The Ravishing One

by Connie Brockway

  “I mean, a schedule would be so helpful. I could then decide whether to cancel that new dress I ordered—not much sense in having an especial gown made for the Bennetts’ fete if I’m not going to be here, is there? And then the wine merchant should be notified to stop delivery for …” Her pause invited disclosure, but when he said nothing she went on in open exasperation. “However long.

  “Added to which, I was to interview for a new housekeeper this week, meet with the hair stylist, Monsieur Gerard—you realize that if I simply do not show up for my appointment with him I may as well just kiss good-bye any future hopes he will arrange my hair—plus all the other mundane items of daily life that even an abduction cannot gainsay.”

  She sighed resignedly. “I suppose not telling me how long you plan to keep me makes it more romantic for you?”

  Her words snapped the immobility holding him silent. “This is not a romantic tryst!”

  She blinked at his angry tone. “Apparently not.” Her eyes suddenly widened. “Rape, then?” she whispered.

  “God’s teeth, no!” he thundered.

  “Oh. Good. What exactly is it, then? I do hope you haven’t any wrongheaded notion that you might hold me for ransom? Because I assure you no one will pay a penny for my return.”

  He did not miss the small, unwilling note of bitterness beneath the amusement, but he was too furious, stung far more deeply than he would have imagined possible that she could think him capable of rape, to pay it heed.

  “I very much doubt that, milady,” he snarled. “But no, I do not seek ransom for your return. Now, do not ask anything else, for I will not answer. I will only say to you that no harm will come to you as a result of this … this …”

  “Abduction?” she supplied.

  “Abduction,” he agreed tersely. “In time, you will be returned unharmed.”

  “Do you promise?” Until that moment he had not a clue that his proposed kidnapping had afforded her more than a ripple of concern. Now he saw that, for all her bravado, she felt vulnerable.

  “I promise.”

  “Well”—she turned from him before he could gauge her reaction; her skirts belled gently as she moved away—“if you’ll indulge me a few minutes?”

  She crossed to a painted chest at the foot of her bed and tossed up the lid. A moment later she’d hauled out a large leather portmanteau and opened the clasp. “Hm.” She bent over, rummaging within. “Chemise, corset, echelles, two underskirts …”

  He stared. “You have a portmanteau ready?”

  She nodded without bothering to look at him. “And a small trunk,” she said, pointing vaguely in the direction of the closed armoire. A brass-bound traveling trunk rested beside it. “For a few gowns. Can you carry it or would you rather drive round to the back and I can have one of the footman take it down?”

  He crossed the room in a few strides. She must be mocking him. But a glance revealed a neatly packed portmanteau filled with delicate, lacy … things.

  She shut the bag and straightened. “Well?”

  With a strangled sound he lifted the valise and stalked over to seize the brass handle of the trunk. He hefted it to his shoulder and turned. She was waiting by the door.

  “Do not attempt to raise an alarm, madam.”

  “And miss discovering for what reason besides seduction or monetary gain a gentleman”—the emphasis on the word was slight but ironic—“performs an abduction? I daresay not! Come, the maids will be working in the front rooms yet. We can leave through the kitchen.”

  Thomas thought of Kay. “No. The library.”

  She shrugged and reached for the door handle.

  “Wait.”

  She turned a questioning look on him.

  “You will write a note, telling your family that you have decided to accept an offer to tour the continent.”

  Her brows climbed in surprise.

  “I would not want them worried.”

  He expected her to mock his concern for her stepson but, after a short pause, she only said, “As you will,” and brushed by him.

  At her writing desk she pulled a thick piece of paper from a stack. She scrawled a few appropriate lines and folded the paper in half. On the outside she wrote “For Kay.” She left it atop the table and returned to his side.

  “Satisfied?”

  “Yes.” He reached past her and opened the door, making sure the outside corridor was empty before motioning her ahead of him.

  Tensely he followed her down the stairs, the valise thumping soundlessly against his thigh and the edge of the trunk biting into his neck. He fully expected her to break into a run at any moment and, fool that he was, he’d ensured that he would be able to do nothing to stop her.

