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“St. Paul’s Cathedral?” Beryl considered aloud, but then she thought of a better place. “No, St. James’s Park. Duck Island. My mother knows I love to go see the pelicans. I’ll be there at one o’clock tomorrow.”
Was it silly she couldn’t wait for time to pass until then?
“And you will bring the paper to prove recovering the necklace was your charge from the queen?” she insisted.
“The letter of marque states I’m sanctioned by Queen Victoria. It doesn’t mention the necklace.”
“I see.” Was he playing with her?
Philip shook his head. “I don’t care for the doubtful tone to your voice, nor your frown.”
Reaching toward her, he caressed her forehead, smoothing it.
“I can prove it was my mission,” he added. “Listen, and I’ll say this as briefly and plainly as possible, and then I had best be off before I compromise you and we have to marry.”
She shrugged, maintaining a placid expression when inside, her heartbeat had sped up at his words. What if they had to marry? Would he be upset at the prospect?
For an instant, she thought it would be fortuitous if one of her parents happened along. Then she considered the shame and how it would disappoint them. And, of course, there was Arthur.
Sitting up in bed, she clutched her satin counterpane to her chest, watching his eyes follow her movements. How would he prove the necklace was not simply pirate booty he’d happened upon in China?
“Tell me,” she urged, “and then, as you said, you must go.”
“The gray pearls in the necklace previously belonged to Queen Marie Antoinette, and they were smuggled to England by Elizabeth, Countess of Sutherland, the wife of a British diplomat. The queen of France intended for the countess to keep them only until she escaped The Temple where Marie Antionette was imprisoned with her family, or until loyalists triumphed over the revolution. However, a year later, the queen was headless and could no longer use her jewels. Naturally, the Sutherlands kept them.”
“How sad,” Beryl said, and she meant it.
Philip shrugged and continued his tale. “Years ago, the Sutherlands used some of the French queen’s pearls to create a necklace for one of their brides. The current duchess was at the palace, performing her duties as Mistress of the Robes for our queen. At a state dinner attended by ambassadors to the Qing emperor, she wore the necklace, removing it later that evening in her room at the palace. And that was the last she saw of it.”
“Someone pilfered it from the palace,” Beryl mused, trying to imagine such audacity. “And because the emperor’s emissaries were visiting, naturally, you were sent to China to look for it.”
“Exactly. As you can imagine, the Duchess of Sutherland wants her necklace back. Any of Marie Antoinette’s jewels are rare, at least in England, though she managed to send the rest to her sister, Marie Christine, in Brussels. Queen Victoria is upset on behalf of her lady-in-waiting, naturally, but more than that, she is angry at someone following the Manchus’ orders to steal from Buckingham Palace. It could as easily have been an order to slit our queen’s throat, if you see her concern.”
“I do, of course,” Beryl agreed. “What a fascinating story, Captain. You have certainly earned your necklace.”
He smiled.
“Tomorrow,” she added, making his smile dim slightly. “With the pelicans. Now, you really must be going.”
In fact, she could hear the rag-and-bone man calling his way along the street, which meant servants must be rousing in the basement and the attic.
Instead of hurrying out of her room, he knelt upon her bed, leaned close, and kissed her again.
“Until tomorrow, my lady.”
How romantic! Like a Shakespearean play or an Austen novel.
“Until tomorrow, Lord Corsair.”
She noticed he rolled his eyes at her use of his nickname.
“I’m starting to feel more like a pirate every day,” he muttered and disappeared as quietly as he’d come.
***
SLEEPING WELL AND RISING after lunch, Beryl was still pondering their pre-dawn tryst — for that’s what she’d decided to call it — as her maid helped her dress. Her only regret was in forgetting to ask after Leo, her soft and sweet companion from those long hours in his owner’s cabin. She hoped he was well. Even more, if possible, she hoped to see the cat again.
Would the captain remain in her life after she returned the necklace?
Being honest with herself, she wanted him to, though she couldn’t see how it would be possible. Not if she remained on her planned path of marriage with Arthur.
On the other hand, she wouldn’t have let Philip touch her as he had if his kiss hadn’t immediately confirmed her strong feelings for him.
What had begun as a tiny ember of interest had flared to full-blown love. Rash of her, she knew, and no one would understand it, least of all herself, but the man had plundered her heart and taken it for his own.
