Chapter Seven #2
The weight from earlier returned in Isaac’s chest. “Very well. But I’m giving you strict orders to not engage with Thorne, no matter the circumstances.”
“You know giving him orders is pointless.” Samantha crossed her arms. “If he goes, I go.”
“No.” Isaac and Christian said it at the same time.
“Not after what happened last time. He knows he can get to me through you. I won’t risk it.” A ripple of fear passed across Christian’s face as he pleaded with his wife.
She crossed her arms. “If I don’t go, you don’t go.”
Isaac pressed his fingers to his temple. Once she put her foot down, there was no dissuading her. They argued back and forth, Samantha insisting she could hold her own, and Christian reminding her how Thorne had nearly killed her. Multiple times.
A cough came from next to them, and Christian and Samantha both stilled. They’d probably forgotten Miss Montclair sat there, listening to their every word. Isaac hadn’t. How could he? She’d been staring at him the entire conversation, the heat of her gaze threatening to break his concentration.
She cleared her throat. “I’d like to come as well.”
His head snapped up. Surely, she jested. Her earnest gaze said otherwise, and a curse formed on his lips. This damn mission was on the verge of becoming a circus.
“Absolutely not.” He ground out the words.
“Please?”
“This is a dangerous government mission. There’s no place for civilians.”
She frowned. “But you’re letting them come.”
He snorted. “They know more about Thorne than the entire US Navy combined. A mere month ago, Christian would have been the one in charge of this mission.”
Samantha turned to Miss Montclair. “As much as I would love to have your company, he’s right. Dangerous is an understatement. Going after Thorne is a death wish.”
Miss Montclair’s shoulders slumped. “I suppose I’ll have to find that boarding house after all.”
Isaac shifted in his seat. She kept her composure remarkably well for all that had just transpired in front of her. Of course, talk of pirates wouldn’t faze her, given where she lived. But he’d promised her safe quarters and now that had been yanked away.
“Nonsense.” Samantha shook her head. “You can still stay here.”
Miss Montclair’s eyes widened slightly as she swiveled her gaze around the large dining room and a flutter of pity stirred within Isaac. Alone in this big house, in a new city on a continent she’d never been to before? It wouldn’t be fair to her.
“Or…” Samantha had obviously come to the same conclusion. “You can stay with my best friend, Abigail Ross. She would love to have you and the opportunity to show you around Savannah.”
Miss Montclair played with the corner of her napkin, her eyes on her plate. “I feel as if I’ve become quite the burden.”
“Nonsense. Abigail is the socializing expert. She’s honestly the best person you could be with if you’re wanting to get to know Savannah—and to get the people of Savannah to know you.”
“Well, that’s settled.” Christian wore a forced smile. “With all the preparations that are needed, it’s probably wise to take her there tonight.”
Samantha nodded. “You’re right.”
“And what of your Caribbean trip?” Isaac gave Christian a hard look.
“It should only take me a few days to interview the survivors. We’ll be back within the week.”
Isaac fought the groan forming in his throat. He’d hoped to have Miss Montclair well on her way home by then.
Samantha cleared her throat, snapping his attention back to the matter at hand. “I’m sure you’ll be heading down to the docks. The Ross estate is on the way. You won’t mind taking Miss Montclair with you, right?”
He avoided looking at the subject of their conversation, the prickle along his neck giving away her stare. Holding in his sigh, he gave Christian a curt nod. With the Ross home such a short ride away, it would be rude to decline.
“Alright. But we should leave now. I need to send word to Governor Milledge about my plans, and get orders to all the new men who’ve arrived.”
They stood and he followed Christian outside while the women went to collect Miss Montclair’s belongings.
He stretched, mentally making a list of the multitude of things he needed to do before tomorrow night to be able to leave on time.
His friend stared out into the distance and Isaac turned to him.
“Are you sure this is a good idea? If we run into your father in Wilmington—”
“Samantha’s right. He’ll be long gone by the time we get there. I just hope we can figure out why he attacked that ship.”
“It could be as simple as him trying to goad us.”
Christian shook his head. “No, he wouldn’t have come out of hiding without a good reason.”
A look of determination had settled across his face and Isaac chewed the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t help the suspicion that Christian had not told him everything his father had revealed, but a feminine laugh interrupted his thoughts before they could spiral.
Miss Montclair followed Samantha outside, her satchel slung over one shoulder and that ridiculous parrot perched on the other. As soon as she stepped into the glow of the setting sun, the bird let loose a squawk and took flight, landing on the marble statue of Venus in the center of the fountain.
“Lola!” A flush spread across her cheeks. “She’s usually not this ill-behaved.”
Isaac crossed his arms. “Now what?”
She blinked up at him. “Now I go get her, of course.”
“Of course.” He shook his head as she left him on the stairs.
After a minute of pleading to the bird to come to her, Miss Montclair threw up her hands.
She sat on the edge of the fountain and pulled her slippers free, tossing them to the ground.
Standing, she pulled her skirts up, revealing shapely calves.
He pressed his eyes shut. Of course, his mind went to Tortuga—to the waterfall, to her skin glistening with water, to her laughter echoing in the trees.
Not again.
He snapped them open as she stepped into the water and crossed to the center. Using a cherub’s wing for support, she climbed onto its head.
Christian chuckled. “Well, that’s not something you see every day.”
“She’s…” Isaac blinked as she stretched her arm toward the bird, who sat unmoving from its perch on the hand of Venus, just beyond reach. She shifted her footing, going onto her tiptoes on the cherub’s round head.
Incredible. The thought flitted through his mind, there and gone in an instant. “Out of her mind.”
As soon as he spoke, she began to wobble. She jerked her hand down and reached for the wing. Too fast. The movement twisted her and her feet slipped into thin air. With a yelp, she fell backward into the fountain. Her legs flailed, sending water splashing in all directions.
“Are you going to do something, or do I have to be the one to go play hero?” Christian’s dry voice cut through his shock.
Son of a bitch.
Isaac unbuttoned his jacket and tossed it to his friend. “I cannot believe this is happening,” he muttered.
He strode forward. “Miss Montclair, are you alright?”
She stood next to the cherub, brown eyes wide, water running down her face.
His gaze followed a stream to where it disappeared beneath her neckline.
A surge of heat slid through him—the periwinkle dress clung to her almost as scandalously as her chemise had on the island, once again leaving very little to his imagination.
“Oh dear.” She wrung her hands, her earlier blush spreading from her cheeks all the way down to her chest. Damn. He needed to stop looking there.
With a heavy swallow, he extended his hand. “Come, let me help you out.”
She sloshed over, her face tucked down and took his hand. When she lifted her leg to step out, the weight of her sodden skirts caught on the stone and she pitched forward. He dropped her hand and caught her around the waist, his fingers pressing tight against the wet silk and soft flesh below.
With a grunt, he lifted her free and set her next to him, ignoring the thump of his pulse in the most inconvenient place. He released her and took a step back.
A flutter of green appeared in his peripheral vision and he ducked. Something landed on his shoulder and he nearly swiped the parrot off him.
“Don’t move!” Miss Montclair edged to his side.
He went perfectly still, eyeing the proximity of a sharp beak to his face. “He doesn’t bite, does he?”
“Sometimes.” She reached out and gently took the bird, her knuckles grazing his cheek. “And it’s a she.”
Isaac stayed in place as Samantha ran over with a towel and pulled Miss Montclair toward the house. He lifted his hand and wiped a few drops of water from his cheek as Christian brought him his jacket.
Thank goodness he was leaving, because this exasperating woman threatened complicated feelings. Feelings he didn’t have time for.