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  "Mademoiselle Thea, comment ça va? That this should happen in my warehouse. It is an abomination!" Philippe grabbed her hand, going off in a torrent of French.

  He turned to the Englishman without letting go of her hand. "Mr. Drake, we owe you a great debt for saving our Mademoiselle Thea. Mr. Merewether will be most grateful."

  "Good." Drake's glance flicked briefly to Philippe. "Perhaps he will be inclined to grant me what I need."

  Thea stared at Drake's profile and wondered at his words. He exuded an aura of self-sufficiency. That he should need something from the owner of a shipping firm on a small island like theirs seemed incongruous.

  Drake followed the gentle sway of Thea's hips as she led the way into Mereweather's office. His body twitched at the sight. He frowned. Who was she? In his experience, ladies did not frequent warehouses. In fact, most would have heart palpitations at the thought of coming within a hundred feet of the rough men who worked in them. Could she be Merewether's lightskirt?

  Drake's mind and body rebelled at the idea. What was the matter with him? It shouldn't make any difference to him if she sold her tantalizing body on the docks to sailors when they came to port—but it did. Her dress, a vibrant blue muslin, was too well made for a dock whore. It clung to her back in a small damp patch, and he felt an urge to reach out and run his finger along the soft fabric.

  He could still feel the aftereffects of the jolt he had experienced when he first saw her. The heart-shaped face, framed by chestnut curls piled high on her head, had been set in an expression of perfect bliss. Her dress had been lifted well above her ankles, and he could not miss the fact that the chit wore no stockings. Or that she had perfectly formed ankles and calves. The kind of legs a man ached to have wrapped around his body.

  Suddenly, the object of his musings turned to face him, her blue eyes reflecting apologetic regret. "It appears Mr. Merewether is not here. Why don't you sit down and I will have refreshments brought while we wait?"

  He shifted his gaze around the office, looking for a place to sit. A large mahogany desk occupied one side of the room, papers strewn across its top. Kitty-corner to it reposed a table whose surface was all but covered with numerous maps and charts. Crates and barrels, partially opened, were shoved up against two walls. Yet, under the window, on the opposite side of the room from the desk, a small sofa and two armchairs were arranged in a cozy grouping around a polished tea table. His gaze flicked back to Thea. Was she responsible for the little oasis in the chaos?

  It beckoned to him, but he needed to see Merewether. He could not afford the time to take refreshments. "Thank you, but I must decline. I need to speak to Merewether immediately."

  She raised her brows. "I assure you if either myself or Philippe knew where he was right now, we would take you to him. The truth is, he could be just about anywhere on the island, and the best course of action would be to stay right here and wait."

  Drake's hands tightened into fists at his sides. "I cannot wait. The matter I must discuss with him is of the utmost urgency."

  His honor depended on it.

  Her eyes widened at his adamant tone, then she nodded briskly. Turning to the warehouse manager, she spoke rapidly. "Philippe, please send someone to the house and inquire if Mr. Merewether has been there. I believe we should also send someone to inquire at the dock, in town, and if that does not flush him out, we will send runners to the local plantations."

  Philippe agreed and left.

  She turned back to Drake. "I will ask Whiskey Jim if he has seen Mr. Merewether. Kindly wait here; we will locate him for you as quickly as possible." She did not wait for his agreement, but turned to leave.

  What a managing bit of goods. Ignoring her instructions, he followed her out of the office. He had no intention of cooling his heels waiting for her to return with Merewether.

  Rarely did Drake, with his long legs, have to increase his pace to keep up with another, but Thea walked like no lady he knew. She strode ahead of him, her spine straight and her arms swinging in rhythm with her strides, putting him in mind of a military officer on parade.

  He questioned his theory that she was Mereweather's paramour. She could be the man's daughter. She had not called him Papa, but some children were excessively formal. However, excessive formality did not meet with a woman who exposed her legs for all and sundry. Drake shook off the musings and focused instead on his problem.

  This trip had been rife with challenges, the most recent being an exploding boiler.

