by Ruth Owen
“Gabriel,” Juliana said dully. “And I sincerely hope I shall never see him again.”
“Oh, no, that will not do at all,” the solicitor replied as he made a notation on the paper. “I dunna know your plans, but I suggest you see him before the week is out. Tomorrow, if you can arrange it. ’Twould be best to offer him the job as soon as possible.”
“What job?”
“Why, the manager position, of course.”
Juliana stared at the Scotsman as if he’d suddenly lost his mind. “You cannot be serious. The man is a privateer. He’s the next best thing to a pirate!”
McGregor shrugged. “Pirate or no, he’s got the devil’s own gift for the art of persuasion. I dunna doubt he could easily convince the merchants to do business with the Marquis Line. And if you want my advice, I’d sign him up as quick as a tick.” He scribbled a sizable number on the paper and showed it to Juliana. “This is what you stand to lose before the week is out.”
“I am here to see Commodore Jolly.”
The undersecretary of the Vice Admiral of the Blue shuffled through his papers, searching for his calendar of appointments. He gave a sidelong glance at the man in front of him, trying to determine if he was someone of importance. The concealing black cloak and the slouch hat that was pulled down over his brow gave little clue to his features, but the fact that his cloak was thoroughly soaked from the freezing afternoon drizzle told the clerk all that he needed to know. Any person of authority would have hired a carriage to travel to the Admiralty office in this inclement weather. The bureaucrat set aside his papers and waved the visitor aside. “Kindly take a seat. I shall attend to you as soon as I am able.”
“You shall attend to me now,” the man growled.
The undersecretary swallowed. He quickly opened his appointment book and thumbed to the appropriate page. “Ah yes, Mr. Smith. The commodore is expecting you. It is the second door at the top of the stairs. Please go right up.”
The man started to turn away, but hesitated. He nodded toward the row of junior officers and sailors seated on the long benches that lined the hallways beyond the undersecretary’s desk. “I suggest you attend to these good people as well. Otherwise I would be … displeased.”
The undersecretary could not see much of the man’s face, but he could see his smile. He swallowed again, then waved to the nearest man, a young third lieutenant from a fourth-rated gunboat. “Mr. Yeates, I believe you were next.”
Connor paused on the crowded stairway and watched with satisfaction as the undersecretary diligently wrote down the concerns of the junior officer. He knew the change of heart was temporary—the minute he was out of sight he had no doubt the petty bureaucrat would go back to his indifferent ways. Even after all these years and all he’d been through, Connor still couldn’t manage to rid himself of the habit of championing lost causes.
Like saving the skin of a woman who despised him.
A cadet jostled his shoulder, jarring Connor back to the present. Damn, he was already late for his meeting with Jolly. He yanked his hat down over his brow and worked his way to the top of the crowded stairway, thankful that the officers and clerks were far too consumed with their own concerns to notice a rain-soaked stranger in a worn cloak. Lucky thing, that, for the commodore’s short, unexpected note had urged secrecy, just as it had promised Connor that he “would learn something to his advantage.” Commodore Jolly was a highly placed official who had access to secrets of national security—secrets the French would pay dearly for. And his cryptic note proved he wasn’t quite the good-hearted buffoon that Connor had supposed him to be.
For an instant, Connor felt a stab of anger that Juliana’s guardian would sell his country for coin. God’s teeth, would he never be rid of the foolish urge to protect the girl? Well, last night was the final time he was playing white knight to her lady in distress. He’d promised Raoul. He’d promised himself. He had his own skin to think about, his own plans—and his own pleasures. Tonight he was taking Baroness Fairvilla up on her offer of a private supper and let nature take its course. Considering the lady’s shameless overtures toward him during the past month, Connor had no doubt what that course would be. By tomorrow morning he doubted he’d give a second thought to a spoiled, too-tall chit with nothing to recommend her but a pair of ocean green eyes.
Smiling at the thought of anticipated pleasures, Connor entered Commodore Jolly’s office … where his gaze collided with a pair of ocean green eyes.
