindly title to a
thoroughly unscrupulous rogue.” He nuzzled her hair, gentle kiss to her head
sensual. “A rich man by all accounts. His wealth accumulated from acquisition
of unpaid debts.”

  
“Exactly,” she said, cutting him
mid-sentence, “and he expects either payment in property, land, or in my
brother’s case,
I
as payment because we have no ready monies and the
estate is mortgaged beyond means of honoured payment.”

  
“Are you aware of what kind of debts he
settles payment upon?”

  
“It would seem any outstanding debt is of
interest to Moorby. That is why my brother has insisted I marry the man, for
Moorby has promised to secure payment of all Ned’s debts. In agreeing to my
brother’s demands, which I have done, Ned and the Penhavean family name is now
saved from a terrible shame and the house secured from ruin.”

  
“You are sorely misinformed, Emerald.” He
caught her chin, forced her face upward, his expression dark and brooding, his
eyes searching hers but for what? “Moorby settles gambling debts. He believes
once a man a gambler lured by excitement and danger of win or lose, habitual
gambler is the next step. Ned always enjoyed carding, and is still known to
squander more time in gambling dens than most seamen frequent favoured doxy
houses. Moorby will have encouraged him, no doubt with you in mind as payment
in kind I suspect.”

  
Oh God, how could Ned do this to her? “Then
my body is exchange for a gambling debt?”

  
“It would appear, so.” He kissed her nose,
a big grin creasing his face. “I could of course, kidnap you, and steal you
away on my ship.”

  
Torn between truth and Ned’s lies, she
doubted not her buccaneer to be telling the absolute truth. “As much as I would
love to be kidnapped by you, no matter the cause of Ned’s debt, I cannot stand
by and see him sent to prison nor transported to one of the colonies, but I
have no means other than betrothal to Moorby to secure Penhavean for Ned’s
heirs.”

  
“Emerald, do you trust me? Trust me enough
to believe in what I am about to propose?”