Beloved Castaway Read Online Free Page A

in a circle of moonlight, the interloper stopped and raised a hand in greeting.  
    A pale, slender hand.
    Slowly, the hand moved to the cloak’s hood and pushed it away to reveal a heart-shaped face framed with an unruly mass of honey-colored curls. The woman, and she looked to be barely of an age to be defined as such, cast a glance at the empty alley behind her, then faced him once more. Full lips hidden partly in shadow curved into a frown.
    A warm wind, blowing from the river, picked up a long curl and deposited it once more into place like a flash of liquid gold. Beauty within the shadows, he decided, meant a stunning woman in the light. His interest piqued. A connoisseur of all things beautiful yet owner of none, he deliberated the possibility of attaining this prize.  
    “Monsieur Carter?” Soft as a whisper and clear as church bells, the voice was barely touched by the accent of the French Creoles.
    Unbidden, tightness rose in his throat. Had his father’s men found him out and sent this siren to trick him?
    “Who calls this name?”  
    He watched her shoulders heave beneath the heavy cloak and her fingers begin to tease at the fabric. “I am Isabelle Marie Gayarre, sole passenger on the vessel Jude .”  
    ---

    Had she stood before the devil himself, Isabelle couldn’t have been any more afraid. This man, this reputed infidel, held her very life in his hands. Should Captain Carter refuse to honor her payment of passage. . .
    No, I shall not consider it.
    She lifted her eyes to the blackness of heaven to offer up yet another prayer for courage, then braved a second look in Captain Carter’s direction. He stood cloaked in shadows, a figure whose description she had memorized long before this meeting and whose associates spoke terror into her very soul.
    Yet the Lord had led her to him.
    The dark-haired captain edged slightly toward her, moving close enough to show the faintest outline of his aristocratic features. Too handsome to be the embodiment of evil, this one, yet she knew of his questionable character from those who spoke freely in her presence.  
    Watch yourself, Izzy . The mademoiselle’s father says he is a desperate man.
    The mademoiselle’s father.  
    He was her own father, as well, though she rarely thought of Jean Gayarre as such, even though she saw his gold hair, pale green eyes, and fine, straight nose every time she gazed at her own reflection. Only her unruly curls and the fullness of her lips gave the slightest hint of the mother she had never known, but of whom her half sister Emilie had shown her paintings.
    Isabelle blinked back emotion. No, she rarely thought of these things.
    Gayarre and his hidden circle of friends, however, were never far from her mind. The secret society of powerful men, all from well-placed families in New Orleans or farther east, was another reasonfor fear.  
    The one who had purchased Isabelle and to whom she was due to be delivered held the ear of the president himself, Emilie had in-formed her. To be chosen by a man so wealthy and powerful would give Isabelle much power and afford her the privilege to live as a pampered pet in a gilded cage.  
    Though never spoken of in decent circles, the term for this arrangement was plaçage . Isabelle knew it to be slavery, plain and simple. Mama Dell declared her a striking success and praised Jean Gayarre for waiting to place Isabelle with a guardian until her beauty held the maturity of a grown woman. Isabelle knew she would have been given up years before had the monsieur received enough gold to placate his conscience. She also knew she’d been spared that fate by One more powerful than Jean Gayarre.  
    All of this she knew thanks to the mademoiselle. Never would Isabelle give her most precious gift to any man save the one the Lord had created for her. Until such a time, she would risk death rather than submit.  
    Despite her prayers, concern nagged at Isabelle. She fumbled with the fine fabric of her cloak