Captive of My Desires

  Out of Nathan’s crew, Ohr had been with him the longest. He used a host of fake names, too, as they all did, but Ohr happened to be his real one. If a last name went with it, he never bothered to mention it.

  Most people assumed he was calling himself a nautical term when he introduced himself. Gabrielle had certainly thought that herself. Which was why he always volunteered, without being asked, that his name was spelled with an h. That he had the look of a half-breed Oriental, even wore his excessively long black hair in a single braid down his back, kept anyone from questioning it. They merely assumed, without knowing any better, that it was an Oriental name.

  Over six feet tall, he had a face that seemed ageless. He mentioned once that his father had been an American who often sailed to the Far East. Ohr had joined the crew of an American ship sailing back to the Western side of the world, with the thought of finding his father, but he’d never gotten around to trying, had become a pirate instead.

  The second crewman who her father had sent to watch over her went by the name of Jean Paul and a host of other names. But he’d revealed to her in secret when they’d become friends that Richard Allen was his real name. He’d told her that much, but no more about his past, or where he really came from, and she’d never pressed. He wasn’t much older than Gabrielle, and he stood out among the pirates not because he was so tall and handsome, but because he was always meticulously clean, both his person and his clothes.

  He wore his black hair long and queued back, kept his face shaven except for a trim mustache. His clothes were as flamboyant as everyone else’s but spotless, and his high boots always shined. He wore no gaudy jewelry, though, just a single silver ring with some sort of crest on it. He had wide shoulders but was slim of build, and his green eyes sparkled. He seemed to always be flashing his white teeth with a smile or a laugh. Gabrielle found him to be appealing, a very lighthearted young man.

  Richard practiced his French accent constantly, though it was still as atrocious as it had been when she’d first met him. At least he’d stopped slipping with the “bloody hells” when he got emotional, which were a dead giveaway to his real nationality.

  She’d asked him once why he bothered to pretend to be a Frenchman when the fake names were enough for most of the pirates. He’d merely shrugged and said he didn’t want to be like the rest of the pirates and he was determined to master the disguise before he gave it up.

  Richard had told her once that while he had wanted to make romantic overtures to her, he was afraid her father would kill him if he did, so he’d managed to resist the urge.

  She’d laughed. He was a charming young man, humorous and daring, but she’d never once considered anything more than friendship with him.

  But that she’d only formed a platonic relationship with such a handsome young man as Richard Allen didn’t mean she hadn’t succumbed to a few romantic attractions over the years in the Caribbean. It was just as well that most of them had been sailors, though, aside from Charles, because a seafaring man was the last kind of man she wanted for a husband, having grown up with firsthand knowledge of how infrequently they were ever at home.

  When she did marry, the man would have to actually share a life with her. That’s how she envisioned marriage. If he was gone for months at a time the way sailors were, if she ended up being left mostly alone, then what would be the point of marrying?

  Her mother had had a similar opinion. So often over the years, she had told Gabrielle that it was pointless to love a man who loves the sea. The competition was too great.

  “Why did you let him upset you, chérie?” Richard asked as she paced the room.

  She knew exactly whom he was talking about—the handsome man she’d encountered on the dock—since she’d been trying to keep “him” out of her mind. But she didn’t have an answer that she cared to share, so instead she said, “I wasn’t upset.”

  “You nearly took his head off.”

  “Nonsense. I was just shaken,” she replied. “That cart would have knocked me over, if he didn’t grab me. But he pinched my arm so hard I think I would have been less hurt if I’d fallen to the ground, so he wasn’t really the least bit helpful.”

  It was a blatant lie. Richard raised a brow to indicate he suspected that, causing her to blush and try a different reason, one that was true.

  She continued, “I’ve been quite nervous ever since we set sail.”

  “Hoist the sails!” Miss Carla squawked.

