Her Favoured Captain (7 page)

  
“Indeed, but few cannon are kept as pristine
as those aboard one of his majesty’s vessels.” He glanced her way then brought
his horse closer. “You look somewhat pale, Emerald. Are you feeling unwell?”

  
“A little poorly. Bouts of chill and
feverish sweats, and on occasion have felt dreadfully tired. Today is the first
time of my stepping out of the house in two weeks. Can you believe that, when I
cannot abide to miss a walk each day.”

  
“Inside with you, then, and take a rest,”
he said, a glance toward the stable yard. “Tomorrow we have a guest coming for
dinner, and I assume you will want to attend.”

  
“A guest? Who?”

  
“Oh, just an old friend I happened upon
while in London. We owe him, owe him much in affording this unworthy brother of
yours a partnership in his new business venture.”

  
As Ned turned and led his now calm steed to
the stables, she walked to the main entrance and could not think of a worse
situation than that of seated at a dining table with men talking of business
and enterprise. Nevertheless, she must show willing. For Ned seemed happier
than seen in a long while.

  
With the main door open she paused on the
threshold, a quick glance toward the meadows. “Together Tobias, forever,”
slipped her lips.

  
Her eyes drifted to the woodland edge, and
it occurred to her how quiet it was down at the creek? No battle, just bird
song, and perhaps a naval ship lying in wait for a buccaneer, her buccaneer,
for she would always think of him as hers. She prayed him safe out of harms
way.

  
She closed the door; still reeling at news
the house and estate now hers. What kind of man would honour another’s debts,
and in so doing beget a betrothed whom he has never seen? And then, the house
and estate acquired on payment of Ned’s debts bestowed upon the man’s
betrothed. A desperate man, surely? Oh Lord, please, not another obscene
creature such as Moorby, for Ned had lied before, and might be duping her
again.

Chapter Six

~

To have the old Ned
restored, the caring brother of her childhood pleased her no end, but her own
plight continued to weigh heavy and lessened what should otherwise be a time
for celebration. Nonetheless, after two weeks of prolonged debilitating
stuffiness of head, she really felt much better upon waking on such a fine and
sunny morning. Able to breathe deeply, the scent from roses beneath her window
was utterly delightful to inhale.

  
It was as though Ned’s return had set her
free from unseen shackles, despite little knowledge of her intended. It was
Ned’s enthusiasm for the man’s honourable gesture of gifting Penhavean Hall Estate
to her, which had to be taken into account. So too, she had been assured she
would not be disappointed by the other man’s handsome appearance, though Ned
claimed he had yet to meet Lord Welldon in person. So, Lord Welldon remained as
much a mystery to Ned as he was to her.

  
Still abed at eleven of the clock, the long
arduous journey from London to Cornwall had quite taken its toll on her
brother. With not a peep from his bedchamber, it seemed the best possible
moment to venture to the creek. Curiosity had eaten her up over dinner the
previous evening, for Ned’s teasing that he had known all along a naval ship
would be at anchor in the creek that night a little disconcerting. Also, that
he knew its captain and officers. In fact, had been invited to dine with them
at Greenwich a week prior. Plus the cannon fired, apparently that of a courtesy
shot to alert him to its presence: all rather a planned event.

  
But what of her buccaneer . . . what if he
returned that very night and came sailing into the creek unaware a naval vessel
already moored within?
 
How big was this
naval vessel, how many cannon did it have? Inquisitiveness had a mighty big
pull on her, and in haste she snatched up a wide-brimmed hat to shade her face
from fierce sun, and fled the house.

  
She would have run to the bridge, sped down
the steps and rushed along the creek’s beach if her buccaneer’s ship moored
there. Instead she strolled the distance hat upon head its ribbons trailing
behind, and on occasion paused to pick and delight in the sweetness of wild
strawberries.

