The Captain of All Pleasures (7 page)

She shook her head as if revolted at the image. “She'll be aged before her time with sun- and wind-roughened skin and hands. Do you think society will smile on such a one as she? No!” she cried as her flat palm slapped the desk, her heavy rings rapping. “Nicole will be alone because
you
will not do the right thing now.”

“What would you have me do?” he asked, waving an arm. “I can't give her up, so what do you suggest?”

She leaned forward slowly and pinned him with her dark eyes. “You will send her to me on her twelfth birthday, and not a day later. She must come to me before she becomes a woman so that I will have time to undo all that you”—she looked him up and down with a sneer—“and your degenerate life have done to her. I will prepare her to assume her birthright as a leader of the nobility and marry accordingly.”

Her father sank back down and exhaled slowly. “Very well. I'll give her to you then, but you must promise to marry her to a good man.”

“Of course, you fool! If you do as you're bidden.”

Neither of them knew Nicole was just outside the door. Nor did they know that from as early as Nicole could remember, her mother had instilled in her a powerful lifelong belief. Just as Laurel had been, Nicole must be prepared to fight for control of her own destiny.

Nicole had done the best she could. When her father ordered her to wear a hat and gloves every second she was outside, she minded him. She understood his fierce over-protectiveness and obeyed his fear-driven demand that she learn navigation in case an accident befell him at sea. Learning language after language, having to beg to get the crew to teach her even the mildest of curses—she accepted all that because she was otherwise free. And when the time came for her to leave, she'd had years to plan.

She'd been about to turn twelve when Lassiter declared she was to go to England and live with her grandmother. Nicole wasn't wholly proud of what she'd done, but she'd been desperate. “Very well, Father,” she'd conceded with a sniff. “I'll do as you say. But you must know that my only worry is that we would be so far apart. What would happen if you got sick? It might take me
months and months
to find out. I wouldn't be there to take care of you. And if something were to happen to me, if I got sick, or hurt, you might not be there….”

That had taken care of any nonsensical talk about finishing school for about five years.

Up until this rainy night, Nicole had thought she'd done so well—she'd sailed continuously for eighteen of her twenty years and had seen the world. But as she gazed out at the docks, oily from the rain, she wondered if it wasn't all just a matter of time—if she was fooling herself by believing she had power over her own fate. She had been, Nicole decided, and resigned herself to giving up that fight.

Just not quite yet.

When Nicole arrived at the vast Atworth House after nearly sixteen years, she was unexpectedly composed, although the house before her was meant to be daunting. Rich marble steps led to a bold projecting entranceway, flanked by towering scroll-like columns. The wings on each side recessed from the front in too-perfect symmetry. Yet a lush cold-weather garden battled the severe effect by subtly beckoning.

Although she associated this place with painful memories, she made herself remember that her mother had spent much of her youth in this home. Had probably laughed upon these very stairs. She smiled softly at the thought. She was smiling when Chapman, the elderly butler she fondly remembered from her sole visit here, answered the door, and even when he showed her to the salon. Her grandmother awaited her there, sitting beneath a large Palladian window that dominated the room and lit her tasteful furnishings becomingly. It also highlighted her pinched face.

“Good morning, Grandmother,” Nicole intoned politely as she trudged over the dense Brussels rug to face the woman. The dowager was still soberly dressed in black, her collar choking. Unhappiness limned her features. Two pug dogs had risen at Nicole's arrival and now sauntered back to their place—not at her grandmother's feet, but under a table across the room.
Smart pugs,
she thought.

“You're late,” the dowager snapped, not even asking her to sit.

Nicole had chosen to wear one of the day-dresses her grandmother had sent to her school, hoping to soften the old bird, but obviously it'd take more than a polished appearance to get her within the bounds of civility. Nothing new there. It was as if her grandmother, and this whole house, had been frozen from the time Nicole left until this return.

“I am indeed late,” she responded sweetly, bravely taking a seat across from her.

“Eight years late!” The dowager studied her with a disapproving expression.

Nicole comprehended then that the woman before her, whose dark eyes were so oddly like hers, would make her crawl across glass to get money for her father. But this race would decide their future, so she'd do what she must. “I am very pleased to be able to visit with you—”

“Balderdash! Cut through the frippery, girl, and tell me what you want.”

F
rom atop his mount, Derek watched Nicole Lassiter absently wind through people on the street. She clutched her cloak tighter to her neck and hiked her thick navy scarf up to her chin to battle the crisp wind whisking over the Thames. Without seeming to notice, she sidestepped a loud man hawking steaming meat pies and an intense young woman imploring her to buy a secondhand coat.

He caught glimpses of her face, and her sad expression made him react with a bothersome intensity. He gathered the reason for her mood, of course. She was walking from the direction of the jail and had probably just learned that her father's bail had been denied.

