The Pleasure of His Bed. Donna Grant

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      “Sir! Could you take me to the piers, please?” she called to the driver of a passing wagon. His crates of clucking chickens meant he had business to attend to—but so did she. She tossed a coin onto the seat and scrambled up over the wheel before he could refuse her.

      “I’m to prepare quarters aboard the Lady Constance before the Havisham girls arrive, and I’ve overslept!” she declared. “They’re going to America, you see, to wed Lord Havisham’s partners in New York!”

      The old codger’s hand snaked toward the coin. “And how’s the likes of you throwin’ this silver around, eh?” he grunted.

      “Never you mind.” Sofia leaned toward him with a scowl. “We’d best be getting ourselves along, or you’ll lose your stall at the market. The missus won’t be happy about that, now, will she?”

      A lopsided back wheel jostled them all the way to the waterfront, yet Sophia didn’t care. While she’d been excited about escorting the girls to America, her plans were far grander now. As they approached the piers, where dozens of tall masts bobbed like skeletons against the gray sky, her heart thundered.

      What if she couldn’t find Captain Delacroix’s ship? She’d helped Lord Havisham prepare new ships for his more prestigious customers, but in this darkness before dawn, one large, bobbing vessel looked much like the ones moored on either side of it.

      “This’ll do, thanks.” Sofia hopped from the wagon with her bundle beneath her arm, praying her instincts—and her nerve—didn’t fail her. There was no turning back. No alternate plan if her audacious idea backfired—or if she got left behind because she’d come to the wrong part of the harbor.

      Sofia slipped into the shadows to get her bearings…accustomed her nose to the stench of dead fish and salt air as she tuned her ears to the male voices around her. At this hour, stevedores and sailors grunted beneath the cargo they carted up the gangplanks, their faces slick with sweat in the light from the flickering lanterns. If she weren’t careful, they’d mistake her for a loose woman come hunting.

      But she’d survived that slight already, hadn’t she? Sofia squeezed the cool, hard coins in her skirt pocket and walked slowly along the boarded piers, craning to read the names painted on the ships’ bows. These huge, hulking vessels, stretched as far as she could see along the docks, made her feel small and inconsequential. And the farther she walked, the lower her heart sank. Was that the first hint of dawn lighting the horizon?

      By now, the Havisham household would be in an uproar as Daphne and Beatrix wailed their final good-byes—and maybe whined because their abigail was nowhere to be found. These fleeting images gave Sofia no pleasure, however. If she didn’t find the Lady Constance soon, the opportunity of a lifetime would sail away without her—not to mention Damon Delacroix. And by the saints, she wasn’t nearly finished with him!

      Raucous laughter made her duck behind a lamppost: the last thing she needed was to be knocked into the water by a drunken sailor. As Sofia squinted into the shadows of the nearest ship, however, she spied familiar dark hair and heard an all-too-alluring voice.

      “We’ll make our fortunes, partner! Havisham’s loaded his ship to the gills, with the idea that he—and we—are to profit hugely from this voyage!” Captain Delacroix wore a wicked grin in the flickering lantern light, and the man to whom he spoke laughed loudly again.

      “It’s time for a rendezvous with Teach, then. Shall we set our course for America, by way of New Providence?”

      This fellow wasn’t as tall as Delacroix, but his smile and catlike grace showed the same lust for life she’d felt in Damon. This must be the Morgan O’Roark he’d mentioned to Lord Havisham…a man she’d do well to watch—and not just because he was every bit as dashing and handsome as Delacroix.

      “That’s what we’ll do, yes!” Damon replied. “I hope you got your fill of good food and female company tonight, as we’ll be a long time without such luxuries.”

      “Two of ’em at once—and they provided the meal and the bottle!” O’Roark crowed. “I can’t imagine you fared as well at Havisham’s unless his wife availed herself?”

      “Ha! Lady Constance is almost as enticing as her ship’s wooden figurehead. But I did take my pleasure with a vixen serving girl who gave the name Blackbeard a whole new meaning!”

      “Did she, now? You must fill me in over our next drink!”

      Delacroix glanced around the piers, grinning. “I recall a bottle of fine brandy in your cabin, Morgan. Shall we toast our success before those simpering Havisham girls arrive? You’ll be damn glad they’re sailing with Ned Cavendish instead of on board the Odalisque.”

      “Let’s drink to Blackbeard, then! Wherever he—or she!—may be found!”

      You do that, gentlemen. Sofia watched the two laughing captains saunter along the boardwalk and then followed them in the shadows of the ships. When they started up a gangplank, she craned her neck to read the vessel’s name. If this was O’Roark’s ship, the Odalisque, then Captain Delacroix’s vessel, the Courtesan, had to be nearby!

      Sure enough, the Lady Constance swayed gently in the next slip, and when Sofia saw the bold red and black lettering on the Courtesan, she tucked her bundle higher beneath her arm. Her first impulse was to duck her head and dodge any questions from the bustling crew—but, then, they needed to know who she was! Who they were dealing with!

      “Ahoy there, miss! Can’t came aboard this ship, on account of—”

      Sofia arched an eyebrow at the grizzled old sailor and then sidestepped the tobacco juice he spat. “I’m inspecting, on behalf of Lord Havisham himself!” she announced. “I’m to see that all is clean and proper aboard the two ships escorting his daughters to America—to report any irregularities before you set sail! And what might your name be, sir?”

      “Never you mind,” he muttered. He let fly with another stream of muck, deciding if he believed her. “How ’bout you carry on with your job, and I’ll do mine, eh?”

      “A wise choice. As you were, sir.” Sofia watched him walk away with the uneven limp and the thunk…ka-thunk of his peg leg. Then she strolled purposefully toward the stern. Unless Delacroix’s ship was different from the Havisham vessel, the captain’s quarters were beneath the quarterdeck.

      And as she approached, Sofia could hardly believe her luck! Not a soul was in sight! Sailors’ voices echoed in the hold below, but all hands on the deck were busy loading near the bow.

      Chuckling, Sofia padded down the steps and opened the nearest door. The furnishings shone with promise in the first light of dawn that peeked through the small, high windows. The captain’s bed looked to be carved of mahogany and was far larger than any she’d ever slept in.

      “Oh, this will do nicely!” Sofia closed the door—locked it, for good measure. Then she imagined how best to greet Damon Delacroix when he finally found her.

      4

      Damon bounded down the stairs toward his quarters and a much needed drink. Hours behind schedule they were, all because that feisty abigail’s absence had thrown the household into turmoil. Another suitable chaperone had been found—and then Daphne and Beatrix had clung to their mother as if certain death awaited them aboard the Lady Constance. Such weeping, wailing, and carrying СКАЧАТЬ