Petals on the River (10 page)

answering the inquiries of the short man Morrisa had rejected.

She raused a hand in a gesture of farewell and hurriedly blinked back

the moisture that blurred her own vision as Annie responded with an

indistinct nod and a teary-eyed gaze.
 
Facing her new master again,

Shemaine sought to steel her emotions.
 
"I have no other possessions

than the clothes on my back, sir, poor as they are.
 
I'm ready to leave

whenever you are."

"Then let us be on our way," Gage urged.
 
Meeting the cold-eyed glower

of James Harper above her head, he added, "I have no further business

here, and there seems to be a storm brewing all around us."

Shemaine lifted her gaze to the darkening sky looming close above their

heads, but when she glanced around at the angry faces of the men who

stood nearby, she realized the colonial's statement only partially

pertained to the weather.
 
Following in his wake, she allowed him to

lead her away from those who watched them.

CHAPTER 3

For a man who had, of late, found frugality crucial to the furtherance

of his ambitions, Gage Thornton realized he had just managed to suppress

every miserly instinct he was capable of mustering in his determination

to have Shemaine O'Hearn.
 
No one could have guessed from his apparent

eagerness to offer such a sizable purse that he would now have to

postpone the purchase of much-needed building supplies for his ship

until he could collect payment for several pieces of furniture he had

recently finished for wealthy patrons living in Williamsburg.
 
It was a

delay he would not normally have entertained. Yet here he was, the owner

of this bondswoman, and he could not have been more delighted had he

spent the last year methodically planning and saving for the event.
 
It

was a rarity indeed to have one of his goals attained without first

expending a grievous amount of planning, hard work, and careful

scrimping toward its acquisition.

As for Shemaine, she had settled her mind on the fact that her papers of

indenture were now owned by the colonial, Gage Thornton.
 
For the next

seven years of her life, she would be subject to his authority.
 
She

would keep his house, care for his child, and do all that was reasonably

expected of a servant.
 
Much remained to be seen, but for the moment at

least her situation did not seem terribly offensive.
 
In fact, she was

relieved that it had turned out as well as it had.
 
It seemed doubtful

she would have cause to remember her departure from the London pride

with any import, except that it was equivalent to being given a reprieve

from hell.

Gage stepped from the gangplank to the cobblestone quay and casually

turned to offer assistance to his newly procured chattel, prompting

Shemaine to flick a wary glance over the lean hand that was extended

toward her.
 
It had a recently scrubbed appearance that made her

painfully conscious of just how utterly grubby her own hands were. Yet

the man had inspected her palms only a few moments ago and had to be

fully aware of just what he would be touching.
 
Abashed by the sharp

contrast, she reluctantly accepted his hand and found it deeply callused

from hard work, his fingers thin and strong.
 
Yet, surprisingly, his

skin felt smooth beneath the soft texture of her own, as if conditioned

by some strange oil or ointment.

No sooner had Shemaine stepped to the quay than she was struck with

thoughts of retreating to the wooden gangplank.
 
The frigidity of the

stones beneath her bare feet made her anxious for something warmer upon

which to stand, and if that was not enough to make her falter, the

breezes that whipped through an invisible channel between the ships

anchored against the wharf and the nearby warehouses seemed especially

wicked.
 
She was ill prepared for the inclement weather and those

blustering blasts that sliced with brutal vengeance through her

garments.
 
No comfortable haven seemed attainable, and she could only

shiver and clench her teeth against their chilling breath.
 
Even her

frantic efforts to subdue her recalcitrant skirts proved futile, for the

frayed hem buffeted her slender calves and, now and then, swirled

chaotically aloft, as if it had assumed a puckish life of its own and

took mischievous delight in thwarting her.

Gage had always been a man to admire a finely turned ankle and did not

deny himself the opportunity to appease that propensity now.
 
It had,

after all, been a considerable passage of time since he had been able to

indulge himself with a worthy glimpse.
 
Yet he was not exactly sure

which held his attention more intently, the shapeliness of the slender

calves or the telltale red weals that had been caused by a lengthy

chafing of iron shackles.
 
Dark bruises marred the flesh of her lower

leg, hinting of a more recent injury.
 
Beneath his stare, the slender

toes curled inwardly, making him mindful of the girl's growing

discomfiture.

Reluctantly he lifted his eyes to meet the guarded green gaze.

