by Howe, Cheryl
The fact that her father succumbed to the other man’s demands like a child infuriated Felicity all over again. What power did this man have? And why?
Hands on hips, she whirled around to confront Lord Christian herself. “I intend to lie down.”
The man took a step forward and, without meaning to, Felicity stepped back. His green eyes narrowed, and at this close proximity she noticed he had a strong masculine jaw and what looked like a once-broken nose that actually gave his face character. Underneath all that paint she realized he had the face of a man accustomed to dealing with the violence of dangerous times. He was nothing like the self-indulgent English aristocrats fluttering around Boston, and he was much more formidable than his almost comical appearance implied. Her first impression of him was nothing like what she saw in him now. She would need to keep her wits about her with this man.
“Sit down.” He said the words firmly and seriously, then added, “I’d hate to have to tie you to that chair for the remainder of your stay in our ‘Little England,’ Miss Kendall.”
She watched as one corner of his mouth tugged upward, then he caught himself and pulled his lips into a straight, firm line. His voice had slipped into the more formal tones of a gentleman at the end of his threat, but the effect was more unsettling than polite.
Felicity walked back toward her father and lowered herself into the chair facing his desk, showing the man her back. She might appear compliant to his demand she sit, but she was dismissing him—whether he realized it or not. She needed to be careful, though, as she sensed antagonizing him further would get her nowhere. Despite the thudding of her heart, she told herself he didn’t intimidate her. She was just being sensible, changing her tactics when the necessity arose. What she needed most was time to think about this unexpected obstacle and how to overcome it.
The door slammed, and she knew by the instant relief sagging her shoulders that he’d left. His presence now gone from the room, she took a deep breath. After a cursory glance around the room, she knew she must devise a way to send Lord Christian Andrews packing rather than herself. And quickly. There was something deceptive…something misleading about him, and that made her feel even more disconcerted. No matter what, she didn’t like how the man made her feel.
“What in God’s name brings you here, Felicity?” her father asked once more.
His question jerked her from her thoughts. The confrontation she’d dreaded since her decision to leave Boston now loomed before her like a dark, thunderous cloud.
Her father eased behind the desk while Felicity continued to scan the small office instead of answering his question. Two well-used desks, a few straight-backed chairs and a scarred bench comprised the room’s furnishings. Yellowed maps decorated the crumbling plaster walls, with only a single gilded mirror for ornamentation—surely an addition of Lord Christian’s so he might check his wig and powdered face. She’d have to start thinking of him by his surname. Thinking of him as Lord anything, especially Christian, well, was almost blasphemous.
“Felicity, I’m quite serious. Explain yourself, my daughter.”
Her gaze finally landed on her father, the smile that crept to her face genuine. They had had several conversations over the years beginning with that very same demand. Surely he hadn’t changed so much that this confrontation would be different. In the end, he’d always forgiven her anything. Surely he would forgive her this time as well.
“I came to help you.”
“Help with what?”
“By the number of goods you’ve been shipping to the Boston warehouse, I couldn’t help but notice how your business has grown. Surely you and Master Marley could use some assistance.” And not the kind she feared Andrews was giving, though she kept this thought to herself.
Her father paled, then averted his gaze to the scars in his mahogany desk.
Felicity rushed on. “Has this, this…Master Andrews caused a rift between you and Master Marley?”
Her father lifted his head, his soft brown eyes sterner than she’d ever seen them. “You weren’t to bother yourself with the business in Boston. I was wrong to ever let you help me with my financial affairs. Mistress Bishop was right. Trade with men is no place for a young woman.”
“But I’m no longer a young woman.” Felicity had so hoped she wouldn’t have to confront this argument once again. Didn’t her father see that spinsterhood had settled around her like a wool shawl? “Mistress Bishop meant well, but as you can see, learning to knit hasn’t made me any more desirable to a prospective husband.”
