Chapter Three #2
Samantha stiffened. He had better not. “I’m sure he has more important things to do.”
A sad smile flitted across Abigail’s face. “You’re probably right. Saving the world is a busy job.”
Samantha turned so her friend wouldn’t see her scrunched nose.
He’d served in the Quasi-War with France as an officer, and after returning, had been promoted to lieutenant.
Governor Milledge had commissioned the Falcon and convinced Thompson to leave his estate in New York.
He shouldn’t have come. But he had, and no wonder.
The chance to command a frigate at his age and rank would be a powerful draw for any man.
If he succeeded, it could set him on a swift course to captaincy.
They stood in the shadows while the lovely notes of a violin drifted across the ballroom.
Abigail used the time to point out which eligible gentlemen were in attendance and speculate if they would ask her to dance.
Samantha let her gaze wander over the crowd, but none of the dandily dressed men caught her eye. They never did.
She let out a sigh and her friend leaned in. “Looking for someone in particular?”
“Very funny. You know how I feel about—”
“Yes, yes. I know. You can’t picture yourself with any of them. Same as always. Come now, when you close your eyes and think of the perfect man, what do you see?”
Samantha groaned. “Why do you keep asking me that? The answer’s never going to change.”
Abigail grinned. “But you’re wrong. One day, you’ll see someone. And I’m going to keep asking until you do. Close your eyes and try.”
Samantha turned. How could she tell her friend how hurtful her words were?
Because every time she went along with the little game and closed her eyes, there was nothing.
Just an endless stretch of black emptiness.
But she wanted there to be something. Some indication her heart wasn’t doomed to remain lifeless. That she wasn’t meant to be alone.
Was something wrong with her? Growing up with Abigail, she’d gotten to listen to every far-fetched romantic fantasy her friend cooked up. Gotten to see the longing glances across ballroom floors. The yearning in Abigail’s voice.
Samantha had never yearned. Not even a little.
Another sigh. Abigail would never understand. Better to just close her eyes and go along with it. She braced herself for the blank nothingness about to greet her. Please, just for once let there be somebody. Anybody. And like an answer to her desperate plea, an image appeared.
Lieutenant Thompson, standing at the forecastle in his blue uniform.
Her heart clenched and she recoiled as if someone had slapped her. No. Anybody but him.
Abigail blinked. “Well, that’s certainly not the reaction I expected. Who in the world was it?”
Traitorous mind. Samantha breathed out. They had just spoken of him. Plus, she’d been in close contact with him last week. A perfect explanation for why he, of all people, would show up. Definitely not because of his piercing green eyes, or the well-muscled thighs hidden beneath his breeches.
She choked. “No one.”
“Liar! There was too someone.” Abigail clasped her hands together. “This is wonderful progress.”
Samantha shook her head and found Uncle Henry in the crowd. She hadn’t missed the inflection of the word “meeting” earlier. He often used society events as a cover for exchanging information with other gentleman pirates. When a footman approached him, she almost missed the covert handoff of a note.
“If you don’t stop being a wallflower, using all your time to pester me about potential suitors, no one is going to dance with you.” She gave Abigail a little push. “Go make yourself seen so one of your gentlemen can ask you. I’m going to catch a breath of fresh air.”
Her uncle had already left the room without so much as a backward glance and Samantha pressed through the throngs of people to catch up.
She made it to a long hallway leading into the east wing of the manor just as a door at the far end clicked shut.
Kicking her shoes off, she retrieved them and padded softly across the tiled floor.
Holding her breath, she edged to the door and pressed an ear to it.
“We have a problem.”
Uncle Henry’s voice.
“I have confirmation Captain Thorne has returned from the Caribbean.”
Hushed murmurs reached her ear and her pulse jumped.
Her uncle may be the most notorious pirate in America, but Thorne?
His notoriety stretched the globe. While her uncle was known for his cunning skill in capturing ships and keeping his identity hidden, Thorne was feared for his sheer brutality.
Sailors dared not even speak the name of the feared pirate’s ship, the Reckoning, lest they tempt fate and summon its captain.
A fitting name indeed, for if Thorne captured your vessel, the last thing they said you’d hear was his cruel laugh as he sent you to a watery grave. A shudder ran through her.
