Sea of Desire (2 page)

“Nonsense, Merry. Mr. Blackstone is a friend
of mine from London. He’s from my club.” Alfred draped an arm
around his daughter’s damp shoulders. An arm that she immediately
shrugged off.

“So you owe him money, then,” Merideth
stated, not that she necessarily believed her father. She knew some
of his gambling and drinking friends, and Mr. Blackstone didn’t
seem the type at all. He looked hard and dangerous, dressed in
clothes as black as his raven-wing hair.

“Daughter, you forget yourself.” Alfred spoke
loudly, yet his voice lacked conviction.

But Merideth’s didn’t as she turned on him.
“Perhaps
you
forget that I know of our circumstances.”
Whirling back toward Jared, the hem of her wet cloak swirling out,
Merideth faced the stranger. “We have no money. As you can see, we
have almost nothing of value either.” Her hand arced out to
indicate the barrenness of the room. “It will do you no good to
threaten my father.”

She angled her chin higher and Jared felt the
corner of his mouth twitch. The chit acted as if she could protect
her traitor of a father from him, and her looking as if she weighed
less than eight stone, soaking wet. Which she was. Water dripped
from the tip of her impudent nose and trailed down through the
tangled ringlets.

He had half a mind to tell her exactly why he
was here, and that it most likely was none of her concern, but Lord
Alfred was babbling on about his being a friend, chatter that his
daughter was totally ignoring. Jared shrugged. “I am here neither
to collect money from your father nor to threaten him.”

Lightning flashed, amplifying the brightness
from the branch of candles on the desk, moments before thunder
shook the panes. Alfred cut short his explanation and Merideth only
stared. The stranger’s voice was low and firm, oddly believable
coming from a man such as he.

“Then why are you here?” Merideth didn’t know
why she bothered to ask, except that for some reason she thought if
he lied she would know. He didn’t give her the opportunity to test
her theory.

“My business is with your father, but rest
assured it has naught to do with collecting money.”

“There, you see,” Alfred said, pulling
Merideth’s gaze slowly away from the stranger. “You blustered about
for nothing. Mr. Blackstone is a friend of mine.”

“Friends don’t come sneaking ashore in the
dead of night brandishing a pistol,” Merideth pointed out. She was
far from convinced that the stranger was harmless. One had only to
look at him to know different.

“That will do, Merry. Mr. Blackstone is our
guest, and, as such, he deserves our courtesy. Something I’ve
ignored too long.” Alfred moved to the door and gave the frayed
bell cord a yank. “I’ll have Thurston show you to your room.”

“That’s not necessary. If we could simply
conclude our business, I can leave.”

“Nonsense. The weather is frightful, and,
besides, now is not the time to discuss our concerns.” Alfred’s
eyes rolled ever so slightly toward his daughter, who still studied
Jared as if by staring she could detect what he was doing in her
house.

Jared came close to demanding they proceed
with the exchange—coin for information—as planned. Send the chit
from the room if necessary. But he hesitated. Something about Lord
Alfred touched a chord of sympathy within him. Jared was prepared
to despise the man for his traitorous ways, but found he couldn’t
quite summon that emotion. And Lord Alfred seemingly wanted his
daughter to know nothing of Jared’s real reason for being here.

In the end Jared shrugged and followed the
aged servant when he appeared.

“Give Thurston your waistcoat and he’ll dry
it by the fire. It doesn’t do to be wet when there’s a chill in the
air,” Alfred said.

Jared paused beneath the corniced doorway.
His eyes slipped over the woman, from the tip of her dripping head
to the small puddle beneath her square-toed shoes. “Perhaps you
should see to your daughter’s needs before her frolic in the rain
leads to illness.”

“I was not frolicking,” Merideth shot back,
but the stranger was already behind the heavy mahogany door and
thus insulated from her words.

Merideth stood still, staring at the spot
where she’d last seen the infuriating man and fighting to control
her shivering. It was only now, after he had left, that she
realized how chilly the room, with its meager fire, was. During his
last survey of her, Merideth had actually forgotten how wet and
cold she was.