  
As soon as her silk slipper-clad feet
touched sand she sensed a presence. She turned heart in mouth to see a shadowy
form lurking beneath the nearest arch of the bridge. He waded toward her
barefoot wearing breeches that of naval attire and crisp white shirt. Her heart
jolted, somersaulted and many questions revolved in her head and she felt quite
dizzy.

  
“Well Lady Emerald, we meet again,”

  
“Indeed we do, Captain
 
. . . but forgive me, I cannot recall your
name.”

  
A smile flickered on his face, blue-grey
eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hmm. On consideration of our previous encounters
and your inference I would no doubt lie if my name was asked after, you are
unlikely to believe a name proffered.”

  
“I might, if I feel the name suits you.”

  
He chuckled, a sweeping bow performed with
grace, then distance between them bridged in one stride. “Captain Thorne at
your service,” he said, arm quick about her waist, her body pressed to his.
“Your buccaneer returned, and a kiss due methinks in return for my coming to
your aid.”

  
Before she could utter protest, declare her
self again betrothed, his mouth fell on hers and nothing else mattered. Her hat
toppled from her head and she had her buccaneer if but for a moment in time,
his arms about her pure tease as happened before. His kiss was potent in
deliverance, and sense of urgency in tongue to plunder forced her to give sway
to his demand to take possession of her in the only way open to him. Although
breath quite stolen from her, she savoured the salty tang left behind. Sense of
great disappointment befell her, for the last thing she wanted was to be set
free from his ardent clutches, but nonetheless stepped back a pace.

  
“I fear if you have come to help me, though
I cannot think how, then you are too late.”

  
“How so?” His former jolly tease in voice
turned to that of concern “What has happened, Emerald? Tell me.”

  
“It is a long story, and I’m not sure where
to begin, except to say I am now betrothed to another lord . . . A Lord
Welldon.”

  
He scooped up her hat and her hand caught
up in his felt so perfect, his voice as before caring and soothing. “Let us
walk awhile, for as your astonished face declared moments past, you knew your
buccaneer to be nothing of the kind.”

  
“So Captain Thorne, you are a man of
deceptive intention.”

  
“It was mere ploy, dear lady, to enable
fraternisation in foreign ports with renowned reputation for harbouring of
privateer craft.” He chuckled, a gentle squeeze of her hand. “Those very
privateers now my prey, and two quite recent sunk off the Scilly Isles.”

  
“Goodness, you mean . . .”

  
“Not the sort of thing for a tender young
lady’s ears. Now, tell me about this Lord Welldon.”

  
“I know nothing about him, and there is no
way out of the marriage. Ned did try. He went to London to secure the services
of a lawyer, but there was no time to serve a summons against the Earl of
Moorby before the horrid beast sold Ned’s debt to this Lord Welldon.”

  
“Ah, I see, a summons with regards trading
property and a slave?”

  
“Well yes, and I the slave. Yet, promptly
upon acquisition of Penhavean Estate his lordship gifted it to me as a wedding
present, when most men seek a betrothed with substantial dowry. Naturally I
assumed him akin to Moorby. A thoroughly unpleasant man in appearance and
desperate to acquire a wife, yet he is, supposedly, quite young and handsome
with it.”

  
“Is that not perhaps a good thing? For I,
handsome enough according to some young ladies met along life’s path, would be more
than pleased to have you his wife.”

  
“Would you . . . would you be happy with me
as your wife?”

  
He chuckled, drew her hand to his lips.
“Have I not said as much, though as a mere captain, I fear a lord is by far a
better choice for a lady of rank’s hand in marriage.”

  
“But I know nothing of him, and although I
know nothing about you I feel safe in your arms. I trust you, and this may
sound a little forward, but I think I am a little in love with you, and have
been since our first meeting.”

  
His arm went about her waist and she prayed
he might kiss her again. “You will no doubt come to love this man, in no time
at all,” he said, air of amusement dancing in his eyes as they stopped walking,
eyes locked. “What better than a man of substantial means could a woman wish
for in a husband? Would you truly want to be married to such as I, a mere
captain of the high seas?”

