Midnight Mistress (20 page)

With one well-aimed thrust she had cut his dreams to shreds. For the first time in years he had looked forward to the sunrise, because it meant another day with Juliana. He reveled in their battles, he enjoyed her neat parries and her quick intelligence, and he treasured the occasions when she gave him a rare, glorious smile. Helping her to realize her father’s dream had brought more pleasure to the wreck of his life than he’d thought possible. But until that moment, he honestly hadn’t realized that his pleasure had slipped quietly,
irrevocably, and hopelessly into being in love.
You’re a fool, Connor. A bloody, idiot fool
.

He rose from the chair and gave Mrs. Jolly the efficient nod of a man facing a firing squad. “You have made your point, madam.”

“I never doubted it. Now, I suggest you sever your relationship as quickly and painlessly as possible. A note of resignation delivered to the Marquis Line on the morrow should take care of the matter.”

Connor’s mouth ticked up. “If you think that, then you do not know Juliana. She’ll want answers.”

“Then give them to her. You are a privateer, and have stayed in port for over two months. You can say that you wasted enough time with the Marquis Line when there is profit to be made elsewhere. You can say that you missed the open sea. You can say that you had a monstrous craving for deep-water mackerel. Say anything you like, but leave the girl behind. ’Tis the course you would have taken eventually anyway, is it not?”

Eventually. But not while he could still plunder a few more precious hours with Juliana. He would have traded a year of his life for every day spent with her and counted himself lucky in the bargain. But the lady was right. He was just delaying the inevitable. And possibly damning Juliana’s reputation beyond repair.

He rose from his chair and walked to the window, peering out into the empty night. “There is a convoy—a supply run to Lisbon. It leaves within the week. I am confident that I could arrange for my snow to sail along as protection.”

“It might be harder to arrange than you suppose. Such a task is fit more for a fourth-rate brig than a yar schooner. The Admiralty is loath to put war heroes in biscuit runs.”

“Have no fear, madam. I have resources at my disposal that can secure me whatever voyage I wish—even ones fit for a fourth-rate brig. Who knows—it might even have the added advantage of casting me as a coward in Juliana’s eyes.”

Mrs. Jolly’s expression softened. She reached out and took Connor’s hand as a sad, delicate sorrow shadowed her eyes. “No doubt you consider me a deplorable termagant. No, do not argue. I am. But there was a time—long ago to be sure—but there was still a time when I was just as determined and headstrong as Lady Juliana. And because of my foolishness, I lost—” She glanced at her legs and closed her eyes, as if reliving a painful memory. But when she opened them again, her resolute expression was back in place.

“If it is any consolation, I believe you are a finer man than most of the preening popinjays who call themselves gentlemen. But we live in a world of rules, boy. Not fair rules, but rules nonetheless. Juliana’s best chance of happiness lies in making an acceptable marriage. You must see that a man of your notorious reputation and uncertain future can never offer her that chance.”

But Mrs. Jolly was wrong. There was a chance—one slim, hazard chance that he might see daylight at the end of this nightmare. But the reality was that he’d probably be dead before the year was out. He couldn’t offer Juliana a future. Hell, he could barely offer her tomorrow.

He left the room and headed down the stairs into the night. For the second time in his life, he was leaving Juliana behind without an explanation, but he had no choice. Even if he could have extricated himself from the Admiral’s plots, even if he wasn’t killed in this endless war, even if by some miracle he could again win Juliana’s love, he could never give her any kind of happiness.

The captain of the
Absalom
had indeed perished on the night his ship sank, but not from drowning. He’d died with Connor’s hands wrapped around his throat.

“… along with seventy barrels of prime indigo. Now, as to the tea shipments—” Mr. McGregor glanced up from his ream of papers. “My lady, have ya heard a single word that I’ve said?”

Juliana looked up from the carpet pattern she had been studying with such diligence. “Of course I have. You were speaking of the penny increase in sugar taxes.”

