She trod most careful on the slime covered stone steps, for although she had come to the creek for one reason only, something about her buccaneer had set her on a new path of discovery, one of excitement and expectation.
Upon her return to the house she noticed farm hands with picks and shovels, one man with rope coil slung over his shoulder and standing by the meadow gate. She hurried toward the men and spied fresh soil on their boots: their rolled up smock sleeves and reddened faces indicative of much hard labour not long ceased. The man with rope noticed her on approach and barged through the group to stand out front.
“Yer ladyship,” he said, removing his hat, “we been an’ buried yer oss as we thought yer’d like us to.”
“Thank you, thank you.” Ned would be so mad if he could hear her thanking farm hands, but she didn’t care. She would reward each and every one without Ned’s knowledge, just as soon as he went off back to London, as he would and fairly soon no doubt. “I cannot thank you enough.”
“Begging pardon, yer ladyship, we said a prayer o’er oss as well.”
She so wanted to hug each man in gratitude, but instead hurried toward the meadow gate. The men drifted away leaving her with Tobias’ resting place. The mound was quite noticeable and located centre of meadow, to which she sped and fell upon it. She recalled having galloped Tobias most cruel in wont to see how fast he could cover ground from one end to the other of Baddington Beach. Later he had coughed and coughed and it was thought he might choke to death, but he survived four days and then…
Tears flooded forth.
“I am so sorry, so sorry Tobias. I had quite thought to join with you in peace and release from Ned’s scorn.” Her kerchief was now lost somewhere in the woodland, and she utilised the hem of a petticoat to wipe away tears. She blew her nose on it, too. Not a very grown up lady like thing to do, but necessary. “I have found a new friend, whom you would like I feel sure. His hands, although callused are gentle in touch, and I think . . . think I am a little in love. Silly, really, because I don’t even know his name.” Not caring the dusty ground she laid her head upon the grave. “I know, I know, how is it possible to be in love with someone met only this very afternoon.” A sigh escaped, her buccaneer’s teasing smile and deadly attractive eyes memorable. “I shall come every day to see you, my sweet horse, I promise.”
~
Water on face stirred her awake to sense of darkness all around, and realisation that it was raining. She clambered to her feet, lights in the house casting sufficient glow to see her way through the meadow gateway and along the ride to the front door.
As soon as the door slammed shut Ned called from the blue room his voice slurred, sleepy. “Issss that you, Emerallll?”
“Of course, it is I.” She hurried to the blue room, its vast opulence at odds with her wet muddied and torn clothing. “Who else would come bounding in uninvited?”
Leaning on the mantel’s sill, Ned yawned, said, “In God’s name, Emerald, where have you been?” He was no longer the loving Ned of their youth, and she with reason enough to despise the beast he had turned into. “Have you no thought for those of us worried by your absence?” He moved forward, steadied his frame with hands to chair, as though feeling unwell but his eyes implied him wine sodden. “Have you no shame?”
“Shame?” she snapped, fairly sure someone must have spied her in company with her buccaneer. “I have nothing to feel shame for.”
“Look at you,” he snarled, the spiteful Ned, the too familiar adult Ned with vengeful thoughts and tongue as sharp as his sword. “You disgrace the family name with your actions.” He came around the chair to stand before her. “And your state of dress.” He toyed torn silk at her shoulder, then let fall his hand to ripped lace at neckline. “What pray about Lord Moorby disgusts you so?”
“He is more than twice my age.” Ned’s eyes settled on her plump bosom, his soft fingers idly drifting upward across bared flesh to neck. He had never committed such a despicable act before, his drunken state utter repulsive. She swept his hand away, and stepped back from him intent on departing his company. “You are drunk, your lordship.”
“Drunk, you think me drunk?” He stepped toward her. Arm coiled about her waist snakelike he drew her hard against his body, too close for the likes of a brother and sister “You think yourself a lady tonight, Emerald? Well let me tell you, I’ve bedded better dressed whores who would not be seen dead in rags and tatters such as these.”
