Captive of My Desires (5 page)

“T
WO WEEKS AIN’T THE LEAST BIT DEPRESSING,
and you only have three days to go before the wedding. Gives you time to have second thoughts, don’t it? Her mother is a genius if you ask me. You may end up thanking her.”

All four men stared at Percival Alden as if he were daft. This was not an unusual occurrence. It happened all the time, actually. Percy, as his friends called him, could be counted on to say the most ridiculous things, or worse, to say things he shouldn’t to the wrong people, which usually resulted in one of his friends getting in deep water. And oddly enough, it was never intentional, it was simply Percy being Percy.

Right now, only Jeremy Malory was glaring at Percy for the remarks he had just made. The other men in the room were greatly amused, though most of them tried admirably not to show it. But Jeremy was the one in the dumps over being denied access to Danny, the woman who’d won his heart, while her mother arranged their wedding.

Some private time alone with her daughter was Evelyn Hillary’s real motive when she’d told Jeremy almost two weeks ago to go home to await the day of his nuptials. He shouldn’t begrudge her that, she’d said, and he didn’t really. Mother and daughter had been separated for many years, after all, Danny having grown up in the London slums, unaware of who she was or that she still had one parent alive when she’d thought them both dead. And they’d only just been reunited.

Knowing that made the separation no easier to bear for Jeremy. He’d only just realized that what he felt for Danny was real, and Malorys didn’t succumb to love easily. They were a family that had produced some of London’s most notorious rakes, Jeremy included, and not one of them had ever treated that emotion lightly once they’d experienced it.

Drew Anderson was the only one in the drawing room, where the men had gathered after dinner, who didn’t try to conceal his amusement over Percy’s remarks. Out of all the Malorys he probably liked Jeremy the best, since they had so much in common, or at least they did before Jeremy decided to give up his bachelorhood. Jeremy was also his nephew by marriage, or step-nephew, but family nonetheless.

What was even more amusing was that Jeremy, known to have such a high tolerance for alcohol that he’d never experienced a state of real inebriation, even when drinking everyone else under the table, looked to be on his way to changing that amazing record tonight. He’d arrived with a bottle of brandy in hand, had gone through another during dinner, and was fast making his way through a third. It was incredible that he wasn’t passed out on the floor and that his words weren’t slurred, but there was a telltale glaze in his eyes that warned he was foxed, as the saying went here, for the first time in his life.

His father, James, hadn’t noticed yet. His uncle Anthony was too busy trying not to laugh to notice. Percy only noticed things he shouldn’t, so he wouldn’t be remarking on it. But Drew, being an Anderson in the enemy’s camp, as it were, had no trouble spotting Jeremy’s misery and what he was attempting to do about it.

Sorrows drowned in drink. It was too funny. But Drew could almost sympathize. The bride was incredibly beautiful, and he’d considered pursuing her himself when he’d thought she was just Jeremy’s upstairs maid. But Jeremy had already staked a claim and had made that clear. And no woman was worth fighting over in Drew’s opinion. If he couldn’t have one, another would do. He wasn’t particular, and wasn’t about to get caught in an emotion that was foreign to him.

In every harbor he sailed into, there was a woman waiting to greet him with open arms. It wasn’t that he’d made a deliberate effort to have a “sweetheart” in every port, as his sister was fond of putting it. He was just a man who loved women, all women, and those he favored tended to hope he’d make their port his permanent one. Not that he ever gave them any reason to think he’d ever settle down. He told them no lies, made them no promises, and when he was at sea didn’t require they be any more faithful than he’d ever be.

Georgina and Anthony’s wife entered the drawing room before Jeremy got around to blasting his friend. Now, there was another fine-looking woman, Rosalyn Malory, Drew thought. He had heard how Anthony had won the lady. She’d been in need of a husband to protect her from an unscrupulous cousin who was trying to steal her fortune. Anthony had volunteered, to the amazement of his family. He was another rake they’d thought would never marry.

Drew could say one thing for the Malory men: they certainly had good taste in women. And James Malory had made the best catch of all, in his opinion, because James had managed to get the Andersons’ only sister to fall in love with him. He didn’t deserve her, of course. None of her brothers thought he did. But it couldn’t be denied that he made her happy.

