To Love a Lord: A Victorian Romance Collection
Page 32
“Ohhh!” Sophie exclaimed, infuriated. “I most certainly do not!, spit” She shuddered with outrage. “Why am I talking to you?” she asked herself, frustrated, and dismissed him at once. “If you will excuse me, sir, I have business to attend!”
She didn’t bother to ask him about the address she was looking for. She attempted to go around him to the left, but he apparently had the same instinct. When she moved to the right, so did he.
Exasperated, Sophie glared at him and, without thinking, lifted her hand to his bare chest, standing him off.
“Please, sir!” she begged, and realized at once where she had touched him. She jerked her hand away as though his flesh singed her.
He merely chuckled in reply, and Sophie felt hot with indignation. She glowered at him, and if she could have barreled through him in that instant, she would have. She slid past him and didn’t look back, even as his robust laughter followed her.
She’d be quite glad never to set eyes on that man again! Rude, infuriating creature!
Even if he did have the most incredible green eyes she had ever had the misfortune to peer into, he was the most common wretch she had ever met!
“Miss!” he called after her. Sophie’s heart fluttered at the sound of his voice, but she refused to turn. She kept walking, clutching her ... purse—oh, God, where was her purse!
She spun about, her heart leaping into her throat, and found him standing there smiling incorrigibly, dangling her purse, with its precious burden, from a single finger.
“I think you dropped something,” he said, his tone rife with repressed laughter, his green eyes glinting.
Without a word, Sophie marched toward him and snatched her purse from his hand, then turned and left.
It was men like that, she decided, that made her eternally grateful to be a woman! She didn’t know why Harlan was so obsessed with discovering primitive man. All he had to do was look about him: In Sophie’s estimation, mankind had not progressed very far!
Chapter 3
As it turned out, The Miss Deed could scarcely have passed for a ship, more like an oversized boat.
Sophie discovered it nearly hidden between two bright shining vessels, a fossil of days gone by, with its sails stripped bare, the rigging dangling like long thirsted vines.
She frowned at the sight it presented.
Several men were working aboard the vessel, but one in particular stood out, kneeling over yards and yards of material, inspecting it... or so it appeared.
“Excuse me,” she interrupted, “I am trying to locate one Jack MacAuley.”
A reply seemed to die on his lips as he turned to acknowledge her. For an instant he merely stared, as though he were somehow dumbstruck by her presence. Sophie hardly thought of herself as the sort to render a man speechless, so she concluded it must be her manor of dress. Judging by his own attire, she doubted he was accustomed to seeing a lady call on a man so boldly—certainly not here on the docks.
Stepping carefully down onto the deck without an invitation, Sophie approached him, though warily. She had heard horror stories of women abducted, their bodies discarded into the river, never to be heard from again. But she had to trust the man if she intended to take passage aboard his ship. Really, she told herself, there was nothing to be afraid of ... except this rotting deck.
She grimaced as she stood looking down at the weathered plank, half-afraid it would give way and she would plunge down into the decaying bowels of the vessel.
Her stomach rioted a bit and she experienced an instant of panic, but she took a deep breath and stared the man in the eye.
He had yet to speak.
“Hello?”
Maybe he couldn’t speak English, she decided. Many of those who found work here on the docks were immigrants who hadn’t the linguistic skills to work elsewhere. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, he could easily be of Latin descent, and it certainly would make sense that Mr. MacAuley would employ a Spanish-speaking crew, considering the destination.
“I …” She pointed to herself. “Am looking …” she pointed to her eyes for Mr. Jack MacAuley,” she repeated more slowly, enunciating her words more carefully.
“He’s not here,” the man answered without any accent at all.
“Oh, good!” Sophie said. “You speak English quite well!”
He gave her a bemused sort of look.
Smiling reassuringly, Sophie approached him once more. “Do you know where I might find him?”
“Jack?”
Sophie clutched her purse before her, taking comfort in the persuasive nature of its contents. “Mr. MacAuley, yes. Have you any idea where he might be?”
