The Captain's Pearl

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “This is my fault, Hyett,” Bryce replied. “Lianne and I were discussing the repairs of the China Shadow, and the time slipped away.”

  “Yes … yes, of course,” he answered, stepping aside to let them enter.

  “Good night, Captain,” Lianne murmured as Hyett disappeared into the shadows.

  “Lianne … Lianne, look at me please.” He hated the entreaty in his voice almost as much as he hated his ship’s fate being in her slim hands. “I need to know. Are you going to authorize the overhaul of the China Shadow?”

  “I don’t know. I need to see her in the daylight. I shall see you at eight on the China Shadow’s deck.”

  “Eight? Faith, it’s nearly three now. I won’t be able to think straight without some sleep.”

  “Maybe that is not a bad thing, because then you won’t be able to twist everything I say.”

  “Or maybe I will be unable to think straight and do this.” He tugged her into his arms and captured her mouth. The rumble of need in him became a thunder as her pliant breasts brushed his chest. His hand slipped up her back to her nape. Why did she wear her hair in this absurd chignon when he longed to see it loose around her, as it had been when he held her in that brothel?

  For a moment, her lips softened beneath his. Then she ripped herself out of his arms. Her hand struck his face. As she backed toward the stairs, her eyes burned like the blue depths of a flame.

  “Don’t ever do that again,” she whispered. “I am going to marry Weston.”

  “Then you are a little fool.”

  “Not as foolish as you, if you think you can seduce me into giving you what you want.”

  “Do you think this is about the ship?” He tugged her back to him and kissed her hard. When she struggled to escape, he released her. “Then you are more foolish than even I had guessed.”

  He strode out, not slamming the door because he did not want to disturb Captain Catherwood. He paused at the edge of the porch. His fingers curled into fists as they longed to stroke her soft skin again.

  Even before he first had seen her, he had known that Lianne was trouble. He just never had guessed how much.

  Nine

  The days until the ball sped by so quickly that Lianne did not have time to think of Captain Trevarian’s bold kiss—or her reaction to it. How could she have enjoyed it—even for a second?

  She could not avoid him, for she visited the China Shadow every day to gather information for her father. Each time, others were aboard the ship, so Captain Trevarian treated her with the respect due the daughter of the owner of the Shadow Line. Walking by her side on the deck as he pointed out the answers to her father’s questions as well as her own, he never touched her.

  Despite Captain Trevarian’s cooperation, she came home from each meeting shaking as if with a fever. She was so unsettled during the meetings that she had trouble concentrating on anything he said. More than once she found her mind adrift as she imagined how his lips had seared hers.

  She longed to complain to someone, but whom? Great-Aunt Tildy would be shocked if Lianne spoke of her longing for Captain Trevarian’s kisses. Weston’s reaction would be fury. As for her father, Lianne could not guess what he might do or say.

  Frowning as she dropped her ball gown over her head, she stood still so her maid Iris could hook her up. Samuel Catherwood had changed since the return of the China Shadow. She had never seen him so happy. During the past few days, he had spent hours shut away with the captains of his ships. For the past week, he had found everything entertaining. He teased her and Great-Aunt Tildy until they were weak with laughter. She had to admit that she was delighted with the change.

  Only on one matter had he been serious. That was the topic which had been debated throughout the village for months and would be answered when he announced at the ball his plans for the future of the Shadow Line. He refused to tell her, but she was sure he was doing what he thought best.

  “Miss Lianne, stop wiggling!”

  Glancing over her shoulder bared by the stylish cut of her gown, she said, “I am wondering if I should have put on the corset.”

  “You don’t need to wear it.” Iris hooked up the pearl buttons on the white brocade gown decorated with ivory roses. “If the doctor insists his wife wear a thing like that, you’d best set him to rights. A man could span your waist with his hands, just as he said.”

  Lianne had been adjusting the hint of lacy sleeves along her shoulder, but froze. “When did Weston say something like that?”

