Caught by the Scot

  The sea rocked the boat, the waves beguiling. Conner sighed and wished again that he could talk to Anna.

  “Cap’n?” Ferguson peered in the open doorway, clutching a small leather book. “Here’s the captain’s diary from the Frolic. Cap’n Jessup said you’d be expecting it.”

  “I am. Please put it on the desk.” Conner clasped his hands behind him and turned back to the window. He was almost lost again in his own thoughts when Ferguson cleared his throat.

  Stifling a sigh, Conner turned a wary eye on his first mate. “What is it?”

  “The men and I . . . we was just—” The grizzled old man straightened his shoulders. “We’ve been noticing you seem a bit preoccupied. And we think we know why.”

  “Do you?” Conner said in a warning tone.

  Ferguson ignored it. “Aye—Miss Cumberbatch-Snowe.” Conner’s irritation must have shown, for the old seaman threw up his hands. “Easy now, Cap’n. Dinnae fire on a mon merely for noticing how the tide was turnin’.”

  “I was nae going to fire on you,” Conner said stiffly. “Miss Cumberbatch-Snowe and I are none of your concern. We’re . . . talking.”

  Ferguson didn’t look convinced. “Aboot what, might I ask?”

  “You may nae!”

  “If you dinnae talk, Cap’n, you’ll explode with it. You’ve been pursuing the lass from one side of England to the other side of Scotland, and you dinnae seem to be making headway.”

  Which was irritatingly true, dammit.

  “Fine. If you must know, I’ve asked her repeatedly to be my wife, and she refuses.” God, it hurt to even say that aloud.

  “Still?” At Conner’s hot glare, Ferguson flushed, but continued. “And your inheritance?”

  “Damn the inheritance; I dinnae care if I ever see a groat of it. This is aboot the lady and naught else. I want to marry her because—” I can’t live without her. The words echoed in his head so loudly that for a horrified second, he thought he’d said them aloud. But a quick glance at Ferguson’s face consoled him—the old man didn’t look the least shocked. Conner, on the other hand, was very much so.

  He loved her. Loved her deeply and thoroughly and with every breath in his body. Bloody hell, when did that happen? It seemed like she’d always been in his life, reliably there on the edge of it, and he’d just taken her—and his own feelings—for granted.

  Conner crossed his arms over his chest, feeling as if he’d made a priceless discovery of some sort. He wasn’t sure how he felt about his new realization, but he certainly wasn’t about to discuss it with Ferguson. “It’s neither here nor there. She’ll nae have me, but I’ve nae given oop.” By God, I will never give up.

  Ferguson scratched his chin. “Pardon me, Cap’n, but has she ever told you why she dinnae wish to marry you?”

  “Aye, ’tis the usual nonsense. Because I’ll always be away at sea whilst she’s left at home alone, which is ridiculous. I would nae be gone all the time. I’d be home a week or two every couple of months.”

  “Hmm.” Ferguson pursed his lips. “Our last venture had us oot to sea for five months.”

  “Aye, but we were in the Indies. And we only went because we’d heard aboot that fleet of Portuguese merchant ships.”

  “A worthwhile prize, Cap’n. But it was five months.”

  Conner scowled. “The venture before that was only a month long.”

  “True. But the one right before that, where we visited Cairo and swung by Venice, was four months and three weeks. I remember because MacLeish’s daughter was born whilst we were gone, and he’d nae thought we’d be oot to sea so long. He was counting doon the days by tying knots in a rope.” Ferguson sent Conner a side look, then shook his head sadly. “Poor woman, his wife. I feel for her, I do. Nae woman should be alone at such a time.”

  Conner scowled. “MacLeish never mentioned that to me.”

  “He’s a quiet sort. Does what you tell him, and dinnae offer any complaint. Or much of anything else, now that I think on it.”

  “Think elsewhere,” Conner said shortly. “We’ve work to do.”

  “Aye, aye, Cap’n. I’m off to find lodgings for the men of the Spirit. Their ship has the most damage and they’ll nae be able to stay aboard like the others.”

