Starlight & Promises

by Cat Lindler

  When Christian boarded the Maiden Anne, he first inspected the supplies and munitions. He was hunting pirates this time, not cats, and had every intention of returning to his wife in one piece.

  The ship hoisted anchor and sailed out of the harbor on the dawn tide, headed for the coordinates supplied by Garrett. The sails filled with a fresh wind, and Christian stood at the stern, watching Hobart recede in the distance. He lost sight of the inn, but he visualized Samantha, warm and soft, curled up on her side like a sleeping nymph in the large bed. She would think badly of him for leaving her behind. Regardless, he could not expose her to the dangers he was apt to face. The Smilodon hunt was a jaunt along Brighton Beach compared to an almost certain confrontation with pirates. At best, he would return in a few weeks, or months, with or without her uncle. At worst, she would never see him again. Would she be too irate to mourn him? He knew now that he loved her beyond reason. She had spoken words of love in the night when he held her close. Did she truly love him, or was she merely infatuated and overwhelmed by her first experience with carnal bliss?

  God, he wished he could be certain of her feelings. He could have used the knowledge to carry him through this journey. After exhaling on a sigh, he drew in a lungful of sea air. The ocean rolled out before him, calm, deep, and clear. Turquoise water merged with azure sky until the horizon disappeared. Blue spread out in every direction, as though the Maiden Anne sailed inside a sapphire crystal bowl.

  As the ship’s sails strained against the wind, he tied back the hair blowing across his face, turned away from Tasmania, and made his way to the helm.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Samantha dozed, halfway between sleep and wakefulness. In spite of her fatigue, a sense of comfort and serenity covered her with a blanket of happiness and love. Thus far, marriage was not the prison she had imagined, unless she wished to consider their suite a prison. Christian had yet to chain her to the bed, and the dominance he displayed at other times was in no danger of smothering her identity. However, time would tell. True, he proposed in an unorthodox manner and uttered no words of love. Nonetheless, he showed her every day and night in his lovemaking how much he cherished her.

  She stretched with a wiggle and scooted backward toward the bed’s center, expecting to encounter the warmth of Christian’s back, or better yet, his front, seeking his morning erection. Her breasts tingled, and she contemplated waking him in a way he especially enjoyed. Her body was already damp and eager.

  She reached across the space. At the touch of cool sheets, a frown slid over her mouth. If he had arisen, why did he not rouse her? Sitting up, she looked at the mantel clock above the fireplace. Good Lord, nearly eleven! He must have gone downstairs to the common room for breakfast, allowing her to laze about in light of their strenuous night. ‘Twas a considerate gesture, worthy of a loving husband.

  She smiled slowly. His lovemaking had contained a fierce, almost desperate quality. Perhaps he had left to plan an outing. After cloistering themselves in the suite for four days—not that she desired to complain—an outing would be a welcome change. What she had seen of Hobart to date could fit into a thimble. Filled with energy over the prospect of some wonderful surprise, she jumped out of bed to wash at the basin.

  She searched the chests, looking for items discarded for days. Christian kept her unclothed and in bed most of the time. She blushed simply thinking about it. After drawing out a butter yellow cambric dress with a matching jacket trimmed in white velvet, she slipped into it and brushed out her hair, plaiting it and coiling it at her nape. She pulled out wisps of curls and allowed them to fall about her face.

  While she was at her toilette, a knock came at the door. She grinned. ‘Twas Christian, impatient for her presence downstairs. When the knock came again, her grin slipped. Why would he knock? Did he forget the key? She hurried to the door and turned the handle. ‘Twas locked. “A moment,” she called out and hunted for the key, first checking the mantel where Christian always left it. The key was not there. She pursed her lips. What was happening? Who would take the key? Who would lock her in the room?

  Christian?

  A key scraped in the lock. When the door opened, Aunt Delia and Chloe stood on the threshold. Both displayed nervous expressions.

  “Aunt Delia … Chloe,” Samantha said carefully. “How pleasant of you to visit. I’m not certain where Chris has gone, but surely he will return soon.” She motioned for them to enter, waved them to chairs before the fire, and rang for tea and scones.

