“I do,” Lady Overstreet answered. “Do you really think that money you have in the chest you’ve hidden under your bunk will cover a season in London while you dilly-dally making up your mind? I’ll tell you it won’t. We’ll need to rent a house in a fashionable area, a new wardrobe—”
“We bought clothes for me in New York.” They had cost a goodly amount of those precious gold coins, not to mention the few extra items Lady Overstreet had picked up for herself.
“We had to put something on your back. Some items, the gloves and stockings, and that corset, can be used in London. But everything else is of inferior quality.”
“Including the ivory lace?” Miranda had never owned anything so fine as that dress.
“Unfortunately,” Lady Overstreet said, “in London, one needs London clothes. Then again, if you snare Sir William, you could save a great deal of money and bring your sisters to England that much quicker. And isn’t that your true purpose?”
It was.
“Perhaps I will like Sir William better upon further acquaintance,” Miranda suggested faintly.
“I’m certain you will.” She reached for the door handle, Miranda stepping out of her way. “Take a nap. We want you to look fresh and young for this evening. Oh, yes, and practice a bit with your fan. I still don’t believe you hold it at the most advantageous angle. You will also be dancing with it, so you can see what I was telling you about how to carry it with a gentleman holding your hand.”
“I will,” Miranda promised, anxious to be alone. Lady Overstreet had already drilled her for hours on fan etiquette. The way Her Ladyship carried on, a person would wonder how Miranda had made it this far in her life without one.
“Good.” Lady Overstreet opened the door. Their gazes met. “I’m glad we had this chat. I’m certain you understand your responsibilities. Take a nap.” With those words, she left.
Miranda shut the door behind her, leaning against the cool wood for a moment before slowly sinking to the floor.
For years she had fantasized about meeting Alex again.
She’d played out the scene in her mind hundreds, no, thousands of times. Always, she would have righted an old wrong. She would have admitted that she should have trusted her own heart all those years ago.
However now, when she’d least expected it, he was here. And he had looked right through her as if they were strangers.
Her heart felt empty…and Miranda found herself mourning for what they once had. She allowed herself to remember the joy she’d felt whenever they’d met secretly. She’d lived for those moments of being with him, of touching him, and kissing him, and wanting to be so close to him, she wished she could crawl right in under his skin and stay there always.
And then she had betrayed him.
No wonder he hated her.
She lowered her head and cried.
Alex held his temper until he’d reached the confines of his cabin.
He slammed the door and then, needing more of a release, he crossed to table and, with one angry swipe of his arm, wiped it clean of the charts and compass he kept there. The tools of navigation went flying. He didn’t care.
Damn them anyway. Damn all of them.
And damn Miranda for coming back into his life.
“It doesn’t matter,” he told himself. He didn’t need her. He didn’t need anyone.
Suddenly there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room for Alex to breathe.
He walked to the bay window at the aft of his ship. Leaning a knee on his bunk, he attempted to open it. Air carrying the rotting wood and fish smells of the wharf flowed into the room, but he didn’t care. He sat on the cotton-stuffed mattress, rested his back against the wall, and stared out at the harbor with unseeing eyes. In his mind, he was in the forest, waiting for her to appear, counting the minutes until they could be alone. He’d shirked his duties to his tribe, ignored the warnings of his friends, done everything in his power just to be with her.
Alex buried his head in his hands. He would not be a fool again. She meant nothing to him now.
However, her betrayal went deep into his soul.
Jumping up from the bunk, he began pacing the length of the room. He shouldn’t be this angry. After all, Miranda hadn’t been the first to leave him. His father had done that. His father, who had raised him to be his son. Who had encouraged him to master his studies, to study hard in Greek and Latin and mathematics. Who had expected him to excel in swordplay and riding. Who had wanted him to be the best in everything he did because Alex was to follow in his footsteps.
And then one day when Alex was twelve, he had returned from his tutor and found his father gone. His father, the much decorated general, had deserted his country for a Frenchwoman.
In the letter he’d left Alex, he’d said this was his chance to be happy and advised Alex to return to his mother’s people. Alex hadn’t wanted to do that. He thought of himself as English. Unfortunately, without the benefit of his sire’s prestige and money, he became nothing more than a half-breed bastard. He’d had no choice but to return to his mother’s people.
Lomasi had not welcomed her English son with open arms. She had a new husband and a family. There was no place for him in her life.
His grandfather, the chief Pluk-ke-motah, had forced her to take him in, but only after he’d been adopted by the village. In order to do that, he’d had to run the gauntlet.
Alex could still see the two lines formed by every man, woman, and child in the village, each holding a stick or club. At the end of the gauntlet was the door to a wigwam. Alex had to run for that door with the villagers beating him mercilessly. If he made it, he would be a member of the tribe. If he didn’t, he would die.
The day had been clear and crisp, the September sky a cloudless blue. His grandfather had stood beside him. He’d been told the signal to run would be a tap of Pluk-ke-motah’s club on his shoulder. Alex had anticipated the old man would give him a gentle tap. He hadn’t. He’d hit Alex with a blow so strong, it had knocked him to the ground.