Casting that foolishness aside as quickly as
she shed her cloak, Merideth moved to the fireplace and spread her
hands toward the flickering flames. With a sigh she glanced over
her shoulders. “Now are you going to tell me the truth?”

“Mer-ry.” Her father drew her name out in the
beseeching way he’d used for years, the way she used to find so
comical as a child. Tonight she only found it annoying.

“I know this has something to do with money.
It always does. You said the sale of Mother’s jewelry paid off the
most pressing of your debts.” Merideth fingered the gold locket at
her throat—the piece was one of the few saved from the factor’s
sale—and wondered why she’d been naive enough to believe him.

“For the last time, Mr. Blackstone is not
here to collect money.” Alfred’s demeanor changed quickly from
cajoling to vexed. “Besides, we both know lack of coin wouldn’t be
a problem if you’d accept Lord Chadwell’s proposal.”

Anger coursed through her veins. She turned
in time to see her father gulp down his glass of wine and reach to
replenish it. There were so many things she could say, starting
with an admonishment to stay sober. But that never did much good.
It was as futile as pleading with him to curb his gambling. He
would promise, and in his heart, Merideth believed, he was sincere.
But her father could keep his addictions at bay for just so
long.

Now they were in such dire financial straits
that their only salvation was for Merideth to marry a man older
than her father.

Slowly, trying to contain her anger and
suppress words that would do neither of them any good, Merideth
gathered up her cloak and headed for the doorway.

“Merrryyy...”

Her father’s voice drifted after her, but
Merideth ignored it as she crossed the cavernous great hall and
headed for the servants’ dining room.

Thurston and his niece, a woman as rotund as
the old servant was spare, were huddled close to the peat-fed fire,
their gray heads bent in gossip. Neither bothered to rise when
Merideth entered, though they both jerked around in their seats
when she spoke.

“Where did you put our guest, Thurston?”
Merideth saw no reason to add to their speculation about Mr.
Blackstone by referring to him in any other way. As servants,
Thurston and Belinda were lacking, but they were two of only a
handful of retainers who remained at Banistar Hall.

“In the king’s room, your Ladyship,” Thurston
replied, wrapping his gnarled fingers about the stem of his clay
pipe.

“It weren’t cleaned,” Belinda added, settling
her wide bottom more comfortably in her chair. “I didn’t get no
warning that we’d be having a guest.”

“That’s fine, Belinda.” Merideth turned to
leave, but stopped to drape her cloak over the back of a chair. She
noticed Mr. Blackstone’s was across another, presumably to dry by
the fire.

As Merideth climbed the broad staircase, she
considered going to her own room first. Chances of there being a
fire in the grate were slight, but she could at least change into a
fresh gown before facing the stranger. And perhaps towel-dry her
hair. While one hand trailed along the ornately carved banister,
Merideth used the other to brush damp curls from her face.

It would be a relief to be dry and warm. But
then it would be even more of a relief to know the truth of Mr.
Blackstone’s visit. With a sigh of determination she turned down
the long, dark hallway leading to the king’s room.

She paused before rapping on the heavy,
paneled door, wondering whether their guest was impressed when
informed he would stay in a room once frequented by James II.
Merideth had no doubts that Thurston had related the story to Mr.
Blackstone as he’d led him toward the room. If there was one thing
Thurston could be counted on to do, it was act as the Hall’s
historian.

What a shock it must have been to hear of the
room’s grand past and then see it like it was today, stripped
nearly bare of anything that could command a price. Perhaps Mr.
Blackstone wasn’t surprised. After all, he had seen the
library.

Merideth knocked on the door, deciding she
didn’t care in the least about Mr. Blackstone’s observations. He
was an unneeded annoyance at the very least, and more likely a
dangerous threat.

In answer to his summons, Merideth entered
the room. He stood by the tall window, silhouetted by a dazzling
burst of lightning. The clap of thunder drowned out the sound of
Merideth shutting the door behind her.

The stranger stood still, watching her for a
moment before a sardonic smile curved his full lips. “Ah, Merry is
it? Have you come to see to my comforts?”

“Hardly.” Merideth’s chin notched higher.
“I’ve come to discuss something with you. And to make you an
offer.” Despite herself Merideth was drawn to the hearth, where
someone, she assumed Mr. Blackstone, had built a roaring fire.

