The Count’s Castaway Read online

  “Papa, why are we at the docks?” Perspiration beaded along her scalp and moistened her collar. “Is this where my grandfather is? Are we taking a boat?”

  “Blast it, girl, enough with your questions. Keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking, and all will be well. I’ve decided to expand my horizons and sail to America. I’ll put a gun to my head before I go to debtor’s prison.” He pinched her cheek, and she winced. “And we both know I love myself too much for that.”

  He scrounged around in his vest pocket and pulled out a coin. “My last one. That pompous old man paid for the ride, so I still have a little something left.” He flung open the door, jumped to the ground, and turned his back on her.

  Kate cautiously placed a foot on the step, clutching the arm strap with one hand and her bag with the other. Squinting, she saw her father’s form hurrying toward the dock. She scampered after him, dodging the men with heavy trunks or bags on their shoulders. The dawn was just beginning to spread its light over the wharf.

  “I remember you,” said a burly, balding man in a strange accent. Almost British, but not quite. His round belly and flat nose reminded her of a boxer her father had bet on last year. “Decide to see the world, did you?”

  “Aye, I’m in need of new surroundings.” Her father grinned. “Where do I sign?”

  “I didn’t agree to any children,” the man said, his gaze on Kate.

  “She’s small for her age. She’s twelve and can cook, sew, whatever you need.” Papa gave her a sharp look that reminded her to stay quiet, then waggled his eyebrows at the stout gentleman. “She’ll be a woman soon.”

  The man’s lip curled. “I’ve got me a wife for those needs. Got a daughter her age, for Christ’s sake.”

  “No disrespect intended. To each their own.” Her father tipped his hat amicably. He pulled Kate forward, reaching behind her and pinching the hair at the nape of her neck when she opened her mouth.

  “Follow me,” the man said.

  He led them across the gangplank and onto the ship’s deck. It was crowded and hectic, with ropes as wide as her calf to step over and puddles to avoid. Ripples of pink and orange filled the sky with early morning light. They took a flight of stairs into the bowels of the vessel, along a dim passageway, and entered a large room. Bunks were attached to the walls; clusters of people conversed and arranged luggage on the thin bare mattresses.

  “Find yourself a spot, get the lass settled, then come up and find me.” The beefy man left.

  Her father found an empty bed and told her to remain there while he finished his business. “I’m sorry, girl, but I need you with me. I’m thinking we can settle in Boston. Being English and gently bred, you should be able to get a position in a fine house. You’ll have comfortable accommodations, and your wages will cover my rent. My promise to your mother will be fulfilled, my conscience clear, and everyone happy.”

  Kate dropped her satchel on the stained tick and plopped down beside it. A tear slipped down her cheek; her shoulders sagged. The knot in her belly twisted painfully. She would not meet her grandmother. She would never see her grandfather. “Why?” she whispered as Papa smoothed his hair back and tugged on his vest. But he never heard the question.

  “Wake up, child.”

  Someone jostled her shoulder. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, trying to remember where she was. The broad flat-faced man stood above her, his mouth turned down, hands on his hips.

  Kate leaned up on an elbow and pushed the hair from her face, wondering how she’d managed to fall asleep. “Yes, sir?” she asked obediently. “Does Papa need me?”

  “More than you know,” he mumbled, his small, dark eyes avoiding her stare. “I’m afraid there’s been an accident.”

  She bolted up, at both the words and his tone.

  “Your father is dead.” The burly man’s voice softened. “He was caught adding a card to his hand, and one of the seamen called him on it. There was a scuffle and…”

  Kate heard the soft keening and realized it came from her own throat. She shook her head, gasping for air. No, no, no.

  “My grandfather, take me to him.” She reached out and gripped the man’s thick fingers. “Please, please, he wants me to live with him. He is very rich.”

  The man shook his head, and she noticed the sun-burned creases in his fleshy neck.

  “I’m sorry for your plight, child, but the ship has sailed, and there’s no turning back.”

  “What shall I do?”

  “Your father signed a contract of indenture—both of you for seven years. You’ll be in my charge now.” And with that, he gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder and walked away.

