01 - Captured Dreams Page 3

  “And why is that?”

  A bump in the road jarred her in the seat and she fell against him. She quickly slid back to her side. The contraption holding her hair up on top of her head leaned precariously to one side.

  She had no trouble, though, finding her voice. “You were obviously bored at the Admiral’s party.”

  “I warrant we would not be bored if we were to return to the party.”

  “Perhaps not. My point is, however, that boredom is not reason enough for you to move into the gardens just as the governor arrived.”

  “I was in need of some fresh air.”

  “You and your groom were heading for your carriage.” She shook her head. “There was a reason why you did not hand me over to the Admiral’s man when you overtook me. You were leaving, and you could not afford any further delay.”

  She started pulling pins and combs out of her hair and removed what looked like a tiny pillow that served as the foundation for the mound of hair. She combed her fingers through the liberated mass of curls.

  Pierce was momentarily distracted by the blanket of dark ringlets that tumbled around her shoulders. She smelled of roses and night air.

  “How close am I to the truth, sir?”

  “I doubt that you and the truth are close at all, madam.”

  “Admit it, Mr. Pennington. You are late for an important appointment. You will not turn around and take me back.”

  He reined in the horses, bringing the chaise to a sudden stop. She was thrown forward, but without any assistance she scrambled back into her seat.

  “How do you know my name?”

  “As I explained before, I was an invited guest at Admiral Middleton’s ball.”

  “And your name is…?”

  She hesitated.

  “Your name, madam,” he snapped, satisfied to see her flinch slightly.

  “I am Portia Edwards, but that’s all you need to know about me, sir.” There was a note of caution in her voice. “And I do sympathize with you and the time restraints you must be fac ‘Twas certainly an imposition for me to expect—”

  “What would be your recommendation as to the most expedient way of ridding myself of your company, Miss Edwards?” Pierce knew he was being rude, but he was beyond caring.

  “Although I hesitate to recommend it, you might drop me off on the side of the road past Mill Creek, since I am really only in need of a ride out of the North End.” She pushed the blanket of loose curls over one shoulder, and he had another view of the gown’s tight bodice and low neckline. “There are obvious safety issues with that option, of course. If you’re going anywhere near Dock Square, however, then it will save me the trouble of walking in the dark and being exposed to all types of dangers that a young woman—”

  “Dock Square ’tis.” He abruptly snapped the reins, urging the horses to a trot.

  Houses and shops now lined the streets, with arched narrow alleys leading into inner courts. People still gathered on the streets and in the doorways on this holiday night, and children ran and danced around fires that had been built in lots that were clear of buildings. She was jostled when they bumped over a crossing pavement at one intersection, but to Pierce’s great disappointment, she did not fall out of the chaise.

  “So, Mr. Pennington, are you meeting with one of your smuggling associates tonight?”

  He shot her a hard look and then forced out a laugh. “I certainly am not. But what could you possibly know of my associates or my business, madam?”

  “Absolutely nothing. What I meant to ask was if you were making an illegal trade of some kind tonight.”

  Pierce studied her more closely. A stubborn chin, intelligent high forehead, direct gaze. She appeared of sound mind and obviously expected an answer.

  “Are you accusing me of being a smuggler?”

  “Not I, sir. I am simply repeating a rumor Captain Turner related to me. He suggested that you may be lacking a certain respect for His Majesty’s laws of trade.” She disengaged a leaf from the lace neckline of the dress and passed it on to the safekeeping of the wind.

  “Do I understand that your friendly captain accuses me of breaking the law?”

  “He did not do so in my presence. Of course, I did not converse with him in detail on that topic at the time, nor did I stay at the ball long enough to pursue it…should I have had any desire to.” The dark eyes gazed at him intently. “But my question about where you might be going tonight is the product of my own simple reasoning. I mean, what better a night to engage in such activities with so many of the officers celebrating the King’s Birthday.”

  “May I inquire what your relation with Captain Turner might be, Miss Edwards?”

  “He is a second cousin of a friend.”

  “And you appear to be his confidante.”

  She irately tossed her head. “I was surprised to learn tonight that Captain Turner appreciates many things about me, sir, but I am quite certain that making me his confidante is not his primary objective.”

  Pierce followed the movement of her fingers as she tugged and lled at another twig stuck in some lace that trimmed the bodice of the dress. The act was no doubt intended to draw his attention to the slim waist, to the fullness of her breasts. He forced his thoughts away from the woman’s physical charms as he focused on the situation.

  She was too open with what she’d heard from the Admiral’s officer to be much of a spy. If Turner were sly enough to go that route, though, Pierce realized that a damsel in distress—and a seemingly talkative one, at that—might be just the method the captain would use.

  His own partner Nathaniel Muir had been warning him lately of Turner’s cleverness and his influence within Admiral Middleton’s ranks. No doubt, the English officer would do anything to unmask the identity of the chief supplier of arms to the Sons of Liberty and the rebellious Bostonians, the elusive MacHeath.

  “If I were a smuggler, Miss Edwards, perhaps my best course would be to murder you and throw your body into the Mill Pond there.” He gestured toward the expanse of black water of the tidal flats to their right.