The man had yet to rise to greet her, but Sophie excused his ill manners ... considering.
Someone must introduce good manners, she decided and extended her hand toward him. “I am Sophie Vanderwahl, and I wish to speak to Mr. MacAuley concerning a business matter of sorts.”
The man blinked, his big brown eyes looking wary. “Vanderwahl?” he said.
Sophie kept her smile broad and nodded, though he appeared distinctly guarded suddenly.
“Damn. Sorry,” he said, rising finally, seeming to remember himself at last. After wiping his hand first on his trouser, he shook her hand. “Not sure where my manners ran off to. Kell Davenport, Miss Vanderwahl. Nice to meet ya.”
Sophie nodded. “And you,” she countered politely.
“Jack’s not here, but he’ll be back soon if you’d care to wait.” He motioned for her to sit perhaps, but there wasn’t any place Sophie cared to seat herself. Her gaze swept the deck, and she suppressed a grimace of disgust. Somehow she felt transported to a distant past, where comfort and the barest necessities were practically nonexistent. “Yes, thank you,” she replied, but stood, clutching her purse to her breast.
He interpreted her reluctance correctly. “It’s an old ship,” he said in explanation, although it didn’t really seem to be an apology. Instead there was a note of pride in his voice.
Sophie nodded pleasantly and tried not to sound too disdainful. “Oh, really?”
“Yep.” He swept a reverent glance over the ship. “An old warship, we believe, reconstructed to serve as an exploratory vessel. We found it nearly unseaworthy, and restored it. It turned out well,” he told her, and clearly believed it.
Sophie had doubts as to whether it would even remain afloat. She tried not to look as skeptical as she felt.
“Why yes, it did,” she agreed, swallowing at the lie. She looked about, trying to envision what he saw. “Very quaint,” she relented, and decided the man was utterly blind. Still, if he had faith in the vessel, who was she to question it?
What was she getting herself into?
“I just didn’t expect it to be soooo...” She tried to find the right word to express her uncertainty without hurting his feelings.
“Ancient?” He laughed, and the sound somehow put her at ease.
Sophie let out a breath. “Yes, that’s it!”
“She is at that, but she’ll do.” He smiled at her, and Sophie decided she liked Mr. Davenport well enough. He might not have the finest manners in the world, but his presence was quite affable. “She’s a beaut if you consider her age. It’ll feel almost nostalgic out there. Can’t wait to get the sails up.”
He stared up the masthead, and Sophie took the opportunity to walk over and inspect a baby cannon, one of two that adorned either side of the aft of the ship. Her fingers brushed over the blackened hull, and she couldn’t help but wonder ...
“Is it real?”
“As real as they come, but just for show these days. I doubt we’ll find ourselves in a position to use it.”
Sophie smiled. “I don’t suppose one makes a good impression by firing on the natives.”
“I doubt these babies will do more than knock out a tooth, but no, I don’t suppose they’d appreciate the gap in their smiles.”
Sophie laughed, peering up when she heard a new male voice and gasped at
the sight of him.
“You were right. We were missing a sail,” the newcomer said, tossing down a bundle before Mr. Davenport.
“That was quick.”
“He had it set aside for us and was ready to bring it down himself.”
“Good man!” Mr. Davenport said in praise.
“You!” Sophie said, aghast, and his gaze sought and found her at once.
“You,” he echoed, sounding surprised.
Looking amused, Kell Davenport peered from one to the other and back, and then said, grinning, “Apparently you’ve already met?”
Sophie straightened her spine, hitching her chin just a little. “What are you doing here?” She moved toward Mr. Davenport, unconsciously seeking his protection, though she truly had no reason to expect harm to come to her. The man simply disturbed her.
He didn’t bother to respond to her question, but answered Mr. Davenport’s instead. “Yes, I’ve had the pleasure.”
Sophia bristled at his wink. “I’m not quite certain I would call it a pleasure, precisely!” she demurred. “I see you haven’t bothered to dress as yet!”
