Miss Lavigne's Little White Lie Page 2

  “I best be gettin’ back to my duties.” The woman slipped away before Lisette could respond.

  Captain Hillary swaggered across the taproom, headed for the stairwell. His languid movements reminded her of a feral cat on the prowl, an ill-tempered beast, if she read him correctly. His shirt gapped at the collar to reveal corded muscles for the entire room to view.

  Mon dieu! Lowering her gaze to the sawdust-covered floor, she swallowed hard. It would be difficult to sit through an audience with the captain without gawking. Yet Captain Hillary and the Cecily presented her family’s best chance for survival. She must determine their time of departure, and stammering like a school girl wouldn’t help.

  Determined to conclude their business quickly before anyone took notice of her, she strode forward to intercept him. “Captain Hillary.”

  His eyebrows shot upward as his gaze traveled over her body. “Have we been introduced, luv?”

  There was no time to practice proper etiquette—if there even were such codes in a hovel like The Abyss—nor was there anyone present to perform the task of making an introduction.

  “I am Lisette Lavigne.” She suppressed a wince. She’d meant to use a false name, but a quick look around reassured her no one was eavesdropping. “You met my representative yesterday, Monsieur Baptiste. May I speak with you a moment?”

  A fierce gleam in the captain’s eyes prompted her to step back. “I’m retiring to my room, madame. Would you care to accompany me?”

  “Your room?” Perhaps she had been too hasty to approach the captain alone. “Couldn’t we conduct our business at a table, monsieur?”

  “Do we have business to discuss?” Despite his acerbic tone, he sauntered to a vacant table and sprawled onto a rustic chair. He swept an arm to the place across from him. “Sit. I haven’t much time to indulge you.”

  She slid into the seat opposite him. “Merci, Captain. Monsieur Baptiste spoke with you yesterday about carrying my family and me to England. Unfortunately, circumstances prevented him from relaying the details of the arrangements he made on our behalf. What is the fare you agreed upon? And I must know when you expect us to board.”

  “I don’t.”

  Lisette blinked, not comprehending his reply although she spoke fluent English. “Pardon? You don’t what, exactly?”

  “I don’t expect you to board. I’ve refused passage to you and your family.”

  “Refused us? But why? We have the funds to pay you.” She touched the coin purse in her pocket. Money always opened doors. “I’m willing to pay handsomely.” She plunked the pouch of coins on the table between them.

  “Good God, woman. Put that away before someone liberates it from you.”

  “But—”

  “Now!” He shoved the purse back at her with a scowl.

  Lisette snatched the heavy bag and tucked it back into her skirts. Her hand fluttered to her chest before she folded both in her lap. Captain Hillary’s brusque manner was unexpected, but she couldn’t allow him to see her flustered. Dealing with men of his caliber required a tough veneer.

  “Very well, Captain. I believe I made my point. I have the means to pay, and there will be a bonus when you deliver us safely to London.” The addition of a bonus was rather inspired, in her opinion.

  Captain Hillary leaned back, balancing the chair on two legs. His eyes looked black in the flickering light. The eyes of a devil. “As I mentioned to your man yesterday, madame, no women sail on the Cecily.”

  Lisette uttered a small cry of outrage despite her intention to remain calm. “That is ludicrous, monsieur. A lady’s money is as good as any man’s.”

  “I have no need for additional funds.”

  Of course he needed money. He was simply holding out for more. “Merde,” she mumbled.

  “Pardon?” A touch of amusement lingered in his rich voice.

  She met his gaze, heat inching up her face with her rising temper. “Do not pretend you care nothing for money. What percentage does the owner allow you?”

  “That’s none of your concern.”

  “I am aware of how this business operates, monsieur. You assume the risk, yet walk away with a pittance. The fruits of your”—she jabbed her finger against the table—“labor line the pockets of the greedy owner.”

  “Indeed? Well, the greedy bugger who owns the Cecily might be offended by having his character maligned.”

  She waved a hand in the air. “I shan’t likely make his acquaintance.”

