Hart's Desire (Pirates & Petticoats Book 1) (11 page)

She removed the last pin. Her hair fell past her shoulders and blanketed her back. Slaney always said trying to tame Keelan’s tresses was like “trying to still a flame.” She turned and walked to the small vanity and dropped the pins into the dish. Pulling the auburn mane to the side, she quickly braided it.

With a sigh, she slid into bed. Tree frogs joined the chorus of cicadas, creating a woodland cacophony of chirps and twitters, among the undercurrent of buzzing and clacking.
 

“What a bloody racket,” she muttered. “I’ll never understand how the other creatures sleep.” She closed the curtains around her bed then leaned over and extinguished the candle at the bedside.

Sleep did not come.
 

Her mind skipped from thought to thought like a bee buzzing from flower to flower. Too hot to breathe, Keelan slipped out of bed and pulled a dressing gown over her chemise. Perhaps Papa was still awake. She decided to sit with him a while, awake or not.

She crept in bare feet, careful to avoid the creaky boards. The bedroom doors were recessed in small alcoves along the hallway. Loud snores emanated from behind Cousin Doreen’s door, and Keelan suppressed a giggle as she slipped past. Outside her father’s room, she paused.
 

A low murmur of voices indicated that someone else was inside. Curious, she listened close to the keyhole to identify who conversed with her father.

“I would like to see Keelan properly cared for, before I die, Jared.”
 

“Don’t talk like that, George,” Uncle Jared responded. The doubt in her uncle's voice drifted under the door.

Her father gave an exasperated sigh. “We both know my health is not improving. If anything, I am worse.”

“George, as Keelan’s guardian, I assure you, I will take excellent care of her.” Uncle Jared paused. “She’s almost twenty. She should marry after harvest season. Pratt is a keen businessman and has tripled his family’s estates and coffers since he accepted control thirty some years ago. When he dies, Keelan would be one of the largest plantation owners in the state.”
 

Silence.
 

Keelan winced. The silence meant her father was contemplating Uncle Jared’s words and from the duration of the silence, nothing had yet come to mind that would create a valid argument against what Jared proposed.

Uncle Jared coughed. “Dr. Garrison is interested, but he has no experience running a plantation.”

“Yes,” Papa’s gravelly voice replied. “He talked to me this morning and asked for her hand in marriage.”

An involuntary gasp escaped her lips.

“And did you consent?”

“I told him I would consider it. I almost rather Keelan consider him, since I fear her preferences do not lie with Pratt or plantation life.”
 

Keelan leaned in closer toward the door.

“George,” her uncle retorted, “that daughter of yours has sent every young buck in three counties home with their tails twixt their legs. It’s a very small pool of fish from which she has to choose in these parts.” She heard Uncle Jared pacing the floor. “Her husband should be of the ilk who can handle Twin Pines in her best interest. Pratt would see it better done. I cannot continue to split my time between my Charleston business and Twin Pines for much longer. It’s only a matter of time before one of the two starts to show severe signs of neglect.”

Papa hesitated then spoke, “Well, it would be a tremendous comfort to me if she is married and cared for.”
 

“Of course it would,” Uncle Jared consoled.
 

She clenched her teeth and held her breath, waiting for Papa to respond.

Her father sighed. “You’re right, Pratt’s the better decision. However, I promised Keelan she had until after the ball to make her choice. I doubt a better solution will present itself, but I gave her my word. I would much rather she concur with the decision than object to it.”

Keelan leaned back in despair, then froze as the floorboards creaked.

Uncle Jared cleared his throat. “I will…” he paused. “Did you hear something?”

She clapped her hand over her mouth then whirled and flew down the hall. She heard the opening click of the latch to her father’s chamber and ducked into the alcove of Doreen’s bedchamber. Breathless, she pressed flat into the shadows as her father’s door opened. She dared not breathe, as the soft light of the bedroom fanned out into the hall. A shadow fell across the floorboards, remaining for several long seconds before it disappeared back into the room. The latch clicked. When her heartbeat slowed to a more normal pace, she peeked down the hall. Seeing it vacant, she crept to her chamber.

