скачать книгу бесплатно
How odd. She thought for a moment. ‘I suppose you could say he is an older version of Richard. He is a bit heavier, not quite so tall, but they are clearly father and son.’
‘Is he a good father?’
She squirmed in her seat. ‘No worse than any other.’
He moved a warrior to guard his queen. ‘A prevarication, Miss Fulton? I must say I am surprised a father would put his daughter on a ship flying a false flag in these dangerous times.’
When Father learned about that, he’d be horrified. He might even disappear into a brandy bottle and never get around to raising the ransom. He’d been doing a lot of disappearing lately. A cold little breeze whisked across her shoulders from the open window. She forced herself not to rub her arms. ‘It really is none of your business.’
A dark eyebrow lifted. ‘I suppose he forgot to tell you of the risk?’
She gritted her teeth at the amused note in his voice. It was as if he liked the idea of Father putting her and Richard in danger.
‘How many ships does Fulton Shipping own in addition to the Conchita?’ he asked.
‘What concern is it of yours?’
He straightened. ‘Come, come, Miss Fulton. Surely you want the doctor to visit your brother tomorrow?’
Damn him. ‘There are no other ships besides the Conchita.’
A derisive sound issued from his throat. ‘You surely don’t think me such a halfwit as to believe the great Fulton Shipping Lines owns only one ship?’
‘Believe what you like. You asked me a question and I answered it.’
‘Trying to do me out of my ransom, Miss Fulton?’
So that was where this was leading. ‘I don’t lie, Captain Lionhawk.’
‘Michael.’ He picked up one of the pieces she’d lost to him, a female figure in long robes. Idly, his long strong fingers stroked the elegant piece.
Strangely breathless, she watched his fingertips trace the flowing curves in a strangely intimate gesture. Heat flowed through her veins.
‘A geisha,’ he said.
Her gaze flew to his face. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘The figure. She is called a geisha. They are trained in the art of pleasing men.’
‘Oh.’ She looked down at the board. The geishas took the place of pawns. ‘They are lovely.’
‘Yes. Are you telling me your father has sold all his ships, including the ship he’d named after you?’
He knew more than she expected. ‘Would you believe anything I say?’
The movement of his fingers stilled. ‘Your meaning?’
‘It is quite obvious. You mean to squeeze my father for every penny. I could tell you anything, but you would have no way of knowing if I spoke the truth.’
If it wasn’t impossible, she might have thought the corner of his mouth twitched with the urge to smile. ‘You are foolhardy, Miss Fulton. Your brother’s health is at stake, remember?’
As if she could think of anything else? She huffed a sigh. ‘Very well. These past two years have been difficult for Fulton’s. Insurance costs have increased sixfold. Losses to privateers have been enormous. My father has only one ship left.’
He absorbed her answer without reaction. ‘It is your turn to move.’
She picked up her dragon and plonked it down in front of what should have been a bishop, but was some sort of monk.
‘Tell me about your childhood,’ he said. ‘Where did you grow up?’
An odd choice of topic. What harm could it do? ‘I was raised in Oxfordshire. We have a house there. Westerly.’
‘Named after a fair wind, I presume.’
‘A family joke.’
His mouth tightened. He moved his other monk to block two of her geishas.
‘Did you have a happy childhood?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Thank you. I had loving parents and a comfortable home. Who could ask for more?’
‘Who indeed?’ He shook his head as if pondering the vagaries of life. ‘And yet your father endangers your life on a risky venture.’
‘Thank you for your concern. And what about you? If I’m not mistaken, you also are English. Where did you grow up?’
Bleakness darkened his gaze. His smile faded. ‘In hell.’
She blinked. ‘I’m sorry to hear it.’
‘Are you? Do you care what happens to life’s unfortunates? Or do you wander through your shallow life in London thinking all is right with the world? Or perhaps the mere thought of the dregs of humanity makes you nervous?’
Well, really! A thief, questioning her morals? She studied the fine workmanship of the little dragon she’d won earlier in the game, reining in a sudden surge of anger. ‘Why would it make me nervous, sir, when in my exalted existence I never come into contact with any such persons? I sail through life with my nose in the air and see nary a one of them. Even on shipboard, my father’s sailors only come out at night so I don’t have to look at them.’
He laughed softly. ‘Touché, Miss Fulton. By the way, where did you learn to stitch up a man’s flesh? I must say you did a good job.’
She glanced at the fine linen of his shirt covering his arm. ‘It is healing, then?’
‘It is,’ he said gravely. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m glad.’ She felt more pleased than she ought. She pressed her lips together to hold back a smile.
He shifted in his chair, drawing up one booted foot to rest on his knee. Another display of beautiful male muscles.
Blast. She had to stop thinking about his physique or he’d mesmerise her into telling him something she did not want him to know. Like her father’s coffers had a very big hole in the bottom.
‘Tell me more about Westerly. Is it large? Are there stables?’
