His clumsy attempt at poetic prose nearly unlatched the door behind which she had locked away her hysteria, impulsive nature, and reckless tongue. She squeezed her eyelids shut as his face loomed nearer. Everett’s lips pressed to hers in a firm pucker. She could almost feel his teeth behind them. As he pulled away she sighed, relieved it was over.
The doctor gave a contented hum. “My heart is blissfully happy also, my love. Your sigh of rapture warms my soul. I gaze into your eyes, which sparkle like emeralds, and I see such devotion, it makes me weak in the knees.”
She blinked, then bit the inside of her cheek. Although she fought to keep her composure, panic-laden laughter welled in her chest like a bottle of shaken ale.
She quickly stood. “My dear Everett, you are so eloquent with words.” Keelan felt like a butterfly cupped in the hands of a good-intentioned but clumsy toddler. “I must run this instant and speak with my father. I shall see you at dinner this evening.” She hopped and stepped away from the bench.
“Well, of…of course,” he stuttered, smiling sheepishly. “Until tonight then.” He reached for her hand, missed, and gave a feeble wave, instead.
Moments later, still shaking and biting back nearly hysterical laughter, Keelan closed her bedroom door and leaned against it. God, what had she done? She’d feared Everett would see through her charade, but he did not. The course was set. Dr. Garrison believed she wanted to marry him. Would he ever forgive her deception? Her desperation had climbed to its zenith; she could think of no other way to get away from Pratt and away from plantation life.
Now an avalanche had started, but if she didn’t find a way to get out of its path, she’d find herself buried alive.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Keelan Grey was a distraction.
It would be best if Landon could push her out of his mind entirely. He had business to attend to in Charleston, the outcome of which could affect the lives of others in a most drastic manner.
A wide, damp band of sweat had crept around the rim and up the sides of Landon’s hat. He wiped his brow again. He’d rented warehouse space from Jared Grey and wasted no time arranging the transfer and storage of the Seeker’s cargo. To avoid working long in the heat, they had started moving it before sunrise. There should only be a few wagonloads left, then Conal could complete the inventory sheet. Afterward, they would head to a nearby tavern for a mug of ale and a small feast.
He reined his mount onto the street where the warehouse stood. Conal removed his hat and waved. Landon returned the salute and spurred his mount to a trot up to the doorway.
“The shipwright has already started the repairs on the Seeker,” Landon stated as he swung down from the horse. “The Desire’s waiting in dry dock. As we suspected, her damage is more severe. After losing Fynn and most of his cargo, we can’t afford to default on any more obligations. Whichever ship is seaworthy first will have to sail solo to the next post of delivery and attempt to keep the trade schedule. Is everything secured here?”
Conal placed his hat back on his head and nodded, “Aye. I’m just waitin’ for the last few loads to get here, then I’ll lock the door and post the sentries.”
He turned from the hitching post. This was not good news.
“The last four wagons left the ship a couple of hours ago,” he responded testily. “They should have arrived and been unloaded by now. Damn it all, those wagons carried those bolts of Chinese silks. Mr. Francis paid us handsomely in advance for them. I don’t want to lose his business.”
“Perhaps they lost their way,” Conal suggested uncertainly. “Who accompanied the last group?”
Landon’s paused to think. He’d sent several caravans to the warehouse. Who was on the last one?
“Billy was the only member of the crew riding with the last load.” His consternation deepened and uneasiness stirred in his gut. “The rest were locals, so I doubt they lost their way. I just traveled the same path the wagons would have followed.”
He clenched his jaw and inhaled deeply. Young Billy had jumped on the final wagon, eager to see his aunt, who lived on the northern fringes of the city. A kindhearted lad who had worked hard for his share, Billy always seemed eager to show the captain that he was more man than a cabin boy. There was no doubt something had gone wrong with the transport of the last shipment, and his concern deepened.
“I’ll rally some of the men for a search,” Conal said.
