Her Favoured Captain Read Online Free

buccaneer. He would be there, where promised
to be. She did not doubt his honour in that, but was it folly to have agreed to
engage a second time with a relative stranger?
       He was a man of dubious means and
intentions. Why would a buccaneer drop anchor in the creek, if not to avoid
ships of his majesty’s fleet or that of a customs cutter? She was, in truth,
rushing headlong heart leading and it might all prove to be a terrible mistake.
What if acceptance of his suggestion to meet again had roused impression of her
willingness to . . . Oh Lord, the mere thought caused a flush to cheeks.
       The bridge now before her she slowed her
pace, and although sensible to check to be sure no one happened to be watching
her she resisted temptation of blatant over shoulder glance. Instead she
paused, crouched down and picked an array of differing wild flowers, then cast
a subtle eye to the ride and house. There was no one within sight, and no face
at a window. She rearranged the flowers in hand, and only then moved into the
shade of trees and began her descent of the steps to creek bottom.
       A few paces taken along the dry sand her
heart dived. She could not see him, could not yet see if the ship was still at
anchor. Her heart said run to the bend in the creek, while her head said walk
in dignified manner eyes to ground. All kinds of emotions welled within, and it
was best to assume the ship had weighed anchor and away. Tears brimmed. She
hastily wiped them away with a kerchief. This was all so silly, and a sad case
of fascination for someone she knew nothing of. His relative handsomeness and
charming manner was an asset to be sure, if nose tad prominent. But, had she
remembered his features accurate, she could not be sure.
       She rounded the bend of the creek and there
it was, the ship, and smoke again drifting upward from behind the rocky
outcrop. Taking into account the fact the ship had to have a crew, the silence
all around was really quite eerie bar for occasional bird singing within the
steep wooded slopes. Where was he? She could not dare approach the rocky
outcrop, and about to turn around, a short distance ahead she spied a pair of
boots standing proud amidst a heap of clothing. Such caused undue sense of
alarm, and instinct drew her eyes to the waters of the creek: sure enough a man
swimming mid-channel. What should she do?
       With each step forward she scrutinised the
pile of clothes, and as she drew closer, smock, hose, a belt and sword became
apparent. How bizarre, a sword instead of cutlass? But, at least he had
breeches on his person. She lingered beside his cast-offs, a blue ribbon noted
within the folds of his smock. Gaze averted back to the creek she watched him
cut water at speed, arm over arm, muscles in back and arms bringing him ever
closer. Before long he was on his feet treading water, chest bared to sun,
bared to her, and other than Ned bare to waist now and then she had never seen
another man half dressed.
       “Forgive my state of undress, your
ladyship,” he said, a broad grin. “I had thought you of changed mind in paying
visit today”
       His hands to head to skim excess water from
shoulder length hair drew her eyes to shoulders broad, arms strong in muscle.
His chest, though, by far the greater interest where she had nestled her head
the day prior, and now exposed and shadowed black with hair to point at navel,
his wet breeches luring the eye. “It is a lady’s prerogative to be a little
late.”
       “Are those flowers apology for your
lateness?”
       “Oh no   . . . well   . . .” Damn the flush
to her cheeks and blatant amusement dancing in his eyes. “Think of them as part
of my masquerade to escape undue attention, though I confess no one seemed the
least interested in my departure from the house.”
       Hint of mischief played on his face. “Am I
to conclude you are under close guard for some reason?”
       “Not as yet, but if discovered cavorting
with a