Rogue of the High Seas

by Cynthia Breeding

  Neither Shane nor Owen looked happy, which almost made her laugh aloud, but she sobered when Robert abruptly turned his attention to Colette, saying something in French that made her smile.

  “I hope ye enjoy this afternoon,” Shauna said to Abigail the next day as they waited in the parlor for Owen to arrive with the carriage. “I doona want to encourage a courtship.”

  “I intend to enjoy every minute,” Abigail replied, placidly smoothing her skirt, “and you do not have to worry about encouraging a relationship. I told Shane last night that I intend to accompany you whenever you go out with Owen.”

  “I guess I should be grateful for that,” Shauna said grudgingly.

  “It really is the perfect way to escape the house.” Abigail smiled. “I told Shane since Owen had lived in London, he would be aware of society’s rules. If we allowed you to leave unchaperoned with him, he might think he was free to take advantage. Shane could not argue with that.”

  “Ye did well,” Shauna said. Unfortunately, Shane would probably use the same argument to prevent her from being alone with Robert also. Not that Robert had made any effort to be alone with her, she reminded herself. He’d excused himself last night as soon as dinner was over, not lingering over brandy and cigars. “I doona think Shane was pleased with ye leaving the house though.”

  “He was not, but I told him fresh air would do me good.”

  “And he agreed?”

  Abigail giggled. “Well, he did after I showed him how…er, good I could be.”

  “Ah. Was that why ye were late breaking your fast this morning?”

  “Hmmm. Perhaps.”

  “’Tis obvious the two of ye love each other. I am happy for ye.”

  Abigail gave her an inquiring look. “Are you sure you and Owen would not suit? He seemed sincere last night.”

  “Owen wants a wife who willnae argue with him.” Shauna leaned down and lifted a corner of her skirt to expose a sgian dubh strapped to her calf. “Nae one who carries a blade either.”

  “Goodness. How long have you had that?” Abigail asked, her eyes rounding.

  “Since I was old enough to warrant interest from men,” Shauna answered and lowered her skirt. “Ian taught Fiona and me how to use the weapon. Ye should have Shane teach ye.”

  “I…I am not sure I want to.”

  “Well, think on it,” Shauna replied. “Owen would probably tell me nae to wear it since he only wants a wife who will keep his house in order and give him bairns.”

  Abigail put a hand on her abdomen. “I think all men want that.”

  “Aye. I doona object to it, but I want…more.”

  “More?”

  “I want a mon who will discuss things with me, who will let me help him with business matters and nae tell me doona fash about such things. I want a mon who will let me use my brain and be proud of me for it—nae ashamed that I am a…what did they call you in London?”

  “A bluestocking.”

  “’Tis an odd thing to be called, but aye, I would rather be called that than thought of as a hare-brained lass.”

  Abigail smiled. “Actually, the term came about when men and women began meeting in private homes during the mid-1700s to discuss music and art and literature. They decided to dress comfortably and wear blue woolen country stockings instead of formal hosiery—”

  “Ye see?” Shauna interrupted. “How many people would ken that kind of information? Or even find it interesting? But ye do, and Shane would too.” Shauna sighed. “I just want a mon who likes me as I am and nae what he wants me to be.”

  Abigail studied her. “And I suspect you want a man who makes you tingle all over when he touches you as well.”

  Shauna’s face heated. “Well, if bedding is a part of marriage—”

  “It definitely is,” Abigail said and then creased her brow. “Owen does not make you tingle, does he?”

  Shauna shook her head silently.

  “And Robert does?”

  Her cheeks grew hotter and Shauna looked at the floor. If she were that transparent to both Shane and Abigail, did everyone else see it? Good Lord. Did Robert? She felt as though flames might leap off her face at any moment. Luckily, Kyla popped her head in the door to tell them Owen had arrived and Shauna was spared an answer.

  Or so she thought.

