Virgin Star (9 page)

Seanessy always took his time, arid he was just getting warmed up when another knock sounded.

"Seanessy, are you in there?" Kyler asked.

"Not quite, Kyler."

"What the devil are you doing in there?"

"I wouldn't want to shock you, my friend."

A woman's laughter sounded, arid Kyler, recognizing Molly's gaiety, did not stifle his chuckle. "It seems Harding and boys caught the two bastards that dropped the package off last night. I'll keep them waiting until you feel up to seeing them."

Seanessy buried his laughter in Molly's perfumed shoulder. "Save me, Molly ... save me."

"Master." Tilly's excited voice came next from the other side. "Should I give the young lady a pound note or two? She says you promised her a note before she goes on her way, and you see, sir—" Tilly whispered as if it were a royal intrigue with global consequences. "Methinks she's meanin' to leave before the doctor gets here. She says she refuses to see a doctor, and, well, if ye ask me, she's a little touched from the terrible things that have been happenin' to 'er and I think ye should make her wait—“

"Tilly, as God is my witness," Seanessy almost cried from behind the door, "I'm going to kill you."

The words gave Tilly pause. She waited for more to be said. No more words were forthcoming and she asked, "Does that mean aye or nay?"

The young lady without a name waited a few moments after the kind serving woman left. She cautiously opened the door and peered outside. No one moved in the hallway. She quietly headed for the entrance hall at the bottom of the long curving stairs.

Seanessy at last emerged from the green room, having finally managed to send Molly into a pleasant slumber. He was smiling as he shut the door, but the smile disappeared in the instant as he issued the single word: "You!"

A delicate hand flew to her heart as it leaped in fright. Startled eyes turned to see her nemesis, thankfully fully dressed, including a well-worn shoulder harness and two expensive silver-handled pistols-—fifty calibers if one. Against her will, she thought of all the hideous sounds coming from the next room, and when she imagined the scene he had just quit, a blush went from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes.

He kept his concubines here. Even without the assurance of memory, she felt certain that she had never been subjected to this odious form of her sex's subjugation before. As soon as she left, she could be reasonably sure she would never be subjected to it again.

He was just such a beast!

His sharp hazel eyes looked her over. Tilly had pulled the thick blond hair back and worked it into a single braid that fell down to the small of her back. That hair would be a vanity to any other woman, it was so beautiful. His own sweet mother always wore her hair in plaits. He loved old-fashioned braids. And, Lord, the rope of her hair was as thick as a man's fist!

Aye, the girl was a pretty thing with her hair away from those eyes, but the rest! She wore a man's large dark vest over a clean white shirt and black cotton trousers rolled up over her ankles to expose her bare feet. He laughed as if it was a bad joke. "Well, don't we look ridiculous!"

Wide eyes considered him, as if he spoke in an incomprehensible language. He might have been, for all his comment mattered to her. She might look ridiculous, but she hardly cared. She could never defend herself wearing a woman's gown. She felt certain she would be defending herself.

He watched her glance swiftly down the stairs, and with hands on hips he demanded, "What the devil are you sneaking around for now?"

"I have to get out of here before—"

"On no, you don't. I have plans for you."

She looked at him with mistrust and loathing both. "Am I your prisoner?"

"I haven't decided yet," he replied. "I'm going down to meet with the sorry fools who dropped you off on my doorstep." He saw her take this in with surprise, then fear. "Perhaps the wretches will trigger your missing memory, hmm? And Tilly has sent for another doctor to examine you."

She hesitated still, and he felt at last a moment a pity. The image of a normal young lady's life rose unbidden in his mind: morning French and music lessons followed by a pleasant stroll, luncheons and afternoon teas, perhaps a visit to the dressmaker, the park, or the botanical gardens, the whole uneventful day ending with a fireside Bible reading. This "normal life" contrasted so sharply with the poor child's circumstances; how she awoke in a strange man's house with no memory whatsoever, past the terrifying certainty that someone was trying to harm her, while her "education" consisted of how most expediently to kill a man. He watched the fear tremble ever so slightly on the soft curve of her upper lip, and as the silence of his scrutiny stretched a moment too long, the palm of her hand went to the furrow of her brow.

He abruptly wanted to ease her terror, if only for a moment. "I suppose I should first give you a name. You need one, you know."

"A name?" The lovely eyes registered surprise.

"Until you remember your real name. You need something more than 'hey you' for addresses put to you, do you not? Well now, let’s see. How about..." He appeared to be considering names. A smile lifted on the handsome face as he suggested, "Cordelia?"

She gasped with obvious horror.

Seanessy discovered she was quite unused to being teased. "Agnes?"

She shook her head slightly, worried he might start calling her that.

A dark brow rose with the inquiry, "Bertha? No? Matilda?"

Why, he was teasing her! As if she were a silly schoolgirl with nothing more on her mind than a ridiculous flirtation. The idea fueled her growing frustration. "Captain Seanessy," she said through pressed lips and narrowed eyes, "I don't care what you call me. It's of no importance whatsoever." The only thing that mattered was getting out of here and on her way to Malacca before it was too late. If this arrogant, overbearing man would not let her go by way of the front doors, then she would simply use the bed sheets and slip down the window.

She dismissed him by presenting her back as she stepped into the bedroom. But Seanessy was never so easily dismissed. Strong hands gently touched her shoulders, turning her around. Surprised, she instinctively raised her arms to fling the hands off but caught herself just in time. She had learned that much about him at least. She looked up from the large and callused hands holding her shoulders to the bright hazel eyes, eyes that seemed to dare her with their humor.

