Her Favoured Captain (8 page)

  
Her buccaneer seemed far away to her now,
replaced by this ice-cold Captain Thorne sitting opposite. She dreaded his
opening of mouth, but whatever his involvement she would hear him out. For he
had begged three weeks grace in order to help her escape Moorby’s clutches, and
quite obviously sailed away in haste on admiralty business of which took longer
than anticipated. Calendar dates alone were proof of seven weeks since he had
set sail. “If you wouldn’t mind, please do as Ned suggested, before I die in
weariness of waiting your explanation.”

  
“Lady Penhavean, please accept my sincere
apology for deception a day past.”

  
“A day past, deception a day past? But
Captain, you traded in lies, and led me to believe you were a buccaneer when
first we met.”

  
He laughed rose to his feet and seated
himself beside her on the chaise. “Emerald,” he said, cat-ching up her hand,
the pricked thumb purposefully levelled to his lips, and kiss applied. “Would
you be my wife, if it was possible?”

  
“Need you ask?” her reply, heart aching.
Did he love her as she loved him?

  
“I ask because it is possible, but there
are things that might prevent it. Penhavean Estate is yours, and I a residence
in Dartmouth. As my wife you can either reside here or at my residence, for I
am what I am, a captain of the high seas. There will be times when I may not
return home for weeks, perhaps months of absence, and when I do return it will
be to Portsmouth. From there it is up to I where I go in times ashore. What
shall it be, Emerald? Marry me, and come with me to Dartmouth or stay here and
I come to you when time affords.”

  
Confusion befell her. “How can I marry you
when betrothed to Lord Welldon? Or have you somehow purchased me as a separate
item?”

  
He laughed heartily, his arm about her as
though they were again friends. Drawn close against his body all sense of anger
and outrage melted away. “Lord Welldon and I are one and the same, and yes, I
purchased your freedom. Hence you are free to make your own choice as to whom
you choose to marry.”

  
His fingers under her chin forced her to
look up at him, his eyes searching hers for signs of affection, love, or just
curiosity? How could she be sure of anything with a man who had intentionally
deceived her time and time again?

  
“What then shall be your pleasure,
Emerald?”

  
Words eluded her, yet her body screamed for
his touch. All the love for him that had blossomed from several brief moments
of intimacy beside the creek began tearing at her heartstrings. His eyes
pleading a response sent a pleasurable thrill down her spine. She could give
her heart, her soul to this man, and still never really know him. One minute a
buccaneer, the next a naval captain, and now Lord Welldon. Who was he really?
But what did it matter if she loved him and he loved her?

  
He let fall his grip on her, eased away and
rose to his feet. He then bowed, his voice cold, harsh, bitter in tone. “I take
my leave Emerald, my heart yours and you’ve seen fit to throw it back in my
face.”

  
His strides from the room expanded the
distance between them. She could imagine him scooping up his hat in the hall,
even heard his taking leave through the front door, yet her feet would not
move, her mind numbed.

  
Ned hastened from the library, expression
of astonishment. “Well, what happened? Why has he left in such a damnable
hurry?”

  
“I . . . I lost my tongue.” She leapt to
her feet, the room and hall a blur as she took flight. She snatched the front
door open, shouted, “Wait,
wait
.” He turned, and knew, knew her answer
before she reached him. His arms opened and she threw herself at him. “I love
you, I love you.”

  
“I love you, too,” sealed their betrothal, his arms tight about
her and the kiss pure ecstasy.

The End

See Next Page:

List
of other books by Francine Howarth

Blurbs
& 1
^st
chapters.

Historical
Romances

~

Venetian Encounter

~

A Romantic Georgian Murder Mystery: 1800: Naples &
Venice.

Amidst a gathering of nobility and gentry a daring
jewel theft occurs. A young naval lieutenant suggests the notorious Venetian
jewel thief could well be a woman, but a beautiful Russian countess scoffs at
his suggestion albeit in coquettish manner. Determined to unmask the identity
of the thief, at the same time intrigued by the countess, Lt Herne covertly
follows her around Naples: part protective gesture and part curiosity. But
where the countess treads murders occur with frequency and she suddenly takes
flight to Venice.

Ordered to
the Adriatic on naval business Herne drops anchor in Venice. Tempted ashore by
Carnivale a second encounter with the countess proves fatal for both. Madly in
love they indulge in pleasurable pursuits but become embroiled in the
mysterious death of a Russian count, and Therese feels duty bound to return to
St Petersburg. Herne awaits her promised return to no avail. Three years later
and back in England he discovers the countess on his doorstep, and wonders if
he dare let his heart rule his head again? Equally, Therese fears a secret is
best kept secret but Herne asks a potent question and she cannot lie for the
truth is staring him in the face!

~

Chapter One

~

 
~

“That’s a ménage à trios,
if ever I saw one,” said Lieutenant Herne, a mere whisper.

  
“You’re positively indecent,”
she said, glancing his way. “I take it you are somewhat familiar with such.”

  
“And you are not?” came the
reply, his eyes not for one moment leaving that of the trio before them.

  
“Hateful man,” she said, a
hasty slap direct to his shoulder with folded fan. “I shall have you . . .”

  
He swung round alarmingly fast,
his chestnut eyes laughing, mocking, and his face creasing to broad grin. “
I
meant
, have you not noticed a certain familiarity erring intimacy between
the beautiful couple and, the old goat?”

  
“
Oh
,” So he had not
assumed she, Countess Roscoff, keened engagement in scandalous pursuits, though
what a shock it might be if the truth about her became known. “Is it not simply
that of good friends betwixt the threesome, though a tad overly familiar?”

  
He chuckled. “Ha, not as
innocent in thought as you would have me believe, eh?”