Landon nodded. He had always taken a personal interest in his crew’s wellbeing and livelihood. As a result, he had assembled a fiercely loyal group of lads and his allegiance to them was just as committed. “Choose with care the men to join you,” he warned. “If there is foul play involved, you’ll need someone in fighting form to guard your back.”
Conal rubbed his neck. “It won’t be easy, though. I’ve already let most of them go on leave. They’re likely by now either half in their cups or easing their lust.” He gave Landon a wry smile. “And neither puts them in a good condition to fight.”
Hart reached for the door. “Do what you can. I’ll retrace my path from the docks. We’ll need to check the inventory list against the master to determine what’s missing, so we’ll know what to search for.”
“I’ve the inventory list for this warehouse right here.” Conal dug a piece of parchment from his pocket and handed it to Landon.
Landon skimmed over the paper then folded it and put it in his saddlebag. “Mr. Grey should know of other warehouse properties in Charleston besides his own. He might have an opinion regarding who might be able to plan and fund a theft like this.”
Conal scratched his chin. “It has to be someone who can both provide a hiding place for the goods and afford to pay off the dockworkers. Most anyone of significant wealth will be attending Grey's ball on Saturday evening.”
Landon nodded, his plans following a similar path. “It might be worth my time to inquire later today. We can be prepared on Saturday to ask the right people the right questions, in the event we don’t locate Billy or the wagons.”
Conal cast a sideways glance at his captain. “A visit in person would also give you ample opportunity to take in more…appealing sights as well, aye?”
Damned if he wasn’t thinking how pleasant it would be to see Miss Keelan Grey again. Conal had an uncanny knack for reading his mind. He turned to untie his horse from the post.
“Don’t you have work to do?” he muttered loud enough for his friend to hear.
Conal chuckled and headed toward the stables to retrieve his mount. “I couldn’t help but notice the interest you had in the young Miss Grey. Especially since you’ve never given a woman more consideration past a casual dalliance since—”
“No need to elaborate.” Landon cut him off then shrugged a shoulder. “I can’t afford the luxury of anything more than a casual dalliance. Like you, I have a business to run.”
Although, there was a time when he had rushed back to port from his travels to a wife and a hearth. There was a time when he’d believed love and marriage between two people was unbreakable. Unfortunately, leaving a beautiful woman home alone while he spent months at sea, was a fool’s decision.
Conal raised his voice as he walked away. “Well, the lass has spirit. I like her.”
He snapped his head around to glare at his friend’s back. “You don’t need the distraction, either.”
Conal kept walking, but his words carried back to Landon.
“I dinna say I was lookin’ for one.”
Landon adjusted his saddlebags and tightened the girth strap on his saddle. Truth be told, he’d not been able to get the chit out of his mind all week. He’d try to break away from the ship to pay another call then something else would demand his immediate attention. It was maddening. Even if he did call, what then? Keelan Grey was betrothed to Pratt, and the rules of polite society demanded he not interfere. He was never one to care much about polite society and their rules. The only rules commanding his full attention were the ones which influenced either
his income or his life span.
Even though he’d only spent part of a morning with Keelan Grey, he sensed there was much more to the young lady than her obvious beauty and the adventurous side he and Conal had witnessed in the early morning mist. She had both a quick mind and rapid reflexes.
She had courage. The incident with the dog proved it. But it was the expression on her face when she observed the interaction between mother and child that gave him pause. For a brief moment, she had dropped her shield of indifference, and her expression revealed a yearning like he had never seen before.
Yes, his curiosity had definitely been stirred.
Among other things.
He had demanded a kiss in the garden with the good-natured intention of igniting in her a similar shock to the one she had given them earlier. He’d wanted to tease her, to see if he could crumple her confident demeanor a little and expose a bit more of her true nature. He had expected her to turn her head, argue with him or lash out.