  All four pairs of eyes turned toward the bright green parrot in the little wooden barred cage she was occasionally kept in. The bird had belonged to Nathan. She was a sweetheart when she was on his shoulder, but everyone else she regarded as the enemy.

  During the first year, whenever Gabrielle tried to pet the bird or feed her, she usually yanked back fingers dripping blood. She’d been persistent, though, enough so that Miss Carla had eventually defected to the enemy camp, as it were, and Nathan had gifted her with the bird her second year in the islands.

  The parrot’s vocabulary until then had merely been nautical—and disparaging about her mother. Even the name Nathan had given the bird had been a deliberate insult to his wife. He’d found it amusing to teach her phrases like “Carla’s a dumb bird” and “I’m an old biddy,” and the worst one, “A copper to drop me drawers.”

  He’d been so embarrassed when she’d first squawked “Carla’s a dumb bird” in front of Gabrielle that he’d immediately marched the bird down to the beach to drown her in the ocean. Gabrielle had had to run after him to stop him, though she was sure he wouldn’t really have killed Miss Carla, and they’d both been able to laugh about it later.

  Ohr tossed his dinner napkin at the bird’s cage, getting three hard flaps of her wings and a “Bad girl, bad girl” out of her.

  Richard chuckled at the parrot, but then got back to the subject at hand, asking Gabrielle, “You’re nervous about getting married?”

  That question threw her off. “Married? No, I’m actually looking forward to meeting all the dashing young men who will be in London for the Season. I hope to fall in love with one of them,” she added with a smile.

  That was true, but she just wasn’t sure she wanted to live in England again, when she’d loved the islands so much. And she certainly didn’t like the idea of living so far away from her father. But she was still hopeful that she could convince the man she married to move to the Caribbean or, at the very least, spend part of each year there. “But calling in this favor from a man I don’t know and my father barely knows, well, I really hate the idea of doing that,” she added. “He could just close the door in our faces, you know.” She could hope.

  “We’re here to make sure he doesn’t do that,” Ohr said quietly.

  “You see!” she exclaimed. “Then we’d be forcing his hand, and you just don’t do that with English lords. Do either of you even know him, or know how my father helped him to incur this favor?”

  “Never met him,” Richard replied.

  “I have, though I didn’t know he was an aristocrat,” Ohr said. “My experience of lordly types, minimal as it is, is that they are mostly popinjays who crumble at the least sign of aggression.”

  She couldn’t tell if Ohr was joking or not, but Richard made a sour look to that remark, which was very telling. Good grief, was her friend an English lord without ever having let on that he was? She stared at him hard, but he merely lifted a brow at her. He probably had no idea he’d stirred her curiosity with his reaction to Ohr’s comment.

  She shook the thought from her mind. It was absurd, anyway. Englishmen might become pirates, but English lords certainly wouldn’t. And the lord they would be visiting tomorrow could be the veriest dandy, but that didn’t erase her reservations. She was simply mortified to have to collect on a favor that wasn’t owed to her personally. She was the one who was going to end up being beholden, and she hated the idea of that.

  She’d grown and changed a lot over the last three years. She’d found out tha
t she could be resourceful, that if something needed to be done she could get it done. She’d survived a hurricane that had struck while her father was away, and she and Margery had pitched in to help the town recover from it. She’d been left alone with just Margery for weeks at a time when her father sailed without her, and she had liked making her own decisions.

  She’d enjoyed treasure hunting with him, and she’d miss those adventures once she married. But mainly, she disliked reverting back to depending on others to get things done for her. So it simply went against the grain now to have to ask this English lord to help her.

  “We could always hold him ransom until he finds you a husband,” Richard said with a grin.

  She realized he was only teasing her now and she returned his grin. She’d say one thing for Richard, he had no trouble a’tall getting someone’s mind off of what they didn’t want to be thinking about. And she needed to stop thinking about that tall, handsome fellow she’d encountered on the docks today.