Her father’s eyes softened to the color of milk-sweetened coffee. “How can you say that? With your rosy cheeks and sturdy frame—”
She held up her hand to stop her father. Next he’d say something about her strong white teeth. “I’ve seen twenty-nine years, Father, too many to be taken seriously as a wife. No man wants me, so why can’t I stay here and be with you? I enjoy the work. It makes me feel useful.” Felicity swallowed the emotion that had crept into her voice. He’d forced her to be blunt, but it was only half as humiliating as she’d expected. Days at sea playing out this potential conversation in her mind time and again had prepared her for the worst.
“Your brother needs you,” he continued, “and your place is in Boston with him.”
“Jonathon’s to be married soon. Isn’t that wonderful?” When her father continued to frown, she leaned forward and grabbed his hand across the wide desk. “He’s grown up since you’ve been away. He deserves to start a new life with his young bride. They don’t want me underfoot.”
“I don’t believe that.”
Felicity leaned back and studied the planked floor. Fine white sand had crept in from the bay like spilt sugar. How much of her desperation would she have to admit to make him see reason?
She forced her gaze back to her father’s. “Jonathon would never cast me out. Mother willed him the house to raise a family of his own. I won’t deny him that.”
Her father rubbed his forehead. “Still, you didn’t have to leave Boston.”
She swallowed what little pride she had left. “Mistress Bishop said I was a pariah. A burden to Jonathon. An unwanted thorn in God’s eye. In her view, my only hope of redemption was in marrying one of the two men she’d chosen. One was old enough to be my grandfather, the other a bitter widower with five children. Both needed nursemaids.”
Her father lifted his head. “Love can grow in the strangest places, Felicity. You should give marriage a chance.”
She could never marry. Her own impulsive actions had ensured that. “I hoped to be more than some man’s cheap source of labor.”
His eyes glazed with a sorrow he tried to blink away. She hated hurting him like this but she could see no other way. It certainly wasn’t his fault she had ruined herself so thoroughly.
“There are things here you don’t know about,” he said. “Something awful has happened.”
As her father paused for breath, Lord Christian Andrews blew back through the door like a bad omen. He strode past them without a word, then leaned his backside against the adjacent desk and folded his arms over his chest. Felicity had the distinct impression he was furious, most likely with her of all things.
“Excuse me, sir, but my father and I are having a private conversation.” She did her best to keep her voice firm, emotionless, controlled.
Her father cleared his throat, unable to hide the slight tremble there. “That’s quite all right. Lord Christian can better explain what’s happened here.”
“I’d rather hear it from you.” She didn’t know what it was, but she knew she’d get nowhere with Master Andrews. He clearly had his own agenda, which her instincts told her had nothing to do with her best interests or her father’s.
Andrews cocked his head as if to admire her. “Why didn’t you tell me your daughter was so charming, Ben? She certainly won the heart of the Queen Elizabeth’s captain.”
Her father frowned. She hated how quickly he realized Andrews wa
s being sarcastic.
“She actually threatened to demote him to cook if he didn’t bring her to Barbados.”
Felicity closed her eyes. She’d intended to tell her father about her relationship with his employees once he’d warmed to the idea of having her around.
“Father”—she leaned forward, trying to snare his attention away from Andrews—“I wanted to tell you that—”
“That she booted out your man and now runs the New England Trading Company’s Boston office?” Andrews pushed away from the desk, grabbed the back of her chair and whipped her around to face him. “Do you have any idea how reckless that was?”
She gripped the smooth wood seat to keep from falling out of it, his close presence nearly unnerving her. For the first time in her life, all she could do was turn a pleading gaze on her father. This was not how she’d envisioned sharing this news with her father.
She watched as he leaned his head into his hand, his thick fingers covering his eyes. “How could you do something like this, Felicity?”
The hurt in his question urged her to rush to his side, but Andrews’s hulking form blocked her from even standing. “The man you hired was incompetent. You should be thanking me.”