  “Dr. Newberry?” Iris laughed. “Not him, Miss Lianne. ’Twas Cap’n Trevarian who said that.”

  “Captain Trevarian?” She whirled in a rush of starched petticoats. “Now I understand why it sounded so vulgar. What made you suspect that I cared about anything he says?”

  Iris smiled broadly. “You speak about him all the time. ‘Cap’n Trevarian says this’ and ‘Cap’n Trevarian did that.’ All the time.” She wagged a finger at Lianne. “If you want my advice, watch what you say around the doctor. He ain’t been looking too happy since the cap’n came home.”

  “That is absurd!” Lianne pinned white roses in her hair and peered into the mirror. She saw her own doubts displayed on her face.

  “Men get jealous just like women do.”

  “Jealous? Weston has no reason to be jealous.”

  “You have been spending a good deal of time with Captain Trevarian on that ship.”

  “To decide if we should repair it!”

  “You needn’t explain to me,” she retorted.

  Lianne pulled on her lacy gloves to cover how her hands shook. “Weston has no reason to be concerned about Captain Trevarian.”

  Without giving Iris a chance to answer, Lianne hurried down the stairs, to where the parlors had been emptied of furniture. She had no time to look about before the door bell was cranked.

  She rushed to answer the door, for she guessed Hyett would be busy giving last minute instructions. When she opened it, her smile widened—or she hoped it did, for she did not want Weston to think she was dismayed over anything tonight.

  His black evening coat was cut away to reveal the sharp pleats of his trousers. His white shirt was closed with a perfectly tied cravat. The gold chain of his pocket watch reached into the pocket of his white satin waistcoat.

  “For you, Lianne,” Weston said, as he offered her a small box.

  She opened it. A gasp escaped as she saw the brooch setting on a piece of gold velvet. It was a rose cameo of her.

  He chuckled as he lifted it from the rich fabric and pinned it to her dress. His fingers lingered against her collar. “Beautiful like the woman it dares to try to portray.”

  She touched it. “But how?”

  “I described you to the artist, my dear Lianne. Your face I know well. I await the moment when I know the rest of you as well.”

  “Weston!” She stepped away from his fingers that were stroking her too familiarly. She did not want him to guess how confused she was. Why did the simple brush of Bryce Trevarian’s hand against hers inflame her desires more than Weston’s bold caress?

  The arrival of her father in his wheeled chair kept her from having to devise a lie to cover her uneven emotions. As she watched Weston talk with Father, she wondered how neither of them could not suspect her uncertainty. She loved Weston!

  Didn’t she?

  She had no time to answer that as she stood between her father and Weston in the reception line and greeted the guests. Only as the line dwindled did she realize she had not seen the man who had ruined the most wonderful night of her life without even being present.

  A glass of cool punch was pressed into her hand, and her face threatened to crack as she smiled. Knowing the hand beneath her elbow belonged to Weston, she allowed him to do most of the talking.

  “Shall we dance, my dear?” Weston asked.

  “Dance?”

  “Lianne, are you unwell?”

  She gulped. If she told him that she felt ill, she w
ondered if he would suggest that they retire to her private rooms where he could determine what was wrong. She feared how that examination would end. A shiver etched along her.

  Guilt raised her voice. “I’m fine, Weston. Of course, we must dance. After all, that’s what this is, isn’t it? A dance, I mean.” Knowing she was babbling, she forced another smile.

  Regarding her with vexation, he led her out to where the guests were waiting for them to begin the dancing. She saw her father nod to the orchestra leader while Weston’s hand slipped around her waist. She offered him her right hand as she lifted her skirts exactly as M. DuPont, the dance instructor at the Boston School for Ladies, had instructed.

  The music floated around them, but, more than once, she stumbled over Weston’s feet. He frowned at her, and she knew she would be foolish to tell him that he should watch where he was going. Somehow she managed to get through the dance. And the next with one of the guests. And the one following that. She danced with more than a half dozen partners, speaking to them, smiling politely, and being the perfect hostess. As she clapped at the end of the dance, she begged her partner’s indulgence, mumbling an excuse about seeing to something. All she wanted was to have a few moments to calm herself.