“I was—five minutes ago.”

“Oh. Yes, I remember now. You had gone on to the reports on the weather conditions in Pangopango—”

“Ten minutes ago.” He sighed, and got up from his chair. “We can speak of this later, my lady. I can see that you have other things on your mind.”

He lifted his gaze past Juliana’s shoulder, to the window and its view of the river, where the bannerless masts of Connor’s ship were still visible in the dying light. “I hear that Captain Gabriel sails for Lisbon with the morning tide.”

Juliana shuffled through the papers on her desk. “I
wouldn’t know. And if I did, I wouldn’t care, except that our ship the
Pelican
sails with him. Besides, he made no secret of the fact that he would leave someday. All he was truly interested in was making a profit.”

“Hmm, I suppose that is why he stayed on for close to two months with no pay,” the solicitor mused. He stroked his chin and gave Juliana a canny look. “Well, I suppose we shoulda kenned it long ago. After all, he’s only a blue-water privateer, a henhearted rascal who makes easy money on convoy duty while other brave men face their deaths.”

“That’s not true! The captain has proved his bravery a hundred times over. He ran the blockade near Malaga and delivered badly needed supplies to our Peninsula forces. He faced the French guns at Toulon and rescued two dozen wounded officers who would have surely died if he had not—” Juliana bit her lip and resumed shuffling her papers. “I am a bit fatigued, Mr. McGregor. We can resume our business in the morning.”

Sighing, the solicitor deposited his pen into one of his many pockets. “If that is your wish, my lady. But … well, you and the captain—ya make a bonny team. It couldna hurt to speak with him before he leaves. We could go together and—”

Juliana waved her hand indifferently. “La, sir, even with your company ’twould be unthinkable for a woman of my position to approach a man of his in anything but a business arena.”

McGregor frowned in puzzlement. “Even though he is your employee?”

Juliana sighed, realizing it would take time and patience to explain the complex intricacies of the social order to the solicitor. Currently she was in short supply of both.

“The voyage to Lisbon and back will take Captain Gabriel a little over a month. By the time he returns, I intend to make the Marquis Line so successful there will be no doubt that his services are no longer needed.” She also intended to make
sure she was being courted by at least three beaux by the time Connor returned. “In any event, we have a great deal of work to do in little time, and I believe the sooner we start, the better. Good afternoon, Mr. McGregor.”

At the threshold, Mr. McGregor paused, and looked back. “You’ve a rare head for business, and no mistake. I just hope you’ve the sense to use it outside of this office as well.”

Juliana watched him go and again reminded herself that she was doing the right thing. She would never shame herself by running after a man who had turned his back on her.

Even if his leaving left a hole in her heart that even the wide salt sea couldn’t fill.

“Shatterbrained,” she muttered as she turned once more to her desk. Heavens, if this kept up she’d be as useless as Meg. Her once-sensible friend couldn’t hold a rational thought in her head since she’d met her mysterious Frenchman. Grimacing, Juliana thought back to their morning conversation.

“Honestly, Julie, you cannot imagine how brave he was. He risked his very life to save my honor. Did I tell you how fearless he was?”

“Three times, dearest. But I’m not entirely certain his life was in danger. After all, he had a knife, while the other man—”

“And so gallant. He walked me home, even though he might have been discovered. He must have been in disguise at the Morrow’s ball. Oh, it is too thrilling—a gentleman posing as a servant. ’Tis just like a play. Perhaps he is a nobleman running from an evil relative who seeks to kill him for his inheritance. Oh, I could not bear it if he were in such constant danger …”

Halfway through her kipper, Juliana had suggested that Meg spend her day riding in Hyde Park with the commodore, where she might catch a glimpse of her servant/nobleman/Frenchman. The thought of enduring another day of Meg’s starry-eyed prattling over her mustachioed savior was too frightful to contemplate. After all, Juliana had a business to
run, a business that required all her attention and acumen. Her annoyance had nothing to do with the fact that Meg’s lovelorn sighs grated on her nerves like a badly played violin. Nothing at all.

