Midnight Mistress (17 page)

He was. Dammit. During the past month Connor’s advice had been unerringly right. He had an almost uncanny sense of matching man and ship and of ensuring that the merchant cargo arrived on time. His knowledge of the trade routes, his familiarity with the ports—and his considerable skills at persuasion—had convinced even recalcitrant merchants such as Atticus Lovejoy of the powerful Lovejoy and Sons to continue to ship with the line. Juliana could not help but be grateful for his assistance. Any more than she could help being swayed by his infectious charm.

Of course, according to the
Morning Post
’s society column,
Connor had been using that infectious charm with great success on several of the
haute ton
’s sophisticates.

She told herself that the irritation she felt was not jealousy, just an owners justifiable concern for the safety of her ships. “All right. I shall assign Jamison to convoy duty. And to make sure of his success I shall assign Tommy Blue as mate, to assist him if he runs into trouble.”

“You could—if Blue were here. He took off two days ago leaving a note that he was needed on personal business.”

Juliana frowned. “That does not sound at all like Tommy. Do you think it had something to do with … well, with Connor Reed?”

Connor shrugged. “Tommy never gave any hint he recognized me from the old days. And if he did, leaving for parts unknown wouldn’t be the course he’d set. But he’s a good man, and there’s no doubt he deserves some time on his own. He’ll be back when he’s finished his business. After all,” he said, flashing his devilish grin, “even a man Tommy’s age has a right to sow some wild oats.”

When it came to charm, Connor had an arsenal of weapons, and his disarming grin was as deadly as a quarterdeck canon. But caution reminded her that behind that grin was a man who’d asked her to marry him—just before she saw him in another woman’s arms. Juliana bent to her desk and made a show of organizing her papers. “Very well, I’ll assign Billy Pike as mate to Jamison for the Lisbon convoy. I believe that will be all for this afternoon.”

Connor arched an eyebrow in surprise. “Did I do something to offend you, my lady?”

She schooled her features into her most pleasantly disinterested society smile. “La, sir, what could you have done that would offend me—or indeed, which would interest me in one way or another?”

His grin didn’t waver, but there was a quick flash of vulnerability in his eyes. “Forgive me for my forwardness,” he commented evenly as he left the desk and went to the wall
peg to retrieve his coat and hat. “I’ll trouble you no more today.”

His smooth voice gave no hint that she’d wounded him, but she knew she’d hurt him, and she’d done it out of spite. She rose from the desk, propping her arms on it as she said, “Connor, wait. I … I am the one who should apologize. ’Twas a mean-spirited comment, one I should never have said. ’Tis just …” Humphing, she brought her palm down on the desk. “Good heavens, Connor. What could you possibly see in Kitty Shacklesford?”

He frowned. “Who is—? Oh, you must mean the lady I met at Almack’s.”

“The lady you danced with for four straight sets at Almack’s! Not that it is any of my business, but—”

“No” he interrupted, his voice low. “It is not your business.”

“The blazes it isn’t. Connor, that little cat may look prim and proper, but she is an outrageous flirt and mean as the devil. She cares more for her hats than she does for her suitors. She will break your heart.”

“And what, my lady, makes you think that Kitty Shacklesford holds my heart?”

Juliana’s heart pulled taut. During their weeks together, she had managed to fight down her attraction to Connor. But when he used that voice—that same, low, honey-smooth voice that he’d used on the night he’d asked her to marry him—her resolve melted like wax. She gripped the edge of her desk, reminding herself that they were employee and employer, that he’d once betrayed her for another, that there were a thousand reasons she should feel nothing for him. “Nevertheless, I must warn you against her society. She has no true regard for you.”

Connor adjusted his cuffs, apparently more interested in them than her advice. “If I were you, I would not be so disparaging to Miss Shacklesford. By appearing to have me at her beck and call, she draws the attention of more socially
prominent swains. She is only endeavoring to find a suitable husband—like any well-bred society miss.”

Like you
. Juliana heard the condemning words as clearly as if he’d spoken them aloud. Truthfully, she too had encouraged men to dangle after her for the sole purpose of appearing more popular. The fact that she regretted her actions now did little to make up her callousness. “You are right. In the past I have encouraged men for whom I had little affection, and the goal was to increase my social standing. It was heartless, and I regret my actions sorely. But it was the only way I knew to procure a good marriage. I wanted a family, Connor. I wished children of my own to love and cherish. Is that such a terrible thing to wish for?”

“No, my lady,” he said, his voice suddenly as old as the sea. “It is all any of us wish for.”

Juliana opened her mouth to reply, but no words came. She was bound in the strange, uncanny spell that happened whenever she looked into his eyes and saw the hint of heart beneath his ice-cool facade, the shadow of the boy she’d once known. And loved.

In all the weeks they’d been together, he had never confided in her about his past. She knew no more of what had happened to him after he left her father’s house than she had on the day he had appeared in Lord Morrow’s ballroom. She had kept her questions to herself—considering the woman she’d seen in his arms on the night he left, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answers. Still, they had worked side by side for months, and shared a camaraderie that she had rarely enjoyed with any other man. And there was a part of her that was mightily afraid that one day he would disappear just as suddenly as he had arrived.

Her gaze skimmed to his sensuous lips, recalling the kiss that neither of them had spoken of since that day. He’d never hinted that the kiss in the commodore’s office meant anything to him other than a bargain fulfilled. And since then
he’d never touched her. While she appreciated the respect he accorded her, there was a part of her that wished like the devil that he would forget she was his employer and take her in his arms for one more scandalous kiss.

He didn’t, of course. He turned away and started for the office door. “You need not concern yourself over Miss Shacklesford. I am quite aware that I am nothing more than a novelty to her, as I am to the rest of your class. I even believe they are laying odds at White’s as to how I received my scar.”

