The Bargain (6 page)

His large blue eyes captured her and held her in place. She couldn't breathe or cede to his notions. Finally, she looked down to the polished mahogany flooring and pushed her slipper back and forth. "Miss Eliza trusted me, confided in me, thought me good enough to be freed. Wouldn't you want to be free too?"

"Jonas has chosen you, Jewell. I've heard him call you Mama on more than one occasion. Shall you allow your stubborn spirit to deny Eliza's joy?"
 

He'd spied her and Jonas before today? When? And was she so wrapped up in loving the boy she hadn't noticed? The baron's tone didn't sound cocky, as it had before. No, it bore hints of sadness, maybe even defeat. She lifted her head and caught a glimpse of him, staring and stiffening his jaw. He wasn't use to pleading, but why did he need this?
 

Her chest constricted, and she felt for the quill. "You win."

Pushing fear and doubt to the back of her mind, she put her mark on the documents, where he had pointed. "What now?"

His hand, warm and strong, closed about hers. The odd mixture of his woodsy scent and fresh linen filled her nostrils. "This is for the best," he said. Taking the quill, he put his elegant signature above hers on both papers then offered her one page. "Keep this. The other goes to my solicitor. Now, off to bed. In the morn, pack and get Jonas ready. We leave at week's end."

She clutched the parchment, and wrapped it in her apron. "Yes, master."

"It's Welling, Gareth Conroy, the third Lord Welling."

She backed away. "Yes, master." On the other side of the door, she took a whole breath. She was sort of free, but what did that mean in this Port Elizabeth place?

She started moving her slippers against the treads and down to her room when a tiny cry sounded. Jonas?

Pivoting, she decided to check on him and climbed the stairs to the second level. When she passed the hall mirror, she stopped and peered at her frozen cheeks, her poked- out lips. Though her face still held a dark bruise, it did nothing to draw attention from the numbness straining her face. She had papers, but only as part of a bad bargain. What would become of her? Would she ever know freedom?

Pulling off her mobcap, she let her shiny braids fall near her chin and rubbed at her temples. Determination set in her jaw and filled her lungs with heat. It didn't matter what Lord Welling or whatever he called himself today said, or even what this paper held. She was free as soon as her foot stepped on the shores of Port Elizabeth. She'd show him. She'd show them all.

The End of This Episode. Tune in For
Episode II
. Learn more at
VanessaRiley.com

Episode II of The Bargain
 

Length: 8 Chapters (25,000 words)
 

Summary: Precious Jewell’s Misadventures at Sea Heading to Port Elizabeth
 

Status: Available for pre-order/order.
 

The vastness of the cresting ocean isn't enough to drown Precious Jewell's high spirits or her dreams of doing for herself, but a false move and an old nightmare have placed her in more jeopardy, Lord Welling's bedchamber.
 

Captaining his schooner to Port Elizabeth was his only refuge, until his ship was invaded by land lovers, his son and his challenging caregiver. Perhaps, Miss Jewell's vivacity and audacity are just what he needs to quell rebellion amongst his crew and his heart. Get
The Bargain II
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An Excerpt from Episode II:

Closing the door, Precious filled her lungs again. The cedar of the wood and the salt in the air already felt good, cleansing. Easing her way, with just moonlight as her guide, she found the ladder that led to the deck. Her eyes adjusted well to the night. They always had, more so now when she needed to see evil coming her way.

For a few seconds, she put her hand on the rung. It didn't bite. It didn't latch hold of her, or scream for someone to catch her. She took another quick breath. Everything would be all right.

Cinching up her muslin robe, she raised her head to the purpled bits of sky above. The peace of it called to her. If she stayed in the shadows, all would be well. Slowly, she took hold of the springy wood again and eased her way up. This part of the deck was empty. Maybe all the men Mrs. Narvel warned of were tucked into their hammocks, too. Feeling more confident, Precious pushed to the railing.
 

The water gleamed, reflecting distant stars. Hints of scarlet peaked within ribbons of ebony. The sky was beautiful. A new shiver, one of excitement, traveled up her arms.
 

But beyond, a good forty feet, was a wall of ebony. Nothing could be seen beyond it. She reached out a hand and tried to measure it between her thumb and index finger, but how could she size infinity?

"Miss Jewell?”
 

The heavy voice sent a different vibration through her. She startled and clutched the rail.

"Miss Jewell, do you remember my orders? Woman, what am I going to do with you?"

 
Another emotion filled her, a mix of vexation and a desire to defend herself from being caught doing something naughty. She spun around.
 

Lord Welling stood a few paces away, shaking his head at her. His white shirt was open, exposing a few tuffs of black hair. His simple dark breeches blended into the night, silhouetting his thick form. There was a power about him now that she hadn't seen in London. Maybe it was hidden under the fancy ties and jackets.
 

Closing the distance between them, he folded his arms. "I thought I told you not to come out of your cabin. Did I not make it clear? Did I need to specify timeframes?"

He stood too close. Even in the onyx night, the stars and the lantern light in his hand made his eyes wide, deep blue, and menacing.

Willing her knees to still, she had to keep reminding herself that a servant didn't get whipped like an enslaved person, and, for all Lord Welling's bluster, he'd never tried to take a branch to her. She lifted her chin. "It's stuffy down there. I didn't think it'd hurt nothing. You're selfish for keeping it from me."

