Beloved Castaway Read Online Free Page B

and worked to slow her breathing and collect her thoughts. She must convince Josiah Carter to accept payment and take her far from New Orleans. There was simply no alternative.
    To that end, Isabelle moistened her lips and slid her eyes half shut, easily slipping back into the ways she’d been instructed.
    Father, forgive me for this.  
    She allowed the velvet cloak to slide off her shoulder, catching the soft fabric with the crook of her arm. Beneath it she wore her finest cream silk-and-lace gown from Paris, the one she’d been instructed to wear upon the morrow.
    A breeze heavy with dampness blew over her skin, dancing across flesh she preferred to cover. Although she still remained modest by the standards of others in her social circle, she nonetheless felt un-comfortable with the display.  
    “Perhaps you are surprised to find I am a woman,” she said softly.  
    The captain produced a most fearful-looking knife from beneath the folds of his cloak and began to study it. Isabelle froze, too frightened to move and too confused to pray.  
    “Perhaps I am surprised,” he said lazily as the blade glinted sliver in the moonlight. “How old are you, woman ?” The last word he said mockingly, jabbing the knife into the air for emphasis.
    “Four and twenty,” she said as she watched the blade move with blinding speed. Another lie; another reason to pray for forgiveness to the Father for things done in desperation. If the Lord allowed her to live long enough, she’d see her twentieth birthday at the hearth of her new home in Clapham, southwest of London, come Christmas Eve.
    His chuckle held much disdain. “Four and ten is the more likely age, although I’ll not dispute the word of a lady .” He spoke the last word with disdain.
    Determination welled up, and Isabelle squared her shoulders to face the captain with renewed purpose. Given the circumstances of her birth, she might be considered something less than a lady here in New Orleans, but upon her arrival in England, she vowed to honor the Lord with her sterling behavior and humble countenance. Isabelle Marie Gayarre would make her heavenly Father proud even as she tried with all her heart to forgive and forget her earthly one.
    The letter of introduction tucked safely into her bodice held nearly as much promise as the deed hiding beneath the Bible in her trunk. Both would set her free; both were gifts from the mademoiselle. The fact that she could read them could also be attributed to that woman.
    Indeed, Emilie Gayarre, who had sought Isabelle out a year ago, would be the one person she would miss desperately upon her departure from New Orleans. Perhaps, when sufficient time had passed, Isabelle would post a letter to her. Or perhaps Isabelle would merely disappear as planned.
    Braving the shaking in her limbs to glide a step closer, Isabelle mustered up some semblance of a smile. “You expected to transport a man. On this, I have deceived you, and this grieves me.”
    “So you’re grieved, are you?” The captain heaved a sigh and scratched his clean-shaven chin. “Indeed you are not what the booking agent led me to believe.”
    “The fault lies with me, sir.” Isabelle tried in vain to read the expression on his shadowy features. “I intend, however, to fulfill the terms of my agreement. I assure you there will be little seen of me during the voyage.”
    His inelegant snort nearly ended the ruse. The laughter that followed only added fuel to the fire.
    Stepping into the circle of light, Captain Carter regarded her with more than the appropriate amount of interest. Isabelle took note of his sneer, saw the flash in his steel gray eyes, and wondered if he would answer her with words or action. She prayed for the former while expecting the latter, all the while watching the weapon in his hand.  
    How much of the father’s temperament had been passed on to the son? She’d heard Mama Dell whisper tales of this man’s father, tales that if believed would