  Part of him wished she would, wished she would suddenly lift her skirt and flee, freeing him from this mad plan. She did not.

  Another part of him was glad.

  At two o’clock the same afternoon, James Barton was heading for the MacFarlane town house. He’d made arrangements with Fia to go driving in St. James Park. He would then take the opportunity to tell her that he was leaving in a few weeks. At the same time he would make an ostentatious show of presenting her with a pair of spectacular diamond ear-bobs. They had belonged to Amelia. Amelia would approve, he thought with a sad smile. She and Fia had maintained a sporadic but affectionate correspondence until Amelia’s death.

  It had been to Amelia that Fia had given her invaluable aid seven years ago.

  James and Amelia had arrived in London fresh from the colonies. He had been flush with pride, his pockets filled with the income of his shipping company’s first successes, and avid to introduce his lovely wife to society. They had been taken up by people who brought them to Wanton’s Blush.

  There, he’d come to the attention of the Earl of Carr. Urbane, articulate, witty, and self-assured, the earl had cultivated their association, flattered James, but mostly encouraged his gambling.

  In a week the profits James had earned during the past year disappeared. Frightened and uncertain of where to turn or how to tell Amelia, he’d taken to the gaming tables with increasing desperation. Soon he owed more than he owned.

  That was when Carr had requested a private interview. He proposed that James “do him a favor” and in return Carr would see that his gambling debts were paid. The nature of this favor was never spelled out, but James knew with certainty that it would be questionable. He’d asked for a day to consider it, which Carr, with a knowing smile, had granted.

  Finally, he’d confessed to his bemused and horrified wife. For some reason she in turn had confided in Carr’s preternaturally self-possessed daughter. What transpired between them remained their secret forever. He knew only that Fia gave Amelia a cameo. A gorgeous diamond-studded piece of jewelry. Given. Freely. Without condition.

  He never understood why. As far as he knew, Fia Merrick had never exhibited such magnanimity before nor was she to do so again. But then, he never pretended to understand that enigmatic woman. The idea of taking valuable property from a child offended every ideal James held dear. But eventually, Amelia had convinced him to accept it. The proceeds had been nearly enough to cover his debts. Paying off the rest of his notes had taken him a full year.

  Eventually he had come to appreciate the extent of the debt he owed Fia Merrick. The rumors surrounding Carr exceeded James’s original fears. The Earl of Carr was a pitiless puppeteer who extracted an ever growing price from victims.

  Then, this spring, James had arrived in London and received a note from Fia. He’d gone to her immediately. When he heard her story he vowed to aid her in any manner he could, agreeing to her proposed plan without hesitation. If he had any regret, it was only that he could not explain his actions to Thomas Donne.

  He halted the carriage before Fia’s residence and climbed down. A footman opened the door and bade him enter. Kay, Fia’s stepson, was in the hall. He greeted James with a look of surprise.

  “Captain Barton, I’m afraid if you a
re looking for Lady Fia you are in for a disappointment. She’s gone.”

  “Oh?”

  “She’s on a trip to the continent.” The boy smiled. “Shopping.”

  James frowned.

  “I am so sorry,” Kay said politely. “I would have expected she would have told you, as one of her dearest friends, but from what her note says I gather her decision to leave was somewhat impromptu.”

  There was something wrong here. Why would Fia leave the country now, especially without leaving him an explanation? “Left a note, did she?”

  “Yes.” Kay nodded. “Gunna delivered it to me.”

  “Gunna didn’t go with her?”

  “No.” Kay smiled wryly. “And she isn’t at all pleased about it. Been grumbling all day about Lady Fia’s strong-willed ways. I believe”—he leaned in confidingly—“that they had something of a set-to about it.”

  “I see.” He made his voice unconcerned, not wanting to alarm the boy.

  “It isn’t only you she’s neglected to remember,” the boy offered as a salve to what he assumed was James’s wounded pride.

  “Really?” James asked, slightly amused in spite of his concern. “Who else has our Lady Fia left wanting?”

