Her Favoured Captain

by Francine Howarth

  “I love you, too,” sealed their betrothal, his arms tight about her and the kiss pure ecstasy.

  The End

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  List of other books by Francine Howarth

  Blurbs & 1st chapters.

  Historical Romances

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  Venetian Encounter

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  A Romantic Georgian Murder Mystery: 1800: Naples & Venice.

  Amidst a gathering of nobility and gentry a daring jewel theft occurs. A young naval lieutenant suggests the notorious Venetian jewel thief could well be a woman, but a beautiful Russian countess scoffs at his suggestion albeit in coquettish manner. Determined to unmask the identity of the thief, at the same time intrigued by the countess, Lt Herne covertly follows her around Naples: part protective gesture and part curiosity. But where the countess treads murders occur with frequency and she suddenly takes flight to Venice.

  Ordered to the Adriatic on naval business Herne drops anchor in Venice. Tempted ashore by Carnivale a second encounter with the countess proves fatal for both. Madly in love they indulge in pleasurable pursuits but become embroiled in the mysterious death of a Russian count, and Therese feels duty bound to return to St Petersburg. Herne awaits her promised return to no avail. Three years later and back in England he discovers the countess on his doorstep, and wonders if he dare let his heart rule his head again? Equally, Therese fears a secret is best kept secret but Herne asks a potent question and she cannot lie for the truth is staring him in the face!

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  Chapter One

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  Naples: 1800

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  “That’s a ménage à trios, if ever I saw one,” said Lieutenant Herne, a mere whisper.

  “You’re positively indecent,” she said, glancing his way. “I take it you are somewhat familiar with such.”

  “And you are not?” came the reply, his eyes not for one moment leaving that of the trio before them.

  “Hateful man,” she said, a hasty slap direct to his shoulder with folded fan. “I shall have you . . .”

  He swung round alarmingly fast, his chestnut eyes laughing, mocking, and his face creasing to broad grin. “I meant, have you not noticed a certain familiarity erring intimacy between the beautiful couple and, the old goat?”

  “Oh,” So he had not assumed she, Countess Roscoff, keened engagement in scandalous pursuits, though what a shock it might be if the truth about her became known. “Is it not simply that of good friends betwixt the threesome, though a tad overly familiar?”

  He chuckled. “Ha, not as innocent in thought as you would have me believe, eh?”

  She flicked her fan open and raised it to shield a rosy flush to her cheeks, though purposefully coquettish in manner, for Lieutenant Herne in his naval uniform certainly cut a dash with the best of the men present despite a knife-edged scar to his right cheek. “Are you aware your hair tied back in a blue ribbon bow affords a pleasing image to the female eye, which implies a buccaneer spirit beneath your pristine appearance.”

  “Change the subject all you like, and hide behind your fan dear Countess, but I can read those china blues of yours as well as any man familiar with warning of storms ahead.”

  “Oh, and what pray do my eyes reveal to you?”

  He cocked his head infuriatingly to one side and deployed long fingers to his chin, his expression one of deep consideration and air of delight. “Now that’s asking a lot of a man with a buccaneer spirit, and I am not sure I should answer in such a public place.”

  “Pray, do not hold back, for I wish to know if you are indeed able to read my thoughts.” His tanned rather fetching godlike features seemed to freeze, though a discernable pulsing twitch to right jaw erupted at the tip of his scar. Perhaps he was not used to forthrightness from a lady. “Well?”

  “All right, if you are sure.”

  “Absolute sure.” Chin held high, biting her lip to prevent a smile, she withstood the challenge of his eyes roving over hers searching for sign of weakening under stress, which was utterly unbearable, decidedly frustrating and temptingly delicious. “Go on, please do.”

  “From the moment you entered the room I perceived noted interest in the affairs of the beautiful couple before us, and indeed sensed a little sympathy bestowed toward Lord Hamilton, the cuckolded husband. At the same time you were pondering the why and wherefore of such a marriage. And now, you think my previous comment a tad coarse, though somewhat honest in observation.” Herne smiled, a captivating smile. “At this very moment you are deliberating my past life, and whether I may have indulged in a similar assignation.”