  If he didn't reach Liverpool by the date set on his policy with Lloyd's of London, not only would he forfeit the policy premium, but he would also let down the investors whom he had convinced to share in the venture with him. He accepted that it was no longer a matter of money. He had made plenty of that. Enough to buy and sell his father many times over.

  Reaching port on time had become a matter of pride.

  Thea led him down aisles created by walls of crates and barrels on either side. The sound of several men's voices came from the other side of the nearest wall of barrels. Drake increased his pace until he was next to Thea.

  She turned startled eyes on him. "I thought you stayed in the office."

  "I'm not so easily led."

  Her blue eyes narrowed. "I was not attempting to lead, sir. It was the most expedient course of action. If Mr. Merewether returns to his office, no one will be there to tell him that you need to speak to him. He might very well leave again."

  She had a point. "Nevertheless, I am here. I believe I have made myself clear regarding my view of a woman alone in a warehouse."

  She straightened her spine and tilted her head, giving him a look that would have done royalty proud. "I am a lady accustomed to being alone in a warehouse, and I can assure you nothing is likely to befall me in this one."

  "Do you call nearly being killed by a stack of barrels toppling nothing?"

  She hesitated and bit her lip, an expression coming into her clear blue eyes that was not easy to decipher. "That was unfortunate; however, it is unlikely to happen again. Philippe is most particular about his warehouse."

  "I was under the impression the warehouse belongs to Merewether."

  "It belongs to Merewether Shipping."

  "As I said."

  She shook her head. "Not quite. Regardless, Philippe is very possessive. He has worked for Merewether Shipping for over a decade, and he prides himself on the smooth operation of the warehouse."

  Drake wondered if Philippe was a slave. Most black men in the West Indies were. Although the slave trade had been abolished for over a decade, the institution of slavery still existed. Drake supported those who lobbied in the House of Lords to abolish it.

  "Slaves aren't generally given such positions of power," he said casually.

  She looked at him, her blue gaze intense. "No, they are not. Merewether Shipping does not employ slaves. We employ people, free people. Men and women who can choose whether or not they wish to work for us. Most do. The pay is good and Merewether Shipping is loyal to its employees."

  She had a fair bit of possessiveness herself. Most lightskirts did not speak of their protector's business as their own. She must be very sure of Merewether, or perhaps she really was his daughter. "Shall we find Mr. Merewether?"

  She nodded and broke eye contact. They walked around the wall of goods and came upon a hive of activity. Sailors loaded wagons, keeping up a steady stream of curses that would make most gentlemen of Drake's acquaintance wince. Thea appeared completely unperturbed.

  She headed toward the most disreputable looking of the lot, an old man with a patch over one eye and a bottle of whiskey in his left hand. "That's Whiskey Jim. He's the ship's captain."

  The captain noticed their approach and let out a piercing whistle. Silence reigned, but the sailors didn't stop their work. They did greet Thea with smiles and waves, and some even pulled on their forelocks while nodding their heads. Thea returned each greeting with a smile and a nod.

  "I see yo
u haven't let down any sail, Miss Thea."

  Thea smiled and shook her head. "No time. Have you seen Mr. Merewether, Captain?"

  "Aye. He went to the house. Promised Miz Ruth he'd have tea with her today, he said."

  "Thank you. Mr. Drake needs to talk to him about a matter of some import."

  Thea turned to Drake. "Mr. Drake, may I introduce you to the most impressive captain to sail the Atlantic, Whiskey Jim?"

  Drake put out his hand toward the old sailor. Thea beamed at him with unmistakable approval. "Captain, this is Mr. Drake."

  "Pleasure. Captain."

  "Call me Whiskey Jim. It's a fairly earned name and I'm proud to bear it."

  Drake looked pointedly at the bottle in the man's hand. "So I see."

  The old man laughed. "It's a better man than one that's sailed on my ships that can stand against a taste of my bottle."

  "The captain has a reputation for smashing bottles of whiskey over the heads of unruly sailors," Thea explained.