  The front legs of Captain Hillary’s chair banged against the floor. “Well, madame. I wish you luck in securing passage on another ship. The Cecily doesn’t carry women passengers.”

  He pushed away from the table; freedom was slipping through her fingers.

  “Please, sir.” She grasped his forearm. “Name your price. I’ll give you anything.”

  He pulled from her hold and sank back into his seat, smirking. “Anything? Take care what you promise.”

  “I can afford any price you propose.”

  Resting his forearms on the table, he raked his gaze from her head to her waist and back again. “Madame, are you a widow?”

  She started in response to his unexpected inquiry. Her mourning attire could be misleading. Did the captain concern himself with procuring her husband’s permission to travel? Lisette hesitated only a second before nodding.

  “You’re no innocent then,” he said.

  “By the saints! The nature of my, my past is none of your concern.”

  He shrugged as he settled against the seat back. “Neither is your dilemma my concern. How splendid we should go about our evenings, neither of us concerned for the other.”

  This was going horribly wrong, and she had little left at her disposal. Lifting her chin, she nailed him with the evil eye as Grandmamma had been wont to do. No field hand, house servant, nor tradesman had dared to defy Grandmamma when she unleashed the evil eye.

  Captain Hillary chuckled. “Is everything all right, madame? Are you suffering from apoplexy?”

  “Oh, you are a beastly man.” She slapped her hands against the table and bolted from the chair. “I will locate another ship, Captain, and may yours go to the bottom of the sea.”

  Lisette marched across the room, retreating to a far corner to nurse her wounds. She hadn’t reached her destination before the weight of what she’d done hit her. Not only had she failed in her endeavor to ensure their escape, she had flung curses at the only man who could help her. What would she do now?

  The captain was still lounging at the table, looking at her, his expression unreadable. When her bottom lip trembled, she clamped her mouth closed and turned away. She would sooner walk through the gates of hell than cry in front of the scoundrel.

  ***

  Madame Lavigne’s attempt to recover from her outburst mesmerized Daniel. Her full breasts strained against the black silk of her widow’s weeds as her chest rose then fell in rapid sequence. The woman had proven arrogant, believing she could change his mind by offering more blunt, as if he were a pauper. If she had compensated her representative as well, perhaps he would have taken care to discover Daniel was the owner of the Cecily.

  The only factor nearly to sway Daniel’s decision had been the delicate curve of her neck and an overwhelming desire to place his lips against her bronzed skin. Her exotic beauty beckoned to him, and he wanted to pluck her like a hibiscus blossom and sample her nectar.

  Daniel snorted.

  He had been listening to his brother’s fiancée read from Shakespeare every night for the last few weeks. Apparently, the bard had turned him into a sap. Daniel didn’t employ ridiculous analogies when it came to shagging a wench. Ever. Yet somehow, his familiar crude language felt disrespectful in relation to the widow, even if she possessed a vulgar tongue herself.

  Merde, indeed.

  His gaze skimmed her diminutive waist and the flare of her hips. If her pleasing figure above her skirts piqued his interest, what lay underneath begged for his exploratio
n.

  He sighed and signaled for another tankard of ale, abandoning his plan to return to his room in favor of further observation of the lady.

  The serving wench placed a tankard in front of him before weaving through the tables with two more clutched in her hand. He took a draft of the bitter malt, a perfect accompaniment to his bitter mood.

  Paulina was responsible for his near blunder with Madame Lavigne. Had his blasted mistress—former mistress—satisfied his needs as she usually did before a long journey, he wouldn’t have considered proposing the stunning widow compensate him in a less than proper way, which would have saddled him with the woman and her kin. Not that he would mind sharing pleasure with the lovely widow on the journey, but the fairer gender didn’t belong on his ship.

  In Daniel’s experience, women possessed weaker constitutions, and sea travel often translated into a death sentence for the weak. Cecily’s suffering had been more than he could bear. Her glassy blue eyes and deathly pallor still haunted his nightmares. He had enough worries in regards to his brother’s intended surviving the return voyage without adding Madame Lavigne to his list of burdens.

