Captain Of Her Heart Read online

Instead, she found him...intriguing, a point in fact of which she suspected he was well aware, given Jason surveyed her from top to toe, as if he knew how she looked in her chemise. Slowly, very slowly, he smiled a wicked smile—matched by hers, no doubt.

  “Shall we dance?”

  How Alex lamented the bittersweet memory, because what had followed his elementary request had been a full-scale assault on her faculties. When Jason had slipped his arm about her waist, and he held her close, Alex had been giddy with unfamiliar but enticing excitement. Imaginary bells had sounded a carillon in her ears, delicious fire had simmered beneath her skin, and she had trembled with each successive turn about the room. To her embarrassment, she had tripped more than once, as no man had ever affected her thus.

  In that moment, Alex set her cap for Jason Collingwood.

  “My dear Captain, we could have such a wonderful life, if only you would do your part,” she said to no one. “Must I do everything to further our relationship?”

  The situation, as it stood, remained intolerable, as she had to make Jason understand they were destined for each other. And while his foul disposition, directed at her, of late, might prove useful when commanding his crew, he sometimes gave her a headache. So nagging uncertainty rested on her shoulders, as the weight of the world.

  “I must be strong.” In that instant, she studied her quavering fingers and emitted a plaintive cry. “Oh, Jason. I would fight Napoleon, himself, to win your love.”

  Determined to stay her course, Alex gave her attention to the snow-dusted landscape of the bustling seaport. Located in the county of Devon, and facing the western end of the Channel, Plymouth hosted a prominent naval base from which many expeditions launched against France, which seemed an appropriate place for her to wage a war of hearts.

  And it was just around the corner, at Devonport, the main dockyard and shipbuilding facility of the British Navy, where Jason’s ship, the Intrepid, berthed for refitting and duty under letters of marque from the Lord High Admiral. The new commission completed the well-played ruse as Jason embarked on his first solo mission for the Brethren of the Coast, a mysterious band of mariners who served the Crown in secret.

  It was Jason’s recent accomplishment that entrenched her belief that the hesitant captain was fated to be hers, because as a young girl Alex had often fantasized she was the wife of a knight from the famed order descended of the Templars, the warriors of the Crusades. Her father, God rest him, had once been counted among their esteemed ranks, but unlike Cara, Alex could never fathom marrying a member of the much-fabled nautionniers, because she considered them brothers. As a newcomer initiated into the order, Jason manifested the answer to her prayers.

  If only he shared her perspective.

  The coach came to an abrupt halt, which sent her tumbling to the floor, and she realized she had arrived at her destination. Before her breach in feminine deportment was discovered, she regained the bench and smoothed her skirts, just as the footman opened the door.

  As Alex stepped to the unpaved drive, she scrutinized the little thatched cottage, which nestled amid a copse of formidable oaks. A pebbled walkway led to the entry, which had been painted a vivid green and contrasted with whitewashed walls. At either side of the entrance loomed the thorny skeletons of rosebushes, which stood dormant in winter, and bare flowerbeds.

  “Where should we leave your trunk, Miss Seymour?” The coachman addressed her informally, as she had not apprised him of her true identity.

  “A moment, please, and I shall inquire.” Without fear or hesitation, Alex marched straight up the path, grabbed the knocker, and pounded hard on the door. And then nagging doubt nipped her heels.

  Painful seconds ticked past, as she considered the tenor of her welcome. Would Jason express unbridled elation or toss her on her backside? Biting her lip, she spared a quick glance at her escort, just as the latch turned with a mighty creak, and the oak panel opened to reveal a very attractive young woman.

  Even as Alex sank into a dark vortex of shock and misery, she splayed her arms for balance. “I am sorry to disturb you, but I must have the wrong address.”

  “It is no trouble, ma’am.” Dressed in a worn gown of faded print muslin, with a disheveled braid draped over her shoulder, the fair-haired beauty blinked. “Are you looking for Captain Collingwood?”

  “Yes.” As the world seemed to spin beyond her control, Alex thought she might revisit her breakfast. “Is this not his lodging?”

