Chapter Fourteen

‘It is so unfair.’ Selina paced from the window to the marble fireplace and struck an elegant pose. Her pale green spencer over a light walking gown of sprigged muslin showed her curves to full advantage. Her straw bonnet framed her pretty face, now set in a frown. ‘Can you believe it? While I’m getting kidnapped by pirates, Father gets betrothed to a woman five years my senior. It really is disgusting.’

‘Privateers,’ Alice said.

Selina waved a dismissive hand. ‘The thing is, while he’s off to Scotland displaying the family pile to her nearest and dearest, I’m left here with Aunt Gadridge, the old dragon, and confined to afternoon visits to Hookham’s and walking Pip.’ She glowered at the dog curled up on Alice’s sofa. The pug raised an eyelid, revealing one very bulbous eye. They glared at each other. The pug yawned and returned to its nap.

‘Ugh,’ Selina said. ‘Three weeks and I just cannot endure another minute.’

Alice pursed her lips. ‘Well, if you hadn’t left your chaperon in Lisbon—’

‘Pooh,’ Selina said. ‘A mere formality. Besides, I was with you.’ She frowned and looked around. ‘Why is there so little furniture in here?’

‘We are moving back to Oxford. The town house is sold. I need to get Father away from London for the sake of his health.’ Keep him away from the clubs and the dangers of brandy.

Anxiety crossed Selina’s pretty face. She floated across the room and grasped Alice’s hands. ‘You are leaving me to deal with Aunt Gadridge alone?’ Tears welled in her green eyes.

‘This isn’t about you, Selina. If we don’t go now, the bailiffs will be at the door.’

The pout disappeared. An expression of genuine concern crossed her friend’s face. ‘Are things really that bad?’

‘Not yet. But they will be when the loss of the Conchita becomes known to our investors. We must find a way to pay them back and we can no longer afford to maintain a house in town and keep Westerly.’

‘What of your agreement with Lionhawk? Does it still stand?’

Michael. Her chest squeezed painfully. It did that every time she thought about him and she’d grown accustomed to keeping her face expressionless. This time she smiled at her friend. ‘An American privateer? He won’t come to England. Not unless he wants to get himself arrested.’

Against all logic, she had hoped he’d find a way to return for her. She’d told herself it was impossible, but a little voice kept whispering that Michael would do anything he pleased, should he want it enough.

Selina grasped her hands. ‘I’m going to miss you. We will write often.’ She resumed her pacing, then paused at the window, swinging about in a swirl of skirts, her face hopeful. ‘Or can I come with you? To Oxford?’

Alice pictured her friend in the bare rooms at Westerly. ‘I’m sorry, but it will be a while before we are able to entertain. Besides, your father wouldn’t allow it.’ He’d been furious that his daughter had boarded the Conchita in the first place and blamed Alice.

‘Oh, while we are on the topic of furious men,’ Selina said, ‘I had a word with my uncle, the admiral, about Liversedge.’

‘Was he able to do anything?’

‘After a few tears and some handwringing by me, he found him a berth on a ship bound for the West Indies. They demoted him, I’m afraid, but he will have a chance at promotion as time goes on.’

It was fair. Liversedge deserved some punishment for his cruelty, but not for Michael’s escape. ‘Thank you.’

A crash sounded above their heads. Alice shot to her feet. Drat it, now what had they broken? ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I really am dreadfully occupied with our move.’

Selina was staring down into the street. She pulled back the curtain. ‘Oh, my,’ she breathed.

Alice crossed to her side. All she saw was a beautiful, shiny black phaeton and a pair of ebony horses at the curb. ‘It must be someone for next door.’

A rap of the knocker reverberated through the house.

‘Apparently not,’ Selina said.

‘Blast. It is probably one of Father’s investors wanting to know when he will get his money.’

Selina winced. ‘Oh, dear.’

Alice nodded. ‘I think you should leave. Your father would be furious if your reputation was dragged into our mire.’

Selina’s shoulder straightened. ‘If you think I would abandon a friend—’

‘I don’t think so.’ Alice smiled. ‘But it won’t do us a scrap of good if we add your father to a long list of complainants. I really think it would be better if we didn’t see each other for a while.’

Footsteps echoed in the hall, all the more noticeable for the lack of carpet. Father’s voice floated down the hallway. ‘This is most unexpected, my lord.’ He sounded tremulous.

Alice whipped open the door and glimpsed the back of a pair of broad shoulders encased in a snug-fitting blue coat beneath a head of dark wavy hair disappearing into Father’s study.