  Panic engulfed her. She struggled to take in air as the tears streamed down her cheeks and puddled in her frayed collar. Fate had taught her the first lesson in life. Things could always get worse.

  “Mama, what will I do?” she whispered again.

  “Troubles, little one?”

  She spun around at the term of endearment her mother had always used. A tall woman addressed her, sympathy in her soft brown eyes. Lines creased her eyes and mouth when she smiled in sympathy; silver threaded her auburn hair. Kate nodded, not trusting her voice. Her belly gurgled and bile rose up her throat. She would not shoot the cat, as Papa would say after a particularly long night out. Instead, she hugged her stomach and rocked back and forth, the tears falling silently from tightly squeezed lids.

  Strong arms enveloped her. “There, there, sweet lass. Ye’re no’ alone.” The woman’s tone soothed Kate. Rather than holding Kate’s body still, the woman rocked with her, smoothed back Kate’s hair, and continued her murmurs of comfort.

  “I want my mama,” she finally whispered, sniffling and wiping her eyes.

  “And where might she be?”

  Kate peered up at the lady from beneath her wet lashes. She wasn’t as old as the landlady, with auburn hair pulled back in a tight knot and laughing blue eyes. “Heaven. Like Papa.” He may not have been a good father, but he was all she had. Her voice broke. “I’m alone.”

  “No, ye’re no’, lassie, ye’re with us,” spouted an older boy with bright red hair and the same blue eyes as his mother. “I’m Rorick, but ye can call me Rory. I’ll share my ma with ye. She’s a braw one.”

  Kate looked up at the boy’s smiling face and liked him immediately. “My name’s Katherine Wilken. I’m pleased to meet you.” She held out her hand as her mother had taught her. He shook it and gave her a slight bow.

  “And I’m Mrs. Craigg. Ye can call me that or Ma. Whatever makes ye smile, Katie.”

  Katie. She liked that. Perhaps she needed a new name to go with this new life. “Thank you. Both of you,” she said with a shy smile toward Rory, making his face flush.

  “Now, gather yer things and come with us. It seems we’ll both have the same master for quite some time, so consider us yer family.” Mrs. Craigg rose and held out her hand.

  Katie didn’t hesitate, convinced Mama had sent these Scots to protect her. Rorick carried her satchel for her. “Mr. MacDonald isna a bad mon, ye’ll see. He ken my father before he died and offered to help us. Though he prays to the almighty coin, he willna beat ye.”

  Was that supposed to be high praise? She bit her lips against the hysterical giggle that bubbled up her throat. Gripping Ma’s hand, she took a deep breath. Whatever the future held, Katie was no longer alone. That was enough for now.

  Chapter Two

  A Serendipitous Kiss

  August 1815

  Port of Boston

  “Captain Alexandre Lecroix, sir,” the butler announced.

  “You’ve returned from Canton. Successful, I hope?” asked the silver-haired man behind the desk.

  “Have I ever disappointed you?” Alexandre smirked. “Silk and tea are being unloaded as we speak.”

  “And the cargo from Turkey?”

  “Transported safely to Canton, or I would not be delivering Chinese tea and silk.”

  “Excellent. I r
ealize it’s early, but can I offer you a drink? I have some of that fine French brandy.”

  Alexandre stood with his hands behind his back, declining the offered chair, and shook his head. The sooner this transaction was completed, the better. He was anxious to be at sea again. “I’m sorry, but we’re sailing this morning. I’ve learned over the years that if we’re at port too long, I lose some of my crew.”

  The American chuckled. “Is there any way to persuade you to take the Canton route again?”

  “I’ll admit the money is tempting, but I prefer not to be entangled in the opium trade.” Alexandre shook his head, a wry smile curving his lips. “My letter of marque ended after Waterloo. England has made peace with your country and defeated France, leaving fewer opportunities for privateers. Without government protection, I prefer to stay closer to home and engage in more docile operations.”

  “And where is home for a French-born, English-raised émigré?”