In spite of the pain, Alex had climbed to his feet and run faster than he ever had in his life, the Shawnee filling the air with cries and jeers. The challenge had almost killed him, but he reached that doorway.
It had taken days to recover from the blows he’d received. Later he learned that he was one of the few ever to have run the length of the gauntlet without stopping. His tribesmen considered him to have great strength and magic.
Little did they know his “power” came from not having anywhere else to go—and being too proud to admit it.
And so he’d given in to that Shawnee side of him. He’d learned their ways with the same diligence he had once devoted to his Latin primer. His mother and grandfather could find no fault in him, and yet Alex had not had an Indian heart. He’d longed for what he had once known. He’d pretended he could live this life. He went through the motions and had been successful. He might even have followed in his grandfather’s footsteps and become one of the chiefs—that was, until he’d met Miranda.
He’d accompanied another brave to her father’s trading post. Veral Cameron had cheated his friend after clouding his thinking with bad whiskey. Alex didn’t drink and had agreed to accompany his friend to provide a clear head and get back what was owed. He’d been warned by others that Cameron hated the Shawnee.
Alex didn’t care what the trader liked or disliked. If he didn’t want to trade with the Shawnee, fine. But Alex would not let Cameron cheat them.
The meeting went well enough. Cameron had been nursing a bad head from a night of drinking. He’d paid a portion of what had been owed, and Alex had counseled his friend to leave the matter alone.
However, as they were leaving, Alex caught a glimpse of Miranda. She’d come into her father’s store and had pulled up short at seeing Alex and the brave there. It had been a chance encounter. He was certain that if she’d known they were there, she would not have entered.
In that moment something happened to
Alex that he’d not felt before or since. The moment their gazes met, there had been an instant recognition between them, an understanding that they had been fated to meet.
Cameron had been furious for her interruption. Alex understood. If he’d had a daughter that lovely, he’d want to protect her, too.
Alex left the store with his fellow tribesman but instead of going home, he’d hidden in the woods, waiting for an opportunity to speak to Miranda. He’d finally found her alone as she weeded a vegetable patch.
She had not been afraid.
She agreed to meet him at the place of the two elm trees where the road forked, and within days, he’d finally understood why his father had deserted him for a woman. There hadn’t been anything Alex wouldn’t have done for Miranda. She was the sun and the moon and all the stars.
She had accepted him for who he was, and it had been a great gift to a boy who’d felt he’d had no true identity or place in the world. Of course, her acceptance was also the ultimate cruelty, because in the end she had cost him everything.
Alex stopped and looked around the cabin that had been his home for the past year and a half. It was all he’d ever wanted. All he’d allowed himself to want.
He had his ship, his crew, and his partnership with Michael. He commanded his own world—a world in which Miranda played no part, and he was going to keep it that way.
A knock sounded on the door.
“Come in,” Alex barked.
Oliver stuck his head inside. “The pilot Esteves is here to see you, Captain.”
“Good. Send him in.” He was ready for a fight.
A moment later, the Azorean entered the cabin. Alex stood waiting. Oliver shut the door behind them.
“So, Senhor Esteves, have you come to refund my money?” Alex demanded.
Esteves didn’t answer immediately. He appeared more interested in the maps Alex had swept to the floor. He picked up the compass. “You must be careful, Captain. The seas are rough in port.” He set the compass on the table and met Alex’s gaze with a calm one of his own. He’d known Alex had lost his temper.
“What is it about old men that they think they know everything?” Alex asked.
“What is it about young men that they don’t realize how obvious they are to read?” the pilot countered, his English accented.
Alex smiled in spite of his frustrations. “What is on your mind, Esteves? I know you aren’t going to give my money back.”
He spread his hands as if begging Alex’s patience. “I wish that I could but I have expenses.”
“Expenses? A need for more bribes is more like it.”
“Captain—”
“No excuses, senhor. We both know how these small ports work. You serve as pilot and harbormaster.” He shook his head, “You are a petty tyrant who could quarantine a ship if you had a mind to. Of course, you are lax in your duties. Your nephew didn’t even take a tour of my ship. I could have had smallpox on board and no one would have cared.”
“Is there a concern?” Senhor Esteves looked around. “Perhaps I should quarantine you now.”
“And I’d hang your carcass from the bow.”
Instead of being offended, the pilot laughed. He reached down and picked up one of the maps. Rolling it, he handed it to Alex. “Come, let us be friends.”
“What do you want?” Alex asked. Esteves might be a corrupt official, but at least he was honest about it. He stooped to pick up the other map still lying on the floor. He was a fool to let Miranda get to him this way. He would put her out of his mind.
“I want you to come to my house this evening,” Esteves said.
Where Miranda would be? “Why?” Alex asked, setting the maps on his table.
“To upset Sir William.”
Amused, Alex wondered, “Do I sense a touch of rivalry here?”
“There is no rivalry. I will wed Senhorina Cameron.”
Alex tapped down a sizzle of jealousy. She was nothing to him. Nothing, nothing, nothing. “Wed her or bed her?” he asked with a touch of contempt in his voice.
“Both,” the older man said with complete confidence.
“And why do you think she would let you do either?”