  He did find the lady’s mettle fascinating, though. Men had often crumpled when faced with Daniel’s… determination, he would call it. (He was not stubborn, and he refused to even entertain the ridiculous notion.) The beguiling widow held herself together admirably.

  She wandered farther into the taproom as if she might approach some of the other patrons. Unfortunately, she had gained more than Daniel’s notice. Through the crowd, two ruffians approached her, circling her like prey, while the lady appeared oblivious.

  The burlier one approached her head on. From the ease of the man’s posture, Daniel guessed the bugger offered a smile meant to disarm her while the second ne’er-do-well eased up behind, his toothless mouth gaping in the imitation of a grin.

  Bloody hell. Daniel did so enjoy relieving others of their teeth.

  Three

  Daniel’s casual approach belied his intentions. Madame Lavigne was a foolish wench. Boasting her worth in a pit of vipers, and no escort to boot. Lucky for her he had nothing better to do than save her pretty little arse.

  Grasping her wrist, Daniel hauled her to him and tucked her against his side. “There you are, my dear. Shall we take our leave?”

  The man whipped around to confront Daniel, but his gaze fixed on something to Daniel’s left. More precisely, one eye listed to the left while his other focused on Daniel and the widow.

  His weasel-faced accomplice eased up behind him. “Ever’ thing all right, Kincaid?” He was too far away to strike without warning, but Daniel remained vigilant, even as he made a show of nuzzling the widow’s neck.

  “I told you to wait upstairs, luv.”

  Madame Lavigne ground her elbow between his ribs to leverage away. “Then release me, darling, and I shall go straightaway.”

  He ignored the dull pain and slanted a lecherous grin at the men. “She’s an eager lass, if you catch my drift.”

  “I beg your—?” A tight squeeze cut off her sentence with a grunt.

  “No need to beg, sweetheart. Come along.”

  Kincaid blocked their path as they tried to reach the staircase. His wild eye ogled Daniel. “How’d you like a real man between the sheets?”

  “Are you speaking to me?” Daniel asked.

  “No!” The man’s face flushed red. “I ain’t talkin’ to you.”

  “Splendid. You’re too ugly for my tastes. Now, move aside. The lady and I have private matters to discuss.”

  Kincaid refused to let them pass. “She’s coming with us.”

  Daniel dropped his arm from the young woman’s shoulders with a sigh. “My apologies, luv. I had hoped the situation might play out differently, but I suppose some things cannot be altered.”

  Kincaid wore a triumphant sneer. He thought Daniel was surrendering her. What an arrogant prick. And stupid.

  Madame Lavigne glanced up at Daniel warily. Surely, she didn’t believe he would hand her over to the miscreants.

  “Run,” he murmured.

  “Pardon?”

  “Run!” Daniel shoved her out of harm’s way and slammed his fist into his adversary’s cheek.

  Howls of approval thundered in the small taproom. Daniel followed with another right to the jaw, feeling a crack under his knuckles, and then ploughed his fist into Kincaid’s doughy gut.

  “Ooofff!” He collapsed to his knees, clutching his middle.

  Daniel ended with a powerful hammer, and the thug crumpled to the floor, unconscious and even uglier than when he’d entered the tavern.

  “Damned fast work, Captain,” someone shouted from the back of the taproom. No doubt one of his crew.

  Daniel shook his right hand. “Blast it all! I’ve bruised my knuckles on his disgusting mug.” He resumed a fighting stance and nodded at the smaller man. “Come on, then. The damage has already been done.”

  The man’s raised fists quivered. Just as Daniel had suspected, his bravado failed him without a bigger bloke to hide behind.

  “Oh, bloody hell,” Daniel said. “You’ll have to improve your form if you wish to fare better than your friend. Off with you before I beat some sense into you.”

  He faked a lunge to drive home his threat. The weasel snapped from his trance and dashed for the back exit. Daniel didn’t bother giving chase. The coward would cause no more trouble.

  Daniel frowned at his first mate, Patch Emerson, who was exchanging blunt with another crewman at a table. “You placed a wager against me?”