‘Naturally, there are stables.’ Fine empty ones these days.
He swirled his wineglass. ‘Do you hunt, Miss Fulton?’
She shook her head. ‘I spend most of my time in London. If I want to ride, I hire a hack. Do you hunt, sir?’
His eyelids lowered a fraction and his teeth flashed white. A pirate’s grin, sly and devastatingly attractive. ‘Only ships.’
Irritation warred with feminine desire. ‘I imagine it is an occupation that provides little occasion for riding around the countryside.’
His smile disappeared. ‘You imagine correctly.’
‘You are missing a sport most gentlemen find exhilarating.’
Apparently deciding to ignore her barb, he inclined his head. ‘Thank you for the recommendation. What do you do in London?’
No doubt he expected her to list the usual social whirl of balls and routs, but for some reason she didn’t want him to think her so frippery. ‘Mostly I help my father. I am also a member of the committee raising funds for St Thomas’s Hospital’s new surgery.’
He curled his lip. ‘A sterling member of society, in fact.’
He made it sound as if she was bragging. She pressed her lips together and returned her gaze to the board.
‘And you expect me to believe your father has but one ship?’
She winced. She scarcely believed it herself. ‘Why should it be of concern to you?’
Candlelight danced in his bright aquamarine eyes. A mocking smile curved his lips, as if he was somehow enjoying their verbal sparring. He reminded her of a cat toying with a mouse. A very large, very dangerous, cat with enormous claws. ‘I only want my due, Miss Fulton.’
‘Your due?’ She couldn’t help how incredulous she sounded. ‘How would you feel if some stranger stole the bread from the mouths of your wife and family?’
A muscle flickered in his jaw. ‘I have no family.’
‘A rolling stone?’ She arched a brow. ‘Or perhaps none you care to own to.’
‘Miss Fulton, I would never abandon a child of mine. I hope, for your sake, your father is equally responsible.’
Her stomach gave a sick little lurch. What her father would do depended on whether he could raise any more credit.
He leaned forwards and blocked her samurai knight with a well-placed geisha-pawn.
‘Check,’ he said. ‘What about your prospects—is there no wedding in your future?’
‘I haven’t yet met a man I prefer.’
‘There was talk of an engagement a few years ago, I heard. To some minor Scottish family.’ He raised a brow.
Her body stilled. Pain squeezed her chest as raw as the day Selina had told her of Andrew’s treachery. How did this pirate know? Had his capture of their ship been more than a crime of opportunity?
Her fingers shook as her hand hovered over her monk. If she tried to pick it up, she might drop it.
She returned her hand to her lap as if she’d changed her mind about which piece to move, aware that his silence required an answer.
‘We did not suit,’ she said carelessly. Andrew only wanted her money. His profession of love was naught but a false coin.
‘Rumour has it you are an unconscionable flirt. That you were looking higher. For a title.’
Lies to cover Andrew’s chagrin when she cried off.
‘How would you know this ancient news?’ she asked. It had happened so long ago, even the ton had forgotten.
He shrugged. ‘I have friends. I hear gossip from time to time. Fulton’s is well known among sailors.’
A truth.
Feeling calmer, she reached for the decanter and poured him a glass of wine with a smile, hoping to distract him from this line of questioning.
‘Join me,’ he said.
A command. She shrugged and filled her glass.
‘Where did you go to school?’ she asked.
He frowned at her. ‘Me?’
‘I assumed you received some sort of education. You don’t sound like a common seaman.’
For once his insouciance seemed to slip. His lips flattened, his eyes grew hard. ‘I learned all I know before the mast.’ The tang of bitterness colouring his voice sent warning prickles across her shoulders. Yet she wanted to know more of this man’s history. She waved a nonchalant hand. ‘Why did you leave England for America?’
He grimaced. ‘Not of my own volition, I assure you.’
Deported? It was possible. Britain had long been sending her criminals abroad. Or might he have fled? A horrid vision popped into her mind. ‘Did you kill your man at dawn?’ Over some woman.
He snorted. ‘Duelling is a waste of time. There are far better ways to satisfy honour. Tell me why the Conchita was flying a Spanish flag?’
Another change of direction. Conversing with this man was like balancing on the edge of a knife. One slip and you’d be cut to ribbons. She found the whole thing exhausting.
‘There were rumours of privateers.’ A wry smile twisted her lips. ‘They proved correct.’
‘It was your idea, wasn’t it?’
She nodded.
‘Well, let me thank you for making my work easier.’
Her palm itched with the desire to slap the supercilious expression from his face. Instead, she regally bent her neck. ‘Glad to be of service.’
A laugh of genuine amusement rumbled up from his chest, low and warm. It strummed a chord low in her belly. She scowled.
‘You are certainly an enterprising woman,’ he said.
Time to give him another surprise. The number of her pieces scattered on his side of the board proved he’d played well, if cautiously. Now she would bring their evening to a close. She moved her monk. ‘Checkmate.’
