In a Pirate's Debt

by Elva Cobb Martin

  Travay smiled and extended her hand. “How do you do, Captain Hawkins? I hope you don’t regret coming in your uncle’s place.” She withdrew her hand when he held on a little long.

  Merle handed Travay a silk wrap, and the couple walked to the waiting coach. Mama Penn followed. A man in spotless red livery bowed and opened the gilded door. The carriage glowed in polished oak, with golden trim outside and red-and-gold satin inside. Captain Hawkins offered Travay his hand, and she stepped up and sat. He climbed in and sat across from her.

  Mama Penn reached in to help arrange Travay’s gown and preserve its yards of fabric from the slightest wrinkle. The ruffles spilled across the carriage and over the captain’s shining black boots. “Now chile, you dance but don’t you get overtired. Sit out some, you hear?”

  Travay smiled and placed her blue lace reticule and matching fan in her lap. Why did she feel this evening might change her life? For no reason she could fathom, a chill traveled up her spine.

  Lucas dusted the finishing touches of powder on his periwig and spread the white paste on his face to hide his tan. He glued a fake mole on the left side of his smooth chin, pulled on shiny dress shoes with wide buckles, and pushed a perfumed handkerchief up his sleeve. Lastly, he placed the pince-nez in the breast pocket of his green silk topcoat. He leaned toward the small mirror, gave one more adjustment to his white silk cravat, and turned around.

  Dwayne Thorpe grinned at him. “You’re the real thing, Lucas. A perfect colonial fop. No one in their wildest imagination could think of you as Captain Bloodstone who sails the southern seas.”

  Lucas bowed toward Thorpe, who was dressed as his footman, and forced his voice half an octave higher. “Let us go, my man, and astound every forlorn maiden in search of a rich husband.” He winked and added in his normal deep voice, “And infuriate every pushy mama and grandmama who wishes a title with the riches.”

  On the way to Sir Oliver Drake’s townhouse, Lucas’ thoughts wandered and, as usual, ended up with Travay’s face haunting him. Thorpe had assured him he had delivered her to her aunt’s home, which overlooked Charles Town Bay. Lucas had ridden by it and decided she must be in good hands. Not many could afford the bay houses—and one with such a large garden as well. He pushed further thoughts about it away and set his mind to being the epitome of a colonial merchant. He pulled the lace-edged handkerchief from his sleeve as the carriage rolled up to the townhouse entrance and placed the pince-nez on his nose.

  In spite of their careful planning, they somehow arrived late.

  “Mr. John Sutherland,” the servant at the door announced as Lucas entered. He acknowledged the introduction with a brief wave of his handkerchief and looked around the room.

  “How good of you to come to our little soiree, Mr. Sutherland.” Lady Drake, his hostess, came forward beaming. She extended her hand and glanced at the far wall, where several young ladies stood whispering behind bright silk fans.

  Lucas bowed to his hostess and headed past the ladies, ignoring their giggles. As he skimmed over them with the slightest of smiles, the glasses almost slid from the bridge of his nose. Travay stood apart next to a window. The azure gown enhanced her ivory skin and silky hair, and when she turned her eyes to him, he almost spoke her name. Instead, he adjusted the pince-nez, gave her a slight bow and moved away, trying to breathe again. She had only glanced at him and then spoke to an English captain standing at her side. A pain crossed his gut as he remembered her last words to him before leaving the ship. Did the most beautiful woman in the world, who constantly invaded his dreams and often his daytime thoughts, actually hate him? He prayed not. Even if he never spent another moment alone with her, he did not want her to hate him.

  Lucas leaned on an ivy-entwined column that led to the entrance of the dining room and watched Travay unobserved. She was the vision of his dreams in her gown, which flowed out from her small waist like a pale-blue cloud. The pearl and diamond necklace at her throat gleamed in the candlelight and caught Lucas’ eye. It was a stunning piece, and it confirmed to him that Travay’s aunt was well able to take care of her. He breathed a sigh of relief and then looked at the man who was obviously her escort. Who was he, besides a captain in His Majesty’s Navy? Travay seemed taken with the man, or at least she was looking into his face and smiling like she’d never smiled at Lucas. The blond man stepped closer to Travay and leaned to speak to her. She laughed. Heat traveled up Lucas’ neck and a new, prickly feeling unsettled him—the knife-sharp pangs of raw jealousy.