  “Oh, the captain resides here, but he is at the yard.” The girl wiped her hands on a threadbare apron and nodded once. “I am Molly, the cook-maid. And how may I help you?”

  “I am Miss Seymour—the captain’s sister.” The charwoman presented a snag Alex had not foreseen, and she had to think on her feet. “Has Jason not spoken of my visit?”

  “Cap’n never mentioned a sister, ma’am. But then we do not converse much.” Molly sketched a half-curtsey. “So pleased to meet you.”

  “I am certain my brother has more pressing matters, including the refitting of the Intrepid, or some such.” With renewed confidence, Alex waved to the footman, who hauled her trunk toward the cottage. “Daresay it slipped his mind.”

  “Indeed, ma’am. I rarely see Cap’n Collingwood, as he is usually gone when I arrive, and I leave his dinner on the range before he returns. Not much time for talk.” And then Molly retreated. “Will you come inside?”

  Tugging at her kidskin gloves, Alex crossed the threshold and surveyed the meager surroundings. “Why, it is charming.”

  The main room was huge, with a high ceiling and exposed roof supports. The spartan furnishings consisted of an unmatched overstuffed chair and sofa, which were clean but frayed about the edges. Twin side tables perched at either side of the sofa, the well-worn wood floor had nary a speck of dust or dirt, and two tattered wool rugs distinguished the living area from the kitchen.

  A delightful hearth occupied the middle of the sidewall, with an old black stove situated to the left. A large washbasin inhabited one corner, and a square table and chairs for two hugged a window, which overlooked the drive.

  “Where shall I deposit your trunk, Miss Seymour?” The footman paused in the entryway.

  “My bedchamber will be fine.” Alex gazed at the charwoman. “Can you show me to my quarters, Molly?”

  “I beg your pardon?” The young woman stammered, as she shuffled her feet. “Your quarters, ma’am?”

  “Yes.” Alex clasped her hands, as her plan progressed to perfection. “Where do I sleep? And I should like to change from my traveling dress.”

  “Perhaps your brother forgot to inform you this cottage has only one bedchamber.” The maid shifted her weight. “Do you suppose Cap’n intended for you to take a room at the inn?”

  Alex had not anticipated that none too minor hiccup. In truth, she had not known what to expect of Jason’s rented accommodations, but she had envisioned the usual palatial dwelling—a grand house, with chambers aplenty and a dependable staff. While the miniscule abode possessed unvarnished appeal, it was rather rustic for her taste, and it was a vast deal less than she required.

  Facing the concerted and perplexing stares of Molly and the footman, Alex sought a suitable rejoinder, as she had to rid herself of the meddlesome interlopers before Jason returned and found her waiting, because she was not half so assured of her welcome.

  “My brother is quite the gentleman, so I am positive he would want me to have privacy, and Jason will sleep on the sofa.” Even as she uttered the pathetic claim, because it was obvious the piece of furniture could never support Jason’s outstretched frame, Alex braced for a lightning strike.

  “If you say so, ma’am.” Casting a doubtful glance at the object in question, Molly walked to a rear door. “This way, please.”

  A decent-sized bed laden with timeworn quilts and down pillows held pride of place in the adjoining suite, if she could call it that. A single night table sat just to the left, with a small wash area to the right. Y
es, her captain was a fastidious sort. Beyond an arched doorway posited a dressing room, including a chest and an armoire.

  With a smile, Alex entered the closet and claimed a coat from a wall peg. Fingering a mother-of-pearl button, she summoned heartwarming images from the past, when Jason had draped the frock over her shoulders, after she had been caught in the rain with Cara. With the wool pressed to her cheek, she closed her eyes and inhaled his signature sandalwood scent.

  “Shall I unpack your trunk, Miss Seymour?” the charwoman asked in a small voice.

  “Please, do so.” Alex returned the garment to the peg and then peered from side to side. “Tell me, Molly, if there is only one bedchamber, where does the valet sleep?”

  “The valet, ma’am?” Molly blinked.

  “Indeed.” Alex noted the tattered rug at the footboard and decided it would have to be replaced. “You know, Jason’s manservant? Does he reside elsewhere?”