  The boy colored. “Oh! I daresay it’s not the same thing at all. There was a gentleman here this morning; he’d made a wager with Fia and now it looks like it may be some time before he’s able to collect his winnings.”

  “A wager?” James murmured distractedly, his thoughts racing to account for Fia’s sudden absence. “Who was this gentleman?”

  “A Mr.… Donne.”

  Apprehension touched James’s spine.

  “Do you think there’s something amiss, sir?” A note of alarm had entered Kay’s voice.

  “Oh, no. Not at all. I know Captain Donne quite well. I was just wondering whether he’d won his bet.”

  The boy relaxed. “I couldn’t say, sir. Gunna didn’t mention him.”

  “I see,” James said. “I’d best be getting on, then. I’m sure Lady Fia will have written me a note and I’ve only to return home to find it. Thank you.”

  He bade Kay good-bye and took his leave. At the curb, he mounted the carriage thoughtfully. He disliked Thomas and Fia disappearing on the same day. He disliked even more that Thomas had told Kay that he and Fia were engaged in a friendly contest, for though assuredly they were in contest, he doubted the term “friendly” in any way applied.

  Most of all, he disliked that Thomas had taken the Alba Star out of dry dock before the work on her was complete, leaving James a note claiming he’d been contracted to pick up some cargo in France and paid a princely sum to do it if he left at once.

  But then, Gunna, who had been Fia’s dragonlike guardian for as long as James had known them, had spoken to Fia about her shopping trip. She and Fia had even had something of a quarrel about it.

  The thought did not bring him much comfort. There was too much coincidental here. Though what he could do about it he was at a loss to think. He would soon have to ship out of London harbor. What with last year’s disaster, their shipping company could ill afford any delays or setbacks. He was duty and honor bound to follow through on his promise to Thomas.

  He would simply have to wait here in London until he shipped out, hoping Carr took the bait he and Fia had dangled before him. To leave now, following after Fia or Thomas, would destroy all their carefully laid groundwork.

  No—he sighed, snapping the leads smartly and maneuvering the horse into the traffic—he could do nothing to either support or disprove his suspicions regarding Thomas and Fia.

  But he might know people who could.

  Chapter 12

  The pungent scent of the sea swept in with the rising tide. Overhead a high wind shredded the clouds, leaving long white tatters stretched across a bleached blue sky. The midday dockyards were crowded with traders and buyers, peddlers and costermongers, sailors and stevedores loading and unloading the slighters that bobbed alongside the wharves. Farther out deep-hulled ships waited, a forest of masts in the harbor.

  Thomas led Fia to the berth where the Alba Star was moored. She was not completely refurbished, half her sails were gone and the others ill-mended, some planking unvarnished. Still, she was seaworthy enough for this voyage.

  He looked with affection at the sloop. Singlemasted, sleek, and small, she’d been designed by her Spanish builders for speed and maneuverability, to outrun the enemy’s fleet. Since he’d captured her she’d served him well in outrunning privateers and pirates.

  “We are going in this boat?” Fia asked as he crossed the narrow gangway and held out his hand.

  “It’s a ship, not a boat.” She laid her hand in his and, even though her gloves encased her fingers, awareness tingled through him. This and the short hour he’d spent closeted with her in the hired carriage proved the wisdom of choosing to journey by sea rather than land.

  Her fragrance had permeated the warm interior; the shadows clung with lascivious ardency to her cheeks and brow, the cut of her lip, the column of her throat. He’d forced his gaze outside, but imagination provided what he denied his senses and her image hovered in his mind’s eye, taunting and enigmatic.

  “I have never been aboard a ship.” She said it without any discernible inflection yet Thomas sensed a tensing in her.

  “It is a very safe vessel, Lady Fia—”

  “You called me Fia not so many days ago and now that I am at your mercy you suddenly afford me the respect of my title? I commend you on your originality.”

