Chapter 30
It was late afternoon by the time Beau stormed up the steps to C.C.’s aunt’s townhouse, barely able to contain his anger.
Jenkins took his card as usual, but unlike Beau’s two previous visits, this time the butler showed him to the parlor.
Twenty minutes had passed and C.C. still hadn’t appeared.
His feet took turns tapping in irritation. No doubt, not seeing him on his previous calls had been part of her pretense. She wanted her servants and everyone else to believe theirs was a chaste regard. He had suspected, but only today realized the extent of her artifice. C.C. had manipulated her image like a virtuoso.
All along, people had said things of her that never quite jibed. From the first he knew her to be an intelligent, complicated woman—different from any woman he’d known—and extraordinarily independent and intriguing.
But what he’d learned this morning from her man of business revealed a woman he didn’t know existed. With all they’d been through together, he couldn’t believe she still clung to her deception. He wanted an explanation. He deserved an explanation. And, by God, today he’d get one.
Beau fidgeted in annoyance. He marched over to the handsome picture window and watched a few carriages roll past, then turned to gaze about the well-appointed room. Afternoon sun threw muted light across the carved wood paneling and exquisite French furniture. Coals glowed warmly in the fireplace. Shades of purple pervaded everything.
Prominently placed on a mahogany table sat the largest bouquet of hothouse flowers he’d ever seen. Next to it sat the flowers he’d brought C.C. on his first visit: one, long stalk holding three delicate white orchids rising from his prized, exquisitely painted Chinese vase. The one he’d bought years ago when he served in the South China Sea.
Positioned as they were, the grand bouquet dwarfed his flowers to an anorexic weed, reducing them to a beggar’s posy. His lips twisted in chagrin.
The door swung open. Three little furry mongrels bounded through and started barking.
“Quiet,” C.C. instructed. Her crisp gown crackled as she sailed in, followed by the scent of her vanilla and honeysuckle perfume. She stopped inside the doorway in a slanted pool of light.
Beau gazed at her from head to toe. She’d obviously bathed, rouged and had her hair done up into a coif of tight ringlets. Her maid had cinched her into a tiny corset, a mass of petticoats and overlaid them with an elegant three-tiered taffeta gown of solid purple—the color of half-mourning.
So she was back to those damned purple rags. He’d gotten used to seeing her in flowing whites and pastels and even one dusty brown. The warm, courageous woman he’d come to love blossomed in those colors. Purple and lavender and all its hues were the colors she’d worn when they’d first met. Now back in London, she’d returned to her old image…cold, unpredictable and unreachable.
“Captain Tollier,” C.C. said in rather clipped tones. “How have you been?”
Anger churned in his stomach and warred with the yearning to hold her in his arms.
“Could we please sit,” he said through gritted teeth.
C.C. slowly approached the sofa and sat at a perfect right angle, settling her skirts about her, her face an unreadable mask.
Plutarch romped over and jumped onto her lap, followed by Fosco. The two little dogs stood on their stubby legs, taking turns growling. Their beady black eyes followed him, as if they could smell his annoyance and would guard their mistress.
Beau sat a few feet away on the same sofa. Jossette leapt onto his lap, furiously wagging her tail, stretching her head and paws up his chest for a kiss.
“Oh, hallo, sweetheart.” Beau raised the toy poodle so she could lick his face. “I’m delighted to see you too.” At least one female in the room appeared pleased to see him.
“In answer to your question,” he said tightly, as he settled the poodle in his lap, “I’ve kept busy writing letters to various business acquaintances in Liverpool. How have you been?”
C.C. petted her little dogs and gazed at him through red, puffy eyes. “I’d be happy to provide introductions to those I know in Liverpool. You must be eager to start your business. I assume you will be leaving soon.”
No explanations for why she’d been avoiding him. No reasons to justify why she’d spent months lying to him. He glared at her.
