The Last Broken Promise (12 page)

“What were you asking, ma’am?” It was supremely polite.

“Who are your family?” she squeaked. “I mean...”

Before she could start rambling again, he decided to save her. “I know exactly what you’re asking, ma’am.” He noticed then that the girl had straightened to sit up in his bed. So the little minx was curious was she? Well, he’d give her an earful. “You’d like to know what sort of man you’re traveling with, would you not?”

Dorcas nodded her agreement with a relieved sigh.

“My mother is Lady Joan McLeod, the dowager Duchess of Maitland.”

Before he could say anything else, they both interrupted him.

“Saints be praised!” Dorcas whispered and lifted her eyes heavenward.

“I knew it!” Jess said disgusted.

He turned to face the girl and mocked, “What gave my aristocratic forebears away, Sister St. John?”

She sniffed. “Well, it wasn’t your impeccable manners. Since good manners, of any kind, seem to be nonexistent in you. If you had manners at all, you would stop calling me by that ridiculous name. I have told you several times, my name is Jess St. John. Just plain Jess St. John.”

“No man in his right mind would call you plain.” His deep voice sent a tingle all the way down to her curled up toes. His next sentence erased the delightful tingle. “A man might call you a nuisance, or a curse, or even a bloody jinx. But no man, with two eyes, would ever call you plain.”

“I knew you had to be a rakish lord because you are arrogant, and self-serving, and too.... too... big,” she sputtered, inclined to bury herself once more in the bed sheets.

“Rakish
and
a lord?” He nonchalantly cracked his knuckles as if he was supremely bored. “You are very perceptive for one so young and innocent.”

She shouted before she thought, “I am not young and I am not innocent.”

“Jess St. John, you hush right now.” Her aunt meant to put a stop to the turn in the conversation before it got any worse. Although Dorcas couldn’t think of anything worse than having the willful chit announce, to the only suitable man to cross her path since she’d been old enough to put up her hair, that she wasn’t innocent. Men valued purity in a prospective bride. And the devil in the chair opposite her surely wasn’t any different. It wasn’t just that he was handsome. He was the type who could charm the frilly pantalets right off a woman, in the blink of an eye. The old lady knew because she’d raised three just like him.

Finn’s low, rich chuckle filled the chamber. “Not young, nor innocent? Sister St. John, I vow your secret is safe with me.”

“You stop baiting her, young man, or I’ll give you a taste of my wrath,” Dorcas chastised.

He inclined his head toward her and reined in his mirth. “Your pardon, ma’am.”

“Now.” The old lady acted like a banty hen whose feathers had been ruffled. “If your mother is Lady Maitland, why is your surname McLeod?” It was a polite question but pointed.

“I’m legitimate, if Her Grace is to be believed, if that’s what you’re asking, ma’am.”

“I would never ask so vulgar a question. But you are actually
Lord Maitland
?” She kept digging.

“I am, when it suits me.” He picked up an apple from the platter in front of him. He took a loud bite. He said nothing else.

“You are a vexing man, Captain McLeod.” Dorcas huffed. This conversation was not going at all the way she’d wanted it to go.

“So my mother constantly tells me, ma’am,” he replied laconically, chewing his apple.

“Why do you go around telling people you are Finn McLeod?” Jess’s curiosity got the better of her again. She started to read him a lecture. “You know, lying is a mortal sin. One could be sent into the fiery pit for lying on a regular basis. The book of Revelation clearly states that liars, evil doers, and adulterers will all be cast into the lake of fire.”

“Bloody Hades, three out of three. I’m doomed.” He had the audacity to wink at her when he spoke. Then he took another huge chunk out of the apple.

Jesse was speechless. Dorcas’s cough sounded suspiciously like a laugh. But her voice was steady when she spoke, “You have not answered the question, young man. Why do you masquerade as a McLeod?”

He threw the apple core onto the platter. He stood with easy grace. “I call myself McLeod because it is the family name and it annoys my brother Cedric.”

“The present Duke of Maitland?” Dorcas asked.

“Yes,” he answered tersely.

“Why would that annoy him?” Jess spoke from the bed.

“You will have to ask him that yourself, Sister St. John, when you meet him. As I’m sure you will in London.” With that cryptic reply he started to leave.