Dimple popping, he pounded his skull. "Mouse, scurry back to your quarters before you’re caught by a very large rat."

His eyes were clear, untainted by alcohol. Why did that worry her? Could she handle him, sharp, with all his mind working?
 

Well, she'd try. She could stand up for her opinions just like Palmers or any other worker did. With a hand on her hip, she sharpened her tone. "Rats don't go after mice. If you'd ever spent time in fields, you'd know that."

"Hungry rats will devour anything." His head went sidelong as his gaze raked over her. "Barefoot, you'd make an easy meal. A charming one, but an easy one."

She refused to let her hand move to the belt of her robe. Something about letting him know his warnings trembled her bones didn't seem right. Instead, she pivoted back toward the ocean. "I'm not done getting air. I'll be a deck-side luncheon."

Chuckling, he plodded closer. "Jewell, you're no coward. I’ll give you that."

She hid a sigh of relief in a deep taste of salted air. "The breeze feels so good. And the night sky, I miss a night's sky."

"Well, let's hope the red goes away before dawn.
Like a red morn that ever yet betokened, Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field, Sorrow to the shepherds, woe unto the birds, Gusts and foul flaws to herdsmen and to herds."

She swiveled and looked at his face; clean-shaven, speaking of mystical things, with his hair full out lifting in the wind. He was handsome if you like the sort, but he was full of nonsense, speaking nonsense.

A wave crashed against the hull, making her almost reach for him to steady herself. Forcing her hand to her side, she straightened her shoulders. Even if it got rocky, she'd stand her ground a little longer, just to prove her point.

"I can tell by the cross look on your face that you are not partial to Shakespeare. Then try this one. Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky in the morn, sailor be warned."

The wind picked up her mobcap and set it sailing. He lunged and caught it, tucking it in his waistband. "You've had enough wind, Jewell. Let me escort you back below." He lifted his palm to her.

With braids dropping, curling to her neck, she stared at him, not wanting to move, not wanting to go back to the cabin. A small portion of her mind wanted him to speak more nonsense, to calm the edge in her spirit. "I haven't seen you drinking. We can smell rum from our room."

"No, ma'am, not out here in the open ocean." He trudged to the thick wood rail and clasped it in his big hands. "No, God has control out here, and I need to be able to hear Him. Can't do that cast to the winds."

Now he spewed a different set of nonsense. Precious didn't think the baron was religious. She squinted at him and looked out at the wall of blackness surrounding the ship. "I don't understand."

"Oh, Jewell, I learned the hard way long ago about being too cocky, too full of my own power out here on the seas. That's wrong. God can strike at any moment, and you can lose everything if you're not paying attention."

There was
 
sadness, a grieving music, to his tone, and it made her sad, pulling at her heart. She shook her head to clear it, and just stood near him, breathing in and out, looking at waves.

"You've had enough, my dear. I have to finish my rounds." He pivoted and took three long steps away. "Jewell, let me take you to your cabin."

"Why do you call me ‘Jewell’?"

He lowered his well-muscled arm. "It's what we British do. Addressing by a surname is a sign of respect for one's heritage."

The boat rocked, the waves hitting below, shoving the boat like one of Jonas’s blocks. It made her reach backward and clutch the rail.
 

He extended his arm again. “Time for play is done, Jewell. You need to go below. The next few hours of ocean are going to be bumpy.

"I don't have a surname. Precious Jewell is my only name."

His clear eyes sharpened, and he stepped even closer. His palm went to her chin, gently, lifting and angling it in the moonlight. "Jewell's not a family name? Then who is your father?"
 

Stiffening, she stepped away from him. Now the railing pressed into her back, preventing escape. "I think I am ready to go below, but I can get there myself. Can I have my cap?"

"Mouse, I thought you had courage. You're going to let me continually frighten you." His chuckles, his patronizing laughter, burnt her ears. "I suppose that what's to be expected from a mouse.”

The ocean pushed her forward, flinging her into him. He caught her and held her close. She could feel his heart thudding through her muslin nightgown. She pressed on his chest, but he didn't let go.

"Precious Jewell,"
 
huskiness set in his voice, "it's getting rough out here."

Tucking a braid from her eye, he released her. His breathing seemed labored, like he struggled for air. "Come along, Miss Precious." He rubbed at his brow, then clasped her arm and dragged her a bit. “You are going back to your cabin now. Work harder at listening. One of my crew might have found you out here, dressed in just muslin.”

She couldn't take him forcing her to move any more than she could hearing him laughing at her, always sounding as if his thoughts were faster than hers. Anger pumping in her veins, she spun free of his arm.

But the ship shuttered.
 

Her feet went one way, her body the other. In an instant, she was dangling over the rail.

Don’t miss
Episode II
.

For More Information about purchasing go to
www.VanessaRiley.com
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In Episode III:
 

Precious Jewell has lived a life filled with disappointments, and it has caused her to wrestle with her beliefs. Port Elizabeth was meant to be a new beginning, not another chance to dance with death. With her eyes clouded in confusion, how can she protect young Jonas or even her new friend Mrs. Narvel? The guilt of kissing Eliza’s husband and marveling at the black warriors who’ve attacked the colonists is gnawing at her, making her doubt her strength. What God is doing? Well, Precious is determined to figure things out and do what's best, even if it means forgetting her attraction to Lord Welling. Yet, will the man let her?