  “The captain puts on a dandy of a party,” rumbled Captain Trevarian’s voice from behind her.

  She looked up at Captain Trevarian. Other voices vanished. The music muted to a whisper. As she stared at Captain Trevarian, who looked breathtakingly handsome in his black evening coat, cutaway to accent his strong chest, she tried to think of something to say.

  When he took her hand and wrapped his other arm around her waist, her feet matched his graceful movements. He waltzed with the same ease as he crossed the heaving deck of his ship.

  “Being quiet isn’t like you, blue eyes,” Captain Trevarian whispered.

  “I might be waiting for you to ask me to dance.”

  “Why? We are dancing.”

  “A lady likes to be asked.”

  He grinned with a leer that did not match his elegant white cravat. “If I was going to waste my breath asking you anything, blue eyes, it wouldn’t be to dance.”

  “You are despicable!” She started to pull away, but his arm tightened. On each step, his leg brushed hers. Although separated from him by layers of wool, silk, and starched muslin, her skin tingled. “Captain, I am sure it will do no good to ask you to excuse me.”

  “No.”

  “Then I shouldn’t waste my breath.”

  “Not on this.”

  Again heat soared through her. She wished she could ignore the images he created with so few words. If only she had not let him kiss her.… She did not want to think of those times when she had been ready to cede her soul to his black heart in exchange for rapture.

  When she did not answer, Captain Trevarian continued, “Your father has had you educated well in American life, I see.”

  “I am an American now.”

  “Is there nothing left of the Lian who would have been shocked to be held by a man beyond her family?”

  She kept her voice low. “Father wants me to be an American, so I’ve tried to please him.”

  “I am sure you have.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He whirled her closer. As his leg touched hers again through her skirts, a flare of ungovernable need leapt along her. In her depths, a flame flickered, growing stronger each time his leg stroked hers.

  “My dear Lianne,” he whispered, his mouth against her ear, “I know you have considered what the future holds for the daughter of Stormhaven’s wealthiest citizen. With that reward, why not alter every bit of yourself to please your father?”

  “You are utterly despicable!” Aware of the eyes on them, she backed away and fled. She knew everyone was watching, but only Captain Trevarian’s gaze burned into her heart.

  As she glanced back to see Captain Trevarian still in the middle of the room, she knew he had come here for some reason, but what?

  “Where is your father, Lianne?”

  She whirled, but smiled weakly at Weston. “Over there.” Pointing to the opposite side of the crowded parlor, she watched her father’s forceful motions as he spoke to the owner of a fleet of whalers out of New Bedford. “I think he and Mr. Diamond are swapping stories.”

  “Good.”

  “Excuse me?” She wondered if Weston was trying to be obtuse tonight or if it was as simple as her brain was mired in confusion. Why was Captain Trevarian here?

  He started to speak, then lifted her fingers to his lips. “Shall we go outside? I would like to have a chance to enjoy a cigar.”

  “Yes, let’s go outside,” she murmured, although she wished he would not light up an odious cheroot. She would endure that odor to escape the house and give herself a chance to think.

  They went toward the French doors opening onto the terrace and the gardens beyond. More than once, they were stopped by a guest. Weston cut each conversation short without appearing to be in a hurry.

  Moonlight washed across the slate terrace, leaving the stones a hueless gray. As they wandered to the far end where a bench was set beneath an arch of cedar, the music and voices from the house became a soft rumble.

  Weston lit his cigar while she sat. Puffing on it, he put one foot on the bench. “Has your father told you what he plans to say about the Shadow Line this evening?”

  “No, he has said nothing.”

  “But, Lianne, you must have some idea of what he intends to say.”

  Waving aside the bluish smoke of his cigar, she said, “Father has kept his decision to himself.”

  “Damn,” he growled. He tapped the ashes onto the glistening stones.