But her response to his kiss had almost made him come undone. Her lips had become soft and pliant beneath his, then began responding to his movements and pressure. She had accepted his tongue in shock, but he also sensed pleasure and desire. Especially when her fingers had plunged into his hair then moved down over his shoulders to grip his forearms. What had started as a boyish prank to antagonize and tease had ended in a swirling eddy of heat and passion.
He shook his head in bewilderment. Last night, she’d prowled through his dreams like a fiery tigress with glittering green eyes. He’d awakened drenched in sweat, hard, and throbbing. When he tried to convince himself he had no sincere interest in the girl beyond the casual curiosity, his body continued to muddle his thinking. The night before, she’d come to him in his dreams as the waif lunging and sparring with him, laughing as she removed her scarf…smiling as she removed her shirt… What would it be like to caress the tender peaks of her breasts? What noises would she make if he kissed the soft skin on the inside of her thigh?
“I said: GIVE MISS GREY MY KINDEST REGARDS.”
Conal’s words dispersed the images in his mind like a falling boulder to the glassy surface of a lake.
Conal sat astride a roan and had two guns jammed in his belt and several ropes attached to the saddle. A bag of coins jingled at his waist. He was grinning like a damned fool.
Landon scowled in irritation at being caught daydreaming. He gave his friend a curt nod and swung up onto his horse as smoothly as he could manage, while trying to ignore Conal’s chuckles. It was no mean feat, considering the bulge in his breeches. The witch! Even his daydreams betrayed his desire.
“After I retrace the wagon’s route, I’ll stop and inform the sheriff that Billy has gone missing with the last wagon,” Landon stated curtly. “Afterwards, I’ll ride out to Twin Pines to speak with Mr. Grey. I expect to be back before nightfall.”
“I’ll meet you at the Whistling Pig Tavern on the wharf,” Conal said as he turned his horse to depart.
“Have the men start their search from that point and fan out from there. Finding Billy is their primary duty,” Landon replied.
Conal nodded and trotted away. Landon spurred his mount back toward the docks, a knot of worry clenched in his stomach. He wanted to be hopeful, but he doubted Conal’s search team would be successful.
The lunch hour quickly approached, but the events of the day had destroyed Keelan’s appetite. She had to postpone her plan to discuss her tentative acceptance of Everett Garrison’s marriage proposal with her father, because he was asleep. She hated the effects the medicine had on him.
Keelan fidgeted with her hair; the curtains billowed, inviting her to join the freedom of the breeze outside. As if beckoning, a whinny rent the air from the stables, followed by the angry pounding of a hoof against the stall boards. Her uncle's stallion, Shamrock’s Prince, was showing his vexation at being separated from his harem of mares, grazing in the lower pasture.
She brightened as an idea formed in her head. A brisk ride would clear her mind and ease her soul a bit. Although she preferred riding in a carriage, she needed to expel additional energy today. Daniel had taken the time to teach her how to ride when she was quite young. There were certain skills the man believed all women should know, even if they never had cause to put them to use. Maybe her father had secretly been behind Daniel’s tutelage. Perhaps the commodore had always wanted a son.
A brisk stroll through the city would have been more satisfying, but no matter. She would make do with what availed her. Keelan hurried to her room to don her riding habit. Her thoughts elsewhere, she jumped when a shadow fell across her path in the hall.
“Late for another caller?” Her cousin did not attempt to disguise her disdain.
“No, Doreen, there is no caller,” Keelan spoke through her teeth. Her cousin’s spiteful tone grated on her nerves.
“I’m nearly shocked to the point of fainting,” Doreen answered, examining her fingernail. “Every eligible bachelor, and even several non-eligible bachelors have found a reason to pay a call on Twin Pines since you arrived.” She shifted her gaze to Keelan. “Yet, after a few minutes of droll conversation, or a cup of tea, you simply thank them and then depart, leaving me to walk the irate, dejected man to the door. By then, they barely notice my presence at all.”
It wasn’t difficult to see through Doreen’s jealousy and spiteful words. She was lashing out because she felt undeserving of a gentleman’s attention.