“How did you receive it?” she asked quietly.

For a moment she saw the wariness in his eyes thaw. “I disagreed with the captain of a ship I worked on shortly after—well, shortly after I left London. He thought to teach me a lesson. He … succeeded.”

“ ’Twas a cruel lesson,” she replied, suddenly furious at the unknown captain. “You were so young. Surely your crime could not have warranted such punishment.” Unable to restrain herself, she lifted her hand and brushed his ruined cheek.

He jerked away.

“My crime was in trusting too much in the goodness of my fellow man,” he said as the ice returned to his eyes. “I have never made that mistake again. In any event, there will soon be little interest in my scar or in anything else about me. The members of your class already begin to tire of my company. I suppose I shall have to defend another besieged island like Sicily to win back their affections.”

“You shall do no such thing! You should not take such a chance. Especially now that there is the added danger of a spy about.”

Connor froze. “Spy?”

“Yes, a spy in the Admiralty. Lord Renquist and his friends told me about him. Apparently the villain is selling secrets to Napoleon.”

Connor stood so still that she wondered if he’d heard her.
“Did he … um … happen to mention if they had any idea who the man was?”

Juliana shook her head. “I gathered not. Which makes it even more imperative that you keep out of sea battles for the time being. It would be too great a risk.”

“I am first and foremost a privateer. I make my living taking such risks.”

“You do not have to.” She gripped her hands together, and confessed an idea that had been forming in her mind for over a fortnight. “I know our bargain was that you could sail whenever you wished, but such a profession is no longer necessary. I can make you my manager permanently, at a generous salary. Just please, please promise you will give up your letter of marque and stay safely in port.”

For a moment, doubt clouded Connor’s gaze. Then his mouth pulled up in his cynical, all-too-familiar grin. “Careful, my lady. Continue with such displays of emotions and you are likely to replace Miss Shacklesford in the scandal column. And what would your fine friends make of that?”

“I don’t give a snap for their opinions. And you are trying to change the subject.”

“I
have
changed the subject,” Connor replied as he headed for the door. “I will inform the clerk to draw up a commission for Jamison to captain the
Pelican
with Pike as his mate.”

“Don’t you dare leave. I am not finished with our discussion. I want you to stay. I
order
you to stay.”

Connor halted, then turned to her with the slow stealth of a jungle cat. “Do not test me, my lady. You will lose.”

She lifted her chin defiantly. “I am not testing you. I am trying to help you. Can you not get that through your thick skull?”

For a moment she again caught a glimpse of the boy who had been her second soul. “Recommend Jamison to captain the
Pelican
. And as for Miss Shacklesford …” His mouth
turned up in a wolfish grin. “I should think that you of all women would be glad that I am not the sort of gentleman to kiss and tell.”

He ducked out of her office just in time to miss the paperweight Juliana launched at his head.

You know I am not one to carry tales, Hortensia. In fact, I hesitated weeks before telling you this. I should rather go to Almack’s dressed in last year’s fashion than speak ill of our beloved Juliana. But I can keep silent no longer. During our tea she behaved in a most unseemly manner, and I fear ’tis all due to the
très ungenteel
influence of that ill-bred Captain Gabriel …

Mrs. Jolly set down Mrs. Chapman-Bowes’s letter and took a thoughtful sip of her afternoon tea. Lydia Chapman-Bowes had tongue enough for two sets of teeth, but there was usually a grain of truth in what she said. Of course, Hortensia was well aware that Juliana had hired the privateer as her manager—most of the fashionable salons of London were buzzing with the news. But she had deliberately instructed Mr. McGregor to keep the rakish captain at a distance from Juliana. Until now, she had believed her orders were being obeyed.

Frowning, she glanced over the rim of her teacup to the
other occupant of the room. “Dearest, what can you tell me of Juliana’s relationship with Captain Gabriel?”

Commodore Jolly shrugged. “Relationship? I should have thought Mr. McGregor would have told you all about him. I know that he writes you every day.”

Hortensia Jolly looked over at the stack of letters from Mr. McGregor. The solicitor wrote terse letters that told her nothing beyond the business news. “McGregor is as tight with his words as he is with a pound. I know that he encouraged Juliana to hire the captain soon after she took over the Marquis Line, but I was under the impression they saw little of each other. However, if I am to believe anything about this missive of Mrs. Chapman-Bowes, it is possible that the captain might have considerable dealings with our Juliana. Since you returned from your visit to Portsmouth you have frequently visited the offices of the Marquis Line. What can you tell me of this man?”

The Commodore scratched his chin in thought. “Well, he is a captain.”

“I was fairly certain of that, my dear. What do you know of his character?”

“Oh, ’tis of the first water. At least, that is what the officers of the Admirality who have spent time with him have told me. Sir Humphrey invited him to dinner and served capons—and capons, mind you, are dashed difficult to eat. According to Humphrey, the captain handled his cutlery with aplomb. Then Lord Boggins took him to White’s, where he claimed that the fellow played a capital hand of whist, which ain’t easy to do with Lord Boggins. The blighter is always forgetting who played the last card—”

“Horatio, I am not interested in how the captain handles cards. How does he handle gently bred young ladies?”

The commodore fiddled with his cravat. “Uh, I could not presume to say.”

“Try, my darling,” his mother said as she rubbed a spot between her brows.

“He is … a well-featured man. Except for his scar, of course.”

Mrs. Jolly went still. She’d forgotten that the captain had a scar. Now the newspaper accounts came back to her.
Scarred cheek. Notorious reputation. Handsome as the devil
.

And, apparently, spending a great deal of time with Juliana.