  “I am sorry, Miss Seymour, but Cap’n has no valet.” Molly propped open the lid on the trunk. “I believe he tends himself.”

  “Oh?” A chill of unease danced a merry jig down her spine. “So you are the sole servant Jason employs?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Molly bent to set a pair of slippers on the floor. “Cap’n hired me to clean the cottage, wash his clothes, and prepare his evening meal. To my knowledge, he takes care of everything else.”

  Now that manifested another kink in her grand scheme. Given her hasty flight from London, and the deception upon which her plan relied, Alex had departed sans lady’s maid. Perhaps Jason could tie and untie her laces, as that might aid her campaign to win his heart.

  So as Molly smoothed the wrinkles from various gowns, Alex escorted the footman to the door and bade him farewell, with instructions to return at her written summons. And then she waved to the driver, as the coach lurched forward and eventually disappeared in a cloud of dust.

  As she reassessed her bucolic accommodations, for which she had been entirely unprepared, Alex supposed she could cry. Yet she recalled her married Brethren sisters had confronted similar, if not worse, circumstances when they wagered everything for love.

  In an attempt to evade the parson’s noose, Caroline had stowed away aboard Dalton’s ship, whereupon Trevor mistook her for a courtesan and kidnapped her. Sabrina had spent a summer transforming herself into a true English lady to win Everett. And only last year, Cara had thrown caution to the wind and seduced Lance. At long last, Alex understood their motivation, carefully inscribed in the Brethren oath.

  For love and comradeship we live.

  In the end, each lady had married the man of her dreams, only after they had breached the limits of polite society, and Alex resolved to follow in their successful paths. So for her, there was no going back. For good or ill, she had crossed her Rubicon.

  #

  The sun had sunk well below the yardarm, when Jason steered his mount toward the single-stall stable at the rear of the cottage he had rented, while repairs to the Intrepid were completed. After securing the horse, he tugged off his gloves as he rounded the side of the house. It was then he noticed smoke billowing from the chimney.

  “Bloody hell.” Jason hastened his stride. “How many times have I told that harebrained girl not to leave a fire burning in the hearth? Does she wish to destroy my home away from home?”

  And then it occurred to him that Molly might still labor at her chores, given he had amassed a mountain of mending for the efficient charwoman. At the front entrance, he tried the knob, but the bolt had been set, so he drew a key from his waistcoat pocket and unlocked the door. When he crossed the threshold, he rapped his knuckles to the oak panel.

  “Molly?” He glanced left and then right. “Are you there?”

  A roaring blaze warmed the room, against the chilly night air, a stewpot sat on the stove, and a tempting aroma teased his nose and his belly, as Jason shrugged from his greatcoat and tossed it over the back of a chair.

  After loosening the laces at each wrist, he inched up his sleeves and walked to the washstand in the corner. As he lifted a pitcher and filled the basin, he peered over his shoulder. The house was as silent as a tomb.

  “I suppose I shall have to speak with Molly.” He huffed a breath, grabbed a bar of soap, worked a thick lather, and scrubbed his face. With a healthy splash of water, he rinsed away the suds and then, with eyes closed, he reached for a towel.

  “Good evening, Captain of my heart.”

  Jason froze.

  The world as he knew tilted in a violent shift, which left him reeling. Dizzy, he breathed into the cloth and told himself he had not heard what he had just heard. To gain a measure of stability, he dropped the towel and rested both hands at either side of the basin.

  “Will you not welcome me to your humble abode?”

  And there it was, his downfall, the sultry, throaty voice that never failed to rouse his Jolly Roger, which woke with a vengeance just then. With his stare fixed on the wall, he swallowed hard. “Alex? Is that you?”

  “You were expecting someone else?” She giggled, and his knees buckled.

  Stiffening his spine, Jason marshaled his wits and turned to address his unforeseen guest. As he gazed at the woman he had spent the better part of a fortnight envisioning in his bed, pulse points fired, and his loins ignited. “What are you doing here?”

  “That is not the most flattering reception I have ever received.” Inclining her head, she cast him the flirty pout that always bent him to her will, and such knowledge bolstered his defenses. “I seem to recall you are far more skilled at greetings, sir. Have you not missed me? I have missed you.”