Drew wasn’t looking forward to being confined on a ship with his formidable brother-in-law, but he was certainly delighted that he’d be spending more time with his sister and niece, since he didn’t get to London that often. Too bad James couldn’t be left behind. He ought to suggest it. He could take care of James’s family well enough, since they were his family, too. And he was sure James didn’t really want to go, when he had such bad memories of the last time he’d been in Bridgeport.

Wouldn’t hurt to suggest it, Drew thought. It would be another week before they sailed, enough time for James to at least consider staying home. There was time enough for Drew to watch Jeremy tie the knot, too, and lament that another confirmed bachelor was leaving the ranks. If he ever got that stupid, he hoped someone would shoot him first.

D
REW WAS IN A HURRY.
He had just been told that his brother Boyd’s ship,
The Oceanus,
was anchored in the harbor waiting for dockage. It would be days before it was given a berth because the line of incoming ships was long. But that didn’t mean Boyd hadn’t rowed ashore already, and if not, Drew would find a dinghy himself to pay Boyd a visit.

He hadn’t known Boyd was scheduled to stop in England, but his timing couldn’t have been better. The family had just returned to London yesterday from Jeremy’s wedding and would be sailing to Connecticut in less than a week. Drew had come down to the docks today to let his first mate know they would be sailing sooner than planned.

He’d actually expected to find
The Oceanus
in Bridgeport, since it usually transported sugar and tobacco from the West Indies to the northeastern states. He’d been looking forward to a reunion with his youngest brother. That was his main reason for sailing to their home port himself.

If Boyd had come to England merely to visit with Georgina, then he might like to sail home with Drew this trip. Now, that was a pleasant thought, especially since their brother-in-law, James, hadn’t taken the hint and was still determined to sail with his wife and daughter. Drew could use some reinforcements with that particular Malory aboard.

Georgina and Boyd were the only two Andersons who didn’t captain their own ships. She’d never been expected to and would probably have had quite a fight on her hands with all five of her brothers if she’d ever suggested it. Boyd simply didn’t want to. He loved to sail, he just had no desire to take command.

They’d always thought it was nervousness and he just needed time to outgrow it, and that eventually he’d become captain of his ship
The Oceanus
when he was ready. But he’d finally admitted he saw no need to ever take that step, that he preferred to simply enjoy the voyages without the responsibility of being in charge, and since he paid his captains from his own pocket, his brothers had no reason to complain. Since Boyd was not needed for
The Oceanus
to set sail again, he might be agreeable to traveling with him and Georgina and her family on
The Triton.

Hurrying along the crowded wharf to the Skylark Office, where he expected to find Boyd if he’d already come ashore, Drew didn’t pay much attention to the traffic, other than to avoid it. But it was hard to miss the woman about to fall right in his path.

It was a mere reflex to grip her arm to keep her from falling. He wasn’t really paying attention to her because his eyes were on the two fellows walking behind her who charged forward just as Drew set her back on her feet.

“Let go,” she growled at him, and he did.

Drew wasn’t sure if the two men were really with her, because now that she was standing steadily on her own two feet, they hung back behind her, trying to appear as if they weren’t keeping an eye on her. Odd. Drew glanced back at the woman to see why she’d been unappreciative of his help, and forgot about her escort entirely.

The palest blue eyes he’d ever seen surrounded by black lashes were glaring at him. They were eyes so startlingly beautiful that it took him a moment to take in the rest of the package.

Drew wasn’t often given pause. Piqued, certainly. But being rendered speechless just didn’t happen all that often to a man who’d pursued the loveliest of the lovelies across the world. This one was pretty, yes, but many could outshine her. A pert nose, black brows barely arched, probably because of her frown. But full, lush lips boldly red, though not from any paint. Because she’d been biting them would be his guess.

Her black hair was tightly contained in an artful coiffure. Her blue dress and hat were nearly as pale as her eyes. She was dressed like a lady in the height of fashion, and yet she had a rich, golden tan that the ladies of England simply wouldn’t acquire. He’d wager she’d been in a warmer climate recently.