  The hostess approached the couple. She drew the captain away with her, and Travay gave him a tiny wave, then turned her head to see the latest arrival enter the hall. She stiffened, and her face turned white as a snowflake. Lucas followed her frozen stare. The butler’s voice rang out the introduction.

  Sir Roger Poole. In his finest silks and satins.

  CHAPTER 10

  Bile rose in Lucas’ throat at the sight of his childhood enemy. Gone was the chubby boy Lucas remembered—he had grown into a vain man. Several of the young women against the wall took notice and tittered behind their fans.

  Poole gave a small tug to his perfectly knotted white cravat and scanned the room. He stiffened, and his eyes widened when he saw Travay.

  She turned away and hurried past Lucas into the dining room.

  Sir Roger followed. “Travay, my dear, how delighted I am to see you alive and well.” That egotistical voice had no effect on Travay’s retreat. She flew through the dining room doors onto the veranda, with Poole close behind.

  Lucas followed Sir Roger and stopped at the door within hearing distance. What an odd thing for Poole to say. He was glad to see her alive? Leaning forward, Lucas saw Travay turn and confront Poole. Anger contorted her lovely face.

  “How dare you follow me out here, Roger, when I never want to see your face again. Didn’t you get the message in Jamaica when I risked my life to get away from you?”

  So her flight over the cliff was from the trussed up snake Roger Poole. Lucas’ gut twisted. Everything in him wanted to grab the man by his silk collar and pound the life out of him. Not even Reverend Wentworth’s face popping into Lucas’ mind lessened the desire to do the man harm. He took a ragged breath and stayed concealed.

  Sir Roger moved closer to Travay. “But my dear, you can’t possibly mean that. Don’t you realize I’ve loved you since you were just a little girl, running around like a tomboy with that no-account Lucas Barrett? I must say, you look absolutely stunning tonight—no evidence of that tomboy at all.”

  Travay swallowed hard trying to stop the choking sensation rising in her throat. “I detest even the sight of you, Roger Poole. I have prayed I would never see you again!” She threw the words at him like stones.

  He looked at her with a sardonic expression and took a step closer. His strong form and fast breathing chilled Travay. Any other woman might have appreciated his handsome face and apparent wealth, but she detested everything about him, even the smell of him. Despite having bathed, dressed in finery, and undoubtedly used an expensive perfume, the man’s own scent rose above it all and sickened her.

  “Have you forgotten, my lovely one, that I still own our old Charles Town plantation that was next to your own, before your illustrious stepfather lost it? And, of course, I also now own the Jamaican plantation. Oh, and I am so sorry to tell you, but your dear stepfather has … succumbed. Just a month after you disappeared, in fact. But, be assured, I am here to take care of you.”

  Her stepfather dead? Her eyes narrowed. “How did he die, Sir Roger? Did you kill him?”

  “Oh my dear, no. I am no murderer.” Sir Roger cleared his throat. “Actually, he, uh, died in a duel over a gambling debt. But not with me, of course. I actually liked the man.” He flipped a handkerchief from his sleeve and touched his nose.

  She inched back from him until her back pressed into the veranda trellis. “I guess you did. You won everything he owned.” You even thought you had won me.

  “My dear g
irl, I won those plantations fair and square, even though they were gambling prizes. But let’s not talk about it.” He leaned toward her. “I have a more pleasant surprise for you. You are going to see a lot of me in Charles Town now.”

  She frowned at the self-satisfaction on Sir Roger’s face. No surprise from him could be pleasant.

  He moved closer, blocking her escape. “Let me introduce myself to you.” He gave a bow. “The newest Charles Town Council Member at your service.”

  Travay gasped. He took advantage of her momentary shock and pulled her into his arms.

  She balled two fists against his chest and tried to push away, but he only leaned in closer. His overdone perfume made her nauseated.

  “I think it best you release the lady, sir.”