  “You did not deny such,” she said, more abruptly than sensible and too late to recant.

  “Ah hah, so I am right in my assumption, you are a one-man woman.”

  She laughed. If only he knew what had really attracted her eyes to the trio, astonishment would be etched upon his visage. Her reason for being there must never come to light, and to that aim, she said, “In the latter you are mistaken. I have no inclination whatsoever to delve into your past.”

  “I beg to differ, and the former caused a flush to your cheeks.” He leaned closer, lowered his voice to a whisper. “Did you not question Lady Hamilton as to my past, and whether I had a wife at home?”

  Damn him, damn him to hell and back for causing a second flush to cheeks.

  “I asked the very same of Colonel Barton.”

  “Fatty Barton?” he said, clearly taken aback.

  “I think him a fine officer, and highly respectful of young ladies, unlike some men I can think of within this very room. His red tunic is very fetching, and his legs set him solid to deck when at sea I shouldn’t wonder.”

  He leaned closer still, mouth almost brushing her ear. “Liar,” his whispered rebuke. “You said yon Royal Marine officer was gross in manner and drools when lusting after young flesh.”

  As he backed away their eyes met and clashed in combat, and his of such a teasing manner as to necessitate rapid fluttering of fan to cool her cheeks and calm her fast beating heart. It was nothing short of a stand off, each attracted to the other, but she would not engage further, such would be folly.

  “My jewels, my beautiful jewels,” came a scream of anguish and despair, which broke the moment, a decidedly awkward moment in time. “My necklace. It has gone. Stolen from around my very neck,” declared a woman of mature years and rotund stature. “Diamonds and rubies, no less.”

  “How could that be?” said another, rushing forward to offer condolences at the lady’s loss of valuables of great merit.

  Several more ladies gathered around, and Emma Lady Hamilton struggled to make her way through an ever-amassing throng of guests, hers and Lord Hamilton’s guests. “When did it go missing?” asked Emma, much concern essayed to the woman, now blubbering with tears streaming.

  Therese moved closer, intrigued by it all and a little amused. She had hoped the disturbance would afford the chance to escape Lt Herne’s attentions and observations, but she sensed a presence behind and knew it to be him before he said in hushed whisper, “That’ll teach her to canoodle with a young stranger in dark corners.”

  “Stranger?”

  “Some gigolo and young enough to be her son.”

  Her heart dived. “You witnessed the pair?”

  “I did, and dare say the vagabond is the very same notorious Venetian thief who became the topic of conversation over supper last evening. In my estimation a trip from Venice to Naples has proved profitable this night, as on previous nights from within the grand social whirl of Naples.”

  “How positively daring to steal away a necklace when the residency is overflowing with guests.”

  She sensed his eyes upon her, and dared not reciprocate as he said, “Similar occurred in Vienna a year past, if the stories are to be believed. And numerous jewel thefts have occurred the last three seasons of the Venice carnivale.”

  “Talked about? A Venetian thief?”

  “Yo
u seem somewhat alarmed, Countess.”

  “Only, in as much I have upon my person a very valuable pendant.”

  “What pendant?”

  She thrust her hand to throat, a sigh of relief escaping. “That was such a cruel trick to play.” Heart at odds with head, Lt Herne’s daring was slipping beneath her shield, and she couldn’t let that happen. “Who is this thief so talked of? I have not heard mention of him before. A Venetian you say?”

  “Him? Who is to say the thief is a man?”

  “But you said . . .Oh, I see . . .”

  He chuckled, his oh so husky deep in the throat chuckle, his gaze having drifted to the distressed lady now besieged within a sea of faces. A smile flickered on Lt Herne’s face. “Can we be absolute sure yon page attending to the victim of loss, is not a girl?”

  “Rosy cheeked, quite pretty for a boy, but a boy nonetheless,” she said, confident in her judgement of gender.

  He laughed. “One glance is sufficient to claim the page a boy?”

  His mocking tone gave rise to wariness. Perhaps Lt Herne was more astute than she’d given him credit for. “If, as you are suggesting, this notorious jewel thief is a woman, are you of mind she masquerades as a man?”