  “Send them to Dunskey House. They can stay in the two crofters’ cottages in the back field. The cottages will need to be cleared and beds found, so take enough men to make it happen.”

  “Very guid, Cap’n.”

  Ferguson left, and Conner turned back to the wide bay window. His gaze moved from Dunskey House, down the cliffs, to the deep blue sea below. Waves crashed and rolled, slicing themselves upon the rocky cliff wall, beckoning him. And he felt the longing and deep restlessness he always did when he was on land and the sea called. Soon, he told himself, and some of the tightness in his chest eased. He loved the sea. She was his home—

  He frowned. That’s what Thea said. He’d never thought about it before; it just was. He was home here on ship. He thrived in the excitement of chasing their quarry across the unpredictable sea, enjoyed the camaraderie of being part of a well-functioning crew, and was thrilled to bring home prizes. It was who he was.

  Dunskey was merely a chest to hold his non-seaworthy things. Yet the idea of being at sea while Thea waited on shore—he already ached at the thought of never seeing her. Leaving her behind was no more palatable to him than it was to her.

  He looked back at the house. Those four walls held Thea, and he was swept with the desire to go there now and be with her. She won’t be there for long. Once Jane has healed, Thea will leave and Dunskey will be empty once again.

  He cursed under his breath. There had to be a way around this, a way to— Suddenly he straightened. Could he . . .

  Good God, did he dare?

  He turned and looked out at his fleet. Maybe, just maybe . . . He spun from the window and stalked back to his desk, where he gathered his ledgers and the logbooks of every ship he owned. And then he sat down and pored over them long after the sky had darkened.

  28

  Eight courses—very impressive!” Theodora handed the evening’s dinner menu back to Mrs. MacAuley.

  “As it’s to be Miss Simmons’s first foray oot of the sickroom, I thought we should celebrate a bit.”

  “Are you certain Cook can prepare all that? He normally runs the galley on one of Conner’s ships. I wouldn’t think he’d know how to make turtle soup.”

  “He knows, for he drew oop the menu himself. Mr. Douglas dinnae travel like other privateers. He’s civilized.”

  In some ways, yes, while in others— Theodora hid a pleasurable shiver. “I’m glad you have Cook to help in the kitchens.”

  Mrs. MacAuley beamed. “I should nae say anything, but oh, miss! The day before yesterday, the master stopped me in the hall and gave me an extra two hundred and fifty pounds for the household budget.”

  “Excellent!” Theodora had known Conner had been in the house, and she’d kept herself tucked away with Jane so that she wouldn’t have to see him alone. Temptation, thy name is Conner.

  “But there’s more.” Mrs. MacAuley looked as if she might burst with pride. “He said he was going to put Dunskey to rights! He said that as soon as his fleet was back in good fettle, he’d send more workmen here to finish oop repairs on the house.”

  Theodora moistened her dry lips. “Did he say why he was doing that?”

  “He just said it was time.”

  “Do you—” The words caught in Theodora’s throat and she had to swallow before she could speak again. “Do you think he’ll stay here, then? Live here?”

  Mrs. MacAuley’s expression dimmed a bit. “Nae. I heard Spencer and the others saying two of the ships are nigh ready to sail again, and the cap’n has been after them to finish the rest, for he’s anxious to be off.”

  “So he’s leaving again.” And when he did, he’d take her heart with him. Theodora pretended to examine her cuff as she hid a sudden spate of tears.
br />   “Aye. But at least Dunskey will be left in better fettle than before.”

  “Good. I’m glad he’s taking his stewardship of the house more seriously.” Sadder than she’d ever been before, Theodora glanced at the clock. “I must go see Miss Jane. Lance has been reading to her for almost two hours now. He will be hoarse, do I not return.”

  “Yes, miss.” With a quick curtsy, Mrs. MacAuley left.

  Theodora made her way to Jane’s room, her slippers silent on the thick carpets. Outside the room she found Alice asleep at her post, a candelabra and a polishing rag resting in her lap. Theodora tiptoed past the sleeping maid. “Jane, I—”

  Lance stood with his arms around Jane, his hands sunk in her hair, his mouth over hers. He immediately broke the embrace and stepped away, looking both flushed and pleased.