  “Well then,” Abigail said brightly as they walked toward the foyer, “we will just have to do something to make that work, won’t we?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Robert was beginning to wonder how much of a bigger fool he could be. Why in the hell had he changed his mind and told Colette at the dinner Saturday night that she could start his portrait next week? MacLean holding Shauna’s hand—or more precisely, her allowing the pompous ass to do it—had made Robert’s blood nearly boil. He’d never experienced jealousy before, and he’d reacted before his brain had reengaged.

  To compound his idiocy, he’d come down to the office this morning instead of going straight to Leith to work on his ship. He’d told himself he needed to settle the account for his lumber with Albert, but it was Shauna he wanted to see. He’d spent most of yesterday thinking—torturing—himself about the carriage ride MacLean had taken with her. Where had they gone? How long were they gone? Had the man sat beside her in the carriage or on the opposite seat? At least they’d been chaperoned. He could have kissed Abigail for that, but MacLeod probably would have put him on his arse if he’d even attempted to kiss her hand. But the idea that hovered like an albatross over Robert—the one that kept whirling inside his head with hurricane force—was whether Shauna had enjoyed the day. And even if she didn’t, MacLean had said it was only a matter of time. Would she succumb?

  And worse—the fact that pierced Robert’s mind like a sharpened rapier—was he had no right to interfere. Yet, here he was in the office.

  Fool. Fool. Fool.

  The object of his torture for the past twenty-four hours appeared to be tackling something in the far corner, although all he could see was her lovely rump invitingly thrust out as she bent over. Amorous thoughts leapt to the forefront of his brain. He forced himself to remain in place, lucid enough to remember Albert sat at the desk, watching him.

  “Ummph!” Shauna muttered as she staggered backward, dragging a box, and then, “Arrgh!” as she bowled over and landed on that lovely rump.

  It took Robert’s befuddled mind a moment to tell his feet to move. He rounded the counter, nearly ramming into Albert to get to Shauna.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, kneeling down beside her.

  She looked up at him, a smudge of dust on her nose and a streak of dirt on her cheek. Much of her hair had come loose from her braid, the strands sticking out in different directions like so many coiled springs. She looked adorable, especially since she started blushing.

  “I am fine. Just clumsy.”

  He wanted to put his hands on her waist and lift her up, but Albert stood watching, so he contented himself with offering his hand instead. Feeling her soft, warm fingers practically undid him. God Almighty. If such a small gesture could make his ballocks tighten, he really needed to stay away from her. He had been a fool to come down here this morning.

  Robert rose, bringing Shauna up with him. She seemed a little shaky on her feet, so he held onto her hand a moment longer before finally releasing it. She gazed at her fingers as if fascinated. Had she hurt herself? He resisted the urge to reach for her again. “What in the world were you doing?”

  She blinked at him as though she hadn’t understood the question. “Uh…” She looked down at the box as though seeing it for the first time. “I wanted to move that. I just did nae realize it was so heavy.”

  He glanced at Albert. The man was past middle years, but he looked strong enough to move a box. At least, he had the decency to look embarrassed.

  “The lass said she wan
ted to straighten a few things out. I dinna ken she meant that box. ’Tis full of old ledgers.”

  Robert nodded and leaned down to pick it up. The thing had to weigh at least thirty pounds. No wonder Shauna had struggled with it. “Where do you want it moved?”

  Her eyes widened for an instant and then she pointed to an open closet door. “Inside there.”

  Another box had already been placed there—dragged, if the scrape lines on the dusty wooden floor were any indication. No wonder Shauna had dirt on her face. Robert set his box down beside it. “Is there anything else that you need moved?”

  She shook her head. “No. I just wanted those out of the way so I could do some cleaning and rearranging.”

  That a woman wanted to rearrange furniture was nothing new, although Robert didn’t see how much arranging could be done since the office was bare and spare. However, he’d never known a lady of quality—and Shauna MacLeod definitely had quality—to want to get her hands dirty, let alone do manual labor.

