The Pirate and the Puritan (2 page)

“Felicity, what are you doing
here?”

“Father, hold your tongue. The
door is wide open. Someone could overhear.” No wonder Master Marley hid
himself. He would most definitely not approve. A man who’d publicly taken the
Lord’s name in vain had had a hot poker plunged through his tongue the week
before she’d left Boston. If her father continued on this path, she feared he’d
have more than the damnation of his eternal soul to fear.

“You’re no longer in New
England,” her father said in his defense, walking to her and taking her hands
in his. Despite the midday heat, they were cold. “There are worse things that
can happen on Barbados. You shouldn’t be here, Daughter.”

She looked pointedly at Lord
Christian, then met her father’s frightened eyes. “Well, I
am
here, and
I can help you.” She lowered her voice. “Are you in debt to him?” Was that the
relationship?

“It’s nothing like that. You’re
the one I’m concerned about.”

“Ben, are you going to introduce
us?” Lord Christian’s tone was mild, unworried, almost curious.

No doubt the man must have
swindled her father in some way and thought he’d gotten away with his misdeeds.
He seemed much too confident, much too at home. Well, her father was no longer
alone here, and she must get to the bottom of their connection first thing.

“Lord Christian, this is my
daughter Felicity. Felicity, my business partner, Lord Christian Andrews.”

Lord Christian bowed again. In
response, Felicity folded her arms over her chest and begrudgingly offered a
nod of acknowledgment rather than her hand or a polite curtsy. He probably
expected some ceremonial pomp due his aristocratic birth, but he wouldn’t get
it from her.

Ignoring Lord Christian, she
faced her father. “What happened to Master Marley?”

“Tanner,” called Lord Christian,
before her father could answer.

The boy jumped to his feet in a
shower of candy wrappers. Both cheeks swelled with sugar plums.

Lord Christian smiled as he
tossed the boy a coin, a Spanish piece of eight judging by its size. “Go find
yourself something solid to eat. Don’t show McCulla what I gave you. And don’t
tell anyone about Ben’s daughter, either. All right?”

Felicity withheld any approval
for his display of generosity. Besides, she couldn’t help assuming the coin
probably belonged to her father.

The boy’s enthusiastic nod sent a
hank of copper hair into his eyes. “Thank you, milord,” he said, his reaction
one of pleasure and something else…respect? He brushed past and ran from the
room like a gust off the ocean.

Lord Christian turned his
commanding gaze on her. Apparently he wasn’t finished giving orders. She braced
herself, once again stretching her frame as tall as possible and lifting her
chin, readying herself as best she could.

“How did you get here and who
else did you speak to?” he asked.

“Father!” She hoped her father
would put an end to any interrogation by the man whose dress made him appear an
overgrown fop even though his eyes and voice said otherwise.

Her father ran his fingers
through the tufts of his thinning white hair. “It’s no use. She undoubtedly
arrived on our ship. The
Queen Elizabeth
docked well over an hour ago.
Her crew’s probably overrun every tavern along Carlisle Bay. We can’t keep her
a secret.”

“Why would you want to keep me a
secret? Am I something to be ashamed of?” Heat rose to Felicity’s cheeks. She
suspected her father might be upset with her uninvited arrival, but to be
treated like a cargo of blankets infected with yellow fever was too much.

Her father reached to her and
gently squeezed her shoulders, then studied her as if seeing her for the first
time. “How could I be ashamed? Look how you’ve become a woman. You look so much
like your mother did when—”

“We might not be able to keep her
a secret, but we can return her to Boston before anyone can do anything about
it.” Lord Christian strode toward the door. “Ben, you keep her here while I
arrange safe passage for her on the next ship raising anchor. It’s the best
thing.”

Felicity jerked from her father’s
grasp and raced across the room, her objective to block the aristocrat’s exit.
“I’m not going anywhere. I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re not
ridding yourself of me.”

He easily beat her to the door
with his long strides and she had to come to a stumbling halt or risk
collision. But that didn’t mean she had any intention of giving up. She had to
stay on Barbados.