Derek had learned this information himself just hours earlier. He'd left Lassiter to stew for the morning but had returned to the constabulary to drop the charges. The constable, a different man from the night before, told him firmly that Lassiter, as an American, would have to be formally arraigned for the crime of assault and battery. Even though Derek did not want to press the charges made against Lassiter, the man told him that they had evidence against him of other crimes and expected him to be jailed for another two weeks. Derek had scrutinized the man and come away with the strong belief that he was lying.

Evidently Lassiter had made some very serious enemies in London, which was to be expected considering the man. But it appeared that Derek had given them the perfect weapon against the American.

Damn it, he didn't want to think that his strongest competition would be unable to race because Derek had trifled with his daughter. How had he ever mistaken her for a whore in the first place? And recalling the snide comments he'd made just before the fight to Lassiter about his
daughter,
well, he could understand why the man had gone mad.

It would gall Derek if he won knowing it was over lesser competition; so even though it was unpalatable to aid Lassiter in any way, he'd nevertheless offered very healthy bribes to have him freed. But with no success. Even with Derek's clout and money, the official never wavered, which led him to believe that somebody very high up had decided Lassiter would stay in jail.

The situation wasn't fair, and though Derek knew well that life rarely was, he wanted to help Nicole. He also found it strangely important that she not think he had something to do with this.

Prodding his horse forward, he maneuvered to flank her and cleared his throat, but she was lost in thought and continued walking. He noted with satisfaction that her troubled expression was rapidly dimming, replaced by one that could only be termed mutinous.

“Nicole,” he called. She jumped, startled at the sound of his voice.

“Captain Sutherland!”

He touched the rim of his hat in greeting.

She flushed, and he found himself enjoying the look of her finely boned face and the way the blue scarf accented her eyes—until she turned abruptly in another direction.

Derek reined his mount around and was right beside her. “Nicole,” he began in a low voice, “I dropped the charges against your father. I have nothing to do with his being held.”

She froze.

Facing him again, she came closer, eyes narrowed as she studied him.

“I also know your father's bail was denied.”

She reached out and stroked his horse's muzzle in what was probably an unconscious gesture. He liked seeing her small, gloved hand against the horse's black coat.

“How could you know that?”

“I think I might have information that could help you,” he said, glancing around.

She leaned forward and raised her eyebrows.

“Not here, Nicole,” he said with a patronizing smile. “You'll have to come to my ship if you want to learn more.”

He expected her to say something cutting. She certainly looked like she would. Instead, she paused, erased her irritated look, and cast him a wide smile brimming with charm and false pleasure. “Fine. My large friend—you know, the one from this morning—and I can come around nine or so—”

His lips turned up in an indulgent expression. “Just you.”

“Well, of course I won't—”

“You will, Nicole, because the curiosity will torment you.”

He left her alone in the street, a baffled look on her face that was probably similar to his own. When she'd smiled before, a great change came over her face. He'd seen it the first night on his ship, but hadn't fully appreciated the effect. Now, in the daylight with her glossy hair shining around her face, all her unique features teamed up on him with that smile.

If the wind had blown at that moment, he'd have fallen off his horse.

 

She wouldn't go, Nicole told herself for the hundredth time. She knew better than to return to Sutherland's ship. So why was she already contriving a plan to get Chancey away for the night? As if to punctuate her guilty thoughts, he walked into the salon.

“How was it with yer gram?” he asked as he took off his coat and slumped in a large, rough-hewn chair. He'd been making all the last-minute preparations by himself, and his already wizened face bagged with exhaustion.

“She wasn't that bad,” Nicole said, but then amended, “Well, she was fairly bad. But not as I've feared all these years. Of course, she bad-mouthed Father for three hours, cackled about his incarceration, and derided my manners. But she did gruffly tell me wonderful stories about Mama.”

“I'm glad for that, at least. I didn't like ye goin' against yer father to go there, but it was time.” He pulled out his pipe and tobacco. “Did she give ye the blunt?”

“On the condition that I marry a man of her choosing within a year, but yes, she did.” She sank down in a chair beside him and briefly closed her eyes. “I tried for bail. But it was denied.”

Chancey didn't hide his disbelief.
“Fer what?”

“They told me a lot of lies about other crimes he's allegedly committed. Added on some nonsense about citizens from other countries being detained much longer.”

“Well, ain't this crackin' up to be a bad day.”

“What else happened?”

“Clankson came by lookin' for yer pa.”

“Clankson of Clankson Emporiums?”

“That's the one. Seems he got caught up with the rest o' London. He's bettin' the race with the
Bella Nicola
to win. Bettin' heavy. And if Jason don't win, Clankson's pullin' his accounts.”

Nicole's breath whistled out. Clankson Emporiums constituted half their business. “If he pulls out, our company is dead in the water.” She gave a shaky laugh that held no humor. “And that would be
literally.”

She'd known how important a win would be, but until now she'd had no idea that their very existence depended on this race. Everything her father owned was leveraged to the penny, and if Clankson pulled his accounts, the shipping line would collapse like a house made of cards. And considering how Nicole's mother had died, her grandmother wouldn't raise a finger to help save their ships.

