Once everyone was seated with a cup of tea in hand, the magnificent Mrs Actrol began to read the first chapter of her novel, in a dramatic, booming voice. The ladies hung on her every word, though Polly noted that the Marquess of Falconbridge wore a rather impatient expression as the tale unfolded. When a loud rapping at the door interrupted Mrs Actrol as she was finishing off the first chapter, Lord Delaney stood quickly, insisting that he answer the door, despite Polly's protests.
"He's evidently not an admirer of Gothic romances", Olive had whispered into Polly's ear as the Marquess positively fled the room. Polly had stifled a snort of amusement at the look of relief on Lord Delaney's handsome face as he escaped.
The Marquess did not return instead a curious Emily, who had tailed him into the hallway came back to fetch Hestia to join her husband and whoever it was that had knocked on the door. A part of Polly felt that she should go and offer the newcomer some refreshments, but Olive had told her it was unnecessary.
"Lord Delaney has business with one of the Duke's captains," she had whispered. "It is probably he--I'm sure if they can't master the art of boiling a kettle, they'll come fetch you."
Lord Delaney and the captain had obviously managed, between them both, to make a cup of tea, for they did not return. Emily slipped through the door a few minutes after leading Hestia to her husband, wearing a look of excitement on her face. She kept glancing at Polly, and smiling with delight--leaving Polly to wonder what this captain was like? Emily adored grand men in uniforms, and Polly had an awful suspicion that this captain must be very handsome, to have her sister grinning so.
Mrs Actrol's reading came to an end and the ladies of the house fell into a spirited conversation about the book's characters. Poppy Hamilton was in the middle of extolling the merits of the male lead, when the Marquess popped his head around the door.
"Ladies, my wife and I must take our leave. Will you be travelling with us, your Grace?"
"I suppose I shall, it is rather late," Olive replied with a yawn. "Thank you for having us Polly, and thank you Mrs Actrol for such a riveting reading."
A chorus of agreement went up, as the ladies of the boarding house rained congratulations upon the authoress, who preened under their praise. The Marquess beckoned for Polly, who left her charges, and went to where he stood in the doorway.
"I've left my visitor in the kitchen. He's a captain off one of Everleigh's ships," the Marquess whispered. "He needs a room for the night, if you would be so kind?"
"Of course, my Lord," Polly gave a slight bob at his words. "Any friend of the Duke's is most welcome in this home. I'll fetch him now and show him to his room, before the ladies catch sight of him and scare him off."
With a wicked smile to the Marquess, Polly made her way to the kitchens, where the mysterious captain was waiting. He was standing with his back to her when she entered, staring into the warm fire that danced in the hearth. Polly allowed herself a quick second to appreciate the breadth of his shoulders, and his fine figure, before she spoke.
"Lord Delaney tells me you're looking for a room, Captain," she said cheerfully, obviously startling the man, for his shoulders stiffened at her voice. "I've one free, it's in the back of the house, away from the noise of the other guests."
The Captain turned as she finished speaking, and Polly almost fainted with shock as she realised who it was that was standing in her kitchen.
"Polly?" James Black, tall and dangerously handsome, looked at her with a pale, shocked face. "Is that you?"
For years after James had humiliated her, Polly had often imagined the stinging barbs she would deliver, if she was ever unfortunate enough to meet him again. All the insults she had practised, however, fled her head now that he stood before her, and she found herself staring at him mutely.
"It is you," James' handsome face broke into a smile, and he took a step toward her with his hands outstretched. "My Lord, I have been looking for you for a decade."
Being tall as he was, James had crossed the breadth of the room in two long strides, and by the time Polly had gathered her woollen thoughts, he stood before her. His hand reached out--a strong, calloused, working man's hand--to take hers, and the instant that his skin touched Polly's own, she snapped out of her shocked silence.
"A decade?" she mused aloud, snatching her hand back from his and cradling it to her body as though it had been burned. "That doesn't say much for your hunting skills, Captain."