  Gowned in burgundy silk, his favorite color, a point of fact she knew well, with her brown locks piled high in carefree curls, Alex could rival the most skilled courtesans in England. In an act of infinite unfairness, she exuded an air of sexual prowess no woman of gentle breeding should possess, and coupled with her beauty, she was lethal. The French perfume she wore enticed his senses—well, not his senses, but another more prominent part of his anatomy.

  Jason was undone.

  Before he realized he had moved, he had crossed the room. In mere seconds, he drew Alex into his arms, and her soft curves melted against him. God, it felt good to hold her again. When their lips met, they ignited from the point of contact, until sumptuous heat cocooned them in their own private paradise.

  With his hands, he revisited her shapely curves and pinched a pert nipple through the bodice of her dress, as he flicked and suckled her tongue. “Alex, how I have ached for you.”

  “And I you, Jason.” And then she caressed his erection through his painfully constrictive wool breeches.

  Emitting a sigh of unutterable delight, he rested his cheek to her hair, closed his eyes, and reveled in her touch. And then he wondered where his society maiden had gained such intimate knowledge, because he had never fortified her arsenal with that provocative education. In a flash, unanswered questions peppered his conscience and, thereby, deflated every inch of him.

  Jason retreated, held Alex at arm’s length, and scrutinized the dangerous debutante who tempted him beyond reason. Her chest heaved as she breathed in erratic pants, and she licked her kiss-swollen flesh.

  “What is wrong?” She reached for him.

  “Alex, just stand there, and do not move from that spot.” With a few strides, he put much needed distance between them, so he could cool his blood. “I have not written, and I never apprised you of my whereabouts, so how did you find me?”

  “Why are you avoiding me?” She appeared genuinely hurt. “You ignored my invitation to join us for the holidays, but I see you received my gift, and it suits you. Yet you sent me no present, in kind.”

  Jason opened his mouth to voice a denial but faltered.

  Indeed, she was correct in her assertion, as he wore the expertly tailored garment at that very moment. It prevailed as his most favored accouterment because Alex had given it to him. And tucked in his waistcoat pocket,
safe and snug, was the ring he had planned to bestow upon the woman he had intended to make his fiancée—until he learned of her deception.

  “Answer my question.” He rested hands on hips. “How did you find me?”

  “Does it signify?” She lowered her chin. “I have traveled all the way from London, just to be with you. Are you not happy to see me?”

  “I will have the truth, Alex.”

  “Oh, if you must.” She stomped a foot. “I got your directive from Damian.”

  “What?” Jason scratched his temple. “Your brother knows you have journeyed unchaperoned to Plymouth?”

  “Not exactly.” Now she averted her gaze and garnered Jason’s suspicion. “But you could allay any concerns regarding my lack of chaperone by doing the honorable by me, and I should be thrilled to accommodate you.”

  “Upon my word, but you are bold.” And that singular characteristic was what drew him to her, as a bee to honey. “Out with it—now.”

  “If you must know, I obtained your address from my brother’s estate ledger, when he spent the night at his bachelor lodging.” She wrung her fingers. “And Damian most certainly does not know I am here, else he would heat my posterior.”

  “The truth, at last.” And she piqued his curiosity as well as his ire. “So where does he believe you reside, at present?”

  “I am sure he is not concerned.” She scrutinized the hem of her sleeve.

  “I will have the whole of it, Lady Seymour.” How could he ever trust her again?

  “If you really must know, he thinks I am at Sabrina’s.” She huffed a breath.

  “Conspiring again?” He ought to put her over his knee and spank her.

  “No.” She frowned. “I told Sabrina I retired to the country, with Elaine.”

  “And Elaine?”

  “Presumes I am visiting Caroline.”

  “And Caroline?”

  “Labors under the assumption that I chose to remain in London.”

  “Deceit comes easy for you.” And inside him something shattered with that realization.

  “Jason, please, let me explain.” How sincere she sounded, yet she fooled him not. “I was motivated by good intentions, and I have apologized countless times. Will you never forgive me?”