“I don’t know how you worked your
way into my father’s interests, but it won’t continue,” she told him.

Lord Christian gripped the front
doorknob with enough force to turn his knuckles as white as his powdered hair.
The man seemed truly determined, even a little shaken by her arrival. His
behavior grew more curious by the moment.

“Miss Kendall, you’ll do as we
say,” he said, his voice becoming almost gentle. “Truly, we only have your
welfare at heart.”

“You have your own welfare at
heart, sir. Don’t think I don’t see that.” She resisted giving in to his
seemingly heartfelt plea and instead turned to her father to assert herself.
“I’ve traveled a great distance, Father, and I’d like to lie down. Please take
me home.”

Her father frowned. “You look
like you’ve lost weight, Daughter. Was your voyage unpleasant?”

“She doesn’t leave this office,
Ben. Keep her here while I see to her passage to Boston.”

“I’m sorry, Felicity. You have to
stay here.”

The fact that her father
succumbed to the other man’s demands like a child infuriated Felicity all over
again. What power did this man have? And why?

Hands on hips, she whirled around
to confront Lord Christian herself. “I intend to lie down.”

The man took a step forward and,
without meaning to, Felicity stepped back. His green eyes narrowed, and at this
close proximity she noticed he had a strong masculine jaw and what looked like
a once-broken nose that actually gave his face character. Underneath all that
paint she realized he had the face of a man accustomed to dealing with the
violence of dangerous times. He was nothing like the self-indulgent English
aristocrats fluttering around Boston, and he was much more formidable than his
almost comical appearance implied. Her first impression of him was nothing like
what she saw in him now. She would need to keep her wits about her with this
man.

“Sit down.” He said the words
firmly and seriously, then added, “I’d hate to have to tie you to that chair
for the remainder of your stay in our ‘Little England,’ Miss Kendall.”

She watched as one corner of his
mouth tugged upward, then he caught himself and pulled his lips into a
straight, firm line. His voice had slipped into the more formal tones of a
gentleman at the end of his threat, but the effect was more unsettling than
polite.

Felicity walked back toward her
father and lowered herself into the chair facing his desk, showing the man her
back. She might appear compliant to his demand she sit, but she was dismissing
him—whether he realized it or not. She needed to be careful, though, as she
sensed antagonizing him further would get her nowhere. Despite the thudding of
her heart, she told herself he didn’t intimidate her. She was just being
sensible, changing her tactics when the necessity arose. What she needed most
was time to think about this unexpected obstacle and how to overcome it.

The door slammed, and she knew by
the instant relief sagging her shoulders that he’d left. His presence now gone
from the room, she took a deep breath. After a cursory glance around the room,
she knew she must devise a way to send Lord Christian Andrews packing rather
than herself. And quickly. There was something deceptive…something misleading
about him, and that made her feel even more disconcerted. No matter what, she
didn’t like how the man made her feel.

“What in God’s name brings you
here, Felicity?” her father asked once more.

His question jerked her from her
thoughts. The confrontation she’d dreaded since her decision to leave Boston
now loomed before her like a dark, thunderous cloud.

Her father eased behind the desk
while Felicity continued to scan the small office instead of answering his
question. Two well-used desks, a few straight-backed chairs and a scarred bench
comprised the room’s furnishings. Yellowed maps decorated the crumbling plaster
walls, with only a single gilded mirror for ornamentation—surely an addition of
Lord Christian’s so he might check his wig and powdered face. She’d have to
start thinking of him by his surname. Thinking of him as Lord
anything
,
especially Christian, well, was almost blasphemous.

“Felicity, I’m quite serious.
Explain yourself, my daughter.”

Her gaze finally landed on her
father, the smile that crept to her face genuine. They had had several
conversations over the years beginning with that very same demand. Surely he
hadn’t changed so much that this confrontation would be different. In the end,
he’d always forgiven her anything. Surely he would forgive her this time as
well.

“I came to help you.”

“Help with what?”