Keelan flopped down on the bed. The sound of her father’s feeble, saddened voice tugged at her heart. The past twelve months had been terrible. Her mother’s death was so sudden, then Papa’s health seemed to fail without warning as well. Someone had gone to great lengths to snuff out members of her father’s kin. Only Uncle Jared’s family had remained whole. So far.
 

She rolled to her side and curled up. Tears seeped onto her pillow. For so many years, she had prayed for her father to come home and stay, making more of his time available to her. Now that he was finally near, it seemed cruel that his tenure was to be so short. Father's death would leave her truly alone.
 

Keelan clenched her jaw and angrily swiped the tears from her cheeks. She would not let Uncle Jared destroy her life by demanding she wed a man she didn’t love. She wanted the opportunity to take care of herself and pick her own husband, should she care to marry. She had no desire to create a household mirroring the one in which she grew up. Her resolve locked, she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.
 

She would take the time to study the plantation ledgers first thing tomorrow morning. A willowy idea began to take root in the fertile loam of her mind. As she continued to think, a plan began to sprout and blossom. What if she could use Dr. Garrison’s interests to her advantage?

“Yes…if my father approves… I will marry you, Dr. Garrison.” Keelan fought to keep her voice bright. This plan seemed less crazy and frightening when she was going over it in her bed last night.
 

Keelan was betting if she agreed to marry Garrison, her father and Uncle Jared would need an alternative plan to finance the plantation. After reviewing the ledgers, she felt confident she could devise a business proposition that all would find agreeable.
 

She and Dr. Garrison were seated on the iron bench in Aunt Sarah’s garden, near the arbor draped in pale, lavender wisteria blossoms. Hidden from the house by a large magnolia tree, the bench would have been the perfect place for a tryst, or a marriage proposal from the man of her dreams.

“Please, Keelan, darling, call me Everett.” He reached for her hand. The vision of a chicken’s foot crept into her mind as his cold fingers grasped her own. He tugged her closer. “Your father and uncle can make the announcement at the ball two days hence. I should like to marry as soon as possible.”
 

Keelan fought the panic surging in her chest.
Too soon! I have to delay!
 

What could she do to prevent his push for an immediate wedding? Fake sickness? Require a special gown be made? That would only buy her a few weeks. She needed more time. “But what about your family? Surely you’ll want time to—”

Garrison interrupted. “Not an issue. I don’t have a family to accommodate.” The frigid flat tone of his voice made Keelan pause. “Not anymore,” he added.

Poor man. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” She waited for him to elaborate, but he kept strangely silent. Perhaps the topic was too unpleasant for him to openly discuss.
 

“I can see no reason to delay our wedding.” Everett smiled. “Can you?”

Clutching her throat in horror, she choked, “I fear people will talk if we rush into a marriage. They will think I have been compromised.” She pressed her palms dramatically to her cheeks, hoping her ruse fooled him. “I couldn’t bear the humiliation.”

His eyes widened. “Good Lord! That never occurred to me! I would never want to mar my reputation as an honorable gentleman.” He reached for her hand and added, “And of course, I would never want to put you through any such embarrassment either, my dear.”

“Let’s marry on Christmas Day.” That might give her enough time.

Everett smiled. “Perfect! Plenty of time to spread the word, plan the ceremony, and avoid the gossip mongers.” He grasped Keelan’s elbow and tugged again to pull her closer. “I truly hope your father grants our wish and gives us his blessing. You will be a most beautiful bride, Keelan, and I give you my word that I’ll take very good care of you.”
 

She swallowed hard. Good Lord, he was going to kiss her! She clenched her teeth and instinctively turned her head.

“Come, dear Keelan, no one can see us,” he whispered. “The bench is completely hidden from view. Grant me a drop of sweet honey from your lips, so I may know what treasures await me in our marriage bed.”

His clumsy attempt at poetic prose nearly unlatched the door behind which she had locked away her hysteria, impulsive nature, and reckless tongue. She squeezed her eyelids shut as his face loomed nearer. Everett’s lips pressed to hers in a firm pucker. She could almost feel his teeth behind them. As he pulled away she sighed, relieved it was over.
 