Andrews squared his shoulders, straining the frills on his shirt and revealing there were muscles beneath the silk. “You are a huge problem, woman.”
With every ounce of strength, Felicity rose from the chair to her full height, hoping he’d have the good sense to step out of her way. She was no wisp of a woman, yet he towered over her. She wondered if he donned those high heels vain men found so fashionable. She refused to lower her gaze to check. But meeting his assault directly was a mistake. He stared at her with such single-minded intensity that she instantly wanted to dart her gaze away like a silly girl. How in the world did he pass himself off as anything other than a common thug in nice clothing?
“Where is Master Marley?” she asked.
She had some satisfaction when he flinched, however slightly.
“That’s why we’re so upset over your arrival.” Her father’s voice sounded near to breaking. “There’s been a terrible tragedy.”
She nailed Andrews with her best glare. His nearness made her all too aware of the fact that he was a man, and she a woman. She’d vowed no other man would be allowed to affect her that way, make her vulnerable and wanting and entirely too breathless. When he still wouldn’t budge, she had no choice but to brush past.
He caught her wrist. “You’re not listening to us.”
She gasped in outrage. “Who do you think you are?”
“Someone you don’t want to know.”
She tried to jerk her arm away, but he held her snuggly, slightly increasing the pressure. She guessed he wanted her to cower. Instead, she challenged his scalding stare with her own, unflinching under the will he tried to exert on her. And then something in him softened, causing his face to once again transform into one she suspected he worked hard to hide. She realized, without the paint, his face would be devastatingly handsome.
She felt his grip loosen and his thumb gently rub her wrist as he dropped his gaze to her mouth. His breathing changed, deepened. The rhythm lulled her head back, forced her lips to part slightly. She caught herself before she licked them in invitation. His change in tactics couldn’t have been any more diabolical though she found herself wondering why she didn’t simply slap his face at his boldness. And she didn’t want to, which surprised her even more.
“Please, Drew. Manhandling Felicity won’t erase what happened to Beatrice.”
Her father’s reprimand met with instant success. Drew, as her father called him, released her and stepped back, blinking as if he’d just been abruptly awakened. She felt the same.
“She’s going to get herself killed,” Drew said, more to himself than her father.
Felicity turned to her father, clasping her hands. The name Drew reminded her of a gangly boy she’d known as a child who’d had too much confidence for his own good. This man wasn’t any different. And she might have been able to believe it if the heat from his long fingers didn’t linger so upon her skin, disrupting her breath and her equilibrium. A slight flutter in her woman’s heart warned this man was most likely a rake as well as a suspected thief.
She replaced her emotion with ire, and turned it on her father. “How can you associate with such a person? What did he do to Marley’s wife?” Her suspicions now were that it had something to do with his effect on the supposedly weaker sex. The beast.
Her father gripped the edge of his cluttered desk. “He didn’t do anything. He’s just trying to make you understand the seriousness of what’s happened. The danger you’re in.”
Felicity flung a glance over her shoulder. Drew—the man with more bluff than bluster, which was how she decided to think of him from then on—walked to the far side of the small office. His head remained lowered, she guessed with great effort, and his fists were shoved in his pockets. His true character tore a hole in his fancy satin exterior, and they both knew it.
She only hoped her own inherent wantonness hadn’t been obvious to him. She couldn’t tell at all, which added to her own confusion.
“The only danger I’m in is from your new partner,” she said.
Her father shook his head. When she opened her mouth to elaborate on Drew’s bad behavior, her father held up a hand to stop her.
“Marley’s been murdered. Beatrice, too.”
“Murdered?” Felicity slid back into her chair, her courage punctured. Marley and his wife killed? She glanced at Drew, unable to imagine him the culprit. Swindler, perhaps. Murderer, no. Even in her own confusion, she sensed that. “Who would want to hurt Master Marley?”