Juliana rose stiffly from the leather chair in the commodore’s well-appointed oak-paneled office, trying to tamp down her panic. She’d practiced her speech so many times that she could have recited it in her sleep. Nevertheless, when Connor strode into the office wrapped in the same cloak that he’d worn last night and wearing a smile so sinful that it made her heart somersault, she forgot every one of her carefully rehearsed words. “I … that is, I’m so glad … I mean, I wanted to—”
His roar cut her short. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Her practical nature restored her wits. She stepped past him and shut the door to the office. “Heavens, keep your voice down. We do not want the whole Admiralty to know our business.”
“We don’t have any business. I came to meet Commodore Jolly, not you. He sent me a note.”
Juliana fingered the sable trim of her gray kerseymere walking dress. “Well, it wasn’t precisely Jolly who sent the note.”
Connor’s gaze jumped from her face to the commodore’s empty desk and unoccupied chair to the stone-cold brazier on the other side of the room. He pulled off his hat and raked a hand through his damp hair, splattering raindrops across the rug. “Does he know anything of this meeting?”
Juliana lifted her chin. “No. I knew the commodore was called away suddenly to Portsmouth, so I arranged to make use of his office. ’Tis not hard to hoodwink a clerk when I know my guardian’s hand as well as well as my own. And I am not alone. Meg and our abagails are waiting in a room down the hall.”
“Which makes this all entirely proper, naturally.”
Juliana stiffened at his patronizing tone. “Of course it is not entirely proper. But if I had asked you to come to the Marquis offices, you would very likely have ignored the invitation.”
“You were dead right about that, Princess. Now I’m ignoring this one.” He settled his hat back on his head and turned to leave.
“Wait! I have a proposition for you.”
Connor hesitated, but only for a moment. He glanced back at her with a wolf’s sneer. “Sorry, but it’s a bit early in my day to start compromising schoolgirls.”
“I am not … oh, you are the most odious of men! I meant a business proposition. I want you to work for me.”
Connor hesitated again. “You haven’t been nipping from the commodore’s brandy flask, have you?”
“Of course not. I want you to work for me—as manager for the Marquis Line.”
Connor started to say something, but Juliana overrode him, speaking at breakneck speed. “The position would not interfere with your own … um, enterprises. You could continue to sail under your own command, wherever and whenever you please. But I need a figurehead for my company—someone the merchants and captains can put their faith in until they learn to put their faith in me. After your assistance last night, my solicitor, Mr. McGregor, determined that you are the man for the job.”
“And what about you?” he asked quietly. “Do you think I’m the man for the job?”
“I … will do whatever is necessary to save the Marquis Line.”
Slowly, Connor turned back to her. With his hat pulled down over his brow she could not see his eyes, but it hardly mattered. His smile turned her blood to ice. “Of course. I should have recalled what kind of man you think I am. But no matter. I am not interested.”
“But it is a good position. You must—”
“Must?” he seethed. “Lady, your days of ordering me around like your trained dog are over. If I were destitute, if I w
ere starving, if I were washed up on the shore and rotting like a piece of driftwood, I would still not work for you. Never. There is nothing you have that I want.”
The words cut deep, but she thrust aside the pain. She sandwiched her slim form between him and the door. “Do you not want a thousand pounds?”
“A thousand … God’s teeth, woman, how do you expect to turn a profit if you offer every employee that kind of sum?”
“I am not offering it to every employee. Just to you. And I will be paying only half of it. My father left the rest to you in his will. I know you cannot claim it outright without revealing your identity. But I can arrange it so that the money can be paid to you discreetly, with no one save my solicitor knowing the details of the transaction. For a few months’ work you will be a thousand pounds richer. Now in truth, can you afford to turn down such an offer?”
In truth? Connor thought. In truth, he would have cut off his left hand before he took a farthing of her father’s money and cut off his right before he took a farthing of hers. In truth, he was torn between admiring her courage in making this outrageous offer and throttling her for putting herself in a compromising position with a man of his reputation.
