Captured for the Captain's Pleasure

by Ann Lethbridge

  She blinked back the prickle behind her eyelids and, despite the stiffness of her lips, managed a cool smile. ‘I understand.’

  For a moment he stared at her, longing leaping in his eyes like a flame reaching out to touch her soul. Longing for what? Understanding? Forgiveness?

  The flicker died in the space of a heartbeat, if it was ever there. His expression resumed its customary insouciance, a half-smile lifting the corners of his lovely lips.

  Blast him. She’d been such a willing victim. A pathetic, lonely spinster who had fallen for his charm and his handsome good looks the moment he glanced her way. She’d succumbed to the faintest of promises and the demands of her body for something more than an empty bed. Not to mention the longings of her empty heart.

  She lifted her chin and stared down her nose. ‘Don’t feel you have to leave England on my account.’

  He opened his mouth to speak.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, her face flushing with embarrassment. ‘It’s not on my account, is it? This is your way of punishing Jaimie.’

  His eyes blazed. ‘How dare you suggest such a thing? I hold no grudge against Jaimie and he knows it.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. He worships you, I think.’

  He flinched as if she’d struck him. ‘He’s a fool.’

  The self-loathing in his voice shocked her into silence. The emptiness mirrored in his gaze caused her heart to ache for his pain. ‘Perhaps I was wrong to condemn you out of hand, Michael. You acted based on a misapprehension. You were angry. Under similar circumstances I might have done the same.’

  A derisive sneer curled his lip. ‘Always kind-hearted.’ He cut off her protest with a savage swipe of his hand. ‘No platitudes, if you please.’ His gaze clashed with hers, wild, angry, like a storm at sea, and full of a hunger she didn’t understand.

  Then he bowed. ‘I truly wish you the happiness you deserve. Please present my apologies to Lady Selina.’

  It all seemed to happen so fast. One moment he was standing by the window, the next he was out of the front door before she had made it halfway down the passage with his name hovering on her lips. What had she intended to say? I don’t care what you did. I love you?

  Had she lost every shred of pride? Could he have spelled it out any more clearly? He didn’t want her.

  It was over. She had money and freedom. She could dance till dawn and bed whomsoever she wished.

  But what good was that when there could never be anyone else but Michael?

  She touched the gold circle at her neck. She should have given it back.

  Selina met her on her way back to the drawing room.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked breathlessly, reaching out and touching Alice’s arm. ‘I heard him leave. I was hoping…’

  ‘What?’ Alice said. ‘That it would all end happily ever after?’

  She hurried to the window and looked down into the street. He’d gone and she’d never see him again. Never look into those turquoise depths and see the heat of his desire. The only thing they’d shared was a brief torrid affair. Yet she felt torn in two, as if she’d never be whole again.

  Nonsense. There were things to do. Father to be brought home. Richard to ready for school. A new operating room to plan at St Thomas’s. Practical things.

  Commonsensical Alice things.

  The old enthusiasm refused to surface.

  Haunted by the memory of his gaze, she stared down into the empty street. A deep, dark well of sadness opened up at her feet. It would swallow her up if she let it. She could sink into its darkness and dwell in misery.

  Only this time it wasn’t her pride on the floor in shreds, it was her heart.

  And what little was left was madly telling her not to give up.

  He’d said he wanted her happiness. Then why was he leaving?

  Only one person could shed any light on Michael’s true state of mind. Father would be safe for a day or two. Michael, on the other hand, would soon be lost to her forever.

  ‘Alice?’ Selina touched her arm. ‘Are you all right? Did he tell you where your father is?’

  ‘Yes.’ Alice swung around. ‘I need to borrow your carriage.’

  The Albright carriage pulled up outside Sandford House. Alice waited impatiently for the footman to let down the steps. Selina had insisted on an escort of three of her father’s footmen. When she stepped down from the carriage, she could feel the disapproval of all three pairs of eyes.

  Ladies did not travel across the countryside at breakneck speed.

  Ladies didn’t chase their husbands to find out why they were being abandoned.