  Good heavens, that man had been startling. She’d been broadsided, as her father might have put it, blasted right out of the water. It was no wonder she’d made such a fool of herself. But she would have been much more embarrassed if he’d noticed her ogling him, as she’d caught herself doing before he glanced her way.

  He’d been a giant of a man with unruly golden brown curls. And she could have sworn his eyes were black, they were so dark. Such a fine figure of a man, but he was handsome, too.

  She hadn’t meant to be so sharp with the man, but her heart had still been pounding from that cart that had bumped her, causing her to lose her balance. His grip on her arm had been rather tight, too. And she’d been afraid that Ohr and Richard, being so protective of her, might cause a scene because he had his hand on her.

  Which wasn’t a silly fear. They’d already done so just ten minutes earlier when a sailor had merely jostled her. They’d nearly tossed the man over the wharf into the water. She’d told them then to be more discreet and walk behind her the way English servants were supposed to do.

  Then, when the tall, handsome man had looked down at her with those dark eyes, his gaze turning sensual, she’d become more unsettled. And if that wasn’t bad enough, when he’d given her that engaging grin, she’d felt something stir deep inside her. So flustered by then that it took her a moment to even grasp what he was saying, her tone had come out sharper than she’d intended, enough to turn him rude.

  She sighed to herself. She’d probably never see him again. She’d met enough Americans in the Caribbean to recognize his accent. Americans visited England, but they didn’t stay here, and most of them didn’t even like the English. Why, it hadn’t even been that long since the two countries had been at war with each other! So if she ever saw that particular American again, she would be amazed. Every bit of embarrassment she’d felt today over her own behavior would come rushing right back to her—and probably have her acting the fool again.

  Chapter 8

  G ABRIELLE’S NERVES WERE NEARLY SHREDDED by the time they knocked on the door in Berkeley Square. The townhouse was in the upper-crust end of town. It had taken half the morning to find out where the lord lived. Her father certainly hadn’t known, as he hadn’t seen the chap in more than fifteen years. All he knew was that the man had moved back to England quite a few years ago with his son.

  She’d tried to look her best for this meeting, and Margery had helped, getting the wrinkles out of her clothes, but her nervousness was making her feel like she wasn’t up to scratch. And she was cold. Good grief. It was still summer in England! But she was too used to the warmer climate of the Caribbean now, and, unfortunately, her current wardrobe reflected that.

  She had only a few stylish dresses and even those were made of lightweight materials. Long ago she’d tossed away just about her entire wardrobe that she’d left England with, because it was much too warm for the Caribbean. Now her trunks were filled with brightly colored casual skirts and blouses, and not even one petticoat.

  She had a purse full of money for her new wardrobe, but that wasn’t going to help her make a good first impression today. She was hoping no one was home, that the man wasn’t even in England. If Richard and Ohr weren’t with her, she wouldn’t be standing here biting her lip. She would be on the first ship back to St. Kitts.

  The door opened. A servant stood there. Then again, maybe he wasn’t a servant. With a scraggly gray beard, cutoff pants, and bare feet, he looked like he belonged in the islands more than they did.

  “Wot’s it to be then and be quick about it,” he said quite rudely.

  Ohr, without expression, said, “A letter for your master, to be hand delivered. We’ll wait inside.”

  He wasn’t giving the man a chance to disagree. He took Gabrielle’s arm and pushed past the fellow.

  “Now just a bleedin’ minute,” the man protested. “Where’s yer calling card, eh?”

  “The letter is our—”

  “Is there a problem, Artie?”

  All eyes turned to the woman who appeared in one of the open doorways off the long entry hall where they now stood. She was no bigger than Gabrielle, maybe an inch or so shorter, with dark brown hair and eyes. She looked to be somewhere around thirty years of age, with a face that would be exceptionally lovely at any age.

  The three visitors were so taken by her beauty that they were speechless, giving the servant called Artie a chance to say, “They barged in, George, but I’ll be giving them the boot now.”