"I am--"
"You are looking for a room," Polly interrupted him, beckoning him to follow her into the hallway, which James did, still wearing an expression of shock. "Yes, the Marquess told me as much."
Polly strode down the corridor to the entrance hall, where she flung the front door open and gestured for James Black to follow her outside, which, again, he did.
"Unfortunately, Captain," Polly said darkly, once they were both outside, on the cobbled path, "There's no room at this inn for a man such as you."
With a smile of triumph, Polly turned on her heel, marched back inside and slammed the front door so loudly that several ladies popped their heads out of the drawing room, to see what was the matter.
"Is everything alright, Polly?" Mrs Actrol, as the most senior guest, took charge of the situation, shooing the curious guests back inside the drawing room and coming to stand beside Polly in the hallway.
"Everything is just fine," Polly whispered automatically, knowing that the tears which now poured down her cheeks said otherwise.
"I often find," Mrs Actrol replied kindly, "That when things are as fine as they appear to be with you, that a nice snifter of brandy can only make them finer."
"How did you know I was lying?" Polly asked gratefully, as the older woman led her down the corridor to the kitchen.
"The tears were quite evidence enough," Mrs Actrol murmured as she opened the door of the larder, emerging a few seconds later with a bottle of brandy that Polly sometimes used for cooking. "Though the manner in which you slammed the door was what gave the game away. Strong women like you Polly, rarely lose their temper unless it is warranted."
Polly graciously accepted the glass of brandy that Mrs Actrol handed her, and swallowed it in one go. She didn't feel like a strong woman at that particular moment in time. She felt raw and exposed, as though her very skin had been stripped away and her innards were on display for all to see.
"Who was he?" Mrs Actrol prompted, after a few moments of silence.
"Just a man that broke my heart," Polly shrugged, and gave her friend a watery smile.
"Well, he's lucky you didn't break his nose, and that you took your anger out on the door instead," Mrs. Actrol responded with a wicked cackle, most at odds with her respectable, matronly appearance.
"I don't think I'll be able to restrain myself from doing just that, if I see him again," Polly muttered darkly, the brandy stoking the fires of anger in her belly. How dare he presume that he could return to her life with just one quick apology and a lopsided smile?
"Well, don't hold back on my account, dear," Mrs Actrol gave a wicked smile, "You know I'm always looking for material to inspire my next book."
Polly laughed, and the act itself calmed her; life would go on as it had, and James Black would hopefully disappear on whatever ship he had come in on. Everything will be fine, Polly told herself, even though she was acutely aware that she still cradled the hand he had touched, and that frissons of tension seemed to emanate from the very spot that their skin had met.
CHAPTER SIX
In the years since he had left Newcastle as a wet behind the ears young tar, Captain James Black had seen many things. On his first voyage to sea, he had witnessed Napoleon's ships appear on the horizon during the horrific battle of Trafalgar, and the bloody violence which had followed. Over the years he had fought men bare handed, had blades held against his neck by pirates, and had even been run through with a sword--but never had he felt such abject fear as he did now.
The anger, humiliation and raw hatr
ed in Polly Jenkin's gaze as she had slammed the door of the boarding house shut on him, made it more than evident that time had not mellowed the hurt of his betrayal. For years, he had lived with one eye open for her; at every port he docked, or when he had leave to wander London or Newcastle, he had searched for her. In his mind, he imagined that when they were reunited, he would beg her forgiveness--on his knees if needs be--and that she would reluctantly grant it. He would have to work to make her trust him again, he had reasoned, but the strength of his love for her would soon cast aside any of her doubts.
Except his imagination was no match for the living, breathing Polly Jenkins, whose beauty had rendered him mute and whose anger had left him standing outside in the cold dark night.
The curtains in the bay window to the right of the doorway where he stood, twitched slightly, and James observed several females peeking through the gap they had created. Their eyes watched him curiously, obviously waiting for him to do something interesting or scandalous. James swallowed a curse, for it had been on his mind to bang on the door and shout until Polly relented and received him.