  Seeming unwilling to avert his eyes from the bevy of women gathered about the victim of theft and that of the host Lady Hamilton, he said, “Quite possible, do you not agree?”

  She almost laughed. “The very thought is most amusing, but unlikely.”

  He swung round again, hands behind his back as though standing commandingly on the quarterdeck of his ship, those damn delectable eyes levelling on hers: searching, but for what?

  “Come dear lady, I can see why a man might indulge in a little amour to afford the chance of relieving a salacious lady of her valuables, but where would a man hide his booty and the lady unsuspecting of any thing untoward thereafter?”

  “A pocket. Where else?”

  If only she could read his thoughts, instead she centred attention upon his animated kissable mouth to evade eye contact.

  “True, but if the man had an accomplice, a lady . . .”

  “Accomplice?” she said, breath catching in her throat. “Would such not appear rather obvious?”

  “I think not. The victim and her young admirer happened to be in a darkened corner, and I passed by unnoticed.”

  “Yes, but an accomplice would have to make contact with the thief.”

  “In passing, admittedly, but I swear the very devil could have brushed past unnoticed, for the lady was utterly enamoured by the young man’s attentions.”

  “You have pockets,” she charged, determined to throw him into the frame of suspicion. “And men of military disposition are swift and slick in movement, are they not?”

  “Indeed, and should you care to afford a quick glance at gentlemen within this room, save those in military dress, you will see few have pockets upon their silk coats, their kerchiefs tucked to sleeve.” He chuckled, that oh so husky chuckle again, which caused a frisson of pleasure to ripple down her spine. “A lady on the other hand . . .” His eyes drifted to the cleft of her breasts. “Yes, a lady could slip a necklace down into her bodice and no one any the wiser.”

  She sensed a flush to her cheeks, his eyes boring into hers and it was time to change the subject, but it was changed for her. Lady Hamilton called to her, and she slipped away from Lt Herne. “Therese, darling, would you do me a great favour? Would you be so good as to take Mrs. FitzroyPalmer up to the second floor, along with her page? I’ll join with you, directly, as soon as I’ve made apology to our most esteemed guest Horatio Viscount Nelson.”

  As it happened, the esteemed gentleman came forth, and said, “Your ladyship, William has instructed the doors to be closed and is at this very moment in the process of checking the guest list. No one shall be allowed exit until every guest is accounted for.”

  Emma smiled her eyes fixated on Nelson, and oh dear, Lt Herne it seemed had guessed right, for there was sincere sense of intimacy between Lord Nelson and Lady Hamilton: Emma’s response quite telling. “Am I to presume it was at your suggestion the doors were to be closed?”

  “It seemed eminently sensible in the circumstance of valuable jewels stolen from under our very noses,’ said Nelson, his eyes not leaving Emma’s. “It is the practise aboard ship for a lockdown if theft of Admiralty property occurs.”

  “I thank you most affectionately,” said Emma, her face all flushed eyes sparkling. “What would we do without you?”

  Therese clutched Mrs. FitzroyPalmer’s elbow. “Come dear lady, it seems their lordship’s have taken command, and perchance your jewels will come to light.”

  The lady continued sobbing whilst being led away, and Therese glanced around for sight of Lt Herne, but he’d vanished. As they passed through to the vast outer salon leading to the staircase she spied Lord William in conversation with Lt Herne and other naval officers.

  Indeed, Lt Herne was correct, she did feel a little sorry for William Lord Hamilton. It was all very well for a man of great age to be in possession of a beautiful young wife, but one young enough to be his daughter was a risqué proposition. As British Envoy to Naples and state business to conduct, Lord William had many responsibilities, but surely not so blind as to be unaware of simmering attraction between Emma and Horatio? Yet, his lordship seemed to bestow great affections upon Nelson, a strange relationship having developed.

  She cast another fleeting glance at Lt Herne, the man astute beyond words. Best avoided, Therese, best avoided.

  Whilst ascending the staircase opportunity to catch his every movement became too tempting and she glanced down at him. She instantly wished she had not, for he glanced upward. Their eyes collided, and despite the distance between them it felt akin to a silent caress. She could not, must not let such happen again. She must avoid Lt Herne, at all costs.