Chancey grew quiet, his pipe forgotten. “Nic, I gotta tell ye, I just don't know what our next move should be.”

She swallowed hard. “Sutherland approached me today.”

“And?”

“He said he'd dropped the charges against Father, and that he'd learned the bail was being denied. He told me he had information about it.”

Chancey put his elbows on his knees and edged forward. “Well, go on….”

“He wouldn't tell me there. Chancey, it has to be him who's doing this. How would he know otherwise?”

“It don't look good for him, I'll say that. But men like Sutherland often have their fingers in a lot o' people's pies. He probably knows just about everythin' what goes on about the quay from hauntin' the taverns as he does.”

“If not him, then who?”

“Lord Tallywood,” he answered. He sat back and crossed his thick arms across his chest as if defensive about his answer.

“That popinjay?” She thought of the effete dandy who for some reason liked racing clippers as much as fashion.

“Popinjay or no, he's atop yer father's list o' who's behind the damaged ships. The more I think o' it, the more me gut tells me that whoever's doin' this now is in on the sabotage, too, and it makes sense that it's one man. Yer father was supposed to be a prime target in that, too. And he's been expectin' some kind o' assault since the first one. This is as damagin' to the line—and easier, to boot.”

Nicole called up the image of the pale, doughy-fleshed captain and shook her head. “I've seen Tallywood—I admit he had a shifty demeanor, but he also looked as if he'd faint being around Clive and Pretty, much less being the ‘boss' they talked of.” It had to be Sutherland. Tallywood's greatest crime would be wearing the same waistcoat as another fop to a soiree—
the horror!
“Why won't you even consider Sutherland?”

“Yer father hates the man, but even he don't think it's him. All that's gone on is underhanded. Sutherland may be a dangerous man, and he may not be a good man, but I'm not gettin' the feelin' that he'd do a low thin' like this.”

Nicole stood and walked to the grate. She frowned—they were completely out of fuel. Were circumstances that dire here? She turned back to him, standing against the dying heat of the stove. “Father's bail is denied, and Sutherland just happens to know of it on the day it happened? He had the information before I did. I can't see why you won't believe he's a suspect. Is he or is he not Father's worst rival?”

“Aye, he is,” Chancey answered reluctantly. “But—”

“And wouldn't he benefit the most from Father not sailing?”

“Possibly,” he admitted, “but there're several people who'd be desperate to have yer father out o' this race. We got a whole list o' suspects.”

She shook her head against what he was saying. Yes, other competitors would gain from her father's imprisonment. But none of them was in such financial straits that they depended on it.

“I believe Father told me in one of his letters that Sutherland's line was foundering?”

“Aye, it is. But that don't mean he's doin' this.”

“But what if it is him?”

Chancey huffed impatiently. “If yer father hates the man above all else, and even he don't think it's Sutherland…”

Nicole shook her head. “I've got to meet with Sutherland and find out what information he has. I don't have a choice but to confront him.”

“Ye're serious?” he asked in amazement. Then, visibly calming himself, he said evenly, “All right, so we go to Sutherland's tonight. I've done worse.”

“He, uh, said it was to be only me.”

“O' course he did!” Chancey roared.

She heedlessly carried on, “I don't think he'll keep Father in there if I plead our case.” Truly she did think, she didn't know why, that she could have some sway where Sutherland was concerned.

However, Chancey sputtered, looking at her as if she'd lost her mind.

“Chancey, you look amazed at what is a…a daring idea.” She pointed a finger at him. “And that really irritates, since
you
were once part of the Liverpool Irishmen. I believe that sailing enclave was notorious around the world for riotous behavior and insane exploits.”

Chancey flushed. “I'm reformed!”

“Well, one day I will be, too!”

He glared at her. “First o' all, I'm not believin' that Sutherland had anythin' to do with this. And if I did, I'd be the one to confront him, not Jason's daughter!”

She couldn't understand where his confidence in Sutherland had come from. “I can't keep sitting here helpless when so much points to him. At worst, even if I can't coax him to help me, I can gain entry to his ship and snoop around for any evidence of wrongdoing.” And spy for anything to help them in this now-critical race.

Chancey made a strangled exasperated sound; then, going into an uncharacteristic fury, he stood over her. For the first time in all the years she'd sailed with him, he used his hefty frame to intimidate her.

“I know what ye're plannin' and ye can forget it,” he bellowed, shaking his finger at her. “Ye'll not be traipsin' after that black-hearted scoundrel!”

Nicole glanced behind him to see several of the crew listening at the door. She scowled at them, and they scurried away. Everyone was accustomed to his blustering, but this was much more volatile. Still, she counted on the fact that even though Chancey's temper flared she'd wear him down in the end. Because she
never
lost a contest of wills.

“I'll not agree to it, miss,” he warned resolutely as he paced back and forth. “Yer father'd not have ye doin' this for him.” He took her arm and said, “Dangerous times these are—think o' it, ye were attacked right on yer own ship.”