It wouldn't do, he thought sensibly, to cause a scene. He was a sailor, a captain, a man of the sea--he knew that battles were not won quickly, they were won with persistence, determination and, most of all, patience. Twelve years at sea had afforded him many skills, among them the ability to retreat and regroup.
James doffed his hat to the ladies in the window, who disappeared the instant that they realised they had been spotted, their shrieks and giggles audible even through the glass window pane. He turned on his heel and strode down the cobbled path, which led from the boarding house down to the quaint, fishing village of St Jarvis.
James had left his horse in the stables behind the tavern, thinking to leave him there for the night, but instead, to the surprise of the young lad inside, he returned and requested the beast to be saddled again.
"I thought you was stayin'?" the lad remarked curiously, as he busied himself attending to the stallion.
"There was no room at the inn," James responded mysteriously.
"What, in old Mrs Barker's place?" the young fellow looked confused, "There's at least a dozen rooms in it and only half a dozen ladies."
"Do you know the woman who currently runs the place?" James asked, curiosity getting the better of him. He wanted to know everything that he could about Polly--even if it was only second hand for the moment.
"Everyone knows Poll," the lad beamed brightly, his eyes a little glazed. "She's magnificent--did you see her? Half the men folk around here are mad to get a ring on her finger, but she won't look twice at 'em."
"Why is that I wonder?"
"Ain't no one in St Jarvis good enough for Polly, that's why," the boy replied seriously. James could tell, from the fierce look in his eyes, that if the young lad were ten years older, he'd be making every attempt to convince Polly that he was good enough for her. He had to admire the lad, though a strange stab of envy pierced him, for the lad, who had no history with Polly, quite possibly stood a better chance than James did.
Once his horse was readied, James travelled the short distance along the cliff path to Pemberton, the house from which he had departed but a few hours before. His employer, the Duke of Everleigh, had bade him visit St Jarvis to speak with an acquaintance who needed information on a pirate by the name of David Stockbow, with whom James had crossed swords with on numerous occasions. As he had left, the Duke had off-handedly suggested that if James was to struggle to find accommodation for the night, that he should return to Pemberton. That the Duke had actually not thought that James would be unable to find a bed was evident by the shock on his face when James was shown into Everleigh's library by the butler.
"Good God man, you're drenched."
"It was just a bit of drizzle," James commented stoically, just as a burst of thunder sounded outside. In truth, he was soaked to the skin, and welcomed the warmth of the Duke's masculine library, where a large fire roared in the fireplace. He took a seat on the leather Chesterfield and gratefully accepted the tumbler of whiskey Everleigh offered, allowing himself a moment to appreciate how the fiery drink warmed his bones.
"Was Polly unable to find you space?" the Duke asked after a few minutes of silence; Ruan Ashford was many things, but he was not stupid. He must have known that the inn was but half full, and that as James was known to the Duke, it would have been expected that Polly would have accommodated him.
"Polly was unwilling to offer me a bed for the night," James replied truthfully, for part of the plan he had devised on his journey to Pemberton involved seeking the blessing of the Duke.
Everleigh, a man of few words, merely raised a curious eyebrow as a sign that he wished James to continue.
"I spent the first thirteen years of my life in Newcastle," James began, taking another sip of his whiskey to bolster his courage. "Polly and I grew up together, we were—"
James paused, what exactly had he and Polly been to each other? Not brother and sister, or even family, but something more--soul mates.
"We were close," he finished lamely, the look of abject despair on his face perhaps conveying how he truly felt.
"And now you are not?" Everleigh stood and topped up James' glass with a larger measure than the first, then sat back down and watched him expectantly.
"After my mother died, I discovered that I was the bastard of a dead Earl," James said with a sigh, throwing back his drink in one gulp.
"Whose bastard?"