She squirmed, his words vile. “Ned, you are drunk, and beastly cruel. Let me go. I beg of you, let me go.”
His grip upon her slackened a little, his hand instant to centre of her bodice. He tugged at it until it ripped almost clear to waistline, her chemise too ripped open to expose breasts for his obvious delighting. Shamed by it all she fought to cover exposed flesh with hand and arm. He laughed and wrenched her arm away. “Older men disgust you, do they? Well then, have a younger man instead.” He hauled her to a chaise, threw her on it and fell upon her.
She fought to push him off. Unable to dislodge him she sought any means to quell his arousal and slashed his cheek with her fingernails. He reeled back blood trickling, but it was momentary. “Wild cat, you need to be taught to obey your master.”
“You are my brother, Ned, not my master. Do this and you will regret it come the morrow, can you not see that? Ned, think what you are doing. A wicked deed such as this committed will haunt your sobered wakeful hours. Stop this, right now.”
Face crestfallen in comprehension of what he had done and about to do he suddenly rolled away from her and fell to the floor a crumpled heap of miserable male. “Forgive me, please forgive me,” he mumbled, attempting to get to his feet. “You must marry Moorby. Have you not realised we need his money to save this estate from ruin?”
For sake of modesty and sense of dignity she clutched a cushion to her breasts. “How will my wedded to Moorby save this estate from ruin, and why does it need to be saved?”
“I am ruined, Emerald. The estate is mortgaged beyond means of paying the outstanding debt and I owe trades people large sums of money.”
“So you offered my body to the Earl of Moorby, and he promised to pay your debts in exchange? Is that the bargain you have struck, Ned?”
“Yes,” his reply, as he struggled to kneel before her. “This is our last chance to keep the estate within the family. Once clear of debt I can seek a wife to bear heir to the Penhavean Estate.”
It all appeared so simple to Ned, one favour deserving another, and she the bait. In reality, perhaps it was the only way to save the family home, for she would hate to see it fall into a state of disrepair and be lost to them forever. Worse, for all his rotten deeds she could not bear to think of him in a debtors’ prison or banished to far distant colony. Despite thoughts of marriage to Moorby most unpleasant, she said, “If I marry Moorby, what guarantee is there that he will pay all the outstanding debts?”
“Is not a gentleman’s word of honour sufficient for you? Damn it all, Emerald. You are nine and ten years of age, and unmarried still.”
“No Ned, a gentleman’s handshake and verbal agreement is easily ignored come time of payment upon delivery of goods.” She had to say it, but knowledge of their dire straits meant only she could save them from ruin. “Unless Moorby agrees to written contract of your debts paid the day before the wedding, and paid in full, the marriage will not happen, simply will not happen.”
“I cannot propose such a thing.”
“Then invite him here for a weekend stay, and we shall see if he will agree to my terms.”
“He might, I suppose, if for once you could see your way in to being a tad flirty with the fellow. Hell Emerald, his daughters are unable to inherit his vast estates. So marry him, give him the son he craves and then beget a young lover to pleasure and excite you.”
“I cannot believe I am agreeing to something that so repels me, I shall for certain be sick upon the wedding night.”
Ned chuckled. “L
ie back and let him have his way. The old bugger might surprise and delight you in ways you never thought possible.” His eyes levelled on hers, and he looked somewhat sobered by their conversation. “What happened here, I truly do not understand, and pray you will see fit to forgive me in time.”
“I know not what to say, Ned, and your behaviour tonight has quite shaken me.”
“What of Tobias, will you ever forgive me?
“No Ned, I cannot and never will forgive you for taking him from me”
He struggled to his feet head bowed in shame. Shoulders hunched, air of defeat about him, he shifted awkward as he had as a child when verbally chastised by their father. “Then I bid you good night.”
Chapter Three
~
A lark in full song high above the meadow drew her attention. She paused, seeking it out, but a cloudless sky as blue as the bluebells in nearby woodland and bright sunshine made it impossible. She shaded her eyes, the little bird still obscured to human eye. She dare not hurry to the bridge in excited haste, for it might draw undue attention. After all, she was not a child she was a grown woman.