  Mrs. FitzroyPalmer ceased blubbering, and said, “What a foolish, foolish thing to do. What ever possessed me to think such a delectable creature as that young man could be any thing other than a rogue?”

  “It happens to all of us,” said Therese, concern hopefully etched upon her face and sufficiently convincing. “Such a beautiful necklace, too.”

  “Genuine, Therese, real rubies and diamonds, not a glass stone amongst ‘em.”

  “I had not thought otherwise.”

  Mrs FitzroyPalmer cast a tear-laden glance her way. “That’s a pretty pendant you’re wearing, too, and modest with it.”

  “Of sentimental value, and thank heaven unlikely to attract the eye of a jewel thief.”

  “Sentimental value is sometimes greater than monetary worth, and if I am not mistaken a tiger eye. Very rare amber, indeed.”

  “I confess I am not in the least given to diamonds and precious coloured stones, I fear I might lose them or have them stolen.”

  Mrs. FitzroyPalmer laughed: tears ebbed. “Ah well, I liked the necklace well enough, but I feel sure Mr. FitzroyPalmer, dear Wesley, will replace it with one equally as beautiful. What else does he have to squander his money on but I?”

  “Oh, then there’s a Mr . . .”

  “Yes, I know what you’re thinking,” said Mrs. FitzroyPalmer, as both stepped onto the gallery above stairs. “Why then would a woman of my years be playing footsy with a young man?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t presume to pass . . .”

  “Perhaps not judge me, but think it utter madness of older woman besotted by youth and vigour. And, and by jove that young man was well endowed.”

  “You mean he . . .?”

  Mrs. FitzroyPalmer giggled. “Oh dear girl, I am always wont to know what I have to look forward to.” The lady giggled, actually giggled. “Don’t look so surprised, I am a woman of the world, and not beyond a little pleasure of the vigorous variety.” Therese drew breath, a band as though tightening across her breasts whilst Mrs. FitzroyPalmer giggled again. “I do believe I’ve shocked you.”

  “No, not at all, but I think I may have
eaten something that hasn’t agreed with me. I feel quite sick.”

  “To the closet girl, to the closet,” urged Mrs FitzroyPalmer, pushing her along from behind. “There, there now,” she said, snatching the screen aside, “head over the pot.”

  She had not been sick in a long while, and to wretch was mortifying, more so as Mrs FitzroyPalmer’s page held forth a glass of wine. “T’will take the taste away, Countess, t’will that.”

  To say thank you was an effort, and worse, the pair hovered in expectation of further eruptions. Thankfully such did not occur, and her stomach levelled out, her thoughts too. Though Mrs. FitzroyPalmer’s expression implied sense of knowing, though quite wrong in her thinking.

  “No, no, I am not with child.”

  “Ah, so food the cause then, or that dreadful wine at the supper table.”

  She dared not reveal what had caused the sudden repulsive eruption. “Perhaps the latter.”

  “How long is it now since . . .well, your husband’s death?”

  “Five, five years.”

  “I so remember Valentine . . . Such a vibrant young man, excellent horseman and good dancer. Yes, yes, indeed, Valentine Roscoff, the man many young women sought to ensnare.” Mrs. FitzroyPalmer snorted. “Strong thighs on him, too, and excellent lover in the buff I shouldn’t wonder.”

  “Killed by the very thing he loved above all else . . . his damn horses.”

  “Oh deary me,” said Mrs FitzroyPalmer, seating her ample proportions to a chaise. “Not the loving husband you’d hoped for, then?”

  Not unaware of Mrs. FitzroyPalmer’s coarseness and pleasure seeking ways, it was a little disconcerting to have someone talk of Valetin in that way, and annoying when people pronounced his name wrongly. She glanced away, her eyes centred on the door praying Emma would appear.

  “Valetin was extremely loving in his own way, but his heart lay with his horses.” She turned to face her charge, which was a little ironic in that Mrs. FitzroyPalmer had taken charge of her instead. “I think he thought of me as a mere trophy to his manliness.”