Virginia Henley (28 page)

Emerald knew his dark eyes were riveted upon her. She bent her head forward, allowing her hair to almost touch the carpet, brushed it vigorously, then tossed it back so that it fell in a smoky cloud about her shoulders. With hairbrush still in hand she padded over to the bed with feline grace to retrieve her night rail from beneath the pillow. It was a
flame-colored diaphanous garment designed to give a man pleasure. She made no effort to put it on, but took it back to the dressing table with her and draped it across the stool. Then she made a display of admiring herself in the mirror. She tossed her curls and drew the brush through them one more time, then very deliberately she brushed the black curls between her legs.

“What the hell game is this you are playing?” he growled.

She dropped the hairbrush and with hands on naked hips walked provocatively toward him. “A harlot’s game. Isn’t that what you want? I was just admiring the diamonds one last time before I give them back.”

“The diamonds are yours,” he ground out.

“Oh, I don’t think so. They are your property, just as I am. We are both for display purposes only.”

“Stop this game now,” he said with quiet authority. He knew if he didn’t hang on to the last of his control, he would throw her to the floor and mount her. Lust now mingled with his anger, and lust was rapidly gaining the upper hand.

“When you gave me the diamonds last night in bed, I didn’t realize the significance. I had no idea I was paying for them with sexual favors. Perhaps last night was only the down payment?” She knew she was deliberately goading him, as did Sean. She wanted to exercise her woman’s power over him, to see if she could shatter his control into a million shards.

He reached out with powerful hands and jerked her against him. “If you want fireworks, I’ll start with skyrockets.”

She fought him like a spitting cat, enjoying every blazing moment. They were a perfect match, each driving the other to madness. In the end they both surrendered. Sean gave in because he was physically stronger and didn’t want to hurt her. Emerald yielded because she didn’t want to maul his
pride. In the end it was his tenderness that melted her anger toward him. His loving affection for her was boundless and showed her just how much she meant to him.

Much later, as she lay cradled in his arms, they both whispered love words. “My honey love, I did want to show you off, but I swear it was your Irish beauty I wanted to flaunt in the face of so many raddled Englishwomen. You never have to wear the necklace in public again, but you must keep it. You have no money of your own and it will give you some financial security.”

“My darling, you are all the security I’ll ever need.”

He pressed her to his heart. “Promise me you’ll keep it?”

“I promise,” she whispered. “Let’s not accept any more social invitations. I heard enough gossip tonight to last me a lifetime. I don’t give a damn that the Duke of Devonshire has impregnated his wife, Georgiana, and his mistress, Elizabeth Foster, at the same time. I want to go home.”

“Only a few days longer, sweetheart. I have merchant ships docked here in London. I must speak with my captains before we leave. Tonight I’ll show you London’s pleasure gardens. Just the two of us. Have you ever been to Vauxhall or Ranelagh?”

“Of course not. I never did anything sinful or worldly.”

“Until I stole you,” he whispered.

She laughed seductively. “Now I sin on a regular basis.” She slid a silken knee between his rock-hard thighs. “You taught me to be wild and wicked and to never say no!”

“H
e did what?” William Montague roared, turning purple in the face.

“He confiscated the
Swallow.
There was nothing I could do about it. We were virtual prisoners, outnumbered two to one by FitzGeralds. I was damn lucky to come away with my life, no thanks to you!”

“What do you mean?” Montague blustered.

“You knew Shamus O’Toole would shoot a Montague on sight; that’s why the pair of you chose me for your scapegoat. You can consider yourself lucky he returned our crew.”

“And what good is a crew without a ship? We still have a contract to supply and transport horses for the army, even though my cursed brother has fucked us with the Admiralty. But if there’s any delay, we’ll never get their business again and I’ll lose face with Bedford, who’s still able to pull some strings for us.”

“I’ll buy another ship today. If we want to make money we must expand, and we don’t want to lose the crew.”

“You can handle the paperwork, but Jack will decide which vessel we buy. You don’t know a scow from a schooner.”

“Your confidence in my ability overwhelms me, Father,” John said dryly.

“I’d go myself if I wasn’t a martyr to this goddamn gout!”

John knew it would be pointless to explain that the gout attacks were tied to his vicious temper, which he lost morning, noon, and night.

After they departed, Montague sat morosely at his desk. Why had life suddenly turned sour? he wondered. He shook his head. If the truth be told, the sweetness of life had been missing for years; ever since Amber left him. No one could comfort him as his wife had; nothing could ease the pain of his gout like her herbal concoctions. He had no idea what had become of her, but assumed she was living in Ireland, probably with the FitzGeralds at Maynooth. Perhaps he should forgive her and take her back.

    
A
s John Montague and Jack Raymond walked along the London docks, the latter was struck by the number of O’Toole vessels in port. “If I ever come face to face with that Irish son of a whore, I’ll kill him with my bare hands.”

John laughed. “Perhaps now is your chance. There’s the
Half Moon
, he might be aboard.”

Jack was stunned. “He sailed with you?”

“The Montagues don’t intimidate him in any way. I believe he was guest of honor at Newcastle’s Victory Ball last night.”

Jack Raymond ground his teeth in impotent rage. “Did he bring my wife with him?”

“Of course not,” John lied. “He’s nobody’s fool.” John nodded his head in the direction of the
Half Moon.
“Speak of the devil.”

Raymond’s head jerked up to see the figure of O’Toole negligently leaning against the rail. Jack stared at the dark malevolent face with disbelief. He would never have recognized the hardened, dangerous man as Sean O’Toole. Despite
the casual pose, O’Toole was so intimidating, Jack felt his bowels knot.