“Do you really have orphans?” Jess asked impatiently.

“What?” He stopped clearly surprised by her question.

“That sailor, he said you had orphans. Is it true?”

One of his hands clenched into a fist at his side. “Why do you ask such a ridiculous question, Sister St. John?” His lips settled into a hard, straight line.

Her chin tilted up at him as she challenged, “Why won’t you answer me?”

“I won’t answer you because little innocent chits shouldn’t inquire too deeply into the business of big, arrogant, rakish, and ill-mannered barbarians. They might not like what they uncover,” he replied sardonically, as he sauntered out of the chamber.

“Oh, Jess,” Dorcas moaned. “I’m thinking he heard you call him a barbarian. He must have been standing out in the hallway the whole time. That’s not good, girlie. That’s not good at all. The man’s a lord after all. You’ll be wanting to beg his pardon, I’m thinking.”

The girl on the bed just sniffed her disapproval. She attacked her meat pie with a vengeance. “Ask his pardon?” she commented incredulously. “Ask that big oaf’s pardon for teaching him some sorely needed manners? Ask his bloody pardon?” She took a dainty sip of fine wine from the delicate, fluted glass balanced lightly in her fingers. She wiped her lips with practiced femininity before continuing, “I wouldn’t ask that ugly ruffian’s pardon if my life depended upon it.” She laid the linen napkin on the tray sitting across her lap.

Dorcas sighed. She looked for help heavenward. “Darlin’, that man is not a ruffian. He may have a few wee rough edges, I’ll grant you that much...”

The girl on the bed laughed in low musical trills. “A few rough edges? Aunt, are we truly speaking about the same man?”

“Jess.” Her aunt’s voice was a stern reproach. “You’re lying in the man’s bed, eating his food, and drinking his wine. And fine victuals they are too, I might add. You shouldn’t be turning your pretty St. John nose up at him. Or at what he can offer you.” She moved to take the tray from her niece. She set it down on the table before finishing her lecture. “His brother is a duke, after all. Those kinds of connections count where we’re going. You might try the honey side of your tongue with the braw laddie instead of the tart side.”

“My brother’s a duke. He’s all the
connection
I’ll need in London,” Jess argued.

“Aye, that is God’s own truth. Dylan is the Duke of MacAllister. But he’s an American duke, who does not make use of his title. And who knows where the lad might be a-roving? He could be anywhere in the world. And so could those other scoundrels you call brother. As much as you hate the idea, you’re going to have to be pleasant to our captain.”

Jess turned her head away from Dorcas. “Our captain? Not mine surely. Aunt, you can have him, he’s all yours. Why don’t you try your
honey
tongue on him?”

“Jess St. John!” There was a military bite to the old woman’s words. “I raised you to have better manners than these. If you could put up with the puling mess you’ve heard for the last five years from every man in Virginia, you can act the decent, God-fearing gentlewoman now. At least McLeod is handsome. You can be nice to him for the few weeks it will take us to cross the Atlantic.”

“I can’t be
nice
to the blasted man. I don’t trust him. He makes me feel funny.”

Jess was no longer belligerent. Dorcas could tell the girl was being very sincere.

“Funny?” The older woman sat on the side of the bed. “What do you mean funny? Funny mad, funny sick... what?”

Jess shrugged in embarrassment. “That’s just it, Aunt Dorcas. I can’t describe how he makes me feel. But I know one thing, it’s not good. The feeling makes me feel frightened and mad and, oh, I don’t know.”

Dorcas nodded wisely. She knew exactly what her poor niece was describing, even if the girl didn’t. Jess had never been attracted to any of her ardent suitors. That fact had been abundantly apparent over the last several years. But now, the poor thing must be feeling drawn to Finn McLeod. Dorcas could have almost giggled with glee, if she wasn’t trying so hard to maintain her pose of solicitous concern. Jess was
finally
interested in a man. And such an eligible one too. Saints be praised, there really was a God.

“I can’t be nice to him, Aunt Dorcas. Truly, I can’t.” Jess’s beautiful emerald eyes looked defeated. “I can’t. Because I don’t want to get close enough to the man to be nice. I’ll try not to be offensive. I really will. I promise. I just can’t get too close to Finn... uh, Captain McLeod.” She blushed at her use of his first name.