  A man stood in the patio entrance. His eyes, hard as steel, bored into Sir Roger’s back. His voice carried authority and sounded familiar to Travay. But no, she was sure she had never seen the man prior to his entrance tonight. She’d hardly glanced at him—a fop if there ever was one. She didn’t even remember his name.

  Sir Roger turned with a sneer on his lips, and his hand moved inside his maroon silk waistcoat. “Really? And just who are you?”

  “A friend of Lady Drake, my lord. John Sutherland.”

  Lucas raised his voice half an octave and played his role to the hilt. He even gave a small bow, though what he really wanted to do was smash his fist into the smirking face of Roger Poole.

  At that moment, the veranda door opened, and the hostess sailed out. “Oh, there you are Sir Roger. And John.” She looked at Travay. “And Miss Allston, I believe?”

  Travay nodded and took a breath as Sir Roger stepped back. Had the woman seen the exchange from the window?

  “Sir Roger,” the hostess continued, “I have several guests asking about you and your new appointment. Won’t you come talk to them? And Mr. Sutherland, perhaps you can persuade Miss Allston to dance with you? Her captain seems to have been captured by others.” She held out her hand to Sir Roger, who had no choice but to offer his arm and escort her inside. At the door, he turned to give a black look at the man who had interrupted.

  Lucas adjusted his pince-nez and stepped toward Travay. “May I have this dance, Miss Allston?” How he wished his smile, his presence, could wipe the desolate expression off Travay’s face as her eyes followed Sir Roger and the hostess through the door.

  Travay nodded and allowed John Sutherland to escort her back inside to the dance floor. Her mind in a dark fog, she stumbled in the minuet steps more than once. She was thankful her partner was adept and alert. He certainly didn’t move like a soft fop, more like a swordsman. And he had a much more pleasant scent than Roger Poole, spicy with a touch of lemon. But what was she going to do now that Roger had found her? No one knew better than she his determination to get what he wanted. Now that he had more power than ever before, how could she have a moment’s peace?

  A face from two months earlier floated into her troubled mind. Captain Bloodstone—Lucas Barrett. How many times had he rescued her? That was a man who would not back down from a threat. But he was assuredly back on the seas, doing what he did best: pirating. And likely remembering her last hateful words. If only she could take them back. She sighed deeply, drawing her partner’s attention. His green eyes behind the pince-nez startled her. She blinked. She must be transferring her thoughts of a long-gone pirate to an overdressed colonial merchant.

  When the minuet ended, Captain Hawkins appeared at Travay’s side.

  John Sutherland bowed and adjusted his pince-nez. She noticed his hand for the first time. How could a tradesman who sat behind a desk most days have such strong, tanned hands? And though his face was white with fashionable paste, a bronzed, corded neck bulged from his cravat.

  The man moved away, and Captain Hawkins led her toward the table of refreshments.

  Lucas could hardly breathe while dancing with Travay. When her escort led her away, he went to the sidelines and breathed deeply. He could not take his eyes from her, and he knew better than to dance with her again. She seemed lost in deep thought—troubling thoughts by the set of her brow. He was glad of it, for if she had not been so preoccupied, she could have recognized him.

  He was sure Roger Poole had everything to do with Travay’s unease. But this was not Jamaica. The scoundrel might have gotten away with forcing his attentions on her there, but he couldn’t do the same at Charles Town. Here British order ruled—at least most days—even for Council Members. He smiled and relaxed a little.

  To make his hostess happy, he danced with several of the young women lining the wall and found more than one of them hinting under fluttering lashes for a walk on the moonlit veranda. But Lucas had little interest, and he rejected the idea of leaving early. He would not leave Travay at the soiree as long as Roger Poole stood next to the laden refreshment table. Although Poole was talking with Lady Drake, his eyes followed Travay’s every move.

  Travay danced several sets with the captain and quite a few other young men. They stood in line, and Lucas couldn’t blame them. She was easily the most enchanting woman on the floor.

  Lucas chose another dance partner. At the right moment, he asked his partner, a giddy girl of no more than sixteen, about the English captain.

  “Oh, he’s Captain James Hawkins, old Mr. Hawkins’ nephew and new in our midst.” She giggled. “And believe me, all of the belles are hoping for a dance with him, even if he may not be in port long.” Then wistfully, “That Allston girl seems to have captured him for the rest of the evening. But, after all, he is her escort.”