Her stomach gave an odd little lurch. Her skin prickled with a sense of recognition. Michael? There she was again, letting her hopes override common sense. Not even Michael would risk a hanging.

Just the thought of it made her feel cold.

Whoever it was, she hoped Father remembered to say nothing about the Conchita.

‘Who is it?’ Selina said from behind her.

She closed the door. ‘I didn’t see. I’m sorry to rush you, but I really must oversee the rest of the packing; besides, if you don’t arrive home soon your aunt will send out a search party.’

Selina groaned and picked up the dog’s leash. ‘You had to remind me. Come on, you horrid little beast.’ The pug rose on its spindly legs, shook from stem to stern and leaped to the floor.

Alice saw them out of the front door and watched her friend trip down the street with the little dog prancing ahead and her maid behind. A couple of gentlemen stopped to watch her saunter by with mouths open in awe.

As usual, Selina didn’t give them a second glance. Alice was going to miss her friend. The scraping noise across the floor above ended in a loud bump. She gathered her skirts and ran for the stairs.

Three long years Michael had bided his time waiting to meet his family’s murderer. Bided his time until he had sufficient resources to strike. The monster of his imaginings had looked nothing like the bleary-eyed, balding, middle-aged man across the desk from him. Fulton looked pathetically confused.

‘Hawkhurst?’ Fulton was saying. ‘The son? Everyone said you were no more.’

You hoped, Michael thought viciously. He gripped the chair arms to stop himself from leaping across the desk to throttle the old man. He forced himself to smile. ‘They were wrong. My petition awaits confirmation by the Lords, but there is no doubt they will give it.’

‘Good. Good. Your note said you had some matter you wished to discuss?’ He eyed Michael warily.

Had he guessed what Michael had come for? His body tightened like the string of a bow ready to loose an arrow. He leaned back, kept his expression guileless. ‘I do. Something to advantage us both.’

Fulton’s tongue flickered over his dry lips. His glance slid to the brandy bottle on the corner of the desk. ‘Can I offer you a drink?’

Clearly the man had something to hide. It was too late. Michael had turned over the rock and now had the maggot exposed and ready to crush beneath his heel. ‘Nothing for me, but feel free.’ He waved a languid hand at the decanter.

Fulton’s hand shook as he splashed the honey-coloured liquid into a glass. Drops splashed on the desk and the old man looked as if he’d like to lick them up. He raised the glass to his lips and took a swallow. The brandy seemed to give him strength; he sat up straighter, his gaze sharpened. He grimaced at his glass. ‘Promised my daughter I wouldn’t.’

Alice. A tingle across Michael’s skin had warned him of Alice’s presence the moment he had entered the house. He could almost taste her on his tongue, smell her in each breath he drew. These past few weeks free of her temptation had given him time to think, to plan, to regain his purpose.

Yet an urge to see her pulled at his muscles.

He would face her soon. When his business with her father was concluded, he would protect her from her father’s calumny, if she’d let him, and her brother too. It was the best he could do in exchange for his life.

Fulton took a long pull from his glass. ‘Tell me how I can be of service, my lord.’

‘I’ve been absent from England for years.’ He shrugged diffidently. ‘I understand you and my father did business together.’

Fulton shifted in his chair as if the cushion was spiked, his gaze became wary. ‘Many years ago now.’

‘My man of business has made all kinds of suggestions of how I might invest my fortune, but he also advises that there are many unscrupulous men in the City waiting to pluck a fat pigeon, as he put it.’ Michael curled his lip, as if the idea was ridiculous. ‘I would not be surprised to find he is one of them. My father trusted you. I will too. I want to invest in Fulton’s.’

The sunken chest swelled. ‘I would be pleased to help my old friend’s son.’

Friend. A bitter laugh filled his chest. The vengeful arrow strained for release against his grip. He smiled.

The old man shook his head. ‘Shipping is not what it was. The war has ruined it.’ His lips twisted. ‘And the ravaging of privateers.’

Not the answer he’d expected. Was this some ploy to increase the price? ‘Are you turning me down?’

‘No. Not at all, dear boy.’

Michael forced himself not to stiffen at the endearment, although blood ran ice cold through his veins. He eyed his target calmly. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

‘What were you thinking?’

‘A half-share in Fulton’s Shipping. I am sure we can arrive at a fair price. The only trouble is, my funds are tied up in land long neglected.’