Was that what surprised him, the deeply tanned skin that was darker than her eyes? Or those sinfully lush lips? Or perhaps it was simply because she was glaring at him when he’d helped her, for crying out loud.

“Should I have let you tumble at my feet, sweetheart?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“You were about to fall,” he reminded her. “Or has that slipped your mind? I know I do have that effect on women, scattering their thoughts every which way,” he added with a boyish grin.

Instead of charming her out of her ire as he expected, his remark had her drawing in her breath indignantly and claiming, “You’ve bruised my arm, you lout.”

“Did I? Let me see.”

She jerked her arm out of his reach. “I think not. If you were indeed trying to be helpful, I thank you. But next time don’t be such a brute about it.”

His smile gone, Drew replied, “There won’t be a next time, because if you stumble again, I’d definitely think twice about trying to catch you. In fact, I’m sure I’d let you fall. Good day, miss.”

He heard her gasp of outrage as he walked away. It was a sweet sound, but it didn’t bring back his smile. Ungrateful wench, he thought. He was so annoyed he felt no urge to look back at her, which was unusual for him when he encountered a beautiful woman. He just barreled past her escort, if indeed the two men really were her escort. Too bad neither of them took exception to it.

T
HE
L
ONDON DOCK WAS TEEMING WITH ACTIVITY,
but it was no different from the last time Gabrielle had been there, when she’d set off three years ago for the Caribbean, so confident that she could find her father. The arriving vessels accounted for most of the extra wagons that late in the day, transporting cargoes from ship to warehouse or straight to market. The sounds, the smells were almost familiar, and had so distracted her that she hadn’t seen the cart that had nearly knocked her over, or the man who’d prevented her from falling. Perhaps if she had seen him first, she wouldn’t have been so surprised by the immediate attraction she’d felt, and wouldn’t have made such a blundering fool of herself because of it. Good grief, she’d never in her life behaved so outrageously before, and all he’d tried to do was help her!

Her ship had sailed up the Thames early that morning, but it had taken most of the day before the passengers were rowed to the dock. She was glad of the late hour. It allowed her to get a room for the night and to delay delivering the letter in her pocket.

Two of her father’s crew were trailing at a discreet distance behind her, the two he trusted most, Richard and Ohr. They’d been sent to England with her to protect her, and to make sure the lord to whom she was delivering the letter complied with the favor her father was requesting of him. The men made two of the most incongruous chaperones imaginable, and yet, if they weren’t accompanying her, she doubted that she would go through with this.

She was to go husband hunting in the grand style favored by the English ton. She’d been sent ahead with her chaperones to get started on a magnificent new wardrobe for that very reason, and to catch the tail end of the summer Season. Her father was in the middle of ransoming two hostages, so he couldn’t leave just yet, but he’d promised to join her in a month or two. She’d argued that she could wait for him. He’d argued that this couldn’t wait. He’d won.

Margery had come as well. It wasn’t surprising that the middle-aged woman had staunchly refused to let her travel to England without a
real
chaperone, as she put it, but then, unlike Gabrielle, she’d missed their homeland terribly. She’d been excited during the whole trip about finally going home. As soon as they’d reached the dock, she’d rushed off to find them a carriage to hire, no easy task with so many arrivals that day, but she maintained she knew exactly how to
not
take no for an answer and it took her only an hour to prove it, which Richard had teased her about all the way to the inn.

Gabrielle tried not to think about what was causing her such apprehension right now. Instead she thought about her time in the Caribbean with her father. Not until recently had either of them considered the disadvantages of her staying in that part of the world with him, that she would be missing all the things a young marriageable Englishwoman should be doing after reaching eighteen. She couldn’t say she regretted it, though. Not for anything would she have missed those wonderful years with her father.

The two men joined her and Margery for dinner and stayed to keep Gabrielle company. Ohr was playing cards with Margery, who had worn herself out with her excitement over being home, so she wasn’t paying much attention to the game or the conversation.

Out of Nathan’s crew, Ohr had been with him the longest. He used a host of fake names, too, as they all did, but Ohr happened to be his real one. If a last name went with it, he never bothered to mention it.