“Pirates. At least that is the rumor.” Her father’s glance at Drew warned her he knew more than he was saying.
“I don’t understand. Was Master Marley on one of your ships? As I remember, he hated to be under sail.” Felicity studied her father’s new business partner for hints at the demise of his predecessor. The way he kept his head lowered added credence to Felicity’s growing suspicions. Surely, he hadn’t committed the crimes, but they had something to do with him. Of that she was certain. What wasn’t he telling her?
Her father shuffled the papers on his desk. “Marley and his wife were murdered in their home. He’d recently purchased a large house on an isolated cove for Beatrice. I warned him against flaunting our good fortune. You see now why you must return to Boston.”
“If these pirates are bold enough to attack on land, they certainly wouldn’t hesitate to pluck one of your ships at sea.” Felicity did not have to feign the fear that shook her voice.
Drew straightened. “I’ve already booked your passage on another merchant’s ship.”
“But as you pointed out, Lord Christian”—she practically choked on the title—“my association with the New England Trading Company is widely known. If the pirates are looking for ransom…I’d be a lamb sent to the slaughter.”
Her father stood. “That can’t happen. I won’t let that happen. And after what befell Beatrice… Drew, you have to do something.”
Drew moved toward them. Was there true concern in his eyes?
“The Royal Navy makes rounds through the English colonies. We’ll find her passage on the first ship scheduled for Boston.”
Felicity kept her mouth closed, refusing to argue the point. She was staying, whether they knew it or not. She’d use the delay wisely, and Drew would be the one leaving with the Royal Navy—in chains, if she had her way, once she discovered the truth.
He stopped in front of her chair. “I expect you to lie low while you’re here.”
She smiled at him. “But of course. In fact, I can just tidy Father’s ledgers. I’m sure you won’t mind if I have a look at the New England Trading Company’s books.”
“By all means, keep yourself busy.” He bowed at the waist. “Just don’t overstep your place again. Even in paradise the snakes are poisonous.”
/>
He exited through the door, leaving with that last word. Felicity wasn’t sure if she’d been threatened or warned. Either way, she had a mystery to unravel. What lay beneath Lord Christian Andrews’s powdered facade was the first loose string.
Chapter Two
Samantha Linley’s breath tickled Drew’s ear. “Christian, you must meet me later. It’s been too long.”
Piles of coarse black hair, with only a snail’s trail of silvery-gray to hint at the age of its owner, irritated his cheek, leaving him with the urge to swat her away like a fly. He stared at the ripple of moonlight riding the waves, doing his best to ignore her.
In an attempt to escape Linley Hall’s brightly lit drawing room, he had slipped out onto the back terrace overlooking the sea. Unfortunately, his departure had not gone unnoticed.
The heavy scent of wild jasmine struggled above the cloying perfume worn by his hostess, reminding Drew that the Linleys’ attempt to overpower the indigenous vegetation with English roses had failed miserably. The idea made him smile.
Samantha’s right hand strayed brazenly low in its measuring of his torso. He grabbed her wrists and placed them by her side. “Sam, darling, it’s good to see you haven’t lost your bravado. Philip must find you endlessly amusing.” He released her then.
The memory of his confrontation with Felicity still haunted him. Pleasuring women with his touch remained one of his greatest joys, but he wanted nothing more than to throttle Felicity Kendall. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. A glimpse of her full mouth had jolted him out of his anger and on to a much more dangerous emotion. But he couldn’t afford to be attracted to the woman. And if he forgot again, he’d force himself to remember Beatrice Marley. Even if there was no solid evidence that Marley and his wife had been killed because of their association with him, the rumors insinuating that El Diablo had taken a hand in the occurrence made it almost a certainty.
Samantha stuck out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout, regaining his attention. “How can you mention my husband when you know it’s you I want to amuse? It’s cruel of you to ignore me for so long. Where have you been hiding, Lord Christian?”