And it wasn’t simply a cherished memory of months ago, embellished by her fertile imagination. It was happening even now. She’d felt as if she were in a daze until the Mallory’s ball. That instant, upon seeing Philip again, dancing in his arms, she’d come alive as she hadn’t been since parting from him on the deck of the Robert.
Even then, thinking of the captain, her body warmed, and low, between her hips, her stomach fluttered when she thought of how he’d touched her and kissed her. Instantly, her nipples puckered at the recollection. She wanted him to touch her and do much more, as well.
What’s more, try as she might, she could not conjure these same feelings for Arthur.
She wanted the type of man who could dance a fine waltz one minute and secretly find his way into her bedroom the next to drive her mindless with his mouth and hands. She wanted Philip Carruthers!
When he’d mentioned having to get married if they were caught together, she couldn’t dredge up an ounce of regret. Thus, she’d not given him the necklace, the recovery of which clearly was his charge from the queen. Beryl had needed a reason to see him again, and making him meet her on the rather romantic island in the middle of the park might spark the man to words of affection and attachment.
She hoped it was a sunny day.
If he gave her the slightest sign he returned her affection, she would consider ending her engagement with Arthur. At that point, she would deal with her parents’ displeasure at her throwing away an advantageous match for a dubious one.
Meanwhile, she had the difficult task of deciding which gown to put on after lunch the next day. What would please Philip? What would invoke his passion?
Then she laughed. The captain had seen her bare save for her nightgown bunched around her waist from his maneuverings, both tugging it down — with his teeth! — and drawing it up. Did it matter anymore what she wore to meet him?
In any case, first thing in the morning, if she could wait that long, she was going to visit Eleanor. How she’d missed her friend’s company during the many months she’d been traveling, for it seemed a day didn’t go by when she didn’t wish to converse with her.
Tomorrow, they would discuss the recent ball, which fashions they had liked and which they hadn’t, who seemed to be forming an attachment with whom, and, of course, their many dance partners, as if Beryl could even think of anyone except the captain.
And now she had even more to tell Eleanor, though how much she would reveal of the tryst’s exciting activities, she wasn’t sure. She would hate to lose her friend’s admiration and respect, and she was certain some of what occurred was beyond the pale of decency.
If Eleanor told her of a pre-dawn assignation and of letting a man fondle her naked body, then Beryl supposed she would be shocked, yet supportive. Especially if the heart was involved. Hopefully, Eleanor would feel the same, for Beryl truly needed to discuss her feelings for the captain with her best friend.
Thus, the next morning, not even waiting until the appointed polite hour of ten o’clock, she set out for the Lindsey residence on Portman Square. Eleanor’s oldest sister, Jenny, had married Lord Lindsey and become a countess, and her middle sister, Maggie, had married Beryl’s own cousin, John Angsley, Lord Cambrey — whom Robert Carruthers had gravely injured. Thus, Maggie was also a countess. And Eleanor lived in the lap of luxury going between the Lindseys at Portman Square and Cavendish Square where the Cambreys had their London townhouse.
Though Eleanor being Eleanor, she said she preferred the Blackwood’s cottage in Sheffield, many hours north in the south of Yorkshire. Sometimes her friend was a little odd. But it made her the person she was and whom Beryl loved.
Distracted, thinking happy thoughts, she nearly slid off the carriage seat when it came to a lurching stop. The footman jumped down, coming to the window.
“The road is blocked, miss, by two carriages. Perhaps an accident.”
“Oh,” she stuck her head out, and could easily see the Lindsey townhouse up ahead. “I shall walk from here.”
And she let her father’s footman help her down from the carriage a mere block away from Eleanor’s front door.
“Will you return in two hours?” she asked him.
“Of course, miss,” and he hopped back onto the vehicle.
She watched as her father’s driver managed to turn the horses in a perfect U-shape and go back the way they had come. She was early, too early for most visitors to be making calls, and, thus, except for the carriages inexplicably blocking Portman Square, the pavements were empty.
That was precisely why she heard the footsteps behind her — more than one pair.
Unfortunately, she turned too late to see the danger. Too late to scream if there had even been anyone to hear her.
Then the familiar, hated rice sack was lowered over her head, cutting off her sight while a hand clamped over her mouth, stopping the yell for help she was trying to make.
Hell’s bells! she swore in a very unladylike fashion, the oath trapped in her head.
Belatedly, she realized the parked carriages had been a trap to get her out of her coach.
Kidnapped again, no doubt by the same Chinese pirates, and this time in the heart of London.