  The woman—George—tsked and said, “There’s no need for that.” And then she smiled at Gabrielle and added graciously, “I’m Georgina Malory. May I help you?”

  Gabrielle’s embarrassment prevented her from answering. She felt like a bloody beggar. She didn’t care what her father had done to help Lord Malory, it couldn’t be enough of a favor to expect these people to take her in and sponsor her for the Season. And it might even take her two Seasons to find a husband!

  The launching of a debutante was a major undertaking. It required attending party after party, planning, acquiring a new wardrobe, arranging suitable escorts and chaperones. She and her mother had talked about it often—before Carla had met Albert. And Carla had known the right people. She’d been looking forward to her daughter’s Season in London. Gabrielle had, too, back then, and even on the trip here. But now that it was time to call in favors, she just wanted to go back to the Caribbean.

  Richard spoke up with a charming smile, even doffed his jaunty hat for the lady. “We have a letter for Lord Malory, madam. Dare I hope he isn’t your husband?”

  “Yes, I am,” came a deep voice in a distinctly unfriendly tone from the top of the stairs. “So get your eyes off of my wife or I will have to tear you apart limb by limb.”

  Gabrielle glanced up the stairs and actually took a step back toward the door. Good grief, she’d never seen a man quite so solidly built, or so menacing. It wasn’t his unfriendly tone. Not at all. It wasn’t even the lack of expression on his face. There was simply an aura about the man that warned he was dangerous, even deadly…that they should be looking for the nearest exit.

  With no telling expression, the man didn’t appear to be jealous, yet his tone smacked of jealousy. It was regrettable that Richard had posed his question in such a way that implied an interest in the lady, and even more regrettable that her husband had heard him.

  Gabrielle shook her head. No, this couldn’t be the man she was to ask this favor of. There had to be some kind of mistake on her father’s part. Of course! There must be more than one Lord Malory in London. They’d come to the wrong house.

  That thought gave her such relief; she was about to say so when Ohr said, “We meet again, Captain Hawke. It has been so many years, you may not remember—”

  “I never forget a face.”

  Gabrielle turned to give Ohr a surprised look. Blast it, so they did have the right house. But Ohr could have told her what the man was like instead of mentioning fops to mislead her. And she didn
’t doubt Malory had been just like this when Ohr had met him all those years ago. Dangerous just didn’t go away.

  “We don’t use that name anymore,” Malory continued coldly. “So strike it from your memory, or I will.”

  That was clearly a threat, the second one in as many minutes. If the first hadn’t produced a reaction in her two escorts, this second one certainly did. The tension was now palpable in all three men.

  Of all the ways Gabrielle had envisioned this meeting going, this wasn’t one of them. But then she’d had a completely different view of English aristocrats. She’d met many over the years growing up, and not one of them had been the least bit intimidating. This man was more than intimidating. Big, blond, and so muscular it wouldn’t take much for him to tear someone limb by limb.

  Malory continued down the stairs. Gabrielle was ready to leave before any more threats were uttered. Ohr wasn’t. He didn’t mention the letter, but he shoved it at the man when he was within reach.

  She groaned inwardly. She knew she should have kept that letter herself, instead of letting Ohr carry it. It was sealed. None of them had opened it. She didn’t even know how her father had phrased his request—as a favor, or a demand? Good grief, he wouldn’t have dared make a demand of a man like this, would he?

  She held her breath while Lord Malory opened the letter and scanned it quickly. “Bloody hell,” he muttered when he was done. Gabrielle was mortified.

  “What is it, James?” his wife asked, frowning curiously.

  He said nothing, merely handed the letter to her so she could see for herself. She didn’t utter any oaths. In fact, she amazed Gabrielle by smiling.

  “Why, this sounds like fun,” Georgina declared, and it looked like she actually meant it. She then glanced at her husband. “Didn’t you read it all?”