"Have you no shoes?" he asked, sincerely hoping he wouldn't have to lay

out another portion of his meager wealth to buy her a pair.
 
The idea

caused him to frown as he mentally debated how he might manage such a

purchase.

Shemaine smoothed back the snarled strands of hair that were flying

across her face as she peered up at her new master.
 
His scowl was

ominous enough to make her turn tail and run.
 
"I'm sorry, Mr.

Thornton," she murmured, hating the uncontrollable quaver in her voice.

"My boots were stolen from me at Newgate shortly after my arrest." She

reminded herself that she had done nothing deserving of her seizure or

this shame which had been forced upon her.
 
But the truth did not ease

her humiliation, nor did the proximity of several older couples who had

just arrived on the dock.
 
In spite of their gaping curiosity and the

battering wind that cut through her like an icy saber, she explained

haltingly.
 
"I can assure you, sir .
 
.
 
.
 
the boots were a loss I

sorely regretted.
 
They were unique and very fine....
 
It cost my father

a fair sum to have my initials etched in a pair of tiny gold pendants

and for the cobbler to find a way to attach them to each boot at the

ankles.
 
At the time, it seemed wiser by far to hand them over without

protest.
 
Each of the two women who demanded them outweighed me twice

over, and they were in such a frenzy to trade them for gin .
 
.
 
. I was

convinced my life would be in jeopardy if I did not comply. Their theft

made me grateful my riding habit had been torn and soiled during my

capture.

Otherwise, they'd have seen some profit in selling my clothes, too, and

I'd be standing here now less than fully clothed."

Those amber-flecked orbs of lucent brown swept her from crown to toe,

giving little indication of the colonial's thoughts.
 
"A pity, for

sure."

"Sir?" Shemaine was confused by the precise drift of his meaning and

felt a prickling of apprehension as she questioned him.
 
"Is it the loss

of my boots you bemoan or the fact that I'm fully clothed?"

His smile was far too fleeting to convey any warmth.
 
"Why, the loss of

your boots, of course."

Shemaine wondered suddenly what sort of man had purchased her. Beneath

that darkly stoic and inaccessible demeanor he now presented, would she

find a disreputable rake?
 
Was she destined to be used by Gage Thornton

in the same way Captain Fitch had intended?
 
Or was there a waggish

sense of humor that was wont to defy his conveniently assumed reticence?

He seemed well acquainted with what he wanted out of life indeed had

already proven his dedication to the attainment of his goais, showing

little concern for what others might think or say about him.
 
He had

certainly given no heed to the tongues that had started clacking soon

after the bosun had announced his reason for being aboard the ship.
 
Nor

did he seem the least bit disturbed by the rudely inquisitive stares

they were presently being subjected to.
 
Apparently he was a man well

accustomed to being talked about.

.

Reaching out a hand, Gage lightly flicked the back of his fingers over

Shemaine's sleeve where it had been torn away from her bodice. "Unless

rags have become the fashion, my girl, I'm inclined to disagree with you

about being fully clothed."

Excruciatingly aware of her ragtag appearance, Shemaine dragged the rent

together over her bare shoulder.
 
" Tis a poor, drab servant you've

bought for yourself, Mr.
 
Thornton."

The brown eyes snared hers again and probed deeply, seeming to reach

into her very soul.
 
They conveyed no warmth beyond the color yet there

was no coldness in them either.
 
"Considering where I went to find one,

Shemaine, I count myself fortunate to have come away with such a rare

prize."

Her expression became one of confused wonder.
 
"Have you no regrets

about laying out so costly a purse for the likes of me, Mr. Thornton?"

Gage lightly scoffed at the idea.
 
"I came here today with a definite

purpose in mind, and I'm not one to lament my actions until they've been

proven irreversibly foolish." He lifted a curious brow and presented a

question of his own.
 
"Knowing yourself as well as you do Shemaine

O'Hearn, would you be thinking I've wasted my wages?"

"I truly hope not, sir." Her voice was small and uncertain.
 
"It all

depends on what you want most from me.
 
Tis no boast when I say that I'm

capable of teaching your son to wield a quill with a goodly amount of

skill, to do sums in his head, and to read with the best in years to

come, but tis a sorry fact that you might have acquired a more capable

housekeeper, nursemaid or cook by buying Annie or one of the other