“And I see you’ve managed to hold on to your purse, if not your tongue,” he countered.
She was clutching it so hard that her fingers turned white.
“No thanks to you!” Sophie replied smartly, and then turned to Mr. Davenport. “I rather doubt you would appreciate a pickpocket in your employ!” Dressed as he was, he couldn’t have been more than a dock hand, arrogant though he was. She showed him her purse, as though introducing it as evidence.
Mr. Davenport laughed as he asked the question, not of Sophie, but of the exhibitionist. “You stole her purse?”
“What do you think?” the man answered.
“I’d watch those hands were I you!” Sophie warned Mr. Davenport.
Davenport cast her an amused glance and shook his head, as though he found the prospect quite humorous. “You’re definitely not the first with that complaint, miss.” And then he began to chuckle, and Sophie didn’t see what was so wretchedly funny.
Good lord, she couldn’t even look at the man! He’d managed to button a few of his lower buttons, but had neglected to finish the consideration, and her eyes seemed unable to dismiss it. His smug expression set her teeth to grinding and his smile was far too unnerving in its perfection. His eyes bore into her with too much familiarity.
“I do believe I will wait for Mr. MacAuley elsewhere!” she informed them both, lifting her skirts, intending to disembark, when Kell Davenport burst into peals of laughter.
Sophie was quite certain these were two of the rudest men on the face of the earth!
“Damnation!” she exclaimed in sheer frustration, and turned to face Kell Davenport, who somehow suddenly seemed unable to control himself. “I really don’t see what is so amusing, and you can be certain I will report this to Mr. MacAuley as soon as I see him!”
Davenport’s laughter brought him suddenly to his knees, and Sophie felt a renewed flush of anger cloud her brain. “Sorry... sorry—Christ!” he sputtered, and clutched at his side, pointing at the exhibitionist. She peered down at Mr. Davenport, trying to comprehend the words that were spewing out of his mouth. She glared down at him. “I don’t understand!”
He continued to laugh.
“Mr. Davenport?”
“What the man is trying to tell you is that you should consider the matter reported,” said the exhibitionist. “Jack MacAuley, miss. What can I do for you?”
Chapter 4
Sophie froze at his introduction, and then turned slowly. “You are Jack MacAuley?”
Her expression was clearly disbelieving and Jack knew it was more than their scuffle on the docks that made her dismiss him so completely. It grated on his nerves. She was a spoiled little rich girl, no doubt, judging by her manner and dress, who was used to getting her way, no matter the consequences.
Apparently he had something she wanted.
She wasn’t going to get it.
Even if she did have the deuced most kissable lips he’d ever had the pleasure of trading insults with.
“I am,” he acknowledged, and watched the emotions that played across her face; uncertainty, then horror, then wariness, and then as she lifted her purse to her breast, a little smugness, he thought. Curiosity filled him, but he waited for her to divulge herself in her own time.
She took a deep breath and nodded. “I see.”
Kell grew quiet, though his grin remained to taunt Jack. They’d been friends too damned long.
“I suppose since we have not gotten off to the best start,’ she reasoned, “I should be direct.’
A refreshing notion.
“My name is Sophia Vanderwahl,” she stated, coming forward, extending her hand as any gentleman would. Jack met Kell’s gaze over her shoulder. His friend’s brow lifted, partly in amusement, partly in curiosity.
The name for an instant stunned him.
“Vanderwahl?” he said after a moment.
She held her hand outstretched, waiting for him to take it. “Yes, my father is Maxwell Vanderwahl.” Her amber eyes sparkled with challenge.
She said it with such self-importance that Jack wanted nothing more than to toss her off his ship on her delightful little rear. On the docks, when he’d watched her saunter away, those delicious hips had swung with unmistakable feminine allure—not to mention a cockiness that surpassed the egotism of most men. He had nearly laughed when she’d realized she’d abandoned her purse. The expression on her face when she’d spun to face him had been worth the wait.