  Alexandre snorted. “The same question I’ve been asking myself. If you’d like, I can refer another captain that I trust.”

  The gentleman nodded, signed a bank note, and set a heavy bag of gold coins on the desk. “I’m sorry to see our venture end. Perhaps another time?”

  “Perhaps. ‘Never say never’ my father always said.” He picked up the leather pouch and attached it to the belt beneath his coat. He gave the American a nod. “It’s been a pleasure.”

  Alexandre left the office and ambled back to the harbor. Merchants haggled over prices and the condition of shipments, boys called out the name of hotels and taverns hoping for a seaman’s newly paid wage. Doxies weaved among the throng, offering a smile to anyone ogling their wares. His eyes searched the crowded harbor and found the mast of his own schooner. Taking in a long, satisfied breath, he surveyed the busy dock as he dodged out of the path of a fast-moving cart.

  Once past, a scuffle on the other side of the yard caught his attention.

  “Let go of me!” cried a feminine voice.

  Alexandre wiped the sweat from his brow and squinted against the morning sun. The voice sounded female. Most women roaming the docks were hoping for a man’s touch—and the coin in his pocket. Did the customer refuse the price or want something for free?

  “You dirty, low-down, sniveling—” The voice pitched higher with each curse.

  He spotted a petite woman, holding her ground like a soldier against the enemy. She wore a shapeless linen shirt with a wide collar over a pair of duck trousers. The outfit of a seaman. Deep ruby bounced off her shoulders and flashed with gold as her head bobbed, her palms patting down her loose clothing while she searched for something. The object of her tirade towered over her, giant hands on his hips, shaking his head. From the wide crooked nose and broad face, Alexandre assumed the rotund man wasn’t a stranger to the receiving end of a fist.

  “You have no proof. It’s my word against yours. Who do you think the authorities will believe? An indentured servant or a citizen and business owner?” The stout man sniggered.

  The redhead produced a piece of paper and waved it in the air. “I have the original document. I’ve kept it hidden away all these years, waiting for this day.” Her blue eyes glittered triumphantly. Even in the ill-fitting clothes, she was a beauty.

  “I’ve never laid hands on you, Katie, but you’re trying my patience.” The man’s face hardened. “You’ve been fed, never beaten or… abused in any way. I’ve been a good master, and this is how you repay me?”

  “I want my freedom. I’ve earned it. Rory is free, and you bought us on the same voyage.”

  Alexandre admired her spunk. Katie wasn’t backing down. He settled against a tower of crates, interested in how this scene would play out. With unexpected speed, the man snatched the paper from the girl’s hand and held it high above her head as she reached on her toes to take it back. He ripped it into shreds, a gleeful grin showing two blackened teeth.

  Alexandre’s jaw ticked. He wouldn’t mind wiping the sneer from those flat features. He hated to see the little spitfire taken advantage of.

  “You were saying?” he jeered.

  Her mouth fell open, large blue eyes sparkling with unshed tears. Alexandre had the oddest urge to scoop her up in his arms and take her on board L’Évasion. He’d probably get a black eye for his effort, he thought with a grin.

  The oaf grabbed the girl’s wrist again, and her knee jerked up. “You’re coming with me, you little”—he doubled over, grabbing his crotch—“oomph!”

  Katie turned on her heel and ran in Alexandre’s direction. He ducked between the rows of crates, and as she dashed by, he reached out and caught her waist. Pulling her close, he turned them to face the opposite direction, concealing her slight form with his own. His grip tightened as she fought like a hellcat.

  “Quiet, I’m hiding you,” he whispered in her ear as her round bottom wiggled against his crotch. “Mon Dieu! You are strong for a woman.”

  “You’re French,” she hissed.

  “Oui, Katie,” he agreed with a chuckle. “Frenchmen cannot be heroes?”

  Her struggling ceased, and he slowly loosened his hold. Katie turned in his arms, fiery curls clinging to her slender neck, emphasizing her smooth golden skin. With eyes blazing, she tried to pry his fingers from their grip. She huffed from her recent efforts, the linen shirt now clinging to the perspiration on her heaving chest. He silently cursed his body’s instant reaction but didn’t release her.