  
“Yes, I would if I thought you to be in
love with me. But of course, that is nothing but a dream, for my fate is that
of becoming Lady Welldon.”

  
“And, if I declared love for you, what
then? Would you abandon Penhavean, sail away with me and come and live in my
house?”

  
“You have a house?”

  
“I do, in Dartmouth, near the sea, though
of late have seen little of the place.”

  
“Alas, I have no choice but to stay, my
fate sealed on payment of Ned’s debts. Which reminds me, you once said Ned was
no friend of yours, yet you dined with him at Greenwich, I presume.”

  
“That is so, and with old scores settled
our once friendship lost, now regained.”

  
“I am glad for you and Ned, but jealous
too.”

  
“Would that you come lie with me, Emerald,
as happened before,” he said, fingers feathering her cheek. “Believe it,
jealous blood would no longer course through your veins.”

  
Drawn close against him, his breath upon
her face, if only his mouth upon hers she would be in raptures. “I wish it
possible, and would willingly come to you if not already betrothed.”

  
“Then, suffer my sweet Emerald, suffer
pangs of jealousy throughout dinner this evening.” Was it enjoyment at her
discomfiture that danced in his eyes? Flicker of smile, too. “Lord Welldon’s a
lucky man, a lucky man indeed.”

  
With that he turned and strode away toward
the bend in the creek, and although awful sense of loss washed over her she had
no choice but to turn about and walk in the opposite direction. What torture it
would be to have him a guest for dinner, she hanging on his every word and
longing for his touch and he cold in rebuff.

~

Dinner turned out as
predicted. Captain Thorne arrived looking extreme smart and handsome in full
naval uniform. His demeanour was that of polite guest and for the most part
conversation had erred military talk throughout, and precious little said of
interest to a lady. The two now ensconced in the library for an hour at least,
and her as befitting mere woman left to her own devices and amusements.

  
Peeved best described her agitation at
Captain Thorne’s coolness toward her, and little surprise she had thrice
pricked her thumb with a fine embroidery needle. Although still tender she
continued thrusting needle through linen and drawing silk skein over and
needling under again. What were the men discussing, and why hushed voices?

  
About to cast her embroidery aside and take
a late evening stroll the doors of the library swung wide and the men deigned
to show face. “Emerald, I fear we have much neglected you this evening.” Ned
strode forth and prompt in usual stance of elbow to fireplace mantel, he
gestured for their guest to take a seat, which Captain Thorne did, directly
opposite to her. “This matter of my sister’s betrothal . . .”

  
“Ned,” she snapped, in best scolding tone.
“I hardly think Captain Thorne has any interest in hearing about such things.”
She could hardly bear the torture of having the man she desired above all
others sitting across from her, his eyes as teasing as ever yet something else
too: what exactly she could not pin to him, and she would not have Ned discuss
private matters with Captain Thorne. “It’s a family matter.”

  
Seeming amused by something perhaps said
before their condescending to pay her court, Captain Thorne with a chuckle,
declared, “On the contrary, I have a vested monetary interest in this
betrothal.”

  
Aghast at his outburst, and needle poised
below embroidery ready for upward thrust she could not comprehend his
statement. “How, how can you possibly have any interest
 
. . .” Oh no, this could not be. “Did you
say monetary interest?”

  
Ned Laughed. “Enough tease, dear boy. Tell
her, damn you, or I will.”

  
Captain Thorne shifted forward in his
chair, elbows to knees in relaxed manner, and no words were needed. She
inadvertently stabbed through the cloth directly into her thumb, and would have
given him a piece of her mind if not for blooded flesh thrust to mouth.

  
“Ouch,” exclaimed Ned, on her behalf, eyes
just as rapidly averted to her once buccaneer. “Get it over and done with,
Richard.” With that Ned made to-ward the library. “The sooner the better, dear
chap.” The doors of the library then closed behind him.