  “Why don’t you have Kyla do the cleaning?”

  Shauna smiled. “Kyla would nae be much help, unless ye count on her luring one of the lads working on the quay in here. I doona even want to think on what Shane would say to that.”

  Robert didn’t either. And he sure didn’t want one of the rough dockhands helping. “But you shouldn’t be doing this yourself.”

  “Why nae?” Then she shrugged. “I ken most ladies prefer nae to get themselves dirty, but I like the feel of putting my hands to good use.”

  Blood flowed straight to his groin as the image of how good her hands would feel wrapped around his cock filled his head. A groan escaped him.

  “Are ye all right?” Shauna asked.

  “I…yes. I’m fine.” He wasn’t fine at all. He was hurting, and if he didn’t leave, the bulge in his pants was going to give him away. “I need—” Hell, did he have to use that word? “I need to get back to my ship.”

  “Take care then.”

  Robert nodded and turned away, not trusting himself to use any more words that would inflame his illicit thoughts. As he closed the door and went down the steps, he remembered he hadn’t even attempted to settle his account.

  Damnation. What was Shauna MacLeod doing to him?

  Shauna watched the door close. Of all the days she had hoped Robert would drop in at the office—the days when she’d worn nicer dresses than this drab brown muslin—he’d chosen this morning to stop by. She looked a mess and was covered in grime like a street urchin. Only street urchins were more agile and didn’t go sprawling all over the floor. No wonder Robert had left in such a hurry. He probably thought she’d tumble at his feet next—and he’d already picked her up once.

  He’d held on to her until her feet had steadied. Little did he know—and probably that was best—that her knees had felt like jelly because he had held her hand. Even now, she could still feel the warm strength of his fingers wrapped around hers.

  “Ye should have told me what ye were about,” Albert said, breaking into her thoughts. “I would have moved the box for ye.”

  “Ye were busy balancing accounts. I did nae want to interrupt ye,” Shauna replied. “I had nae idea the thing was heavy as a rock.”

  Albert gave her a reproachful look. “The American probably thinks I have the manners of an Outlander.”

  Shauna smiled. “Precisely speaking, Captain Henderson is the Outlander.”

  “Ye ken what I mean.”

  “Och, doona fash about it. I doona think Robert—Captain Henderson—leaps to conclusions. He could see ye were working.”

  Albert still seemed doubtful, but he changed the subject. “Why did ye want those boxes in the closet anyway? They’ve always sat in that corner.”

  “I thought to bring another chair and a small table to set there so I can work alongside ye without disturbing your desk.” The statement was mostly true. Another working area would help, but the chair she had in mind—or more specifically, one that Abigail had suggested—was much more comfortable than the two straight backs in the office. It was a chair that might invite a visitor to linger, especially if the odor of freshly baked scones wafted out the door as a particular person happened to be leaving his flat in the morning.

  Albert eyed her suspiciously, and for a moment, she wondered if he’d caught on to the ruse. But Abigail had just concocted the scheme last night and neither of them had spoken about it. Nor were there any scones on the countertop yet.

  “Does Shane ken about your plan to set up your own quarters here?”

  “’Tis nae quarters, simply a table to spread the papers on. I cannae think why he would object.”

  “Humph,” Albert said and returned to his desk. “We will see.”

  Shauna picked up a broom and started sweeping the dust out of the corner. She just hoped Shane wouldn’t question why she suddenly wanted to take scones to work every morning.

  But she would fash about that later.

  As it turned out, Shane didn’t find out about her bringing scones to the office because he took advantage of the calm weather to sail to Calais with a shipment of woolens and pick up cognac and silk in return.

  Albert had looked askance the first day when Janet arrived with the tray, but his wife told him Abigail had suddenly developed a craving for scones at breakfast, although she didn’t want to gorge herself nor let any go to waste. She had suggested Janet bring the leftovers to work for Albert to enjoy. Shauna agreed, knowing Albert had a liking for the strawberry jam that accompanied the scones, and felt only a small twinge of guilt about the plot she and Abigail had hatched. After all, everyone was benefiting.