“I understand, darlin’ girl.” She patted her niece’s hand, giving comfort. “I understand completely. Just stay away from him. Ignore him. I’ll help, in any way I can. You can count on me, Jess.” She watched as the girl smiled sweetly. I’ll help all right, Dorcas promised herself. I’ll help you right into his arms.

Brilliant sunlight streamed into a small, sturdy window. It flooded the cabin. The girl on the huge bed stirred restlessly. She was in that twilight land of being not fully asleep, but not yet awake. That lovely place where dreams seem almost real and safety is assured. A sweet smile curved her lips as she savored this particular dream.

She was on a tropical shore. Like the ones to which she’d traveled with her brothers. But she wasn’t alone. There was the man. The only man she’d ever dreamed about. The man she always dreamed about. The man she’d dare not tell anyone about. Because he was so wonderful, so perfect her friends surely would laugh at the telling.

She never saw his face only his eyes. Warm eyes full of tenderness and laughter. Even though she never saw his face, she felt the safety he provided. His big hard body and gentle hands shielded her from all harm and from the evil that was following her. The evil always seemed to find her. It trailed her like a hound on the scent of a fox. She tried and tried to escape. She’d always managed to stay just one step ahead of the menacing evil that wanted to consume her. Ever since she was a tiny child, she’d known it was out there waiting for her, waiting to... well, she really wasn’t sure what it would do to her. But she knew it would be terrifying. That’s why it was so wonderful to have
him
there. The man. The man who could protect her. The man who loved her. The man in the dream.

“Jess, wake up.” A motherly hand shoved at her shoulder.

Sleepy green eyes opened slowly.

“It’s time to get up, darlin’ girlie. The sun’s up. And that nice one-eyed sailor has already brought us our breakfast. There’s fresh hot bread and some fruit. Come on dear, get up with you.”

Jess’s eyes focused on her aunt who was now bustling about the cabin. Dorcas was already washed and dressed. She was humming to herself. She was straightening everything within her reach. Jess yawned and turned over. Dorcas was definitely a morning person. Jess, on the other hand, definitely was not a morning person. Some things should be taken slowly and carefully. Jess considered mornings to be one of those things. A sharp rap on the door to their cabin made her reconsider.

“Yes?” Dorcas sang out cheerfully. Jess grimaced and pulled the cover completely over her head.

“Ma’am?” There was a hesitation. “It’s me, ma’am, Saul. Are you finished breaking your fast? I’ve come to pick up your tray.”

Dorcas frowned. She glanced at the silent hump in the bed. “We’re almost through Saul. Can you come back in a few moments? I’m sure we’ll be finished by then.” Dorcas walked over to the bed and gave the girl a not so gentle shove and hissed, “Get up, Jess, get up right now. If you want to eat you’d better stir your sticks. I can’t hold off the poor man much longer. This is the second time he’s been by for that blasted tray. Now get up, girlie.” She poked her niece hard.

“Stop, Aunt Dorcas,” Jess pleaded in a weak voice. “Stop, I’m awake. I’m getting up. See, I’m awake,” she announced groggily as she hauled herself up. She swayed a little as she sat up. But she stayed up.

Dorcas nodded in satisfaction. “Now let’s get you into some clothes and try to tame that bird’s nest on your head.” She dumped the black nun’s habit and fresh underclothes into her niece’s lap. Then she turned to fix the girl a plate of food. Jess put one bare foot gingerly on the lurching floor, then the other. When she had her balance, she shoved herself upright, shrugged out of her night rail, and into the underclothes and habit Dorcas had gotten for her.

Dorcas frowned in vexation as she watched the girl make her way to the table and plop ungracefully down in one of the wing chairs. “You look like a ragamuffin. You do, just look at you.” She shoved a hand mirror into the girl’s listless fingers. “Just look at you. Your hair is full of wild kinks and knots. And that black woolen bag you’re wearing is wrinkled beyond repair.”

Jess took a long considering look in the glass, then replied, “At least no one can accuse me of being vain.”

She picked up a fork and pushed at the sliced melon on her silver plate. It was really too early to eat, she thought to herself. Civilized people never got up before noon and eating right away was out of the question. That would be one good thing about being in London. Dylan said no one ever got up early. Another hard knock on the door stopped her thinking.