Fulton’s disappointment was palpable. ‘Oh, dear.’

‘But I understand you have a daughter of marriageable age. A link between our families would not do your credit any harm and your first grandson would be a peer of the realm.’

Fulton looked bewildered, then his eyes gleamed as the merchant in him saw the possibility Michael dangled before him. As he saw the way to pluck the pigeon. As he calculated on losing nothing, since it would be Alice’s half of Fulton’s Michael would receive.

Michael raised a brow and waited.

‘You wish to marry my Alice?’ Fulton said.

Michael wanted to smash his fist in her father’s incredulous expression. Didn’t he know Alice’s worth? He let his arrow fly. ‘I’m in need of a wife who knows the ropes, who can ease my way into polite society. What better way to seal our agreement? Once our families are united and funds start to flow from my lands again, Fulton’s could rival the East India Company.’ His jaw ached from smiling. ‘I am also hoping you will do your part. Introduce me around town. Propose me to White’s.’

Fulton didn’t know he’d been hit. He rubbed his hands together. ‘My dear boy, what can I say? How can I refuse the son of an old friend?’

Michael swallowed the nausea pressing up in his throat. He stood. ‘When may I have the privilege of meeting my future wife?’

Fulton shot to his feet. ‘No time like the present.’

Alice. God. If she knew what he was about. No time for regrets. The die was cast and he’d thrown a main.

A meagre few boxes crowded the hallway awaiting shipment to Westerly. Personal items. The furniture would be auctioned off as soon as they vacated the premises. Only Father’s study remained unpacked and infuriatingly the door remained closed

The longer the low rumble of their visitor’s voice continued, the more sure Alice became that it was Michael closeted with her father. Reason bade her dismiss the idea out of hand as wishful thinking. Her foolish heart continued to beat a little too fast.

With no choice but to wait, Alice padded up and down the drawing room, much like their visitor’s horses walked up and down the street outside. If it was Michael, he was taking a terrible risk. And what on earth would he say to Father? She’d said nothing about their marriage to anyone.

Hope and fear hopped around in her stomach.

The door along the corridor opened. Voices echoed off the bare walls. She ran to the sofa and perched on its edge. From here she could see the visitor pass and finally set her mind to rest. Her heart picked up speed. Her breathing came in short little spurts.

She clenched her hands in her lap to still their tremble. It was not Michael. Could not be.

Father appeared in the doorway. Beaming. Looking like a man who had lost a crown and found a pot of gold. ‘I’ve someone here who wishes to meet you, my dear.’

Alice stared at the gentleman behind Father. Dark-haired, clean-shaven, and elegant, he looked like any other English gentlemen, but there was no mistaking those gleaming turquoise eyes. Michael. He looked more handsome, more delicious, dressed as a gentleman than he had on board ship. Her skin warmed

Her heart leaped forwards in greeting.

A smile on her lips, she started to rise. His gaze issued a warning. He shook his head.

She sank into the cushions, unable to take her gaze from his face.

Father gestured for Michael to enter. ‘Alice, this is Lord Hawkhurst.’

Lord Hawkhurst? Her indrawn gasp sounded loud in the quiet room.

Michael’s eyebrow shot up, giving him a quizzical expression. The corner of his mouth twitched. Fortunately, Father seemed oblivious to her response.

Knees shaky, she rose and dipped a curtsy. ‘My lord.’

‘Miss Fulton,’ he said with a clipped formal bow, so unlike his sweeping courtesy on board ship. ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance.’ He took her hand. He squeezed her fingers lightly. She gathered some strength from the small connection.

The wretch winked, a mere flick of one eyelid. He was laughing at her. She frowned. His smiled broadened. ‘Your father has been extolling your many accomplishments.’

She shot a bemused gaze at Father, who rubbed his hands together. ‘Good news, daughter.’

‘What may that be, pray?’

‘His lordship has asked for your hand.’

‘H-he has?’ Then the wedding on shipboard was not a true marriage after all? Why was she not surprised?

But then—why was he here?

He bowed with all the grace of the lord he was pretending to be. ‘Indeed. I would be honoured, Miss Fulton, if you would consent to be my wife.’

A glance passed between Michael and her father. There was more.

Father cleared his throat. ‘As part of the settlement, Viscount Hawkhurst will become a partner in Fulton Shipping.’

He already was. Unless they weren’t married.

Father shot her a warning glance. Oh dear, he was up to something. And Michael? Viscount Hawkhurst, no less, the rogue. What was he about?