Most people assumed he was calling himself a nautical term when he introduced himself. Gabrielle had certainly thought that herself. Which was why he always volunteered, without being asked, that his name was spelled with an
h.
That he had the look of a half-breed Oriental, even wore his excessively long black hair in a single braid down his back, kept anyone from questioning it. They merely assumed, without knowing any better, that it was an Oriental name.

Over six feet tall, he had a face that seemed ageless. He mentioned once that his father had been an American who often sailed to the Far East. Ohr had joined the crew of an American ship sailing back to the Western side of the world, with the thought of finding his father, but he’d never gotten around to trying, had become a pirate instead.

The second crewman who her father had sent to watch over her went by the name of Jean Paul and a host of other names. But he’d revealed to her in secret when they’d become friends that Richard Allen was his real name. He’d told her that much, but no more about his past, or where he really came from, and she’d never pressed. He wasn’t much older than Gabrielle, and he stood out among the pirates not because he was so tall and handsome, but because he was always meticulously clean, both his person and his clothes.

He wore his black hair long and queued back, kept his face shaven except for a trim mustache. His clothes were as flamboyant as everyone else’s but spotless, and his high boots always shined. He wore no gaudy jewelry, though, just a single silver ring with some sort of crest on it. He had wide shoulders but was slim of build, and his green eyes sparkled. He seemed to always be flashing his white teeth with a smile or a laugh. Gabrielle found him to be appealing, a very lighthearted young man.

Richard practiced his French accent constantly, though it was still as atrocious as it had been when she’d first met him. At least he’d stopped slipping with the “bloody hells” when he got emotional, which were a dead giveaway to his real nationality.

She’d asked him once why he bothered to pretend to be a Frenchman when the fake names were enough for most of the pirates. He’d merely shrugged and said he didn’t want to be like the rest of the pirates and he was determined to master the disguise before he gave it up.

Richard had told her once that while he had wanted to make romantic overtures to her, he was afraid her father would kill him if he did, so he’d managed to resist the urge.

She’d laughed. He was a charming young man, humorous and daring, but she’d never once considered anything more than friendship with him.

But that she’d only formed a platonic relationship with such a handsome young man as Richard Allen didn’t mean she hadn’t succumbed to a few romantic attractions over the years in the Caribbean. It was just as well that most of them had been sailors, though, aside from Charles, because a seafaring man was the last kind of man she wanted for a husband, having grown up with firsthand knowledge of how infrequently they were ever at home.

When she did marry, the man would have to actually share a life with her. That’s how she envisioned marriage. If he was gone for months at a time the way sailors were, if she ended up being left mostly alone, then what would be the point of marrying?

Her mother had had a similar opinion. So often over the years, she had told Gabrielle that it was pointless to love a man who loves the sea. The competition was too great.

“Why did you let him upset you,
chérie
?” Richard asked as she paced the room.

She knew exactly whom he was talking about—the handsome man she’d encountered on the dock—since she’d been trying to keep “him” out of her mind. But she didn’t have an answer that she cared to share, so instead she said, “I wasn’t upset.”

“You nearly took his head off.”

“Nonsense. I was just shaken,” she replied. “That cart would have knocked me over, if he didn’t grab me. But he pinched my arm so hard I think I would have been less hurt if I’d fallen to the ground, so he wasn’t really the least bit helpful.”

It was a blatant lie. Richard raised a brow to indicate he suspected that, causing her to blush and try a different reason, one that was true.

She continued, “I’ve been quite nervous ever since we set sail.”

“Hoist the sails!” Miss Carla squawked.

All four pairs of eyes turned toward the bright green parrot in the little wooden barred cage she was occasionally kept in. The bird had belonged to Nathan. She was a sweetheart when she was on his shoulder, but everyone else she regarded as the enemy.

During the first year, whenever Gabrielle tried to pet the bird or feed her, she usually yanked back fingers dripping blood. She’d been persistent, though, enough so that Miss Carla had eventually defected to the enemy camp, as it were, and Nathan had gifted her with the bird her second year in the islands.