“Ma’am?” It was Saul. He sounded worried. “Ma’am, I hate to bother you ladies, but I need that tray. The cook is startin’ to get riled. If I don’t get that tray back down to him pretty soon, something bad is gonna happen. I need that tray. So could I please have the uh..., mornin’ Finn.” Saul’s voice petered off to be replaced by another firmer one.

“Madam?”

It was one low commanding word. But it sent Dorcas scurrying to the door. Pasting a sweet smile on her face, she opened the door just a crack.

“Yes, Captain McLeod?”

The old lady practically cooed. Jess’s lips twisted in disgust. How could her aunt behave this way? And toward
him
of all people?

“Good morning Mistress Moore, I trust you slept well.” His deep, pleasant voice sent a vibration through the still air of the cabin. It shot right down Jess’s spine.

“Oh, wonderfully well, thank you, sir.” The older woman smoothed the hair back from her lined forehead. “And you, Captain?”

“Tolerably well, ma’am, tolerably well, thank you.”

He made no move to enter the chamber. Dorcas didn’t invite him inside. She wasn’t about to let McLeod see Jess in her present state. That would put an end to their courtship before Dorcas could even get it started. Yes, he was definitely staying out in the passageway.

“How is your niece, this morning?” he asked politely.

Jess decided they sounded, for all the world, like two aristocrats making idle chit chat as they waited in a drawing room to be called to dinner. And she thought it ridiculous. So she put a stop to it. “Good morning, Lord Maitland,” she called sweetly, knowing he detested the name.

Dorcas was forced to open the door so the man could see inside. So he could see the minx who was addressing him. Dorcas decided then and there she needed to have another talk with her niece as soon as the captain left.

McLeod leaned one shoulder lazily against the doorjamb. He ordered Saul away with a nonchalant flick of his wrist. “Good morning, Sister St. John. You look as if the evening treated you badly. Not a good sailor are we?” he taunted wickedly.

Jess’s eyes narrowed as she tossed her wild mane over her shoulders. “I,” she emphasized the word. “Had a fine night and I’m an excellent sailor. I can’t speak for you of course. But one would think that when a man takes to the sea, he ought to be at least a passable seaman.” Her words abruptly stopped as she stared up to face him.

She’d thought him handsome before, but now, with his jet hair wet and roughly tousled from a bath, he was beyond description. No wonder Dorcas sounded like a love-struck girl. He was dressed in buckskin breeches, they molded his form like a second skin, and well-worn riding boots. Today, he had no coat. Jess could see the full depth and breadth of his heavily muscled chest and shoulders outlined in the simple loose white shirt he wore. She swallowed as her eyes followed the line of his strong throat where the knot of his neck-cloth should have been.

“Speechless, Sister St. John?” One jet eyebrow rose. “I vow I shall write such a momentous occasion in the ship’s log. It may never chance to happen again.”

A dull flush of red crawled up her face. The beast probably was well aware of his effect on women, on her. Drat, she’d have to be more careful in the future. Aloof, that’s what she’d be, cool and aloof. Just as soon as she could catch her runaway heart, she’d be cool and aloof. She cleared her throat in preparation to speak. That was good, she told herself. Her Uncle Josiah had always cleared his throat loudly before he said something particularly wise. Let the beast in the doorway think she was preparing some lively repartee. Something profound and deeply intelligent. She cleared her throat again, just for good measure.

“Are you sickening, Sister St. John?” he mocked. “Sounds like a putrid throat to me. Our cook, has some excellent remedies for illness. Although I confess they tend to run along the line of strong purgatives.”

Purgatives? Lord in Heaven, the shameless beast was talking to her about purgatives. Somehow, when she’d spoken of them to Father Thomas at the convent, the conversation had been less… indelicate.

“I’m quite fine, thank you Captain McLeod,” she choked out. “I won’t be needing... uh, I mean... I don’t need... your cook’s help. Thank you though.” Didn’t the beast know there were some things, her own kindly advice to old Father Thomas notwithstanding, that men and women didn’t discuss? Purgatives and bodily functions were high on that list. So much for erudite conversation.