“By the number of goods you’ve
been shipping to the Boston warehouse, I couldn’t help but notice how your
business has grown. Surely you and Master Marley could use some assistance.”
And not the kind she feared Andrews was giving, though she kept this thought to
herself.

Her father paled, then averted
his gaze to the scars in his mahogany desk.

Felicity rushed on. “Has this,
this…Master Andrews caused a rift between you and Master Marley?”

Her father lifted his head, his
soft brown eyes sterner than she’d ever seen them. “You weren’t to bother
yourself with the business in Boston. I was wrong to ever let you help me with
my financial affairs. Mistress Bishop was right. Trade with men is no place for
a young woman.”

“But I’m no longer a young
woman.” Felicity had so hoped she wouldn’t have to confront this argument once
again. Didn’t her father see that spinsterhood had settled around her like a
wool shawl? “Mistress Bishop meant well, but as you can see, learning to knit
hasn’t made me any more desirable to a prospective husband.”

Her father’s eyes softened to the
color of milk-sweetened coffee. “How can you say that? With your rosy cheeks
and sturdy frame—”

She held up her hand to stop her
father. Next he’d say something about her strong white teeth. “I’ve seen
twenty-nine years, Father, too many to be taken seriously as a wife. No man
wants me, so why can’t I stay here and be with you? I enjoy the work. It makes
me feel useful.” Felicity swallowed the emotion that had crept into her voice.
He’d forced her to be blunt, but it was only half as humiliating as she’d
expected. Days at sea playing out this potential conversation in her mind time
and again had prepared her for the worst.

“Your brother needs you,” he
continued, “and your place is in Boston with him.”

“Jonathon’s to be married soon.
Isn’t that wonderful?” When her father continued to frown, she leaned forward
and grabbed his hand across the wide desk. “He’s grown up since you’ve been
away. He deserves to start a new life with his young bride. They don’t want me
underfoot.”

“I don’t believe that.”

Felicity leaned back and studied
the planked floor. Fine white sand had crept in from the bay like spilt sugar.
How much of her desperation would she have to admit to make him see reason?

She forced her gaze back to her
father’s. “Jonathon would never cast me out. Mother willed him the house to
raise a family of his own. I won’t deny him that.”

Her father rubbed his forehead.
“Still, you didn’t have to leave Boston.”

She swallowed what little pride
she had left. “Mistress Bishop said I was a pariah. A burden to Jonathon. An
unwanted thorn in God’s eye. In her view, my only hope of redemption was in
marrying one of the two men she’d chosen. One was old enough to be my
grandfather, the other a bitter widower with five children. Both needed
nursemaids.”

Her father lifted his head. “Love
can grow in the strangest places, Felicity. You should give marriage a chance.”

She could never marry. Her own
impulsive actions had ensured that. “I hoped to be more than some man’s cheap
source of labor.”

His eyes glazed with a sorrow he
tried to blink away. She hated hurting him like this but she could see no other
way. It certainly wasn’t his fault she had ruined herself so thoroughly.

“There are things here you don’t
know about,” he said. “Something awful has happened.”

As her father paused for breath,
Lord Christian Andrews blew back through the door like a bad omen. He strode
past them without a word, then leaned his backside against the adjacent desk
and folded his arms over his chest. Felicity had the distinct impression he was
furious, most likely with her of all things.

“Excuse me, sir, but my father
and I are having a private conversation.” She did her best to keep her voice
firm, emotionless, controlled.

Her father cleared his throat,
unable to hide the slight tremble there. “That’s quite all right. Lord
Christian can better explain what’s happened here.”

“I’d rather hear it from you.”
She didn’t know what
it
was, but she knew she’d get nowhere with Master
Andrews. He clearly had his own agenda, which her instincts told her had
nothing to do with her best interests or her father’s.

Andrews cocked his head as if to
admire her. “Why didn’t you tell me your daughter was so charming, Ben? She
certainly won the heart of the
Queen Elizabeth
’s captain.”

Her father frowned. She hated how
quickly he realized Andrews was being sarcastic.

“She actually threatened to
demote him to cook if he didn’t bring her to Barbados.”