“Because my heart is already hers,” the older man declared with such sincerity, he caught Alex up short.
“You don’t know her.”
“I feel it here.” Esteves thumped his chest over his heart.
“Beware. She eats hearts like yours for her dinner,” Alex warned.
“Is this experience speaking?”
Alex eased back a step. “My heart is still intact. My advice is that you forget her.”
“I can’t. I see her and I feel young. When I first saw her on the deck of the Venture, it was as if the world came to a halt. I heard her laugh, and I could hear the voices of angels.”
“That was the devil poking fun at you,” Alex assured him.
Esteves’s mustache twitched. “You think me too old?”
“No, I believe too wise.” Alex gave his head a shake. “I don’t know why I’m arguing with you. Chase her. I hope you catch her. But I’m not going to be fleeced for higher port fees.”
“Captain Haddon, that is why I am here.” Esteves spread his hands as if to show he played no tricks. “If you come this evening to minha casa, I will not charge any fees. I will pay back the money Diego has already accepted.”
Alex’s guard went up. “Why?”
“Because I need you. When you are around, Senhorina Cameron does not pay attention to Sir William.” He walked across the room, gesturing to explain his thoughts. “You see, I know I am not what a beautiful English senhorina would want, but I want her very badly.”
“She’s not English,” Alex corrected.
“She’s not?”
“She’s American.”
Esteves shrugged. “She is what she wants to be. Dona Overstreet said Senhorina Cameron is the granddaughter of an earl.”
Alex remembered that now. “Who is Dona Overstreet?”
“Her chaperone. She is arranging Senhorina Cameron’s marriage.”
“Marriage to whom?” Alex was across the cabin in a blink. He had to resist grabbing the man by the lapels. “What are you talking about?”
“To whomever can pay Dona Overstreet’s price,” Esteves said simply. “The problem is, Senhorina Cameron insists upon marrying a man with a title. But secretly Dona Overstreet is looking for money. Now, that I have,” he said triumphantly. “And I can buy the title. I am the harbormaster. I have all the money on the island. I could be a grandee in say, four months, maybe less.”
“She’d sell herself in marriage for a title,” Alex repeated, not liking the sound of it.
“Why not?” Esteves answered. “Women marry for silly reasons. Why not a good one?”
Alex shook his head. The girl he had once known would not have auctioned herself off in this manner. Then again, in the end, she hadn’t gone with him.
Still, he hadn’t married, and he didn’t like the thought she was going to. In a more rational moment, he might feel differently. Right now the idea was like a hot poker in his gut.
“The problem is,” Esteves continued, apparently blissfully unaware of the impact of his information on Alex, “Sir William. Dona Overstreet tells me he is exactly what Senhorina Cameron is searching for unless I can change her mind. I think Dona Overstreet does not take my offer seriously,” he confided. “The English only think of themselves.”
Alex couldn’t argue with that opinion. “And you believe you can win the mercenary Miss Cameron over?” he asked derisively.
“With your help.”
Now Alex’s guard was up. “What do you want me to do?”
“What you already do. I want to come to minha casa and be a distraction to Senhorina Cameron.”
“How does that help you?”
“It doesn’t,” Esteves agreed sadly. “I know she may not hear what is in my heart. Beautiful women are like that. But I will at least
show her minha casa and my wealth and promise her a title, and maybe she will smile at me and say yes.”
“What if she says no?”
“Then you will be there to see that Sir William does not win her. See? I am not a good loser. She may say no. I shall do my best to win her. I shall offer her everything I have. But if she says no, I shall not give her to him. Dona Overstreet thinks she is clever, but I am wilier. She will pay a price for not being more helpful to me.”
For a second Alex was speechless at the turn of events—and then he began laughing. It started with a chuckle and grew into a full belly laugh.
Poor Miranda being the center of all this intrigue. And all she wanted was a husband. The irony made him double over with laughter.
Now he understood why she wouldn’t go with him when he’d asked. She’d wanted something better. She wanted a bloody title.
Lady Miranda.
He’d never heard such a joke. And he would do anything to thwart her cold-blooded plans. He’d even delight in it.
Noticing the stiffness in Esteves’s shoulders, Alex held up his hands. “Please, senhor, I do not laugh at you. In fact, I believe you deserve Miss Cameron. I think she would be very happy here in the Azores.”
He didn’t catch the hint of irony. “You believe?”
“I do,” Alex said, this time with complete sincerity.
“So you will come this evening?”
Alex smiled. “With pleasure.”
Five
Senhor Esteves’s house was a sprawling building surrounded by the lush greenery of the foothills above Ponta Delgada. The pilot also owned a home in the town itself, but it was here he entertained and displayed his wealth. The promise of a feast being prepared left a scented trail to the house.
Lady Overstreet, Miranda, Captain Lewis, and Sir William—whom Her Ladyship had insisted accompany them—rode in a cart driven by Senhor Esteves’s nephew, Diego. They were not the first to arrive. A long line of carts full of guests waited their turn on the winding drive. Clearly, everyone knew one another, and their happy chatter added to the festive air. One of the carts included the junior officers from Sir William’s ship.
The Price of Indiscretion Page 5