  His mouth flattened. He’d only meant to reassure her and she’d seized the opportunity to upbraid him. But, some part of him insisted, wouldn’t he have done the same thing in her position? Wait for his enemy to show weakness or inconsistency and then abuse him with it? Yes. In fact, he had done the same thing. To his bondmaster. He carried a few scars on his back to prove it.

  She released his hand and stepped lightly down onto the deck. A deckhand, Portuguese as were most of the other members of the skeleton crew, came to take her meager luggage.

  “I’ll show you to your quarters,” Thomas said. He led her across the deck, down a steep flight of stairs to a short corridor separating two main cabins. The crews’ quarters were belowdeck. He pushed open the nearest door.

  Inside the cabin was spartan, containing a single bunk attached to the bulkhead and a small table and chest of drawers secured to the flooring with bolts. A tiny window allowed in a single shaft of daylight. Her portmanteau and trunk filled the rest of the space.

  “Charming,” she murmured. She turned to him. “How long will I be here?”

  “Three days, I should imagine. Perhaps four.”

  “Then I can assume we are not going to France?”

  “No.”

  She did not react to his words but ducked her head and entered the cabin. She removed her hat and placed it carefully on the table. “Your compartment is across from this one?” Her tone invested a wealth of scorn and warning in the simple query and Thomas felt the blood rise in his face.

  “Yes.” Confound the girl!

  “Then I suggest you go to it, unless you have some other captainly duties that require your attention. I bid you good day.”

  Her sangfroid was supreme. She dismissed him as easily as she would a servant. She also left him little choice but to leave her. To stay would be unconscionable.

  “Do not attempt to leave the ship, Lady Fia. We will be under way within a quarter hour, and my crew is most diligent and most faithful.”

  “What a comfort to you,” she replied without bothering to look around as she stripped off her gloves.

  With a curt inclination of his head, he left.

  As usual, the harbor was choked with traffic and threading the Alba Star through the city of tall ships, frigates, and pleasure craft took the rest of the day. By the time they’d left London behind and turned north toward the Suffolk coast, the sun hovered just above the horizon, its burning belly pricked by
London’s countless steeples.

  Fia did not appear on deck and Thomas could only assume she was sulking. The explanation did not satisfy him. It was not what he would have expected of her, but then, what really did he know of Fia Merrick?

  The notion consumed him as he worked. As a young girl Fia been untouchable in her isolation, and somehow pitiable, owning a sophistication that her tender years should never have supplied. She’d been Carr’s shadow, Thomas remembered, watching the carnival at Wanton’s Blush with brilliant eyes that gave away nothing of what she thought.

  Yet on those occasions when he’d spoken to her he’d been surprised by her reticence, the obvious effort it cost her to reply. It had intrigued him—in an entirely objective and dispassionate way, of course.

  Then, for the next six years, though he’d heard plenty about Carr, there’d been no word of Fia. When finally he heard about her, it was through her reputation. He learned about her in seasoned roues’ knowing smiles, in the betting books of “gentlemen’s” clubs and, not least of all, in poor Pip Leighton’s near-tragic introduction to the ways of a worldly woman. Now, for the first time, Thomas wondered why Fia had set herself on so infamous a course.

  The mainsail luffed and Thomas pulled the wheel left, bringing the ship about and calling out for the crew to raise the jib. In minutes the smaller sail filled, rolling the ship to a gentle angle against the wind.

  “Dinner in an hour, Captain,” the thin, elderly man who acted as steward called up in Portuguese. Thomas raised his hand in acknowledgment and called his helmsman. He gave him the wheel and headed for Fia’s cabin.

  No sound answered his knock. He tried again. “Lady Fia?”

  “Go away.”

  Her voice was muffled.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Perfectly. Go away.”

  “I will. But if you want to eat, you’d best be in the galley in an hour.”

  “Go away!” Her voice rose in a thin protest. “I don’t want to e—”

  Begads! She was being sick. He’d heard that telltale sound too often to mistake it. He opened the door. She was sitting on the edge of the narrow bunk in her chemise and underskirt, her knees spread wide, her head hanging over the wash basin that sat on the floor between her feet.