Michael was watching her expectantly. Father had a similar expression. She was beginning to feel a bit like a carcass about to be shared between two wolves. She didn’t like it.

‘Come,’ Michael said, flashing his pirate smile, all teeth and charm, and definitely wolfish. ‘What do you say, Miss Fulton?’

In spite of her misgivings, the urge to say yes trembled on her tongue. She glanced over at her father. A groove formed between his grey brows. His eyes warned. Something was wrong.

‘It is all rather sudden, my lord. I should like some time to think about your kind offer.’

‘I have already accepted on your behalf,’ Father said, sharply. ‘It is your duty.’

‘I know my duty, Father.’

‘Perhaps Miss Fulton and I should spend a few moments alone,’ Michael proposed, the airy wave of the dandy quite spoiled by the bunching of powerful muscle beneath the tight fabric of his elegant coat. ‘Get to know each other.’

‘Yes,’ Father said, before she could speak. ‘Take all the time you need. I’ll be in my study.’ He turned and bustled out of the door.

A fait accompli.

Michael sat down beside her on the sofa. Heat radiated from his body. Sandalwood wrapped around her like familiar arms. She straightened her shoulders and half-turned so she could see his expression. ‘What are you about, Michael?’

He took her hand, brushed his lips against her knuckles, his gaze fixed on her face. ‘Claiming my wife.’

She fought the trickle of heat low in her stomach. ‘Disguised as a lord? Do you want to be hung?’

His face grew serious. ‘There is no risk, Alice. This is who I am. Michael Preston, Viscount Hawkhurst. The confirmation a mere formality in the House of Lords.’

She tried to pull her hand away. He held it fast, covered it with his other hand. She read the truth in his eyes.

‘And Lionhawk?’

‘Is no more.’

‘What if someone recognises you?’

‘I was a privateer, but I worked for England against France.’

‘But you took my father’s ship. An English ship.’

‘A ship flying Spanish colours. I had reason to suspect she was not all she seemed.’

‘You flew an American flag.’

He winced. ‘A mistake. I’ve already explained it to the Admiralty. And now I am here to claim what is mine.’

Her insides clenched, the betrayal of desire. Yet her mind wasn’t quite turned to mush and something didn’t ring true. Or was it that she couldn’t believe he was here, that he wanted her?

She stared down at her hand and forced herself to voice her doubts. ‘You don’t have to marry me. I’ll freely give you my half of Fulton’s.’

‘Sweet Alice,’ he murmured, ‘I am afraid we are already married. There is no going back.’

She raised her face, searching his face for the truth. His expression seemed carefully neutral. ‘Then why the denial on the Essex?’ A denial that had cut her to the quick.

He flashed her a wicked smile. ‘If you recall, I asked you if you were sure.’

‘Yes, you asked. But in such a way as to make me think we were not married. And if we are, then why make an offer for my hand now?’

A smile flickered across his lips. ‘You returned to England as Miss Fulton. It would look rather odd if we announced a secret wedding. I thought to save you embarrassment.’

There was something he wasn’t telling her. She saw it in the way he shuttered his gaze. Dash it. What was the matter with her? It wasn’t as if theirs was a love match. If her body would recognise that fact, then they might rub along quite well.

Father clearly wanted the connection. What did she have to lose? She took a deep breath. ‘As you wish.’

He took her other hand, and she gazed into his eyes, melting at the heat of his fingers grasped around hers.

‘I have a special licence for tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I apologise for the haste, but I have to go north right away, to visit my cousin. He is ill. I want him to meet you. The trip will serve as our honeymoon.’

Days and nights of wedded bliss instead of being alone. Anticipation ran hot in her blood, her skin glowed, her pulse raced. The longing she’d tried to ignore consumed her, made her weak.

‘Tomorrow is all right.’ She laughed, casting her doubts aside with abandon. ‘Today would be better. I am already packed.’

He touched her cheek with his fingertips. A gentle brush. A promise of nights in his arms. ‘I will see you in the morning. In the meantime, I will arrange rooms for your father here in town. He tells me this house is sold.’

Father. She’d forgotten about his part in all this. ‘Father isn’t well. He really should retire to Westerly.’

‘I need his help with the business.’ His voice took on a cold edge.

A trickle of unease stirred in her stomach. Trust, her heart whispered. If this marriage is going to work, you have to trust him.

She nodded.

He rose to his feet. ‘Until tomorrow then.’