  Rising, she put her hand on his arm. She was shocked that it twitched with suppressed emotions. Or was it her fingers that shook?

  Another form appeared out of the dusk.

  “Captain Trevarian!” She had not guessed that he would follow them out onto the terrace. When she saw he held his pipe, she realized he might have come out here for the same reason Weston had. Of course, he might be using the pipe as an excuse. She hoped he would exhibit some restraint, for she could see other forms moving through the darkness beyond the doors.

  Bryce said, “Good evening, Lianne.”

  When Newberry bristled at his informality, Bryce faced him. In the dark, Newberry’s tight curls resembled a blackberry. “I didn’t think you would be out here, Newberry, when you could be paying court on Captain Catherwood in a last ditch effort to gain control of the Shadow Line.”

  “That decision has been made already,” he said stiffly.

  Bryce did not miss the doctor’s covetous hold on Lianne’s arm. “I am quite aware of that.”

  “Are you?”

  “Captain Catherwood sought my opinion on the Shadow Line’s future.”

  “He did?” gasped Lianne.

  Smiling at her, Bryce said, “Yes, he did. He is aware as an employee”—his smile broadened—“and as a backer, I have a deep interest in its future.”

  “So you know what he decided?” demanded Newberry.

  “Perhaps.”

  “So will you tell us?”

  “What is your hurry, Newberry? Are you worried Captain Catherwood might not be bequeathing the Shadow Line to his bastard half-breed daughter?”

  Rage seared Lianne’s throat.

  When she was about to retort in a manner Great-Aunt Tildy would have found scandalous, Weston said, “Trevarian, you are squandering your time with this uncouth behavior. I am well aware of the Catherwood situation.”

  “I bet you are at that!”

  Weston drew Lianne’s hand onto his arm. “If it is any of your business, sir, which seems unlikely, I can tell you that the captain has arranged to have his attorney meet with me tomorrow. It matters little what is announced tonight or what the lawyer tells me”—he smiled at Lianne—“What he tells us. Lianne is the woman I intend to marry, no matter what.”

  “‘No matter
what?’ That is generous of you, Newberry. You would love her, of course, if Captain Catherwood leaves the line to her.” He raised a hand. “You need not answer that. And you would love her if she was not worth a copper penny.”

  Weston smiled at Lianne and squeezed her hand. “Yes, of course I would.”

  “You don’t mind that your children will be one quarter Chinese?”

  Lianne’s face grew cold. “Captain Trevarian, we have heard enough of your bigoted opinions.”

  Leaning his shoulder against a tree, he smiled at the eavesdroppers who were gathering around them. “Is that so? One last query then, Newberry, if I may be so ungracious.”

  “Yes?” returned Weston impatiently.

  “You said you would marry her no matter what?”

  “Weston has spoken from the heart,” Lianne said, “which is more than I am sure you have ever done.” She swallowed the tears thickening in her throat. She had let him tease her heart too many times. She would never trust him again.

  His grin lasted only a second before he turned to Weston. “I am glad to hear she has been honest with you, Newberry, although I admit it is a surprise that you want to marry her after she told you about her work in a Cantonese brothel.”

  Lianne gasped, but the sound was swallowed by eager murmurs from the guests who were listening. Her fingers were crushed beneath Weston’s hand. Knowing she must say something … anything … she could not speak.

  Weston asked in a choked voice, “He is lying, isn’t he?”

  As she looked at Weston’s colorless face, she considered lying. Her gaze was caught again by Captain Trevarian’s. What would he do if she did not speak the truth?

  Taking a shallow breath, she said, “No, Weston, he’s not lying. My uncle sold me to a brothel.”

  “As a servant?”

  Forced slavery in what he considered a barbaric land was something he could accept. She could hear him urging her to share her tale with the abolitionists’ society. He would be proud of her for overcoming captivity.

  Again she looked at Captain Trevarian. He was waiting for her to deny what only the two of them knew was the truth. Then he would denounce her as a liar.