  She stared at the house and bit her lip. What if he was here? Then she would ask him to look in her eyes and tell her the truth, because what he had said in London did not make any sense. He’d given her permission to take any man to her bed. And he had looked so dashed bleak.

  Had he found her wanton nature distasteful in a wife? He hadn’t seemed to mind. Or did he think she could not remain faithful, given that she had already taken a lover before him? Could that be what was driving him away? He certainly hadn’t looked happy. Or did he resent being trapped in a marriage he’d engineered on a false assumption?

  Or was there something else? Something to do with that brief glimpse of hunger in his eyes?

  The questions had been going around and around in her head on the journey until she thought she might go mad.

  All the time she was haunted by the bleakness in his face and the feeling she had missed a vital piece of information.

  She squared her shoulders. She would have the truth, no matter how much it hurt.

  The footman proceeded ahead to knock on the door. A horseman trotted around the corner, coming from the stables. The black mare snorted and danced at the sight of the carriage, showing the whites of its eyes. The horseman reined the animal in with a firm hand.

  He raised his hat. ‘Lady Hawkhurst?’

  ‘Lord Sandford?’ It was the first time she’d seen him off his pile of cushions, his dark hair ruffled by the breeze, his face tinged with colour. He looked quite handsome.

  He swung down from his horse. ‘What a pleasure,’ he said, sounding wary.

  Lord, he was unexpectedly tall. Nearly as tall as Michael, but slender, less powerful in his shoulders.

  ‘I need to talk to you about Michael.’ She glanced at the servants. ‘Is there somewhere we can speak privately?’

  ‘Walk with me,’ he murmured. ‘Here, you,’ he addressed the snooty footman. ‘Hold my mare.’ The man took the reins as if he expected the horse to bite.

  Sandford held out his arm and led her off the drive and across the wide open sweep of lawn. When they were out of earshot of the servants, he looked down at her. ‘How may I be of service?’

  Where to begin? How to ask? Lord, he would think her such a besotted fool.

  ‘Michael is leaving England.’

  His mouth tightened; he looked desperately sad. ‘I know.’

  ‘Do you…is it…’ ? This was harder than she expected, but there really wasn’t much time. ‘Do you know why?’

  ‘He came to tell me he was leaving a few days ago.’ He looked off into the distance, his voice husky and strained. ‘I begged him not to go.’ His voice broke. ‘It’s all my fault.’ His words trailed away and he looked down at her. ‘Did he tell you I was the one who caused the fire?’

  He sounded so miserable, her heart went out to him and she placed her hand on his forearm. ‘He said it was an accident.’

  ‘But it wasn’t an accident when I lied,’ he said forcefully, as if the truth was too hard to keep inside. ‘If I had not tried so hard to please him… If I had dared admit the truth…’ He blinked rapidly. ‘He hates me. He says he does not, but why else would he leave?’

  ‘I think he resents being trapped into marriage.’ It was all she could admit.

  He stopped walking, his dark eyes still moist from his own sorrow, but his expression held shock. ‘He loves you.’
r />   ‘No,’ she said, her heart aching for hopes she should never have entertained. ‘Never once has he spoken of love.’ Not even when she’d admitted her own feelings.

  ‘I never saw him so happy as the day after your marriage,’ he said earnestly. ‘Never. Not even when he found me again, for then he had only just learned of his family’s deaths. It was as if he’d lost them twice. First when he thought they’d abandoned him, and again when he came home and found them gone. He was so angry at what Fate had done to him. He believed it was punishment for disobeying his father’s orders.’

  He closed his eyes for a long moment. ‘I encouraged him to hate your father, because he seemed to need someone to blame and I didn’t want it to be me. I never gave a thought to the consequences.’ He gave a sharp laugh. ‘The smoke can lead one astray.’

  Alice mulled over his words, laying them alongside what she knew of Michael and what he had said in London. ‘Do you think he has gone back to blaming himself?’ If that was it, and only that, perhaps there was still hope.

  He looked down at the ground and pushed at the head of a daisy with the toe of his boot. ‘I don’t know. It hardly seems rational.’

  Pain wasn’t rational. He’d clearly much rather blame himself than blame Jaimie. Much as she had blamed herself for what had happened with Andrew. And still did.