“Doreen,” She spoke softly. “I’m older. You’re barely sixteen. Your time will come.”
“By that time, no potential husband will want to return to Twin Pines.” Doreen’s voice sounded small and hurt. She raised her chin. “Ladies of the Low Country know how to comport themselves. However, I’m not surprised at your behavior, since your upbringing appears to have been somewhat…stunted.”
Keelan was determined to control her ire and not cause a scene so close to her father’s bedroom door. “I’m going for a ride.”
Doreen cocked her head. “Your mother…dead. Your father…dying. With no one to monitor your behavior, it’s no wonder you act like a rude, uneducated wharf rat. What will become of you when Uncle George dies? A wedding, I think. To Mr. Pratt, I hear.”
Although she felt the prick of tears at the cold harshness of Doreen’s words, she brushed by her cousin and continued down the hall. As she closed her door, the faint notes of Doreen’s humming drifted down the hall.
Keelan changed quickly and was heading for the door when she heard a sudden crash in the study. Wasn’t Papa in his room? Perhaps he awoke and decided to check over the ledgers she’d finished. In his weakened state, he would have a hard time navigating around the furniture. She dashed down the hall, fearing her father had fallen, or worse.
She rounded the corner to find Dr. Garrison in the study. He was staring down at the shattered remains of the model ship of her father’s. She paused, startled by his appearance. The doctor’s lips were nothing more than a thin slash separating his nose from his chin. He stood rigid as a wooden post, with his fists clenched at his sides.
“Dr. Garrison?” Keelan finally found her voice. There was something about his posture that made interrupting him uncomfortable. Stepping into the room, she kept her voice soft, “Are you all right?”
He jerked, as if physically prodded. A tattered piece of paper fluttered to the floor behind him. “I…yes. I…” He stared down at the broken model. “It appears I have caused your father’s model ship to break.”
“Think no more about it,” she said as she approached. “Accidents do happen. My father of all people would understand that.”
Dr. Garrison’s nostrils flared in response, but whatever his thoughts, he didn’t speak them out loud. He sank to his knees and began picking up the pieces, leaving her to stare at his back for a moment, to decipher his mood and find the right words to help lighten it.
The paper he’d dropped when she entered caught her eye and she picked it up. It was s
oft from frequent handling, the edges slightly rounded, the creases like hinges. The fold on the lower third of the letter was torn and it flapped open, revealing an elegant script and the faint scent of roses.
…and I look forward to our wedding day with a joyful heart.
Yours Always,
Rachel
This was confusing. Who was Rachel? Dr. Garrison’s past was a mystery to her, although he’d informed her he had no family. He’d been educated in London and was born in the United States, but that was all she knew about the man.
The doctor had finished picking up the pieces and placing them on the desk. He turned toward her, and his eyes widened when he noticed the paper in her hands.
“This was on the floor behind you,” she hastened to explain, already feeling guilty at having read part of an obviously very personal letter. She handed to him, the bottom flapping back open. “Is it yours?”
“It’s torn!” he cried hoarsely, accepting the letter with both hands and cradling it like a broken-winged bird.
“I…I’m sorry,” she replied. “When I picked it up, I didn’t realize it was in such a fragile state.”
He gently closed the letter along its creased folds and tucked it into his inner coat pocket. They stood for a moment not speaking. The doctor cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence.
“I…yes…the letter’s mine. I’ve had it quite a long time,” he said, finally making eye contact with her.
The anguish in his expression made Keelan press her hand against her throat. “I can tell it’s very precious to you.” What else should she say to her fiancé?
I should feel jealous, at least a tiny bit.
But she didn’t. In fact, the understanding that Dr. Garrison was probably still in love with another woman oddly comforted her.
“Rachel is…was…my fiancee a few years ago.” He cleared his throat again. “She died tragically.”
Hart's Desire (Pirates & Petticoats Book 1) Page 9