Her expression hardened. She shooed her dogs off her lap, and stood to cross to the window. Combined with the forbidding expression on her face, her horrid, caging garments made her into a frightful, crazed caricature of the woman he’d first met.
He set Jossette on the floor and stalked after her. “When you asked me to command the Redemption, you already knew a lot about me. Where did you get your information?”
“I already gave you that answer in North Carolina.” She sniffed.
“Oh, I think not. How did you know the correct authorities to contact when we were detained for quarantine in the Cape Fear River?”
She rubbed her forehead and frowned. “Everyone knows who runs that port.”
Beau’s hackles stood on end as his fury mounted. “You’ve not answered a single question of mine today. You’ve never given me a straight, truthful answer.”
C.C. threw back her shoulders and looked him square in the eye. “I don’t have to answer your questions.”
He stepped forward bearing down on her. “By God, I’m not leaving here today until you do!” Barely able to contain his temper, he clutched his hands behind his back and marched to the fireplace to gaze at the splendid mantel. After several sharp breaths he pivoted and locked gazes. “I visited Mr. Ledbetter this morning for the rest of my pay.”
C.C.’s brows furrowed. “I presume he satisfied the last of my debt to you. Our business is now concluded, is it not?”
“Not…quite.” Beau set his jaw and tried to keep a leash on his ire. “While waiting for Mr. Ledbetter in his outer office, I happened to see something very interesting…a painting of the Tropic Flyer.”
C.C.’s expression remained inscrutable.
“I recognized her immediately since I commanded her for at least ten voyages. I also happened to recognize the Mary Wilson. However, the painting identifies her as the Gargoyle.”
“My man of business enjoys collecting art,” she huffed.
“So it would seem. Before Ledbetter and I could conclude our business, he was called out to speak with one of his clerks. He left me with nothing better to do with my time than thumb through his ledger. Would you hazard to guess what I discovered?”
C.C.’s face drained of color. She turned her back to him to gaze out the window at the passing carriages.
Beau strode up behind her and whispered into her ear. “An American expatriate living in London, secretly financing blockade-running ships into Confederate ports is walking a dangerous line when the queen has declared the UK neutral. Imagine my surprise when I finally realized you are the real owner of those vessels and several others. If my calculations are correct, I’ve made at least forty-two voyages commanding one of your ships. That whole time I was working for you!”
She whirled on him. “And you have a problem with my gold?”
“Only that you’ve twisted me every which way till Thursday. Do you know what kind of fool I feel like for thinking you were, first—” he held up his thumb “—mentally incompetent. Second—” he held up his index finger “—helpless, and finally third—” he held up his middle finger “—ignorant of what we were up against. You’ve led me and everyone else down a merry road. This whole time you’ve lied about who you really were and what you’re about.”
“I have not lied.” She snapped. “I chose not to bore you with details irrelevant to our agreement.”
“Omissions are lies. Behaving in ways that lead someone to think you’re something you’re not are lies. I thought you and I had come to an understanding. I thought we could trust one another to reveal our innermost selves, who we really are, our true hearts. I fell in love with
that woman. And now…I find she was only another one of your personas to make me do your bidding.”
“As you might recall, you were reluctant from the start,” she said brusquely. “Captains have difficulty with control. I’ve had enough experience to know. You’re not so different from other men, and you’re not one to tolerate even the slightest threat to your masculinity. Taking orders from a woman would have been unthinkable. I didn’t want to give you one more reason to back out.”
“You had plenty of opportunity to clarify the situation. I must have asked you a dozen different ways to tell me the truth.”
“Would you have believed me? Admit it. You’re still not one hundred percent convinced that somewhere inside me exists a first-rate nutter.”
“Granted, credibility is hard to establish when you’ve lived nothing but lies!”
“If I told you at the outset I helped design and owned the Redemption, you would have declined outright.”