  There was really only one way to know for sure how he felt. If she dared take the risk.

  ‘Where is Michael now?’ she asked.

  ‘Portsmouth, if he hasn’t already sailed.’ He looked at her, his fine mouth drawn down. ‘He suggested I go with him. How could I give myself such a gift, knowing what I’d done? Knowing my actions drove him from England?’

  Men. Who understood them and their pride? If Michael had offered her a berth on his ship, she would have jumped in the long boat without a second’s thought. And if she wanted to get to the bottom of Michael’s decision, that might be what she needed to do.

  She turned to face him, took both his hands in hers and gazed up into his misery-filled dark eyes. He looked younger than his years and so very vulnerable. Her heart, bruised and broken though it was, welled with sympathy. ‘I honestly don’t believe Michael blames you for the past, and you must not blame yourself.’

  He flashed her a brief smile of thanks, but she wasn’t sure he accepted her advice. ‘What will you do now?’

  ‘Well,’ she said, with sudden insight, ‘I was planning to go to Portsmouth anyway. My father is there.’

  He blinked. His eyebrows shot up. ‘He did say you were a clever woman. May I wish you luck?’

  She nodded. She was going to need more than luck, but she would take whatever she could get.

  The Gryphon, renamed the Alice, was ready to put to sea. Why the hell had he done that to himself? Michael wondered as he inspected the repairs to his cabin. Every time someone said the name, his gut lurched. Sometimes he forgot and looked up, expecting to see her.

  Well, he couldn’t change it now. They were to sail on the tide.

  ‘Someone to see you, Cap’n,’ Simpson announced.

  A tall young man strode into his cabin. Suntanned and broad, Richard looked more man than boy. He removed his hat and saluted smartly.

  ‘Fulton.’ Michael leaned back in his chair. ‘Why aren’t you on your way to Oxford?’

  ‘I don’t want to go to Oxford. I want to finish my training with Wishart.’

  ‘Your sister wants you home,’ he said roughly. ‘Go away. Can’t you see I’m busy?’

  Richard shoved his fingers through brown curls. ‘You are just like my father. He always does what Alice wants. When do I get to have a say in my life?’

  ‘When you’ve finished school.’

  ‘I hate it.’

  ‘If you want to be a good officer, you’ll need mathematics and astronomy.’

  ‘You didn’t go to university.’

  ‘If you want the kind of training I had, join the navy.’ He couldn’t keep the sharp edge from his voice.

  The boy glowered from beneath his eyebrows. Sulky bastard.

  ‘Look, lad. Two years at school is nothing. You’ll get to meet men your own age, kick up a few larks, learn about the world. If you want to go to sea after that, the navy will be glad to have you. By then the war should be well and truly over. Right now, your sister needs to know you are safe and well. Get on the next coach to London. She’s waiting for you.’

  ‘Two years,’ Richard muttered. ‘As soon as I’m eighteen, I’ll be looking for a berth on a ship.’

  ‘Ask Wishart for a reference.’

  The rigid face eased into a rueful smile. He stuck out a hand. ‘I wanted to thank you. For the opportunity to find out what I really want.’

  An odd lump filled Michael’s throat. God, he had so misjudged Fulton and his brood. ‘You are welcome,’ he said gruffly. ‘Now be on your way before the press gangs do a sweep of the wharfs and you find yourself before a very different kind of mast.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’ The boy executed a smart about-face and rolled out of the cabin with a sailor’s swagger. In a year or so he would make a very good officer.

  Michael unrolled the chart on his desk. He stared at it. Where to go? America? Africa? How far did he have to go to get Alice out of his head?

  And, dammit, his heart.

  She’d looked so damned wounded when he had told her what he’d done, he would have liked to have ripped his stupid heart out of his chest and hand it to her on a platter.

  Not a good idea.

  He was bad luck. Bad joss, a Chinese sailor had told him once. Jigger it. Bad luck always went in threes. It had been bad luck she’d been on the Conchita. Bad luck he’d won their chess game and bad luck she’d found out about the letters.

  He wasn’t going to risk sticking around for the next round in case Alice got hurt worse.