She dallied a little longer, the bridge ever distant. Now and again she paused to pluck wild flowers from the grassy verge. Nonetheless her heart skipped while silk slipper-clad feet ambled onward, taking her ever closer to her buccaneer. He would be there, where promised to be. She did not doubt his honour in that, but was it folly to have agreed to engage a second time with a relative stranger?
He was a man of dubious means and intentions. Why would a buccaneer drop anchor in the creek, if not to avoid ships of his majesty’s fleet or that of a customs cutter? She was, in truth, rushing headlong heart leading and it might all prove to be a terrible mistake. What if acceptance of his suggestion to meet again had roused impression of her willingness to . . . Oh Lord, the mere thought caused a flush to cheeks.
The bridge now before her she slowed her pace, and although sensible to check to be sure no one happened to be watching her she resisted temptation of blatant over shoulder glance. Instead she paused, crouched down and picked an array of differing wild flowers, then cast a subtle eye to the ride and house. There was no one within sight, and no face at a window. She rearranged the flowers in hand, and only then moved into the shade of trees and began her descent of the steps to creek bottom.
A few paces taken along the dry sand her heart dived. She could not see him, could not yet see if the ship was still at anchor. Her heart said run to the bend in the creek, while her head said walk in dignified manner eyes to ground. All kinds of emotions welled within, and it was best to assume the ship had weighed anchor and away. Tears brimmed. She hastily wiped them away with a kerchief. This was all so silly, and a sad case of fascination for someone she knew nothing of. His relative handsomeness and charming manner was an asset to be sure, if nose tad prominent. But, had she remembered his features accurate, she could not be sure.
She rounded the bend of the creek and there it was, the ship, and smoke again drifting upward from behind the rocky outcrop. Taking into account the fact the ship had to have a crew, the silence all around was really quite eerie bar for occasional bird singing within the steep wooded slopes. Where was he? She could not dare approach the rocky outcrop, and about to turn around, a short distance ahead she spied a pair of boots standing proud amidst a heap of clothing. Such caused undue sense of alarm, and instinct drew her eyes to the waters of the creek: sure enough a man swimming mid-channel. What should she do?
With each step forward she scrutinised the pile of clothes, and as she drew closer, smock, hose, a belt and sword became apparent. How bizarre, a sword instead of cutlass? But, at least he had breeches on his person. She lingered beside his cast-offs, a blue ribbon noted within the folds of his smock. Gaze averted back to the creek she watched him cut water at speed, arm over arm, muscles in back and arms bringing him ever closer. Before long he was on his feet treading water, chest bared to sun, bared to her, and other than Ned bare to waist now and then she had never seen another man half dressed.
“Forgive my state of undress, your ladyship,” he said, a broad grin. “I had thought you of changed mind in paying visit today”
His hands to head to skim excess water from shoulder length hair drew her eyes to shoulders broad, arms strong in muscle. His chest, though, by far the greater interest where she had nestled her head the day prior, and now exposed and shadowed black with hair to point at navel, his wet breeches luring the eye. “It is a lady’s prerogative to be a little late.”
“Are those flowers apology for your lateness?”
“Oh no . . . well . . .” Damn the flush to her cheeks and blatant amusement dancing in his eyes. “Think of them as part of my masquerade to escape undue attention, though I confess no one seemed the least interested in my departure from the house.”
Hint of mischief played on his face. “Am I to conclude you are under close guard for some reason?”
“Not as yet, but if discovered cavorting with a buccaneer my life not worth a jot hereafter.” She indeed feared her brother’s wrath, and resistance to his wishes were now dashed outright. “I am resigned to my fate, but today and the whole of this week is special because it is to be my last time of freedom here at Penhavean Hall. Next week I am to attend dinner at the Earl of Moorby’s London residence. And, according to Ned at breakfast this morning, my entertainment has been planned weeks in advance.”