Before Jess had a chance to gather her scattered thoughts and speak again, Dorcas stepped in to eliminate the possibility of any more embarrassment. Because she knew, quite frankly, anything her niece said at this juncture was bound to be embarrassing. So the older woman slapped his arm playfully.

“All right now, away with you, lad. You’ve teased the lass enough for one morning, you scoundrel. Get away with you and let the child collect herself.”

Finn bowed elegantly. “Could I trouble you for the tray, Madam?” He smiled down at Dorcas in an intimate way that shot straight into a woman’s heart.

“Surely you can, me boyo.”

Dorcas knew in that moment the rascal could get a woman, any woman, to slit her wrists for him, if he but asked. An uneasy qualm disturbed her. Maybe he wasn’t the one for Jess, after all. Maybe he was too dangerous. Maybe, just maybe, she’d give all her grand plans another thought or two. Jess needed a strong man, that was true. But not one who might hurt her. Passion was a mighty fine thing. And this man had it aplenty. But Dorcas wanted Jess to have more than just passion with a man. She wanted her niece to have love as well, a deep abiding love. One that didn’t change with time and could weather the storms life was sure to bring her way.

So the old lady calmly moved to the table. She lifted the heavy silver tray, nudging Jess as she walked by her. “Close your mouth, child,” Dorcas whispered. “You look like a frog about to snatch a fly.” Jess obediently shut her mouth and flushed again.

“Here’s your tray, Captain McLeod.” Dorcas handed it over.

He chuckled. His eyes remained on the silent girl seated at the table. “It’s not mine. The tray belongs to the cook. That’s why he’s so anxious to have it back. He sent me personally to retrieve it for him.”

“Your cook owns this fine silver tray?” Dorcas was puzzled.

“Aye, he does.” He smiled down at her. And as old as she was, her stomach flipped in response. He took the heavy burden from her hands. “That’s why he’s so jealous of the plaguey thing. He wanted to impress you, ma’am. But it’s his one true treasure. And he wants it back.”

“Well, you tell him I was mightily impressed.” She nodded the pirate out. She quietly shut the door behind him.

“Jess love, we need to have a serious talk about that man. Serious indeed.” Dorcas settled down in a chair at the table with the quiet girl. “He’s like I’ve heard Lord Byron described, mad, bad, and dangerous to know.” Her eyes bore into the girl’s. “You need to stay as far away from him as you can on this crossing.”

Jess interrupted her, “That’s what I’ve been telling you since yesterday morning when you found me in that horrible gaol. He’s a rake, I’m sure of it, Aunt.”

“Oh aye, darlin’ girlie, the man is a rake. And the finest looking one I’ve ever seen. And that’s takin into account those rascal brothers of yours too. But he’s worse than a mere rake, Jess. Captain McLeod looks to be one who doesn’t just steal a woman’s virtue. I vow he steals hearts too. And that’s far, far more dangerous. Stay close to me on this passage. Or he might steal yours.”

The girl snorted in a rather inelegant way and replied, “That beast won’t ever steal anything from me, Aunt. Not virtue, nor my heart, because those belong to God. I only used that threat of a betrothal as a way to ensure he’d take us to London.” She got up. She started rummaging through their trunk. Fishing out a brush, she sat on the side of the bed. Jess began the long, boring task of taming her hair.

Dorcas didn’t say anything. She sat deep in her own private thoughts. She remembered how once she’d loved a rake, Jess’s father. She’d loved him and thought he’d loved her as well until he’d shown a marked preference for her younger sister. No one had ever known how deeply she’d pined David Warwick. She would have given him her body and her soul, if he’d but asked. But he hadn’t. After he’d seen her sister Mariah, Dorcas had ceased to exist for the man. She’d never told anyone of that wild, passionate attachment, not her dear sister Mariah, nor her own husband Josiah. Dear gentle Josiah, whom she’d come to love over the years. Aye, she’d learned to love him, but never with the same reckless kind of abandon she’d felt for David.

The memories weren’t painful anymore. But they had made her wise. Wise enough to see that Jess looked at Maitland the same way she’d looked at David St. John. And there was a world of pain waiting in those glances, if she couldn’t guard her niece well.

“Aunt?” Jess was calling her from the bed.

“Yes, child?” Dorcas forced herself away from the bittersweet past and into the present.