  Except for Robert, who was either leaving his flat before dawn or was immune to the wonderful aroma.

  Shauna looked at the single remaining pastry this morning and decided to help herself. Albert had already had two and there was just enough clotted cream and jam left to top off the last one. She really shouldn’t. At this rate, she and Albert would soon be plump as partridges while Robert remained all lean, hard muscle. Shauna had a small battle with willpower and then slathered the scone. She closed her eyes to savor the first delicious bite.

  “No wonder you want to come to work,” Owen said from the doorway.

  Her eyes sprang open. “Owen. What brings you here this morning?”

  “I have an appointment with Mr. Frazier, but I caught the scent of baked goods from the wharf.”

  Shauna put the scone down. “Janet had leftovers.”

  “Hmmm,” Owen said and came over to the counter. “That looks good.”

  Giving the scone a last, longing look, Shauna pushed the tray towards him. “Please. Go ahead and enjoy.”

  “Thank you.” Owen picked up the pastry and looked around the office. “You have made changes,” he said as he walked toward the stuffed chair near her work table and sank into it.

  The chair Robert had yet to grace. Or even see. Abigail’s scheme was not exactly going according to plan. Or, more correctly, the plot was working perfectly—the aroma had drifted out the slightly cracked window and it had lured a man inside who had taken the comfortable chair and looked like he wanted to linger. Exactly how she wanted it—except Owen was the wrong man. She sighed. Perhaps she and Abigail needed to rethink this idea.

  Owen’s eyebrows lifted as she sat down, picked up an invoice and began to transfer numbers to an open ledger. “You are doing accounting?”

  She tried not to let the surprise in his voice irritate her. “Yes.”

  “But that is a man’s job.”

  She put her pencil down and eyed him. “Why?”

  “Why? It just is.” He looked puzzled. “In the financial world, accounts and affairs of estate are handled by men of business. No one has ever used a woman of business. It is unheard of…like having women in Parliament.”

  Shauna refrained from
rolling her eyes. “Perhaps if women were running Parliament, things would be better.”

  Owen laughed. “Like what?”

  She bristled. “Well, for one thing, the prince regent’s extravagant expenditures could be curbed and the money spent to benefit the poor.”

  Owen shook his head, still chortling. “That is an argument not worth having. You forget that the nobles who approve the prince regent’s allowance also attend his parties. They are not about to cut off their aristocratic noses for such an altruistic reason.”

  “Maybe they should.”

  Owen shrugged. “I have no quarrel with helping the needy. I want to bring our crofters back. But,” he said as he stood to leave, “that is not the way the world works, not if you want to be successful.” He walked to the door and turned around. “And I do.”

  So much for a break in the weather. Two mornings later, a storm blew in from the North Sea, blanketing Edinburgh in snow and making Shauna wish she could just stay inside the townhouse and sip hot chocolate in front of a roaring fire. As she bundled up in one of Shane’s plaids, she looked wistfully at Abigail doing just that.

  Abigail glanced from her cup to Shauna. “You do not have to go to the office. Albert will understand.”

  Shauna shook her head. “The Silver Drake from Newcastle is due in today. If the captain made it into the Firth, he’ll bring her all the way in. With this weather, Albert will need to help on the dock.”

  A crease appeared on Abigail’s brow. “Do you think Shane is all right?”

  “Aye. He left three days ago so he should be near Calais if not there by now. Besides, the wind is behind him.”

  “As much as I like being aboard ship…usually,” Abigail said as she patted her rounded stomach, “I still do not understand the sailing end of it.”

  “The wind on the stern makes for a smooth ride and will blow the Border Lass right into port.” Shauna smiled. “If ye had grown up near a big loch, ye’d have had plenty of chance to learn the how of it.”