  Worry lined Aunt Delia’s forehead; her smile seemed forced. “Samantha, darling. You look wonderful. Marriage must agree with you.” She twisted a handkerchief as though she would tear it into pieces.

  Samantha declined to answer. Instead, she gave Chloe a sharp look.

  With a stricken expression, Chloe lowered her eyes.

  Sickly cold seeped into Samantha’s stomach. Her heart pounded in her ears. “Something has happened to Chris.” She turned back to Delia. “Tell me. Where is he? Is he hurt? I must go to him.”

  Delia patted Samantha’s arm with a gloved hand. “No, my dear. Christian is quite well.”

  Samantha panted, not quite able to catch her breath. “Then why are you here? And where is he?”

  Delia drew back her shoulders, pushing out her bosom. At the familiar gesture, Samantha’s heart dropped to her knees. “Now, Samantha, brace yourself. I have no wish for you to become hysterical. You are a married woman. I expect you to accept what I have to say in a mature manner. You will be moving in with us while Christian tends to important business.”

  He left? Without her? No wonder he lulled her so sweetly the previous night. He planned all along to leave her behind. “The hell I will!” Samantha sprang from her chair and clenched her hands until the remnants of ragged nails dug into her palms. “Where is the bastard? I shall kill him!”

  “You have no need to use profanity.” Deep grooves appeared beside Delia’s mouth. “This is a serious matter. Christian received information regarding Richard and departed to investigate its accuracy. He felt it best you remain behind with us, because the situation is not without danger.”

  “Bollocks!” Samantha sputtered. “He crept out like a thief in the night, not even bidding me good-bye or giving me the opportunity to decide my own course of action. I shall never forgive him for this! I shall divorce him! I’ll not have a lying sneak for a husband!” The bolt of pain that shot through her heart weakened her knees and brought tears to her eyes.

  Delia rose gracefully and curved an arm around Samantha’s shoulders. She squeezed gently and held out a handkerchief she drew from her sleeve. “Now, now. Remember that words said in anger can seldom be taken back. The situation is less dreadful than it appears on the surface. Christian left a letter for you, explaining his actions.” She pulled a sheet of paper from her reticule and placed it in Samantha’s hands.

  Samantha didn’t even glance at the missive. She crumpled it and tossed it to the floor. “I have no desire to read his explanation, which is naught more than an excuse. He took what he wanted and then scurried off, like a hound with its tail between its legs. I should have had more sense than to trust him.”

  From remaining silent with a hapless look on her face, Chloe now reached down and picked up the letter. After smoothing out the creases, she offered it to Samantha. “I beg you, read what he has to say. If you know only part of the story, how can you make an informed decision?”

  Chloe acting calm and sensible? Struck mute, Samantha stared at her cousin as if she were a circus oddity. But then Chloe’s husband did not just desert her. Samantha accepted the letter with reluctance as Sarah brought tea and scones into the room on a tray and set it on a table. Samantha sent the maid a glare, as though she were a coconspirator. Judging from the locked room, the inn’s entire management had participated in the deed. Sarah averted her eyes. Her face reddened. She bobbed a clumsy curtsy and darted out the door.

  Samantha pulled herself together, breath
ing deeply to calm her throbbing head and churning stomach. After pouring the tea, she settled stiffly into a chair and opened Christian’s letter. Her eyes swimming with tears, she could scarcely read his sprawling script.

  By the time Samantha finished the letter, tears poured down her face. True to Christian’s prediction, she wadded it up and threw it into the fire, but first she tore off the last few lines, the part where he declared his love. Folding the strip of paper, she stuffed it into her bodice next to her heart.

  Samantha moved into Talmadge House with Aunt Delia and Chloe that very day. She presented no arguments and declined to discuss her circumstances. In fact, her face and manner reflected a composed mien. Too composed to Delia’s mind. Samantha was up to mischief. She understood her niece better than anyone. Since Samantha’s last display of temper, when she burned Christian’s letter, she had become a docile wife. However, Samantha had never been docile. Delia closeted herself with Pettibone, Cullen, and Jasper.