Even the Duke of Everleigh was not immune to wishing to know the gossip about his fellow members of the ton, James noted wryly.
"It does not matter," he gave a shrug, for truly he never thought of the Livingstone side of his family, and judging on how no one had come searching for him in the decade he had been gone, nor did they think of him. "What matters is that I was taken away from Newcastle and sent to live amongst the ton. I drifted so far away from all that had made me as a boy, that when Polly came looking for me some years later, I..."
James trailed off; even all these years later, the burning shame that he felt at what he had done still tortured him. There was no emotion that could eat at the soul quite like shame could--the regret that he felt for that split-second decision still tore at his guts like a fresh, new wound.
"I disowned her before my new friends, because I was ashamed of being associated with the poverty she represented."
All this was said in one exhalation, as though the quicker he said it, the less that Everleigh might judge him. To the man's credit, the Duke did not wince or tut in disapproval, merely stared at James thoughtfully.
"In all the time, you have been in my employ," Everleigh eventually replied, "I have known you to be a man of honesty and integrity. No one person can claim to have lived their life without hurting another, and there are many men who would not even cast a second thought upon those that they have caused pain to."
James stayed silent, absorbing the Duke's every, weighted word.
"I can't say that what you did to Polly was insignificant," the dark haired man offered shrugging his broad shoulders, "But neither is the fact that you still regret your betrayal. Many men would not think twice, Black, and that is something you must not forget."
"I suppose, there is something in it," James returned, too overcome with gratitude to the Duke for helping to ease the weight of shame from his shoulders, to reply properly. "All I need to do is to try to show Polly how much I regret my actions that day, and that I would do anything in the world for her forgiveness."
"Is that why you're here?" Everleigh asked astutely, his blue eyes more than a little amused.
"I fear that winning Polly's trust may take time, Your Grace," James looked the Duke in the eye as he spoke, "Which means that I will have to resign my post."
The Duke of Everleigh owned one of England's largest merchant shipping fleets, which traded goods from every corner of the world. After the war with Napoleon had ended, James had taken up em
ploy with Everleigh--not out of financial necessity, but rather because it was the only way of life he knew. James had thought that he would always be lured by the siren call of the sea, but now here he was, ready and eager to make the land his home.
"While it is a great pity, and your skills will be much missed, I understand completely," Everleigh answered, as he scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Do you have somewhere to stay?"
"Definitely not the boarding house," James offered with a wry smile —for now, at least.
"Then you must stay in one of my properties," Everleigh's tone brokered no argument, "Timmons, my head steward, will find an empty one for you in the morning."
"Thank you, Your Grace," the Duke's generosity was more than James had expected.
"I'm not entirely motived by altruism," Everleigh gave a bark of laughter, his white teeth flashing against his tanned skin as he smiled. "I'm rather hoping that when you've won Polly's hand, that you'll return to my employ. A good Captain is hard to find."
The Duke spotted the crestfallen look on James' face immediately, and again laughed.
"Though I am, at heart, a realist," Everleigh conceded, taking a thoughtful sip of his brandy, "I myself thought that I would never settle in one place, that is until I married Her Grace. Now I loathe the very thought of being away at sea, for any length of time."
It was a most unfashionable admission, to declare oneself so attached to one's wife, though to see a man such as the Duke of Everleigh, so clearly smitten, was heartening. Love conquers all, James thought, even the most hard of hearts. Polly's heart might be closed to him now, but he was certain that he could penetrate her defences.
Everleigh soon called for the butler, who showed James to a bedchamber on the third floor of the house. As he lay in bed under the heavy, velvet canopy, James began to map out his plan of attack. His first step was to establish himself in the village of St Jarvis, then once he had shown Polly that he intended to stay, he would work on building trust between them. It all seemed perfectly reasonable to his mind, though as he recalled the stab of jealousy that he had felt for the young stable boy, he realised that reason would probably flee his mind when he saw Polly again.
The Captain of Betrayal Page 5