  “I hardly know you, but I believe you are a man who values his own neck enough to know that such an action would lead directly back to you.”

  “Considering the trouble you have already caused me, this might be worth the risk.”

  She gave him look of scoffing disbelief before turning her attention back to the passing scenery. He let the subject drop.

  During recent weeks, a number of men involved in shipping had been consulted and asked for their cooperation in discovering MacHeath. Neither Pierce nor Nathaniel had been approached, however, and this was a concern. As a result, he’d been looking for an opportunity to improve his image with the British administration on Boston. The last thing Pierce needed was to be the target of an investigation.

  He watched Portia successfully remove the twig. Though women in the colonies followed far different codes of conduct than women in England, her outspokenness and lack of timidity were a clear signal that she was no innocent. She’d gone to the ball with a seasoned officer, and whether by accident or not, she had climbed into the carriage of a total stranger with no hesitation. He let his gaze wander over her once more. Indeed, she was certainly not difficult to look at.

  No, Portia Edwards was simply far too attractive an opportunity to pass on.

  CHAPTER 3

  Though Portia had only been in Boston since last fall, she was familiar enough with the city to know the carriage’s turn to the left was taking them off the route to Dock Square. She glanced over at her silent companion.

  “Is there someplace more convenient for you to drop me, sir, than Dock Square?”

  “No, I shall get you there. First, though, I need to stop by a tavern I know—the Black Pearl—and make sure a certain lady friend who was to meet me has not yet arrived.”

  Portia studied the man with new interest. On the positive side, he was tall with broad shoulders and darooding features. She really did
not want to look too closely at him, however, for the fear of finding him too attractive. On the other hand, with the exception of a few moments when she’d been pressed against his hard body, she’d had to keep her distance from him at the risk of having her head chewed off. She had just assumed his plans tonight revolved around business, not something of a personal nature.

  “I do not believe I have ever been to the Black Pearl.”

  “I should be surprised if you had been there.”

  “And why is that?”

  “The place caters to a certain type of clientele.”

  “Only men?”

  “And only a certain type of women.”

  “But you are meeting a lady friend.”

  “A woman that I would not take to Admiral Middleton’s Ball.” His gaze traveled down the front of her dress. “The type of woman I hinted you were as we took our leave back there.”

  She shifted in the seat, suddenly uncomfortable with the image. Parson Higgins and his wife were well known and respected among many families in the city. As their live-in charge and the tutor of their two children, Portia was very aware of her responsibility in maintaining a modest reputation.

  “I must ask you, sir, not to bring up that unpleasantness again. Night and darkness played in my favor, and I have no wish for the incident to be made public.”

  “As you wish, Miss Edwards,” he said amiably. “But how are you going to explain your sudden disappearance tonight to Captain Turner?”

  She looked out at the passing dark and unknown streets. “I shall think of a proper excuse before we meet again, which should not be any time soon.”

  “I disagree,” he challenged. “Although I do not consider myself a great admirer of the man, I find it unlikely that he would not be concerned with your whereabouts. He was your escort, after all, and responsible for your welfare. He will definitely seek you out tonight to make sure, at least, that you were delivered safely home.”

  Portia felt her head start to pound with the thought. He was correct. Perhaps it would be better to go to her friend Bella’s house instead of going directly to the parsonage. She could ask a groom to carry a message to the captain at the mansion. But that was too complicated, for Bella’s young and inquisitive nature would demand plausible answers to how her dress had been damaged, and Portia was not ready to reveal anything.

  Her thoughts came to an abrupt halt when she saw the horses turn into the courtyard of a tavern and inn. She only caught a glimpse of the faded sign on the front of the building. She was fairly certain she had never been in this part of Boston, and the area appeared to be less populated, with rundown buildings and warehouses across from the courtyard. As the groom tied the horses to a post, Portia peered through the dark with alarm at the sordidness of the place.

  A stable sat leaning at the far end of the yard, held up by the scarred and burned remains of an oak tree. To her right, firelight and noises of revelry streamed from the on windows of a sprawling wooden building that had to be the tavern. She could smell the outgoing tide, and she knew they must be close to the harborside.

  The yard was filthy, and battered shutters hung awry from pitch-black windows above. She noticed the white cloth of a woman’s tattered shift draped over one of the windowsills. Portia glanced quickly back at the stables when a moving shadow caught her eye.

  “You may wait here if you wish. I shall return in a few minutes.”

  Portia nodded and sat perfectly still. She watched Pennington cross the yard. As he disappeared through a door, a chorus of drunken shrieks and laughter greeted his arrival. The door closed behind him, leaving her again in darkness. She wiped her sweaty palms on the skirt, tucked in a tear at the waistline, and wished she had retrieved her wrap before going out in search of her mother.

  Tonight she had left too much behind, though it would be easy enough to explain the wrap, for guests must often leave behind possessions. But what about the mask? She remembered leaving it on the railing of the balcony to Helena’s room. During the commotion, it could easily have fallen off into the rose bushes. That might be a problem.

  Bella’s dress, her wrap, and the mask. Portia would not be able to return most of what she’d borrowed, and what she would bring back to her friend was in disastrous condition. She ran her hand over the tight bodice and silently vowed to find a way to repay her friend.