  “Do you know why he was posted to Charles Town?”

  “Oh, yes. My papa says Captain Hawkins has been sent by the king to stop the pirates in our southern seas. Isn’t that exciting?” Her eyes glowed with admiration.

  Lucas stiffened. “I suppose so. We can wish him good hunting.”

  After the set, Lucas bowed farewell to his partner and walked to the table laden with food, where he filled a plate.

  Sometime later, he looked up to see Travay and her escort heading to the door. Lady Drake hurried toward them from another part of the ballroom. “Leaving already? But the night is still young, Captain Hawkins.”

  “Yes, it is, but I am due to sail early in the morning, milady. And this young lady,” he bowed toward Travay, “says she has danced her limit for the next two months. We thank you for a wonderful evening. It has been delightful.” His face creased into a warm smile, and he turned to help Travay with her wrap.

  Travay nodded to the hostess. “Yes, thank you so much, Lady Drake, for inviting me.”

  “Young lady, I hate to see you go, but I expect a few other young guests are smiling behind their fans, as dance partners will now be more available.” The hostess leaned over and gave Travay a quick hug.

  Wolfing down another miniature sandwich, Lucas let his eyes sweep over Travay. He would not soon forget how lovely she looked tonight. He would have a good memory for his coming weeks at sea.

  As the door closed behind the pair, Roger Poole approached his hostess. “You say she lives with an aunt on the Bay?”

  On the carriage ride back to town, Travay tried to keep up a polite conversation with Captain Hawkins, but her heart sat like lead in her chest. Roger Poole had found her.

  The captain said something to her. She glanced at him and realized he was awaiting her response. “Oh, I am sorry, what did you say?” She had trouble keeping her concentration on the conversation. Sir Roger’s leering image kept intruding in her thoughts.

  He smiled, reached over, and patted her hand with his gloved one. “I didn’t realize how tired you must be. I heard your servant tell you to sit out some sets, but you didn’t have a chance, did you? I said I am sorry I won’t be in Charles Town longer this first trip.”

  She searched for a reply. “What did you hope to do here, Captain?”

  Now he really grinned at her. “Why, if I could be here longer, I would be delighted to get t
o know you better, Miss Allston.” He leaned to glance into her face.

  Heat warmed her cheeks, but she avoided his gaze. “You did say this is your first trip here?”

  “Yes. I am sure I will be back in a few months with some prizes.”

  Travay longed to arrive home and make it to her bedroom, where she could release the full grief of her burdened heart. But she still tried to keep up her part of the conversation. “What sort of prizes, Captain?”

  “Why pirates, of course. The king has commissioned the HMS Greyhound, a fully outfitted man-of-war, to chase, confront, and arrest any pirates, or privateers acting as pirates, found in these southern seas. I have the honor to command her.” He lifted his chin as his voice rose with confidence.

  She stiffened, then shut her eyes and dropped her head back against the seat. A certain pirate with long black braids and emerald eyes rose larger than life behind her clenched eyelids.

  “Miss Allston, are you all right? Did my talk of pirates frighten you?” The captain reached for her hand.

  Travay lifted her head and set her countenance into a calm pose. “No, of course not. Pirates … are just part of colonial life, are they not?”

  When they arrived at Merle’s house, the captain jumped down from the coach and helped her alight with a firm clasp to steady her. He continued to hold her hand as he escorted her to the door. There, he released it and bowed.

  “Miss Allston, I can’t tell you what a pleasure this evening has been. Just the right send-off for a captain in His Majesty’s forces headed out to sea on a dangerous mission. May I call on you when I return?”

  She considered the fine, chiseled features of Captain Hawkins. He had been a perfect gentleman, and he’d helped keep Sir Roger at bay at the ball. Perhaps he could do so again one day. But how dangerous would he be to Captain Bloodstone? Lucas was probably on the high seas now, unaware a British man-of-war would sail from Charles Town harbor with the morning tide with orders to rid the waters of pirates, or privateers acting as pirates, the man had said. Would Lucas’ letter of marque protect him from this new thrust against piracy?