  
She flicked her fan open and
raised it to shield a rosy flush to her cheeks, though purposefully coquettish
in manner, for Lieutenant Herne in his naval uniform certainly cut a dash with
the best of the men present despite a knife-edged scar to his right cheek. “Are
you aware your hair tied back in a blue ribbon bow affords a pleasing image to
the female eye, which implies a buccaneer spirit beneath your pristine
appearance.”

  
“Change the subject all you
like, and hide behind your fan dear Countess, but I can read those china blues
of yours as well as any man familiar with warning of storms ahead.”

  
“Oh, and what pray do my eyes
reveal to you?”

  
He cocked his head
infuriatingly to one side and deployed long fingers to his chin, his expression
one of deep consideration and air of delight. “Now that’s asking a lot of a man
with a buccaneer spirit, and I am not sure I should answer in such a public
place.”

  
“Pray, do not hold back, for I
wish to know if you are indeed able to read my thoughts.” His tanned rather
fetching godlike features seemed to freeze, though a discernable pulsing twitch
to right jaw erupted at the tip of his scar. Perhaps he was not used to
forthrightness from a lady. “Well?”

  
“All right,
if
you are
sure.”

  
“Absolute sure.” Chin held
high, biting her lip to prevent a smile, she withstood the challenge of his
eyes roving over hers searching for sign of weakening under stress, which was
utterly unbearable, decidedly frustrating and temptingly delicious. “Go on,
please do.”

  
“From the moment you entered
the room I perceived noted interest in the affairs of the beautiful couple
before us, and indeed sensed a little sympathy bestowed toward Lord Hamilton,
the cuckolded husband. At the same time you were pondering the why and
wherefore of such a marriage. And now, you think my previous comment a tad
coarse, though somewhat honest in observation.” Herne smiled, a captivating
smile. “At this very moment you are deliberating my past life, and whether I may
have indulged in a similar assignation.”

  
“You did not deny such,” she
said, more abruptly than sensible and too late to recant.

  
“Ah
hah
, so I am right
in my assumption, you are a one-man woman.”

  
She laughed. If only he knew
what had really attracted her eyes to the trio, astonishment would be etched
upon his visage. Her reason for being there must never come to light, and to
that aim, she said, “In the latter you are mistaken. I have no inclination
whatsoever to delve into your past.”

  
“I beg to differ, and the
former caused a flush to your cheeks.” He leaned closer, lowered his voice to a
whisper. “Did you not question Lady Hamilton as to my past, and whether I had a
wife at home?”

  
Damn him, damn him to hell
and back for causing a second flush to cheeks
.

  
“I asked the very same of
Colonel Barton.”

  
“
Fatty
Barton?” he said,
clearly taken aback.

 
“I think him a fine officer, and
highly respectful of young ladies, unlike some men I can think of within this
very room. His red tunic is very fetching, and his legs set him solid to deck
when at sea I shouldn’t wonder.”

  
He leaned closer still, mouth
almost brushing her ear. “
Liar
,” his whispered rebuke. “You said yon
Royal Marine officer was gross in manner and drools when lusting after young flesh.”

  
As he backed away their eyes
met and clashed in combat, and his of such a teasing manner as to necessitate
rapid fluttering of fan to cool her cheeks and calm her fast beating heart. It
was nothing short of a stand off, each attracted to the other, but she would
not engage further, such would be folly.

  
“My
jewels
, my
beautiful
jewels,” came a scream of anguish and despair, which broke the moment, a
decidedly awkward moment in time. “My necklace. It has gone. Stolen from around
my very neck,” declared a woman of mature years and rotund stature. “Diamonds
and rubies, no less.”

  
“How could that be?” said
another, rushing forward to offer condolences at the lady’s loss of valuables
of great merit.

  
Several more ladies gathered
around, and Emma Lady Hamilton struggled to make her way through an
ever-amassing throng of guests, hers and Lord Hamilton’s guests. “When did it
go missing?” asked Emma, much concern essayed to the woman, now blubbering with
tears streaming.

  
Therese moved closer, intrigued
by it all and a little amused. She had hoped the disturbance would afford the
chance to escape Lt Herne’s attentions and observations, but she sensed a
presence behind and knew it to be him before he said in hushed whisper,
“That’ll teach her to canoodle with a young stranger in dark corners.”

  
“Stranger?”

  
“Some gigolo and young enough
to be her son.”

  
Her heart dived. “You witnessed
the pair?”

  
“I did, and dare say the
vagabond is the very same notorious Venetian thief who became the topic of
conversation over supper last evening. In my estimation a trip from Venice to
Naples has proved profitable this night, as on previous nights from within the
grand social whirl of Naples.”

  
“How positively daring to steal
away a necklace when the residency is overflowing with guests.”

  
She sensed his eyes upon her,
and dared not reciprocate as he said, “Similar occurred in Vienna a year past,
if the stories are to be believed. And numerous jewel thefts have occurred the
last three seasons of the Venice carnivale.”

  
“
Talked
about? A
Venetian
thief?”

  
“You seem somewhat alarmed,
Countess.”

 
“Only, in as much I have upon my
person a very valuable pendant.”

  
“What pendant?”

  
She thrust her hand to throat,
a sigh of relief escaping. “That was such a cruel trick to play.”
 
Heart at odds with head, Lt Herne’s daring
was slipping beneath her shield, and she couldn’t let that happen. “Who is this
thief so talked of? I have not heard mention of him before. A Venetian you
say?”

  
“Him? Who is to say the thief
is a man?”

  
“But you said . . .Oh, I see .
. .”

  
He chuckled, his oh so husky
deep in the throat chuckle, his gaze having drifted to the distressed lady now
besieged within a sea of faces. A smile flickered on Lt Herne’s face. “Can we
be absolute sure yon page attending to the victim of loss, is not a girl?”