“An offer?” Jared left his post at the window
and moved toward the two chairs grouped in front of the hearth. His
gaze roamed over the damp gown that clung to Merideth Banistar’s
slender frame. His voice was smooth and suggestive. “What might
that be, I wonder?”

He was arrogant as well as vile, and Merideth
had no trouble believing he was sent by some of her father’s
dandified acquaintances to extract money from him. Doing her best
to ignore his stare, Merideth seated herself in one of the
tapestry-covered chairs. With a shrug the stranger sat in the
other.

He’d removed his waistcoat, draping it over
the back of the chair. Though his shirt was white, a contrast to
the stark black of his waistcoat and breeches, it was just as
severely cut, with no lace or ruffle to break the harsh lines of
his broad chest.

He frightened her.

Swallowing back the fear, she crossed her
hands and began. “First, I need to know what you want.”

He turned his head to the side, a slightly
bemused expression on his face. “Are we still discussing your
offer?”

Merideth felt heat flood her cheeks, but she
refused to look away. “No. We are not. You are about to tell me why
you came here.”

“I am?” Jared fought the grin tugging at his
mouth. The woman had brass. He had to give her that. Another time,
and most certainly another place, he might enjoy a game of verbal
sparring with her. Partly because, by the looks of her, he had a
notion it might lead to quite an enjoyable tussle among the sheets.
Not that he believed she came to offer him her body. He only
alluded to that possibility to see the angry color rise in her
face.

Merideth stiffened her spine. “Unless you
tell me what it is you want, I can’t see to your payment. And
please don’t repeat your story that you wish nothing from my
father, because I don’t believe you.”

“I didn’t say I wanted nothing,” Jared
pointed out. “I simply said it wasn’t money.”

“Then what?”

She certainly wasn’t coy. “Perhaps you should
ask your father that question.”

“I’m asking you.”

“And I, Lady Merideth, am not telling you.”
Jared met her stare and wondered if she would take his statement as
final. She didn’t blink, but only continued to look at him through
eyes the color of a Carolina summer sky.

Merideth tried to decide what to do next. She
would offer him money; that seemed the most expedient way to be rid
of him. But she had no money, and, if she were to believe him, that
wasn’t what he was after anyway. Then what?

She took a deep breath. “You’re a colonial,
aren’t you? From one of the southern colonies, by your accent”

“Very astute.” Her ears were as sharp as her
tongue. Jared might have been born in Charles Town in the South
Carolina colony, but he had spent most of his life on the high
seas. And he didn’t think his speech was characterized by the lazy
drawl of slow summer afternoons spent beneath moss-draped oaks.

“One might wonder what a colonial is doing in
England in the midst of your revolt.”

“One might,” Jared agreed. “But then one’s
birthplace doesn’t necessarily decide one’s politics.” Jared wasn’t
a fervent patriot because he happened to be born in America. At
least he hoped his loyalties were born of a higher ideal than
that.

However, the way she was studying him—as if
he had mistakenly spoken his last thoughts aloud—made him pause. If
he was going to act the spy, no matter how much he disliked the
role, he’d be well rid of her suspicions. It wouldn’t do for the
army garrison nearby to be summoned by Lady Merideth before he
could get his information and leave.

Another lie was in order.

“You make too much of this, Lady Merideth.”
Jared smiled the smile that had captured more than one female’s
attention. “I merely came to Banistar Hall to pay your father a
short visit.”

“By boat? At night? During a storm? Or have
you forgotten I saw you arrive?”

Leaning forward, elbows resting on his spread
knees, Jared resumed the bald-faced lies, amazed at how easily they
slipped from his lips. “I came by coach.” He seriously doubted
she’d brave the storm to check the coach house tonight. And by
tomorrow he’d be gone.

“I saw you from the cliffs not more than an
hour ago. You leaped from a boat, then pulled it ashore.”

“Dear Lady Merideth, a man would have to be
insane to attempt a landing such as that.” Or desperate. “Besides,
unless I’m mistaken, it was quite dark an hour ago. Too dark to see
what you obviously imagined.” Jared could have sworn no one had
seen him come ashore.