  He rubbed his fingers across his collarbone. With a wry grin, he remembered he’d given his lucky piece to Alice. Hopefully, it would keep her safe.

  As long as Michael stayed away from her, she’d be all right.

  Two more hours and he’d cast off from England’s shores. The only thing he regretted was not convincing Jaimie to come with him. The sea air might do the man some good. Get him away from that damned pipe of his and his less than savoury friends. After making provisions for Alice, he’d arrived at Jaimie’s house to bid him farewell and found a bunch of hell-raisers in the throes of a highly suspect form of entertainment involving monks’ robes and chanting. Not to mention the naked women.

  He’d tossed them out.

  Jaimie hadn’t objected. Indeed, he’d welcomed Michael back with open arms, clearly relieved he’d been forgiven. Hell. Michael had nothing to forgive. He was the one who’d caused all the damage. Ruined everyone’s lives.

  He was lucky Alice wasn’t carrying a child. His chest squeezed painfully. They would have made nice babies together.

  Bugger. He swiped the trail of moisture from his cheek. Was he some sort of maudlin idiot in his cups? He forced his gaze back to the chart. He needed to decide. Never had he been so indecisive. Without a plan. Rudderless.

  He picked up a pin, closed his eyes, waved it around in circles, and brought it down hard. India.

  It was as good as anywhere else. He wouldn’t mind a tangle or two with the East India Company. They’d had that corner of the world all their own way for far too long. And it was a good long voyage. About as far from England as he could get. And satisfyingly dangerous.

  The only place worse was China. Perhaps he’d go there next.

  He picked up his compass and ruler and began the delicate task of plotting.

  Another knock on the door.

  ‘What now?’ he muttered.

  The door opened. ‘New cabin boy, Cap’n,’ Simpson said. ‘Seeing as how Wishart took Jacko on to replace the Fulton lad.’

  ‘I don’t need a cabin boy.’ Michael had only taken Jacko on because he’d found the lad starving on the waterfront.


  ‘Chuck him over the side for the fishes, shall I?’

  A squeak of terror brought his gaze off the paper.

  The barefoot, ragged boy, with dirt on his face and a disreputable cap pulled low over his forehead, kept his gaze fixed on the deck and his shoulders hunched.

  There was something dreadfully familiar about the lad. He rose to his feet, supporting himself with his hands on the desk as he leaned forwards to get a better look. ‘Alice?’

  The boy raised his head. A pair of wide hazel eyes met his. ‘How did you know?’

  He felt very strange. Light-headed. Off kilter. Happy. He got a grip on himself. ‘What the devil are you doing here? And looking like that? Damnation. Come inside and close the door. Simpson, I don’t want to be disturbed.’

  ‘Aye, aye, Cap’n.’

  Something in the steward’s voice made Michael look at him again. The man had the broadest grin he’d ever seen, and Simpson was a master at grins.

  ‘Out,’ Michael said.

  The door swung shut.

  Alice took off her cap and fiddled with it. Her hair stuck straight up like a crest.

  ‘What did you do to your hair?’

  ‘Oh.’ She smoothed it flat. It looked better. Actually it looked nice. Sexy. His blood stirred.

  He stalked around his desk, stood in front of her, looking down at the wisps of hair sticking up on her head, the elegant shoulders in rough linen, her beautiful, slender bare feet.

  Big mistake. Getting close. From here he could smell her. Amid the dirt and the odour of horses, he smelled lavender. ‘If you are going to dress as a boy, it is a bad idea to use female perfume,’ he growled. ‘You might give sailors the wrong idea.’

  ‘I’ll remember that next time,’ she said agreeably.

  He grabbed her arm, tilted her chin with one finger until they were almost nose to nose, lip to lip. ‘There isn’t going to be a next time.’

  She shook her head.

  He stared into her eyes, saw the lost promises and cursed. He spun away, rubbing at the new growth of beard on his chin. He’d forgotten the itch of a new beard, but it wasn’t the real reason his skin was tingling. Was she…? The air burst from his lungs. Wild hope rushed in. He turned. ‘You are not with child?’