  “I suspect Samantha is planning some foolishness,” Delia told them. “You must give me your word that you will watch her at all times and guarantee she undertakes no rash actions.”

  Meanwhile, Samantha’s mind raced. Beneath her calm exterior, she plotted. She recovered from her initial anger at Christian, the main part of it, though she would still make him pay when he returned. Once again, he had questioned her competence, treated her as if she were incapable of making her own decisions. Perhaps if he had explained the situation to her. But no, he had decided for her. It was not to be borne.

  Christian had unwittingly provided her with clues, clues she could investigate. Were she to identify the mystery man who kidnapped Richard, perhaps she could find her uncle and save them all a great deal of time and misery. Sitting about idly and waiting for Christian to return with word of Richard was not an option.

  She mulled over what she knew and took out a leaf of paper to make notes, listing what she recalled from Christian’s letter while ruing her hasty act in destroying it.

  First, the man sought the Smilodon. That, in itself, was a valuable hint. Only a scientist or an equally educated man would understand the significance of the discovery.

  Second, he was privy to information only she, Richard, and James knew. She added Christian, Garrett, and the ship’s crew to her inventory of knowledgeable people as well as the scientists she had originally contacted at the academy. However, Richard’s abduction was a fait accompli by the time the others on her list learned of the Smilodon’s existence. Therefore, either Richard or James told the man of their find, or he learned through some nefarious means before Richard contacted her.

  Third, he was someone Richard knew, someone he trusted, or the man knew of her uncle’s fame but was not of the earl’s social circle.

  Fourth, he was present in Hobart at the time of the discovery a year ago, and according to Christian, he might still be here.

  Fifth, a pirate captain named Miggs had snatched Richard and James. The ship he commanded was the Manta Ray.

  If she was able to track down Miggs or one of his fellow pirates, she might discover the name of their employer. That person would know where Richard and James were being held, for her heart told her that the two were still alive.

  When she gleaned as much as she could from her memory, she planned her next move, taking into account her appointed watchdogs, Jasper, Pettibone, and Cullen, who dogged her heels. She could scarcely inhale a breath without brushing up against one of them or take a step without treading on their feet.

  Once again, the Blue Boar Inn seemed the most promising place to begin her investigation. Dare she dress as a boy, assuming she could shake her shadows? She shuddered when she recalled her last excursion into that filthy den and the degrading experience in the garrison gaol.

  Then again, Sergeant Dobbins might know of Miggs and his ship. Contemplating another encounter with the unsavory sergeant brought her dinner up into her throat. She must find another way. Sergeant Swine

  “I have naught to wear,” Samantha said. “All my frocks are too heavy for this climate. I’m a married woman now, and my gowns make me look like a schoolroom miss. Since Christian insisted I remain in Hobart, I may as well spend his money. ‘Tis the least he deserves.”

  Delia looked up from her sewing, eyes narrowing at Samantha’s sudden and uncharacteristic interest in clothes and fashion.

  Samantha turned guileless eyes on her aunt. “Have you found a decent modiste in Hobart? I vow I feel as dowdy as a governess.”

  Delia’s suspicions waned. Samantha had cooperated admirably the past few days. This was her first mention of Christian and his absence. The desire for a new wardrobe could be an encouraging sign that she had accepted her husband’s decision and would follow his orders with good cheer.

  “Certainly, dear.” Delia smiled. “Madame Louella provides gowns for all the ladies in Hobart. With so few real ladies in residence, she has a smaller number of quality clients than she would like. I heard she is even contemplating returning to England for lack of business. I’m certain she would be thrilled to whip up a few frocks for you. Shall I make an appointment for her to come here?”

  “Oh no. I would rather go to her shop. I could not expect her to fetch bolts of fabric and heavy pattern books all the way out here. And I would enjoy the outing.”

  “Be certain to take Jasper with you.”

  “As if I could shake him off my tail,” Samantha mumbled.

  “Did you say something, dear?”