Lovely little vixen.
Reluctantly Jack accepted her handshake, though he couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm from his voice. “To what do I owe this dubious pleasure, Miss Vanderwahl?”
His body stirred, an unwelcome reaction to the warmth of her hand in his own. It was the same response he’d had when faced with her on the docks, despite that she’d looked at him with utter revulsion. He didn’t particularly enjoy his lack of control. He preferred to choose the women to whom he was attracted.
Arrogant little brat.
“I would like to buy passage aboard your...” She glanced about, wrinkling her nose. “... ship.”
Her obvious lack of appreciation for the historical vessel Jack had procured and then spent long hours laboring to repair, provoked him. “Would you now?”
He didn’t need the distraction of a woman aboard his ship. Particularly when she was the first to attract him in far, far too long.
She nodded, resolute. “Yes, indeed, I would! And I am prepared to offer you a substantial sum for it.” She cradled the conspicuous purse, rocking it in her arms.
“Are you?” Jack asked, and then without ceremony went on, “What the hell for? We’re not on a pleasure cruise, Miss Vanderwahl, and neither are we some poor little rich girl’s private yacht to be paraded into the harbor of her choosing!”
“Mr. MacAuley!” she protested. “There is absolutely no need for such rudeness! I would hardly have mistaken this ship for either, I can assure you!”
“The answer is no,” Jack said, dismissing the proposal without discussion. He turned and walked away, leaving Kell to deal with her.
He didn’t want her around.
Period.
He could tell right off she was trouble. She’d turn his ship upside down faster than a monsoon. He turned to climb down the ladder to the lower deck to find her standing there, hands on her hips, her purse swinging from her hand.
“You can’t say no yet!” she informed him rather indignantly. “I haven’t even given you my offer!”
“I can, and have,” he said resolutely, and dropped down to the lower deck so he couldn’t see her.
He heard Kell’s chuckle and stifled an expletive when he glanced up to find she was peering down at him. “Three thousand dollars!” she exclaimed. “I’ll give you three thousand, Mr. MacAuley!”
“No.”
He wasn’t going to waver.
Jack didn’t want any part of any of them.
“Five thousand!”
Jack stooped to enter the mess hall, ignoring her.
The ship had been refurbished so that its two previous levels had been made into three. The lower deck housed the kitchen, the cook’s office and chamber, the mess hall, two officers’ quarters, the captain’s dining area and cabin. The bottommost level was used predominantly for storage, and also housed four smaller cabins, in which Jack wondered how any grown man could sleep much less stand or piss. Everyone else would sleep in the mess hall, in hammocks that hung from the ceiling and would be put away each morning. It was a primitive arrangement but it would do just fine.
Still, it was cramped quarters below, and Jack foresaw a permanent backache maneuvering the lower decks. Only the kitchen and captain’s dining area and cabin had any real comfort to them—comfort meaning a man could actually stand upright.
He heard her feet drop on the polished wood, and then her dainty footsteps followed behind him. He rolled his eyes.
“I’ll give you five thousand dollars!”
“I heard you the first time and I don’t need your money, Miss Vanderwahl.”
He heard a thump, and presumed it was her head as she entered the mess hall. It was a low ceiling.
“Ouch!”
“Watch your head,” he warned too late, and kept walking. He couldn’t suppress a grin as she cursed softly in his wake—a very unladylike gesture that for all its vulgarity sounded absolutely adorable.
“It looks to me as though you do need my money!” she countered, sounding quite determined.
Jack clutched the rung of the ladder that led to the captain’s dining room, ready to hoist himself up.
“Wait, please!”
She sounded almost frantic now.
“Please listen to me, Mr. MacAuley!”
Why the hell should he?
He climbed halfway up, then stopped. Neither her father nor his committee had ever listened to a word he’d spoken in their presence. He didn’t have to listen to a damned thing his daughter had to say. Still, curiosity made him linger.