The parrot’s vocabulary until then had merely been nautical—and disparaging about her mother. Even the name Nathan had given the bird had been a deliberate insult to his wife. He’d found it amusing to teach her phrases like “Carla’s a dumb bird” and “I’m an old biddy,” and the worst one, “A copper to drop me drawers.”

He’d been so embarrassed when she’d first squawked “Carla’s a dumb bird” in front of Gabrielle that he’d immediately marched the bird down to the beach to drown her in the ocean. Gabrielle had had to run after him to stop him, though she was sure he wouldn’t really have killed Miss Carla, and they’d both been able to laugh about it later.

Ohr tossed his dinner napkin at the bird’s cage, getting three hard flaps of her wings and a “Bad girl, bad girl” out of her.

Richard chuckled at the parrot, but then got back to the subject at hand, asking Gabrielle, “You’re nervous about getting married?”

That question threw her off. “Married? No, I’m actually looking forward to meeting all the dashing young men who will be in London for the Season. I hope to fall in love with one of them,” she added with a smile.

That was true, but she just wasn’t sure she wanted to live in England again, when she’d loved the islands so much. And she certainly didn’t like the idea of living so far away from her father. But she was still hopeful that she could convince the man she married to move to the Caribbean or, at the very least, spend part of each year there. “But calling in this favor from a man I don’t know and my father barely knows, well, I really hate the idea of doing that,” she added. “He could just close the door in our faces, you know.” She could hope.

“We’re here to make sure he doesn’t do that,” Ohr said quietly.

“You see!” she exclaimed. “Then we’d be forcing his hand, and you just don’t do that with English lords. Do either of you even know him, or know how my father helped him to incur this favor?”

“Never met him,” Richard replied.

“I have, though I didn’t know he was an aristocrat,” Ohr said. “My experience of lordly types, minimal as it is, is that they are mostly popinjays who crumble at the least sign of aggression.”

She couldn’t tell if Ohr was joking or not, but Richard made a sour look to that remark, which was very telling. Good grief, was her friend an English lord without ever having let on that he was? She stared at him hard, but he merely lifted a brow at her. He probably had no idea he’d stirred her curiosity with his reaction to Ohr’s comment.

She shook the thought from her mind. It was absurd, anyway. Englishmen might become pirates, but English lords certainly wouldn’t. And the lord they would be visiting tomorrow could be the veriest dandy, but that didn’t erase her reservations. She was simply mortified to have to collect on a favor that wasn’t owed to her personally. She was the one who was going to end up being beholden, and she hated the idea of that.

She’d grown and changed a lot over the last three years. She’d found out that she could be resourceful, that if something needed to be done she could get it done. She’d survived a hurricane that had struck while her father was away, and she and Margery had pitched in to help the town recover from it. She’d been left alone with just Margery for weeks at a time when her father sailed without her, and she had liked making her own decisions.

She’d enjoyed treasure hunting with him, and she’d miss those adventures once she married. But mainly, she disliked reverting back to depending on others to get things done for her. So it simply went against the grain now to have to ask this English lord to help her.

“We could always hold him ransom until he finds you a husband,” Richard said with a grin.

She realized he was only teasing her now and she returned his grin. She’d say one thing for Richard, he had no trouble a’tall getting someone’s mind off of what they didn’t want to be thinking about. And she needed to stop thinking about that tall, handsome fellow she’d encountered on the docks today.

Good heavens, that man had been startling. She’d been broadsided, as her father might have put it, blasted right out of the water. It was no wonder she’d made such a fool of herself. But she would have been much more embarrassed if he’d noticed her ogling him, as she’d caught herself doing before he glanced her way.

He’d been a giant of a man with unruly golden brown curls. And she could have sworn his eyes were black, they were so dark. Such a fine figure of a man, but he was handsome, too.

She hadn’t meant to be so sharp with the man, but her heart had still been pounding from that cart that had bumped her, causing her to lose her balance. His grip on her arm had been rather tight, too. And she’d been afraid that Ohr and Richard, being so protective of her, might cause a scene because he had his hand on her.

Which wasn’t a silly fear. They’d already done so just ten minutes earlier when a sailor had merely jostled her. They’d nearly tossed the man over the wharf into the water. She’d told them then to be more discreet and walk behind her the way English servants were supposed to do.