  The tavern door opened and light spilled out into the courtyard, along with two drunken tradesmen. A laughing woman stumbled out a step behind. As the door closed, one of the men turned and grabbed the woman, pushing her against the wall. Portia swallowed hard when she saw the wench pull up her skirts and fumble with the front of his pants. The man’s face disappeared inside the open neckline of the dress. The other was relieving himself against the building, all the while shouting and demanding his turn.

  Portia gathered her skirts tightly around her and shrank down on the seat. This was not the staid and safe Boston she knew. Her only comfort lay in knowing that Pennington’s groom was around. She looked at the horses, then leaned quickly out the side of the carriage. The groom had disappeared, and she looked around the courtyard with a cold feeling of panic washing over her.

  The woman against the building was making sounds Portia had never heard before, and the tradesman was grunting from the exertion. Unable to see the groom anywhere, Portia suddenly felt extremely vulnerable and looked for something she could use as a weapon should the need arise. As she leaned over to take the whip from its holder, though, a dirty hand darted from the side of the carriage and clutched at the hem of her skirt.

  She let out a small scream and tried to move away. A man’s burly face appeared. He had a wide smile, largely lacking in teeth. The two men and the woman against the building didn’t spare her a glance.

  “Well, now. What ‘ave we ‘ere?” he murmured, leering at his catch.

  “Let go of me,” she pleaded, pulling hard at her dress.

  Portia fell backward when the man, wearing sailor’s garb, let go of her skirt. She was relieved to see Pennington’s groom shoving the man away from the carriage. The two men faced each other for a long moment, and Portia thought they were going to fight. Then the sailor simply turned and headed across the yard ward the street.

  “The master says ‘tis not safe for ye to stay out here alone,” the groom growled, looking up at her. “Ye might want to come inside and wait, mistress.”

  She didn’t need to be asked twice. Climbing quickly from the carriage, Portia ran and walked and ran again to keep up with him as he strode toward the tavern door. As they went past the wench and her two men, Portia kept her eyes averted, trying to think of a church hymn that would block out the rising pitch of the cries.

  Inside, the place was not much of an improvement, and a fiddler struck up a lively tune in a far corner. She had never been in such a place before. The moment they entered, the shouts of four drunken sailors at the table nearest to the door made her cringe and want to run out. The stench of tobacco, ale, urine, and other smells that she couldn’t identify permeated the hot, smoky air. There was a mutton roasting on a spit in a large open hearth, but the smell did nothing to lessen the feeling of nausea rising in Portia’s stomach.

  At least two-dozen tables, filled with what looked to be sailors, tradesmen, and merchants crowded the room. Games of cards and dice were going on at every table as four or five women plied the men with ale and food and saucy looks. Portia watched in utter shock at a scantly dressed woman with her breasts exposed hitched up her skirts and danced in the center of the room to the cheers of her audience.

  A wiry, hatchet-faced sailor from the table by the door pushed himself to his feet and stumbled toward them, making her an offer to join him and his tar-smeared friends.

  “I don’t think ‘tis safe to wait here, either,” she said quickly to the groom.

  “I’ll take ye to the back room where the master is waiting.”

  “Thank you,” Portia whispered in a small voice, stayin
g close to the side of the man as they headed toward a door in the back.

  Her nautical admirer, though, was not deterred, and as she moved away, his offers quickly degenerated into lewd taunts. His talk attracted the attention of others, as well. As Portia walked between tables, anger replaced nervousness as men openly ogled her. She slapped away the hand of one who touched her bottom, eliciting laughter from his friends. Just as they reached a door near a set of rickety steps leading to an upper floor, the drunken sailor pursuing them grabbed Portia by the arm.

  “Not so fast, ye pretty little…”

  Instinctively, she kicked at the man’s shins as he swung her around. For the second time in one night, the tactic worked. The brute relinquished his grip on her arm and stepped back angrily. They now had the attention of most of the tavern customers. Several cheered her on. More rose to their feet in the man’s defense. Portia considered herself to be in very big trouble, however, when she saw the eyes of her attacker focus with murderous intent upon her.

  “You wait inside.” The voice of Pennington behind her sounded like salvation. Jacketless and with his sleeves rolled up, he moved past her to face the mob and shoved her behind him into the room, closing the door.

  The scare left her wobbly and leaning against the door. The noises coming through were muffled, but she heard no sound of furniture crashing or of anyone trying to take down the door. Portia took few steadying breaths, but the stale smell was strong. She looked around her. The small room had only two tiny, shuttered windows high on one wall and no other door. No means of escape, she thought with concern. A single candle burned on a table near one wall. It took Portia’s eyes a few seconds to adjust to the darkness. When it did, she felt no better.

  A large bed dominated the room, covered with surprisingly well-made bedclothes. At the foot of the bed lay Pennington’s jacket. There was the table that held the candle, a pitcher and bowl, and a number of other oddly shaped items. There were no chairs, no other furnishings. The walls were of a dark wainscot and one was decorated with an assortment of whips and shackles. She gaped at them for a moment and then moved hesitantly into the room.