Ann Lethbridge - Captured for the Captain's Pleasure

‘What did you wish to know?’ She was glad her voice didn’t shake too badly.

‘Everything.’ To her utter confusion, he put a world of meaning in the one word and its accompanying narrowed-eyed stare. ‘I thought we would start with the story of your life.’

She almost laughed. ‘It makes for dull telling, sir.’

‘But it is new to me. To begin with, I suppose it is too much to hope that you play chess,’ he said, rather wistfully.

‘Chess?’ She almost slipped off her seat in surprise.

‘I hear it is an acceptable pastime for men and women to play together in intimate surroundings. Perhaps you prefer cards?’

The word intimate rang in her ears. She gripped the edge of her seat. ‘I do play chess. Quite well, in fact.’

He got up and prowled dangerously close. ‘Quite well?’ He smiled as if she’d hand-fed the wolf in him a succulent morsel. Or a piece of herself.

Her pulse tripped a warning. She gazed back boldly. ‘Some would say very well.’

He leaned closer, his face inches from hers, his wine-scented breath a whisper against her cheek. ‘Excellent. And while we play, you will talk.’

Clutching her goblet tight to her breast, she fought the tremble in her hands. Fear of his threat, not a wild heart-stopping impulse to taste his sensual lips again. Only by the fiercest resolve did she manage not to blink. ‘It sounds delightful.’

His gaze ran from her head to her heels and a trickle of warmth beneath her skin followed its progress. She stifled a sigh of pure pleasure.

A slow smile dawned on his face. ‘I must warn you, I have not played for a very long time.’

‘Then prepare for defeat.’

He grinned. ‘Defeat by a woman has its benefits.’ The lascivious note in his voice made her insides clench. She kept her expression blank. Proper young ladies did not understand such innuendo. And it would not do to let him believe she was anything but a proper young lady.

He retrieved a marquetry box inlaid with silver from his desk. Inside, two shades of green jade pieces nestled in white satin, beautiful carvings depicting samurai and dragons and other Oriental images. Worth a king’s ransom and no doubt stolen from some poor traveller.

He set out the pieces on a plain, painted wooden board that set the ornate pale and dark green jade off to perfection.

He sat down. ‘Your move.’

‘Tell me about your father,’ Lionhawk said in a lazy drawl. ‘Alex Fulton.’

They were the first words he’d spoken since she’d made her opening move and the intensity in his gaze created a tightness in her abdomen. Apparently her answer was important.

‘He owns a shipping line.’

The dark brows drew down. ‘I know what he does. Tell me about him .’

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.’