  Theodora blinked. “Oops.”

  Jane hid her face in her hands, gasping “No!” over and over.

  Stifling a laugh, Theodora closed the door and leaned against it. “You two!”

  “Please!” Jane threw out a hand, keeping her eyes covered with the other. “Don’t say it! We shouldn’t have—”

  “No, you should have. I’m just surprised it took you so long.”

  Jane dropped her hand from her eyes. “Theodora! You’re not angry?”

  “Not even a little.” She looked at Lance. “I take it you haven’t told her?”

  His face red, he gave an awkward laugh. “I was going to, but then she looked at me in such a way that I couldn’t help but kiss her—” He looked at Jane, his face aglow with wonder. “I tried to resist you.”

  “But you didn’t,” Jane said mournfully. “And you’re engaged to Theodora! Lance, we—”

  “Actually, I’m not.”

  Jane’s eyes widened. “But . . . Theodora, when—what—”

  Theodora laughed. “It’s true. Lance and I ended our engagement before we arrived at Dunskey.”

  “But you never said a word to anyone!”

  “It’s a complicated story, one I’m sure Lance will share with you.” Theodora smiled, some of her own sadness dissolving in the happiness that shone from her friends’ faces. “In the meantime, there’s something I must do, so if you two don’t mind, I’ll leave you alone to discuss your future.”

  Without waiting for another word, she took her leave, trying not to feel too envious of the happiness that filled the room behind her.

  “She is an angel!” Lance, bright with love, strode across the sitting room after the celebration dinner. Jane had excused herself after the final course, saying she was tired, and had left Lance to Theodora’s company.

  He grinned at her now. “I’ve never felt so— She’s just the most— I’m the most fortunate man in the world!”

  Theodora found his enthusiasm charming. “Your mother and sisters will welcome Jane far quicker than they would have welcomed me.”

  “Oh yes.” He flushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean they wouldn’t have welcomed you. They would welcome any woman I took to wife, but you are—” He grimaced. “I should stop speaking, shouldn’t I?”

  Theodora laughed. “Yes, please do.”

  “You will come to the wedding, won’t you? Jane says you must.”

  “Nothing could keep me away. I predict a very happy future for you both.”

  Lance beamed. “She is everything.” His gaze moved to Theodora, and his smile faded. “But . . . what about you?”

  “Me?” She paused. “I don’t know.”

  Lance drew up a chair and took her hand between his own. “We must talk about Conner Douglas.”

  She quickly stood. “No.”

  “We must. I’m responsible for you being here. And I’ve been watching you lately, which is why I must ask about Conner. You’re avoiding him. Is there a reason?”

  She sighed, but sat down again.

  “You love him.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Lance raised his brows.

  Theodora threw up a hand. “Fine. I do. I have for a long time. But it’s useless; he will never settle down and marry. He’s said as much, although he didn’t need to, for I already knew it.”

  “I see.” Lance sighed. “Then there’s no hope? You’re certain of it?”

  “I am.”

  “Then that makes what I have to say all the easier. Jane and I are leaving in the morning, and we want you to go with us. In fact, we insist.”

  Theodora frowned. “You already discussed this?”

  Lance flushed. “We consider you one of our dearest friends and . . . well, it’s obvious something happened between you and Conner.”

  Theodora sighed. “We must ask the doctor if Jane can travel.”

  “I did, this afternoon. So long as she avoids damp drafts, he thinks she will benefit from going home.”

  “To her home? You’re not taking her to Poston?”

  “After the wedding, which will be as soon as possible. But you can’t stay here once we leave; it wouldn’t be proper.” When she started to speak, he threw up his hand. “And don’t say your reputation is already ruined by our elopement, for Jane and I have a solution for that, as well. We’ll tell people I was eloping with Jane, and that you came as her chaperone.”

  “But Jane—”

  “Is getting married to me. No one will say a word, and if they do, we’re fairly sure her sister-in-law would crush such rumors before they’re even uttered. She’s very protective of her own reputation and is quite a formidable woman.”