  “If you want to rescue me, let me go.” She caught her breath and ventured a peek at him through her thick lashes. “How do you know my name?”

  “I heard the altercation with your master.” He scanned her face, the courage and fear mixed in her eyes, the plump bottom lip that begged for a kiss. Her teeth bit down on one side of it and… “Merde!”

  He bent his head; his lips brushed hers. She squirmed against him, and he pulled her closer, lifting her body slightly to give him better leverage for a taste. Just a taste. When his mouth covered hers, she stilled. The satiny lips caressed his and sent heat spiraling down his length. The tang of citrus coated his tongue as he traced the seam of her mouth. It opened for him as her breath hitched, and he swept inside for a better sample.

  Her palms flattened against his chest as he explored her mouth, and he wanted to lift her off the ground and feel her legs wrap around his waist. But Alexandre prided himself on his common sense and called upon it now. He lifted his head, but regretted ending the kiss. Her lids were closed, and she panted, mouth still parted. He lifted a strand of her silky red and slid it behind her ear. Here was a woman made for love, even if she didn’t realize it yet.

  “I apologize, mademoiselle,” he rasped, unable to explain his actions. Blood pulsed through his veins, and he drew in air to calm the pounding in his chest. “That was not my intent.”

  Her gaze met his, that bottom lip quivering, eyes glazed with desire. She reached up and touched his moustache, a curious expression on her face. “It’s softer than I…” Her scrutiny shifted to his lips. When her hands reached up, she perched on her toes, gripped his neck, and pulled his head down again.

  If the first kiss was spontaneous heat, the second was a slow-growing bonfire. Katie’s body fitted to his, and he gripped her buttocks to press her against his need, groaning at the pleasure that shot to his core. His rod stiffened as her supple curves melded against his hardness. This time when the kiss ended, neither moved. Her warm breath fanned his cheek, and he wanted to bury his face in the silky red mane.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  And then she was gone. Caught off guard, he’d let her slip under his arms and escape. Her retreating figure disappeared around the tower of wooden crates.

  “What’s that?” came a yell from behind. “You’re stealing my property.”

  Alexandre swiveled on his heel, a fist clipping his face. He scissored his jaws back and forth from the blow as he ducked and missed the second swing. Shhhhhh hissed the sword as he pulled it from its
scabbard.

  “I suggest,” he said in a deceptively soft voice, the tip of his weapon now touching the soft flesh below the intruder’s chin, “you accept your losses and go home.” He twisted the point, smiling as a drip of bright red formed on the man’s skin. “Or you won’t make it home.”

  The brute’s face turned scarlet, his eyes bulging. “I want what’s mine.” Spittle formed at the corners of his mouth, his chin still tilted up to avoid the sharp blade.

  “We all want something from this life, my friend,” Alexandre agreed, taking a step back. “Freedom is a God-given right. Isn’t that what your country fought for?”

  “I paid—”

  “She fulfilled her part of the bargain. Now, shall we continue this argument or part ways in an amicable fashion?” He twisted his wrist for added emphasis.

  “Aye, I’ve wasted enough time here.” The man scowled, moving backwards when Alexandre lowered the sword. “You’ll be sorry if you catch her first. She’s nothing but trouble.”

  Alexandre stood for a moment after the man hurried off, one hand on his sword hilt, remembering the taste of her, the feel of her curves caressing him. That alone had been worth the sore jaw. With a jaunty step and whistle, he headed back to his ship.

  Katie ducked around the stacked boxes, away from the man who’d made her knees and heart race. The swish of a sword unsheathed stilled her movement. She heard Mr. MacDonald’s rasp and the soft murmur of the Frenchman. Fear spurred her forward, and she darted for another mountain of crates to put distance between her and the men.

  She leaned against the wood, letting the roughness of the planks dig into her back and force the fog from her brain. What had just happened? Her fingers traced her swollen lips, wondering at the heat pooling low in her belly. Her limbs were useless, and the wings in her stomach refused to cease.