Liar
, her mind whispered.

A commotion in the hallway outside brought her thoughts abruptly back on course. One of the junior clerks stuck his head around the edge of the door. Juliana picked up a quill and strove to look busy. “What is it, Mr. O’Brian?”

“Beggin’ your pardon, miss, but it’s that merchant, Mr. Lovejoy, and he’s mad as blazes. Wants his goods off the
Pelican
this minute and no mistake.”

Slowly Juliana put down her pen. Lovejoy was one of the most powerful and influential merchants in the city. He had shipped almost exclusively with her father, but since she had taken over the line she’d had the devil’s own time persuading him to continue his contract. Just two weeks ago he’d agreed to give the Marquis Line another chance, and the Lisbon-bound
Pelican
was his first new cargo. Or at least, it was supposed to be. “Did he give a reason?”

“No reason. Just sputtering like a steam kettle left too long on the boil. Wants to talk to Mr. McGregor double-sharp.”

“Mr. McGregor is not here. I will speak with him.”

Mr. O’Brian looked sheepishly at his instep. “Well, you see—he said he don’t want to talk to you. ‘Won’t talk to any bleedin’ woman,’ if you’ll excuse the language. But I don’t think he’ll wait for Mr. McGregor. Wants his cargo off the
Pelican
this minute. Says he’ll call the authorities on us if we don’t do it proper quick.”

McGregor had said she had a rare head for business. It was time she put it to use. She took a deep breath. “Show him in, Mr. O’Brian.”

“Didn’t ya hear me? He won’t talk with no woman—”

“He will—if you tell him that this woman thinks he is the lowest kind of coward for not speaking to her face to face.”

A few minutes later, Atticus Lovejoy barreled into her office. “I ain’t no coward.”

“Apparently I was mistaken. I apologize,” Juliana said with unruffled calm as she pointed to the chair across from her. “Please sit down.”

Mr. Lovejoy looked skeptical, but he settled into the chair. “You might as well know right off, miss, that my mind’s made up. I want my goods off the
Pelican
this instant.”

“Of course you do, and I would not dream of stopping you,” Juliana said graciously. “I only ask to know the reason. Surely that is a reasonable request?”

Lovejoy was built like a brick house. He’d come up from nothing on the docks, and was used to dealing with men as tough as he was. This supremely unflustered woman flustered him mightily. “Well, it’s the Admiral, ain’t it?”

“Admiral who?”

“The spy in the admiralty. It’s all over the docks that he’s stolen a satchel of papers from the War Office. Ain’t you heard?”

No, she hadn’t. Being a woman, she was excluded from much of the gossip that circulated on the docks. And being currently out of favor with the
ton
, she received no news from that quarter. For a moment she felt the lonely weight of her position—a loneliness she had never felt when Connor had been by her side. “I had heard of the spy, but not of his recent theft. I hope it is nothing too valuable.”

“Nothing—save the whole bleedin’ plan for the Valencia campaign.”

The region of Valencia and its well-protected harbor was one of the bloodiest battlefields in the whole Peninsula. If England’s plans fell into Napoleon’s hands, it would mean the death of countless men. Years ago on her father’s ship, they had come upon the remains of a sea battle where the French had sent a trio of fire-ships into a supposedly secret and poorly armed resupply mission. She could still remember
the putrid smell of the men and animals dying from their wounds. She could still remember their screams.

“This foul traitor must be apprehended before he delivers the papers to Napoleon. They cannot be allowed to fall into enemy hands.”

Lovejoy rubbed his chin. “Well, ya got spirit, I’ll say that much for you. Odds are I’d still be shipping my goods with you—if Captain Gabriel hadn’t cut and run like he did.”

Juliana’s temper flared. “He did not cut and run! The captain left my employ because he took a more profitable offer.”

“I thought the same—until I found out he’s sailing with the convoy for nothing.”