  "That wouldn't bother the lads so much, but I deduct it from their daily ration of spirits."

  "I can see the captains of my ships could learn a thing or two from you."

  Whiskey Jim winked at him. "That they could, my boy. That they could."

  Thea poured Drake tea while waiting for Uncle Ashby to return to the office. Drake's nearness unnerved her, and the hand holding the teacup shook slightly. When they had entered the office, Thea sat down on the settee expecting Drake to take one of the available chairs. He had surprised her by folding his large body onto the sofa beside her.

  Worse, he sat in complete silence, watching her movements with impassive brown eyes as someone might watch a butterfly caught in a jar. Well, she was no green girl to be intimidated by a silent stranger.

  She handed him his tea. "Do you have a ship in the harbor, Mr. Drake?"

  He took the china cup and saucer, making the action appear elegant yet wholly masculine. "Yes. The Golden Dragon."

  Thea shifted so that her legs were not so near Drake's. "I see. You need something for your ship from Mr. Merewether?"

  She wondered if Drake would rebuff her interest as he had earlier.

  "Yes."

  Stifling an irritated sigh, Thea tried again. "Mr. Drake, perhaps if you told me what it is you need, I could procure it for you. You did say the matter was of the utmost urgency."

  If it were indeed urgent, he would overcome his obvious reluctance to do business with a woman.

  Drake leveled a look at her that made her insides melt in the most peculiar way. "Miss Merewether, urgent as my business is, it will wait until your father arrives to handle the matter."

  Her father? "You are mistaken. Mr. Merewether is my associate, not my parent."

  Drake's dark angel countenance became coolly dismissive. "Nevertheless, I prefer to deal with your associate."

  The cold rejection did nothing for her rapidly deteriorating mood. His behavior had bordered on the offensive since the moment of their meeting, and though she recognized that her own actions had earned her a share of the blame, she had no desire to remain in his company.

  She had her own matters of import to look into. Not least of which was the possibility that the accident in the warehouse had been anything but.

  Thea carefully set her tea down. "As you have no interest in discussing your business with me, I'm sure you will understand if I leave you to wait for my partner while I attend to other matters."

  She was being rude and perhaps even a trifle unprofessional. Both Aunt Ruth and Uncle Ashby would scold her if they knew, but Thea was past caring. Like her mother before her, Thea had as much to do with the success of Merewether Shipping as Uncle Ashby, perhaps more. That this man refused to even discuss his needs with her infuriated Thea.

  She wasn't sure why. She had learned long ago to dismiss the ignorance of men. Too many could not believe a woman was capable of applying her mind to more than household management and filling the nursery, particularly men from her home country, England.

  For some unknown reason, Drake's dismissal was different.

  Thea could not make herself ignore his refusal to discuss business with her, nor could she stand to sit next to his intensely masculine body for one more second.

  She stood. "Good day, sir."

  Drake met her eyes, and his brown gaze held her in place despite her intention to leave. "Your partner may be used to allowing his paramour to conduct his business, but I deal only with principles."

  He could not mean what she thought he meant. It was impossible. She had known arrogant men to jump to conclusions about her intelligence, but never her morals.

  "Did you just call me Uncle Ashby's paramour?" In her anger, she slipped into the more familiar address. It was not professional to call one's business partner uncle.

  Drake's expression registered confusion. "He is your uncle?"

  Thea did not relax her furious stance one bit. "He is my business partner."

  Drake stood and took a firm grip on her upper arms all in one fluid motion. His glare singed her. "Is he your uncle?"

  What difference could it possibly make to this man? She tipped her head back to return his frown and refused to answer. She would not be intimidated by his height or his anger, or influenced by his mesmerizing looks and manner.

  "Ah, you must be Mr. Drake. Why are you holding Thea like that? Does she have something in her eye?"

  She turned her head toward the door at the sound of her uncle's concerned voice. "No, Uncle Ashby. I was just explaining to Mr. Drake that you are not my protector. I believe he may be applying for the job."