In truth, he’d have given just about anything to be her hero one more time.
He gazed down into her green eyes, wishing like hell that he was still the good and honorable man she’d once known. But that man had died nearly four years ago, in the stink and squalor of a prison ship. With a talent he’d learned during the months of abuse and starvation, he schooled his features into a mask of indifference. “For the last time, I am not the man you need. Now, be so kind as to step aside. I have an appointment with a lady—an appointment I would most particularly hate to miss, as her husband will be returning to London on the morrow.”
He watched the truth fall into her green eyes. He watched as a part of her shattered. He told himself it didn’t matter. In a moment she would step aside and he’d be out of this office, and out of her life forever.
She did not step aside.
“You are the man I need. I cannot save my father’s company without you. If a thousand pounds is not enough, I shall make it two thousand. Or three. Name your price and I will pay it.”
God, she was glorious. With her chin high and her eyes defiant she looked exactly as she had as a child when she’d climbed up to the crow’s nest and stood with her face to the wind. When Connor had climbed up after her and brought her down, her father had given her a hiding that had kept her standing for days, but she’d never showed an ounce of regret. Like her father, Connor had been mad as hell at her for risking her life—and just as proud of her courage. As a child, Juliana had always gone where angels feared to tread. As a woman, she was just as brave and foolhardy.
And she was sorely in need of another hiding.
Connor put his hand against the door and leaned closer. “I am not cheap, but I can be bought. I do not need your money. But there is something you can trade for my services, if you’re up for the barter.” His gaze skimmed down and lingered wickedly on her lush, ripe lips. “A kiss.”
“A k-kiss? But that is preposterous.”
Connor’s wolf’s smile widened. “Why? Have you no experience with kissing?”
“Of course I have,” Juliana stated. Then, with somewhat less veracity, she added, “I have been kissed dozens of times.”
“Good. Then one more will be of no consequence.”
Her gaze flittered to his lips—sensual lips that promised wicked pleasures. Long ago those lips had barely brushed hers. The memory still rocked her soul. “I c-cannot kiss you.”
Connor shrugged. “Then I shall kiss you.”
He lowered his mouth toward hers, but she slipped out of his embrace and hurried to the other side of the room. She stood stiffly, with her back securely against the commodore’s desk. It took barely five steps, but her heart hammered as if she had just run a mile. Nevertheless, she faced him squarely. “I cannot kiss you. I reserve my embraces for those I have a tendre for.”
This also was not entirely true. She had allowed Toby Bascomb to kiss her though she was only toying with the idea of returning his affections. His wandering hands and slobbering kisses were more than enough to make up her mind, and the fact that Toby became engaged not a week later showed that his heart was far from broken. Young Fitzroy Pompadour was someone she actually fancied herself in love with—until she’d discovered that kissing him was like kissing a potato. Her final adventure, with the notorious Baronet Blakeney, was the worst by far. Though she’d had no regard for him whatsoever, she’d allowed him to lure her behind a box hedge in Vauxhall garden to see if his kisses were all the “fast” ladies of the ton insinuated they were. But Blakeney had been so concerned that her embrace was crushing his elaborately tied French linen cravat that she’d left in disgust.
And then, of course, there had been Connor’s kiss.
“I cannot kiss you,” she repeated firmly “ ’Twould not be proper.”
Connor arched a knowing brow. “And meeting a man in a deserted office is?”
“That is different. It was necessary to—oh bother, you have me flummoxed.”
“Do I?” he asked softly as he took a step closer.
Lord, what was it about his voice that made her feel as if she were running on ice? She crossed her arms resolutely in front of her. “I shall not kiss you.”
Connor shrugged. “Suit yourself. But that is my price for taking your job. No kiss, no job.” He waited a heartbeat before adding. “I believe you said that you would do whatever was necessary to save the Marquis Line.”