Somehow her consciousness riveted to his light touch and how close he stood to her now, the maddening idea of how she had to look up and up to meet the laughing gaze. Her heart started a slow hard thud again. Heat rose in her cheeks, part anger and part something else, as she remembered the feel of his hard body pressed against hers.

Seanessy pretended not to notice these emotions. "I've got it," he said with a knowing smile that completely ignored the fury flashing in her eyes. "Shalyn."

"Shalyn?"

"Aye." He nodded, pleased with his ingenuity. "Shalyn," he repeated in a thick Irish brogue. "The wind fairies that fly through the green hills of Ireland and the name given to a young shepherd's true love. From an old Irish folk tale sung by all good Irish women to their bairns on cold winter nights. In this tale a series of startling, admittedly unlikely circumstances, remarkably similar to yours, befell a young and beautiful lady—"

"Oh, call me what you will! I truly don't care. And I especially do not care to stand here and listen to a foolish children's story. If you will—" She looked at his hands, the look a demand.

Forever undaunted, Seanessy smiled as one hand fell away but only returned to the delicate flesh of her pretty neck. She froze with the strange sensation this caused, an exquisite half-pain, half-tickle as his strong fingers gently applied pressure at either side.

"I really do need you to meet the two luckless devils who delivered you to me. Just in case it provides me with the happy information of where to give you back. Hmm? Shall we, child?"

"I should have killed you when I had the chance!"

"Delusional still, are we?" he commented as he led her down the hall to the stairway. "If I had nothing better to do, or if I possibly imagined I could get it up after the dubious pleasure of knowing your engaging character, I'd give you another little bedside romp to prove just what these irritating and vacuous threats could lead to."

The hot sting of color shot to her cheeks as the words brought back the shocking image of his hideously enlarged staff again. Was that normal? Dear Lord, it—he was monstrous! How flagrant and crass he was! Like an animal! All the English bluntness—

What could possibly be her connection to this man? It had to be a mistake, the idea that she might have been seeking him out before she lost her memory. She felt certain she would never have sought a man of his barbarous character. Ever. For any reason. Why, oh why had she held his name and address in her hand?

What did it have to do with the people who were trying to kill her?

Mercy, she must remember ...

Until then she decided the best offense was simply to pretend he wasn't there, difficult if not impossible with his height towering over her and the heat of his hand on the small of her back as he led her down the stairs through the long hall of the lower gallery. She imagined a deathblow to his throat, despite his warning, praying the pleasant fantasy would allow her to suffer his company until she could escape.

She pretended not to notice the wonder of the pictures in his house as they passed through the gallery, but she owned a selfish gaze. Greedily her eyes focused, then lingered on the treasures here, which to her dismay, he noticed. "So we like pictures, do we?"

She gave up the pretense with a shrug, unable to deny it. Especially as Seanessy stopped to let her stare up at an El Greco masterpiece. The strange elongated arms reaching in desperation to the heavens for God's grace gave her a moment's pause. She knew that desperation, and seeing its very image brought a flood of emotion. Dear Lord, how had she known the despair of that hopelessness?

"Perhaps it is not such a bad thing that you lost your memory after all."

His surprising sensitivity caused a moment's bewilderment, while the gentleness in his tone brought her hesitant eyes to his, to discover his stare. The complexity and depth hidden in his character came as a surprise.

All of it disappearing as he said, "Come along, child. I have a lot to do today, including arrangements for murder."

Murder? Was this in reference to the disturbing letter she had read? Or something else?

Seanessy laughed at her alarm. "Do not look so shocked, child. If you behave yourself, you just might escape my wrath."

That he could count on!

Contempt charged her increasingly adversarial feelings for the man, but Seanessy didn't notice as he led her into the garden room in the back of the house. For a large man he moved with impressive grace and ease—as if he owned the world! Without even realizing it she made a brief note of the weapons he wore, from his boots up: gold spurs on metal-tipped boots, metal-studded belt, the jeweled dagger—and what was that?

She stared at the thick bulge in his trouser pocket. A billfold. A thick wad of money. She needed that money to buy passage on a ship. How could she get it?

She remembered a story she had once read, a story describing the amusing exploits of a pickpocket. When the victim was distracted, apparently it was an easy chore ...

The delicious scent of sweet jasmine filled the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly baked breads and roasted pork. The sound of raised masculine voices reached them, voices shouting about Wilson and Clives, Parliament, and a seat for Irishmen. Sean guided her reluctant steps through the tall, broad wooden doors. She looked up, not expecting it.

She froze in her tracks. The large doors opened onto the two-story, sky-lit space of the garden room. A musky fecund scent filled the air: the scent of rich moist earth, a profusion of ferns and plants, ivy and jasmine that spilled from every conceivable space. Mature juniper and cherry blossom trees grew wild beneath the skylights, crowding against the high roof. The air warmed beneath the glass of the ceiling, sending streams of enchanting light filtering through green leaves to a floor made of large broken stones, each stone step surrounded by a carpet of bright green moss.

Yet she hardly noticed the wonders of the garden room. She stared at the long carved wood table set near a waterfall and fishpond at the far corner of the room where a number of ships' officers enjoyed a hearty breakfast. The noise and bustle of the men sounded like a great roar in her mind. Her eyes darted from one unfamiliar face to the next—-the most frightening group of men she had ever seen!— any one of them might be her enemy, the men sent to chase her down!