Beau shook his finger at her. “Now there I have another bone to pick. From the first I thought the Redemption looked suspiciously similar to drawings I gave to my agent in Nassau. Do you care to amend who actually designed that ship?”
“Rough drawings were forwarded to me while you were in prison. There was no name on them, but I immediately saw their merit.”
“Those had to have been my drawings because the Redemption is too similar to them not to be mine. Are you going to give me credit for the design or are you going to continue to lie about that too?”
“Under which name would you like it given? You talk as if you’re the soul of virtue. You—a man with enough aliases to fill a village? Until I hired you to command my vessels you were nothing but a two-bit pirate. Don’t forget you took my Meridian as a prize when you were first mate on that commerce raider. She was one of my best ships.”
“If you knew I did that, why did you hire me?”
“I decided it was cheaper to have you working for me than against me.”
“So you lied and obscured and toyed with me like a grand puppeteer does her marionette.”
“I did what I had to do to get your cooperation.”
“And the last night on the ship? Did you do what you had to do to get my cooperation?”
Her face colored. “That was different. The champagne went to my head. A gentleman wouldn’t discuss such things.”
“But I’m no gentleman, I’m a two-bit pirate, as you keep reminding me.” He dug into his pocket, pulled out her purple fountain pen and handed it to her. “Here. You might need this now that you’re back into your purples. Why did you leave the ship in tears?”
She shoved the pen into her pocket. The corners of her mouth sank downward as she squared her shoulders. “I want you to know how grateful I am that you took me safely through the blockade and helped rescue my cousins. I might have died several times were it not for you. You honor me with your proposals of marriage. But after much consideration, I realize we would not suit.”
“We would not suit!” He couldn’t keep from shouting. His heart pounded with frustration. He wanted to take her into his arms to remind her how well they suited. Instead, he took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “Our last night on the ship proved how splendidly we suit.”
C.C. blushed. “I should not have drunk so much champagne.” Her words came out a hissed whisper. “A marriage is more than how well we suit in bed.”
Beau let his gaze drift down her figure and then back up to her plush lips. “With one-third of our lives spent in bed, it should certainly command some serious consideration. But we’ll set that aside. I want to hear your answer for the other two-thirds.”
Her nostrils flared. “All right, you want answers, then let me tell you about myself. Ten years ago I arrived in England under a cloud of disgrace and ostracism. Not long after, my father and uncles met their untimely deaths.
“It was then I saw how society’s harsh perception of me worked to my advantage. Women were considered unnatural if they strayed beyond their sphere of domesticity. People already considered me unbalanced, living on the good will of my softhearted aunt and cousin. I realized my scandalous image and disparateness could keep me hidden.
“As heiress to the family fortune, the family business became mine. No one even considered an addle-brained woman could run a profitable enterprise. I happened to be very good at it. Wars always help the enterprising make money, lots of money, and I tripled the size of my father’s shipping company.
Beau rocked back on his heels. “I ran many of your ships through the blockade. It could be said I helped you build some of that fortune. I know you care for me, more than a little. Why are you shutting me out?”
“I decided years ago I’d never marry an Englishman. The moment I say my vows and sign the marriage documents, under England’s laws, I relinquish control of everything to my husband—all my wealth, every penny I earn, my children, even my very person. From then on he can do with it and me as he pleases. I would be reduced to little more than chattel. It’s not much better in the U. S. but at least laws have been passed to resolve women’s rights of ownership.
“I support myself, numerous workers, my charities and good works, and now I’m responsible for raising my two cousins. Romance carries little substance, Captain, when weighed against the cold, hard facts of life.”
Beau couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His temper finally flared. “So despite everything we’ve been through together, you think I’m only after your fortune! I’m not like your other suitors. You were the one who sought me out!” he shouted. “You said I was the only captain who could take you through the blockade. You insisted I spend the night in your cabin. And through all of this I somehow conjured a diabolical plan to confiscate your business and wealth and force you into subjugation?”