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  « ^ »

  Lady Upworth arranged for me to see Jared. Although she is Langley's aunt, she remains kind to me. She is furious with her nephew for taking my son. Jared is so beautiful. The visit was too short, much too short. Letting him go ripped open the wound that will never heal in my heart. It is a pain I will gladly bear in order to see my precious baby, to kiss his soft cheeks and tell him I love him. Thank God for Thea's sweet presence to dull the pain of all I have lost.

  April 16, 1798

  Journal of Anna Selwyn, Countess of Langley

  Three things made themselves known to Drake at once. The first was that Ashby Merewether had a keen resemblance to a fish when surprised. The second, Thea's beauty only intensified when anger sparked in her eyes. The third was a feeling of intense relief that she was no man's lightskirt.

  Her outrage was still palpable, but he could see that it was now tempered with mortification. He watched in fascination as she closed her eyes briefly, much as she had in the warehouse earlier. She muttered something. He thought it could have been ten barrels, but that made no sense.

  She opened her eyes again, her blue gaze filled with mute appeal. "Please release me."

  He did so, but with reluctance. Her warm skin felt silky to the touch, and he had to force his fingers to uncurl from around her arms. He turned to Merewether, who had managed to close his mouth, but still had the look of a startled trout.

  Drake bowed and said his name.

  Merewether automatically began to return the courtesy when he abruptly pulled himself upright. His face took on a fierce expression that only served to illustrate how rarely the man must frown. He did not do it at all well.

  Drake smiled.

  "Don't smile at me, young man. Have you been making improper advances toward Miss Selwyn? I warn you, she is a gentle lady and I will not allow her feelings or person to be trifled with."

  Thea rushed forward and took the older gentleman's arm. "Do not fret yourself, Uncle Ashby. You know the doctor has said that you must avoid undue excitement." She turned her head and glowered at Drake as if he had been the one to make the incendiary comment. "Mr. Drake did not make any untoward advances. I assure you."

  "Yes, but my dear, you said—"

  She cut him off. "It was a simple misunderstanding. Isn't that right, Mr. Drake?"
r />   Her voice and posture dared him to disagree with her.

  Drake didn't. "Absolutely. I assure you that when a man hits a certain number of years like I have, he no longer considers illicit liaisons when first meeting a lovely young woman like Miss Selwyn. He must begin thinking of setting up his nursery—or so my mother continues to insist."

  Thea's eyes widened, but she said nothing. Probably shocked speechless, Drake decided smugly.

  Merewether shook his head as if in lament. "No use you looking to our Thea in that regard. She's firmly against marriage, and if my dear wife Ruth cannot change her mind, no mere gentleman has a chance of doing so."

  Drake disagreed. He would think that a man would have much more success in convincing Thea regarding the merits of wedded bliss than a woman, no matter how formidable the creature. Some things could not be believed until they were experienced. Something else his mother insisted on, particularly when it came to love.

  "Uncle Ashby, Mr. Drake is only teasing. He did not come here looking for a wife."

  Merewether sighed. "Pity."

  Thea stepped away from him, puffing out an obviously irritated breath. "He is here on business and he prefers to work with principles."

  The mockery with which she said the final words was lost on Merewether, but not so on Drake.

  The startled trout became a confused trout. "But, Thea, you are a principle. Didn't you explain to Mr. Drake that we are partners in Merewether Shipping?"

  Thea's bland expression belied the mockery Drake saw in her eyes. "I did try."

  Drake frowned. "I did not understand the nature of the partnership. I cannot say that even now I do. It is most unusual for a lady to be an acting principle in business."

  Merewether chuckled. "Yes, well, Miss Selwyn is a most unusual woman—just like her mother before her."

  "Nevertheless, Mr. Drake has made it quite clear he prefers not to discuss business with a mere female, so I will go about my other dealings." She turned and left.

  Drake almost called out to the saucy baggage and demanded that she stay, but he controlled the inexplicable urge. He had allowed himself to be sidetracked from his objective for long enough. He turned to Merewether, only to find the other man looking at him with appraisal.