  Theodora paused. That would indeed work—not that it mattered. Since she wasn’t going to marry Conner, she wouldn’t marry anyone.

  But Lance was right about one thing—it was time to leave. She managed a smile. Though her heart ached at the realization that she’d never see Conner again, it had to be so, for her own peace of mind if not his. “It’s decided, then. I’ll go with you.”

  Looking pleased, Lance stood. “Excellent! I wish to leave at eight sharp, as we’ll need to stop several times along the way. Jane will need to rest frequently.”

  “Of course.”

  “We’re settled, then. I’ll go tell Jane.” With a ridiculously pleased grin, he left.

  Theodora sank back into her chair, the house quiet. Conner was still with his men on his ship and, as he’d done every night since his fleet had returned to port, would not return until late.

  Although the fire crackled loudly, and the house was still filled with the delicate scent of their excellent dinner, Theodora shivered at the emptiness. This would be her last night here. Her last night with Conner, although he wouldn’t know that. He’d come back late, and she’d leave early in the morning, and they would never see one another again.

  Tears blurred her vision, and she picked up a decorative pillow and hugged it, resting her cheek on the silky surface. She had to at least say good-bye. Sighing heavily, she curled into the wide winged armchair and watched the fire.

  29

  Conner locked the front door, the bolt loud in the silent house. Sighing, he leaned against the door and tugged off his gloves, tossing them with his hat onto a side table. God, he was tired, but also quietly ebullient. His plans were coming together, and while he was anxious about the outcome, if he could pull it off, it would all be worthwhile.

  The clock chimed midnight. Thea will be asleep now.

  He sighed and walked toward the stairs. He’d almost reached them when a sound from the sitting room made him turn.

  He went to the door, and walked inside. Curled in a chair, her cheek on a red silk pillow, Thea slept. He crossed to stand beside her, noting how young she appeared, her hand trustingly open on the arm of the chair, her thick lashes resting on the crescent of her cheeks, her lips parted.

  God, but he loved her mouth. And her hair, which curled so beguilingly against her creamy skin. And her— Damn, I love everything about her.

  He brushed a curl from her cheek, and she frowned, independent even in her sleep.

  Smiling, he slid
an arm under her knees and another behind her back, and lifted her, one of her slippers dropping to the rug.

  Her eyes fluttered opened and she gasped, slipping an arm around his neck. “Conner?”

  “You fell asleep in the sitting room, so I’m putting you to bed.” He carried her from the room. “You lost your slipper, by the way.”

  “I know. My toes feel the cold.” She rested her cheek against his shoulder and closed her eyes.

  “They’ll be warmer in your bed.” They’d be even warmer in mine. He tamped the thought down and carried her up the stairs. “You’re spending too much time watching over our patient.”

  “Lance has spent more time in the sickroom than I. And Jane is much improved. She joined us for dinner tonight.”

  He took the steps slowly; it was heaven holding her in his arms. “I’m glad she’s doing well.”

  “Me, too.” Thea placed her hand on his cheek.

  He stopped and looked down at her. Her gaze locked with his, and desire flickered in the chocolate depths. Conner recognized it because he suffered from the same condition. Even now, his groin ached with the need to feel her, to join her and— I cannot think like that.

  He reached her bedchamber and pushed open the door. The room was dark except for the light from the flickering fire. He’d taken only one step inside when she murmured, “Close the door.”

  He stopped and looked down at her. “Thea . . . are you sure?”

  She met his gaze steadily. “Positive.”

  His heart leapt eagerly, and he closed the door with his hip. The latch slid into place with a click, and he carried her to her bed.

  Unwilling to release her, he stood holding her. She was so warm in his arms, her curves soft and beckoning, while her silken hair smelled of lily and rose. He tightened his hold. “I dinnae wish to let you go.”

  “Then don’t.” She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, “At least not tonight.”

  His heart thrummed madly as she slowly slid her hand from his heart to his neck, and then his chin, her eyes locking with his as she whispered, “We know one another so well. We should see where this”—she slid her fingers over his mouth, sending a throb of desire through him—“passion takes us.”