Another man’s voice reached her. “Why would he come north? He’s made it clear the Caribbean is his domain.”
Silence fell and she had to cup her hand around her ear to make out her uncle’s soft words.
“He’s come for me.”
She blanched, pushing down the fear coiled in her belly.
“Or rather, he’s come for something I own.”
Another round of murmurs, more frenzied this time.
“Fifteen years ago, my brother and his wife died while searching for a fabled treasure. Unfortunately, they weren’t the only pirates interested in those particular riches. They were killed for that map. A map my brother entrusted to me in the days before he left on that fated trip.”
Samantha jerked her head from the door and staggered a step away, her hand clutched over her mouth to hold back a cry. The shadows in the hallway spun around her. Don’t faint.
She’d grown up believing her parents died in a shipwreck. Believed her father to have been an honest merchant sailor.
That map. Her heart gave a little stutter. The one her uncle gave to her last week. She was sure of it.
Heartbeat slamming, she pressed her ear to the door again.
Her uncle continued in a gruff voice. “The map is safe for now—”
The clip of footsteps echoing in the corridor interrupted her spying. Samantha spun around. No place to hide. And then her heart stopped beating.
Lieutenant Thompson strode around the corner, headed straight her way.
In the space of a breath, she backed against the door and rapped her stockinged heel against it.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
“You there, what are you doing?”
Samantha swiveled to face the approaching lieutenant with wide eyes. Her throat went dry and she took a steadying breath. Don’t let him recognize you. A pirate must always be a master of disguise. Even when dressed in an extravagant ballgown and facing the man who had sworn to make her pay.
Especially then.
She let a hand rise to her throat. “You startled me, Lieutenant.”
He ground to a halt in front of her. And damn her pulse for quickening.
His blue uniform cut a fine figure with a crisp cravat and his glossy curls were tied back to frame chiseled features.
No powdered wig like most of the stuck-up men out in the ballroom.
He went still, staring at her. She breathed in as his masculine scent washed over her.
Something spicy. She sniffed again. Sandalwood and cloves.
“What are you doing here, Miss . . .”
“Warstein. Samantha Warstein.” She sunk into a curtsy and his eyes narrowed.
“What’s behind your back?”
Oh, God. Her shoes. She’d forgotten she still clutched them. Heat flooded her cheeks and she slowly brought them forward.
“I—I . . .” she stammered, and the perfect disguise came to her.
She would play the simpering wallflower.
Easy enough as it was a role she played so often at these society events.
“My shoes were too tight and I just wanted a break. I—I didn’t think anyone would find me back here.
” She hung her head, staring at his polished boots—a stark contrast to the pink stockinged toes peeking from beneath her lace hem.
“Never fear. I was not seeking you.” Good. He bought it. So why did her heart sink a little at the words?
“Excuse me.” He reached past her and flung the door open.
An empty room greeted them.
Lieutenant Thompson’s lips pressed together and he stepped inside. Alarm coursed through her. If Uncle Henry and his men were still in there, hiding. . .
“Oh dear.” Samantha poked her head in and she faked a gasp. “Oh my. Did I interrupt a—a rendezvous?” She used her shoes to fan herself and the lieutenant spun to face her.
“Of course not.”
Another gasp, and she backed away from the door. “If anyone should see us here . . . alone . . .”
That did the trick. When in doubt, the age-old threat of losing one’s bachelorhood over being caught in a compromising situation could be counted on to spur a man to action. With one last look around the dark room, Lieutenant Thompson joined her in the hallway.
“Put your shoes back on.”
She blinked at his sharp command but obeyed.
He held out his arm and after a pause, she set her hand at his elbow. Her fingers burned at the touch and she stared at the spot. Only a week before, she had battled this man. She nearly laughed at the irony.
The lieutenant gave a little cough and she jerked her gaze away. “Now, back to the ballroom with you, before your absence is noted.”
When they passed through the arched doorway into the crowded room, she let out her breath and released his arm.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” she murmured before twisting toward the wall. Abigail stood there with a slack jaw. Wonderful. She’d never hear the end of this. She took a step forward.
“Not so fast, Miss Warstein.”