  Samantha smiled. “I shall visit Madame Louella tomorrow without fail.”

  That night as Samantha lay in her cold, lonely bed, she longed for the feel of Christian’s arms around her, his warmth against her, his hard length inside her. She released a breath and twisted the bedsheets into a jumble as she had done every night since he had left. Heat surged beneath her skin, ignited in her veins, and Christian was not here to put out the fire.

  She closed her eyes. As happened so often, her thoughts turned to the Smilodon, and the Smilodon morphed into Christian. His suntanned hands kneading her mound, his tongue slipping across her sex. With his forest green eyes holding hers captive, she arched off the bed and climaxed, bursting through the barrier in a cataclysm of ecstasy. She fell slowly to Earth and opened her eyes, her hand tangled in her pubic hair, her fingers sticky with her dew. She blushed and rolled onto her side. She had pleasured herself exactly as Christian had taught her one long-ago evening under the desert stars on a South Sea island. She sighed. To be perfectly truthful, self-gratification was better than naught, and she finally fell asleep.

  The following morning, Samantha dressed for her visit to the modiste. Excitement and an element of danger tumbled through her in irrepressible waves, making it all but impossible to maintain her poise in front of the others. Nonetheless, she managed to rein in her emotions. If she should fail to escape Jasper, he would never give her another opportunity. She would become a prisoner in Talmadge House.

  Madame Louella was a woman structured from iron, but perhaps ‘twas the whalebone corset that made her frame so erect and unbending. Dark auburn hair pulled back into a bun at her nape allowed no hair to escape. From her impeccable dress, not a wrinkle or a line out of place, and long, thin face with a fashionably pale complexion, to the toes of her glossy shoes, she presented an inflexible picture.

  Despite her outward appearance, she greeted Samantha with a welcoming smile, revealing a warm nature beneath the stern exterior. “I shall find it a delight to dress you, Mistress Badia,” she said in dulcet tones as she examined Samantha’s small figure with a critical eye. “You have an exquisite frame and such unusual coloring.”

  When Jasper strolled into the shop, Madame Louella looked askance.

  “My bodyguard,” Samantha explained with an apologetic smile.

  Jasper grinned, teeth white in his ebony face.

  Louella placed a shaky hand to her breast and drew a quavering breath. “Perhaps Mister—”

  “Jas
per,” Samantha said.

  “Perhaps Mister Jasper would be more comfortable waiting outside. This is bound to be a lengthy session. I’m certain he will become bored.”

  “Madame Louella is quite right, Jasper. You would be bored silly. You may take the carriage back and return for me in, say, three hours?” She looked at Louella for confirmation and received an affirmative nod.

  “I shall wait outside in the carriage, Mistress Badia,” he said. “I’m not supposed to leave you alone.”

  Samantha frowned. “I’ll not be alone. Madame Louella is here, as are her seamstresses. I’m in capable hands. I feel assured Mister Badia would not insist you be present when I’m in a safe place.”

  “I’ll wait outside,” he said firmly.

  Samantha wanted to tear out her hair. He was going to be harder to pacify than she had hoped. She stopped short of making a fuss that would rouse his suspicions. “Certainly, Jasper. Wait in the carriage if you wish.” Her smile was thin. “Perhaps next time you should bring along a book to pass the time.”

  His grin penetrated her pique. “Perhaps I shall.” He whirled on his heel, left the shop, and climbed into the carriage Pettibone drove. Two watchdogs she was obliged to dodge.

  With a conspiratorial look, Samantha turned to Louella, who had closely watched the exchange. “Servants,” Samantha said. “‘Tis so exceedingly difficult to engage good help.”

  Madame Louella quickly recovered from the encounter with Jasper and ushered Samantha into the salon for measuring. Once the modiste had completed her task, Samantha and Madame Louella discussed designs and viewed fabrics. Samantha lingered over the details, spending nearly four hours in the shop. When she finally emerged and Jasper helped her into the carriage, he wore a bored, impatient look. By the third visit, he would be asleep on his feet, as Pettibone was already on the driver’s perch, and she could slip out. No one would miss her for hours.