Why hadn’t he rid the world of the Irish scum along with his brother? Perhaps it still wasn’t too late. There was so much hatred and bad blood between them, he knew he’d never feel safe until O’Toole was dead. The thought that the Irishman had stolen his wife from under his nose was intolerable, but even worse was Jack Raymond’s suspicion that Emerald had gone willingly. If and when he managed to get her back, he would make her pay for the rest of her life!

As Jack Raymond quickened his pace, John hid a smile of contempt. He knew Raymond was no match for O’Toole and would avoid a confrontation at any cost.

The two men spent the morning visiting the offices of the maritime brokers, the afternoon inspecting the vessels they offered for sale. Only two were seaworthy, despite claims to the contrary. One was an Irish schooner, the other a twomasted merchantman, newly arrived from Gibraltar and bearing that name.

The latter looked suspiciously familiar to John, even though she had a fresh coat of paint. When he saw it had had a recent lime washing to rid it of its stink, he knew it was one of the slavers they secretly owned—or had owned, until O’Toole relieved them of it.

Johnny’s wicked juices began to bubble as he praised up the schooner, knowing Raymond was prejudiced against all things Irish.

“No,” Jack said decisively, “the merchantman has a much deeper hold, and a blind man can see it won’t need paint for a couple of years.”

“I still prefer the schooner—it’s a much faster vessel— but I suppose I must defer to your superior knowledge.”

“You’re here to do the paperwork,” Jack reminded him.

“I’ll get the
Gibraltar
transferred and registered to the Montague Line today. You get word to the captain and crew,
if they’re not all dead drunk by now.” The minute Raymond left him, Johnny closed his eyes in prayer. I
ask only one thing—please let me be there when Father learns he’s bought his own fucking ship!

    
S
ean O’Toole felt a prickling sensation at the back of his neck. It lingered on hours after Jack Raymond had slithered from his sight. It was not fear, it was more like a premonition or warning that something was in the wind. Confrontation wasn’t Raymond’s style, but O’Toole did not underestimate him for one minute. The hate and rancor that had been exchanged in one swift glance told him Jacko would try to retaliate.

It was midafternoon before he realized his unease centered on Emerald. He decided to return to the house in Old Park Lane immediately, though he went by a circuitous route so he couldn’t be followed.

When Sean found her in the bath, he was so relieved, he went weak. “Get dressed. I’ve asked the maid to pack your things. We’re leaving.”

“Sean! You promised to take me to Vauxhall.”

He stared at her blankly and ran his fingers through his hair.

Her hand stole to her throat. “You’re frightening me, what’s wrong?”

Realizing what he must look like, he forced himself to relax. “Nothing is wrong. You asked me to take you home last night. I’m only trying to please you.”

“Admit the truth! You completely forgot about Vauxhall, didn’t you?”

He laughed. “Ah, Beauty, seeing you in your bath was so distracting, it wiped away all thought of pleasure gardens.” Now that he saw she was here, safe and sound, he felt foolish over his irrational apprehension. And so long as he was with her, no harm could come to her. He watched her
swirl the sponge over the high curve of her breasts where they swelled from the water.

Emerald watched his eyes follow the sponge and knew the effect she was having on him. She lay back in the bath, then lifted the sponge and squeezed. Water trickled over her shapely shoulders. She dipped the sponge beneath the surface, then lifted one leg so she could trickle water down it. That did the trick. The corners of her mouth went up as she watched him remove his coat and unfasten his neckcloth.

He slipped down beneath her, lifting her out of the tub and onto his lap as he sat on the stool next to the bath. He was unmindful of the water that dripped over him, soaking his remaining clothes. He kissed her ear. “I see no reason why we can’t do both. I’ll take you to Vauxhall, then we can go straight to the ship and leave on the midnight tide.”

She wriggled her bottom about, to accommodate his growing erection. “I don’t want to miss the fireworks,” she said innocently.

He bit down on the earlobe he’d just kissed. “I’ll give you bloody fireworks!”

“Promise?” she asked saucily, leaning back in his arms. His shaft hardened along the length of his soaked pants and it felt as though there were no material between them.

He reached out to cup her breasts in the palms of his hands and lifted them until they looked like melons.

They were so sensitive, she cried out.

He was immediately contrite. “Did I hurt you, love? I’m such a rough devil.” He enfolded her in his arms.

She reached up to caress his cheek. “Of course you didn’t hurt me. You could never hurt me.”

    
W
hen Jack Raymond returned to Bottolph’s Wharf, where the Montague Line headquarters were located, he was surprised to find Captain Bowers and his first mate on the
Swallow
in William Montague’s office. The old man had
wasted no time in demanding an explanation of why they had allowed their crew to give up the
Swallow.

The captain and first mate stood passively while Montague ranted, raved, and ordered the captain to mete out discipline to his gutless crew. It went without saying they’d receive no pay for the voyage to Ireland, but when Montague threatened no wages for a year, they were ready to revolt.

Jack wasn’t displeased Montague had softened them up with his threats. Perhaps the fear of losing a year’s wages would make them more susceptible to Jack’s plan, for which they’d be well compensated should they agree to it. He made eye contact with William.

“Well?” the old man thundered.

“We’ve acquired another vessel. I’m sure Captain Bowers will read the riot act to his crew and they’ll be more careful in the future.”

“The scurvy bastards don’t deserve another ship!” William roared, but it was just bluster. In wartime sailors were in demand, though most preferred to crew a merchant vessel over an Admiralty or Navy ship.

Jack Raymond gave them directions to the
Gibraltar
, which was moored at Wapping, and praised the ship’s fine points. He made sure William knew he had overruled John’s choice of an Irish schooner.

William dismissed the men so he could ask Jack the price. “I’ll go and see for myself if we’ve got our money’s worth. I might as well dine at the Prospect of Whitby by the Wapping water stairs. Meet me there at eight.”