Captured For The Captain's Pleasure. Ann Lethbridge

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      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.’

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