  Patch shrugged. “I thought he’d last longer. Four hits? Figured him for six at least.”

  “Indeed? That many?” Daniel’s pride was pacified. “Get him out of here.”

  “You heard the captain,” Patch said to a couple of men below him in rank.

  While his crew lugged Kincaid out back, Daniel searched for the widow. Where the hell had she gone? Damn.

  “Madame Lavigne!”

  The lady was a target for every type of thief. He should have been more alert to the other dangers in the taproom. Shoving through the crowd of noisome bodies, he barreled for the front door to search the docks, but black skirts sticking out from under a table drew him up short.

  He chuckled, his tension receding. The poor chit was probably suffering the vapors under there. He sauntered to the table and crouched for a better view. Round-as-the-moon eyes stared back at him, but there wasn’t a tear in sight.

  “Lost your handkerchief under there, did you?”

  He reached out to assist her from underneath the table. His fingers curled around her hand. It fit nicely with his.

  Once she had regained her feet, she pulled away and brushed off her skirts. “Do you always draw such notice in public? I daresay subtlety would have been appreciated.”

  “You’re welcome, Madame Lavigne.”

  “Please,” she hissed. “Lower your voice.” Ducking her head, she tugged the brim of her bonnet low.

  Daniel’s gaze narrowed as he surveyed the taproom. Everyone had returned to drinking and appeared uninterested in either of them. “Where shall I escort you, madame?”

  “We have a room above stairs, but I can find my own way.”

  He captured her hand and led her toward the stairwell, not caring if she could find her room alone. A woman like Madame Lavigne shouldn’t be staying at The Abyss, much less paying a visit to the tavern. Something was amiss with the lady, and his responsibilities as a gentleman required him to lend assistance. He would consider his duty dispatched once he delivered her safely to her room, and he’d not give her another thought.

  At the landing, she tried to break away, but Daniel maintained his hold. “Which room is yours?”

  She pointed toward the end of the corridor. “But I don’t need assistance. You’ve done enough.”

  “You were nearly abducted, madame. Don’t tell me you have no need for assistance. Where is your escort, or are you without one?”<
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  This time she jerked free and faced him, her chin lifting a notch. “My circumstances are none of your concern. Now, good night.”

  Stubborn chit.

  Daniel followed as she backed toward the wall and braced his hands on either side of her to prevent her escape. “What exactly are your circumstances, madame? Are you in trouble?”

  “If an overbearing captain detaining me against my will is considered trouble, then oui.”

  Her refusal to be honest made him all the more determined to get a straight answer. “Perhaps you’re no widow at all, but a runaway. Who is looking for you?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Good night, Captain.” When she tried to duck under his arm, he caught her around the waist. Fire flared in her green eyes. “Release me. Our business has concluded.”

  He let her go but regretted it when she stormed down the corridor. “Perhaps I misunderstood our conversation below stairs, madame. I was under the impression you wanted me to carry you to England.”

  She halted mid-march and slowly turned back to him. “Are you reconsidering?”

  The only thing he knew with certainty was he wasn’t ready to end their encounter. He took a step in her direction. “You’re desperate to leave New Orleans. Why?”

  Her laugh was forced and lacked mirth. “I’m not desperate. I’m impatient to connect with a male relation in London.”

  “Lack of patience on your part doesn’t sway me to allow you passage. Tell me the reason you were determined to be on the Cecily when she sets sail instead of waiting for another ship.”

  “I don’t know how long my cousin intends to remain at his current lodgings. He is a visitor to London.”

  “Does he know you’re coming?”

  She pressed her lips together, her silence damning.

  “He isn’t expecting you?” Daniel frowned. The woman lacked sense in spades. “And if your kin isn’t there? What do you propose to do then?”

  She closed her eyes as if trying to sort her thoughts. She looked too blasted fragile standing like that in the dim corridor. Didn’t she know not to lower her guard with anyone?

  “My brother is but a boy,” she said at last. “He requires the protection of his guardian, and since our cousin hasn’t come to us, we must go to him.”