The doctor gave a contented hum. “My heart is blissfully happy also, my love. Your sigh of rapture warms my soul. I gaze into your eyes, which sparkle like emeralds, and I see such devotion, it makes me weak in the knees.”

She blinked, then bit the inside of her cheek. Although she fought to keep her composure, panic-laden laughter welled in her chest like a bottle of shaken ale.

She quickly stood. “My dear Everett, you are so eloquent with words.” Keelan felt like a butterfly cupped in the hands of a good-intentioned but clumsy toddler. “I must run this instant and speak with my father. I shall see you at dinner this evening.” She hopped and stepped away from the bench.

“Well, of…of course,” he stuttered, smiling sheepishly. “Until tonight then.” He reached for her hand, missed, and gave a feeble wave, instead.

Moments later, still shaking and biting back nearly hysterical laughter, Keelan closed her bedroom door and leaned against it. God, what had she done? She’d feared Everett would see through her charade, but he did not. The course was set. Dr. Garrison believed she wanted to marry him. Would he ever forgive her deception? Her desperation had climbed to its zenith; she could think of no other way to get away from Pratt and away from plantation life.

Now an avalanche had started, but if she didn’t find a way to get out of its path, she’d find herself buried alive.

Keelan Grey was a distraction.

It would be best if Landon could push her out of his mind entirely. He had business to attend to in Charleston, the outcome of which could affect the lives of others in a most drastic manner.

A wide, damp band of sweat had crept around the rim and up the sides of Landon’s hat. He wiped his brow again. He’d rented warehouse space from Jared Grey and wasted no time arranging the transfer and storage of the
Seeker’s
cargo. To avoid working long in the heat, they had started moving it before sunrise. There should only be a few wagonloads left, then Conal could complete the inventory sheet. Afterward, they would head to a nearby tavern for a mug of ale and a small feast.
 

He reined his mount onto the street where the warehouse stood. Conal removed his hat and waved. Landon returned the salute and spurred his mount to a trot up to the doorway.

“The shipwright has already started the repairs on the
Seeker,”
Landon stated as he swung down from the horse. “The
Desire’s
waiting in dry dock. As we suspected, her damage is more severe. After losing Fynn and most of his cargo, we can’t afford to default on any more obligations. Whichever ship is seaworthy first will have to sail solo to the next post of delivery and attempt to keep the trade schedule. Is everything secured here?”
 

Conal placed his hat back on his head and nodded, “Aye. I’m just waitin’ for the last few loads to get here, then I’ll lock the door and post the sentries.”

He turned from the hitching post. This was not good news.
 

“The last four wagons left the ship a couple of hours ago,” he responded testily. “They should have arrived and been unloaded by now. Damn it all, those wagons carried those bolts of Chinese silks. Mr. Francis paid us handsomely
in advance
for them. I don’t want to lose his business.”

“Perhaps they lost their way,” Conal suggested uncertainly. “Who accompanied the last group?”

Landon’s paused to think. He’d sent several caravans to the warehouse. Who was on the last one?
 

“Billy was the only member of the crew riding with the last load.” His consternation deepened and uneasiness stirred in his gut. “The rest were locals, so I doubt they lost their way. I just traveled the same path the wagons would have followed.”

He clenched his jaw and inhaled deeply. Young Billy had jumped on the final wagon, eager to see his aunt, who lived on the northern fringes of the city. A kindhearted lad who had worked hard for his share, Billy always seemed eager to show the captain that he was more man than a cabin boy. There was no doubt something had gone wrong with the transport of the last shipment, and his concern deepened.
 

“I’ll rally some of the men for a search,” Conal said.
 

Landon nodded. He had always taken a personal interest in his crew’s wellbeing and livelihood. As a result, he had assembled a fiercely loyal group of lads and his allegiance to them was just as committed. “Choose with care the men to join you,” he warned. “If there is foul play involved, you’ll need someone in fighting form to guard your back.”

Conal rubbed his neck. “It won’t be easy, though. I’ve already let most of them go on leave. They’re likely by now either half in their cups or easing their lust.” He gave Landon a wry smile. “And neither puts them in a good condition to fight.”