Her voice came out quiet but determined. “The laws are in your favor. You might change your mind.”
Beau’s face heated with indignation. “I’m not interested in your fortune. I have enough of my own. And I do not have a problem with you running your family business. Matter of fact it frees me up to run mine. I am not, nor have I ever looked for a woman to support me!”
“Don’t you see? I cannot risk…everything. This, this…certain regard we have for one another is merely a passing inconvenience.” She rubbed her temple. “More than having my own pin money rides on this. When men start making jokes about you being under my thumb, you might decide differently.”
He locked gazes with her and lowered his voice. “Do you know how rare this is, this gift you and I have been given? To find the one especially made for us? A friend once told me, ‘Life rarely makes love convenient. Sometimes it only gives a narrow window of opportunity.’ Grab hold of the gift, C.C. Cherish our love. Life can be shorter than we think.”
“I—” Her lower lip trembled as she let out a ragged breath. She closed her eyes and said in a hoarse voice, “There is no us, Captain. Nor can there ever be.”
He’d known it was a bad idea to spend that last night with her on the ship. Their long repressed desire for one another had overwhelmed them both. He wouldn’t be surprised if they proved the old saying true: when a couple married, sometimes the first baby could arrive any time. After that, they always took nine months. “We might not have a choice,” he muttered.
She walked to the table and carried his vase of orchids to a pedestal in the window. Dark clouds now filled the sky, casting shadows about the room. “We’ll deal with that if it becomes necessary.”
“That?” She obviously had no concept of what ‘that’ would mean to both their lives.
Freddie.
Pain tightened his chest as he stepped in front of her. “In many ways we’re much alike. There’s a tough shell around our hearts.”
Moisture welled in her puffy eyes. She drew herself up straighter and thinned her lips to a tense line. “It’s time we get on with our lives, Captain. You’ve business in Liverpool. We should blame it on too much champagne.
It was a mistake.”
“It was soul-shattering!” He struggled to keep his frustration in check as he leaned close to growl, “I know you felt it too.”
Torment swirled in the dark depths of her eyes.
His heart leapt with hope.
She blinked, breaking their locked gazes. A tiny quiver shook her chin as she stepped around him.
“Perhaps spending the night with you was the biggest mistake I ever made,” he said in a quiet, earnest tone and turned toward her. “But I think it was something we both wanted—to finally express how deeply we care for one another. And I’ll warrant, it loosen you up enough to allow the passionate, loving woman under all that perfect purple and misdirection—”
“Get out! Leave. Now!” She marched over to the parlor door and yanked it open. “Jenkins!”
The butler barely caught himself from falling into the room and quickly came to attention. “Yes, ma’am?” He sniffed.
“Captain Tollier is leaving. Please see him out.”
***
C.C. paced the room as she listened to the men’s footsteps retreat down the hall. Everything in her ached with wretchedness. The confrontation ripped a hole in her heart. In the three months she’d spent with Beau she’d never seen him so angry.
“Good day to you, Captain,” she could hear Jenkins say down the hall.
She quickly stepped to the window for one last glimpse. Great drops of rain blew against the glass as she watched Beau stomp down the front steps, replace his top hat, and disappear down the street.
Tears burned her eyes. She loved him beyond question, and he was walking out of her life, perhaps for good. With each breath, another stab of pain pierced her heart. Beau’s tantalizing cologne lingered in her senses. Her body still vibrated with the way his unique energy always affected her.
What a disastrous muddle she’d made of things.
She should never have brought him to her cabin on the ship. Now her desire for him had turned into a most distressing hunger. She wanted to hold him inside her, fall asleep in his arms and awake each morning to gaze into his sparkling aqua-blue eyes. How she would miss the soft rumble of his voice, teasing her, whispering words of adoration. He said he admired her perseverance and courage. He’d saved her and her cousins’ lives…he said he loved her.
The Trouble With Misbehaving Page 29