Resigned to her fate sounded, well, rather weak. She was not, for she had agreed to marry Moorby to save her brother and the family name from shame and the house from ruin. In the meantime air of rebellion was her intention and the manner in which she kicked off heeled slippers was surely a good sign of carefree spirit?
“Ah, Ned’s chosen suitor, and her ladyship not best pleased by his choice,” he said, gathering his things.
She scooped up her slippers, the flowers sadly wilted in hand. “Shall we sit in the shade?” As they strolled to the woodland verge, she glanced toward the seaward edge of the creek shrouded by wide sweep of inlet. “How long do you intend to stay moored here?”
“A day, a week, who can say?”
What madness, a ship, a captain and he with no plan of action. “Does a captain not know why his ship is at anchor in a private creek, nor when he is to set sail?”
He chuckled. “Private land either side, but methinks the tidal waterway is crown property.”
Beneath shady boughs she plopped her rump down, peach-coloured silk skirt billowed about her. “You evade my question, captain, why so?”
He cast his sword to one side, threw his boots and belongings beyond and settled his rump to sand beside her. “I recall you had no interest in my name, a day past. Now today you wish to know my sail date, and no doubt your next question in wont to know where I might be going.” She could not help but laugh, a hand to his shoulder in friendship, though snatched away as fast as settled upon bare flesh. “That was nice,” his remark, a sideways glance and big grin.
It was nice for her, too, if momentary frisson of physical pleasure. “It was I who found you, and I would like to know how long I am to have my buccaneer to talk with, for I would hate to rush down here one fine day and find your ship gone and you with it.”
“Your buccaneer?” He dropped backwards head pillowed in hands, one knee raised and rather smug expression as he wiggled bare toes of out-stretched foot. “It may happen that way, your ladyship. On balance all things buccaneer, I can hardly come to the house to express my chagrin at having to leave such a lady as yourself wandering the creek all alone and without good company at hand.”
“And shall you be disappointed . . . come time of your parting these waters?”
She could not avert her gaze from his face, for his tongue might lie but his eyes would reveal truth as they had a day past.
He suddenly dropped his knee, closed his eyes, his expression unreadable. “Indeed, but we have today so let us make the most of it.” He chuckled, reopened one eye, as
though her thoughts read and deliberately acted upon. He stretched his arm out flat upon the ground. “Come, lie with me, put your head to my shoulder, and tell me why this suitor of yours curls up your toes, so.”
She laughed, fell back against his shoulder, and snuggled to his chest. Her heart somersaulted, pulse quickened, and sense of haven, safe haven enveloped. She trusted him, implicitly. “Moorby is fat, ugly, old enough to be my father, and . . .”
“Moorby, eh? Admiral of the fleet and Earl of Moorby, the honourable thief, if one cares to grant that kindly title to a thoroughly unscrupulous rogue.” He nuzzled her hair, gentle kiss to her head sensual. “A rich man by all accounts. His wealth accumulated from acquisition of unpaid debts.”
“Exactly,” she said, cutting him mid-sentence, “and he expects either payment in property, land, or in my brother’s case, I as payment because we have no ready monies and the estate is mortgaged beyond means of honoured payment.”
“Are you aware of what kind of debts he settles payment upon?”
“It would seem any outstanding debt is of interest to Moorby. That is why my brother has insisted I marry the man, for Moorby has promised to secure payment of all Ned’s debts. In agreeing to my brother’s demands, which I have done, Ned and the Penhavean family name is now saved from a terrible shame and the house secured from ruin.”
“You are sorely misinformed, Emerald.” He caught her chin, forced her face upward, his expression dark and brooding, his eyes searching hers but for what? “Moorby settles gambling debts. He believes once a man a gambler lured by excitement and danger of win or lose, habitual gambler is the next step. Ned always enjoyed carding, and is still known to squander more time in gambling dens than most seamen frequent favoured doxy houses. Moorby will have encouraged him, no doubt with you in mind as payment in kind I suspect.”
Her Favoured Captain Page 2