Blast! She would do anything to save the line, and the scoundrel knew it. She worried her lip as she tried to figure a way out of the situation. “Oh, very well. One kiss.”
With her arms still crossed in front of her she stuck out her chin, pursed her lips into a tight O, and shut her eyes.
She heard him approach. His tread was strong and sure even on the deep rug. She could smell the rain on his cloak, the lingering scent of shaving lather, and a faint, heady musk that stirred the chord of memory deep inside her. A moonlit conservatory. Strong hands enfolding her own. A beloved face bending so close to her own that his warm, musky scent filled her world.
A soft caress that exploded through her like fireworks.
Her eyes shot open. “I cannot kiss you. I can’t—”
But it was too late.
He intended to teach her a lesson. She needed to be reminded that he was no longer the callow young swain who’d been at her beck and call, but a man who was well practiced in the arts of seduction. He wanted—no, he needed—to prove that she no longer had any hold over him. With cold calculation, he determined to kiss her thoroughly, completely, and heartlessly, with all the skill he’d learned in a hundred brothels from here to Shanghai. He planned to ignite her senses until she begged for more, then walk away leaving her weak and wanting.
His plan went badly awry.
He covered her mouth, driven by a passion that came out of nowhere. She tasted sweet—God, he’d forgotten how sweet. He cupped her face in both hands and tilted her head to deepen the caress. With the innocence of an unfolding flower, she parted her lips, tantalizing him, intoxicating him. He delved into her softness and was rewarded by a tiny mew of pleasure from the back of her throat. Desire, heavy and urgent, tightened his body.
For years he’d lived on the pale memory of her kiss. He’d tried to forget it a hundred times, but it always came back to him in hopeless dreams and wishes. Even now he could hardly believe this was real. In a minute I’ll wake up in a foreign port, alone in a cold bed, stiff as a pike—
She reached up and wove her fingers through his hair, moaning his name. Joy knifed through him. This was no dream.
Somewhere in the back of his mind a thread of his all-but-forgotten decency made him start to pull back. That died as she locked her arms around his neck, pulling him into a deeper embrace. He savaged her mouth, suckli
ng and spearing into her lush sweetness like a starving man at a feast. She answered him with an eager innocence. Her untutored pleasure seduced him more quickly than any courtesan’s tricks. He pulled her close, fitting her against him as if they were two halves of the same being. For years, dreams of her had been the only thing that had kept him sane. Now the reality drove him mad.
Blood thundered in his ears. It didn’t matter where they were, or who they were. It only mattered that she was in his arms at last. Without breaking their embrace, he bent her back across the desk and pressed into the V of her legs. She squirmed wantonly under him. Lust raged through him. He’d wanted this for as long as he could remember. Longer. He’d protected her, nurtured her, cherished her. He’d saved her life. She was his, dammit. He bunched up her skirt to reveal the bare skin of her thigh. His. With a feral growl, he stroked the silk glory of her flesh, and felt her shiver with a pleasure that matched his own—
“Oh, my heavens!”
Meg’s cry shattered the embrace. Connor pulled back and staggered against the desk like a bottle-witted man. He shook his head, struggling to regain his balance and his sanity.
Meg faced Connor with her hands on her hips, wearing an expression that made him glad she was not carrying a sword. “Sir, how dare you take such liberties? If I were a man, I would call you out.”
“My dear, don’t make such a fuss,” Juliana replied as she calmly arranged her skirt back over her legs. “The captain and I were engaging in a … business transaction.”
“B-business?” Meg sputtered.
“Yes. Captain Gabriel has agreed to be the new manager for the Marquis Line.” She lifted her gaze to meet Connor’s. “Is that not so?”
Connor stared back, dumbfounded. Except for her heightened color, there was nothing about her that showed that she’d just been thoroughly kissed—and nearly much more. She’d returned his caress with a virginal sweetness, and he’d been idiot enough to believe she was untouched. But her cool gaze showed that her innocence was an act.