The Captivation of Dr. Laurence Chandler

By Teri Thackston

Dr. Laurence Chandler is captivated by Miss Jane Wesley from the moment he discovers her hiding in the hold of the SS Stenson. He’s been looking for a pretty young woman to build a life with and Jane appears to be a likely candidate. Jane, however, is not so enchanted at being discovered by the handsome doctor. She has stowed away on the New Orleans-bound steamship with her twin sister. Penniless and desperate, Jane and Joni—who is heavily pregnant—are on the run from Joni’s abusive father-in-law, and discovery might be deadly.

Jane gives Laurence the slip. But when the ship wrecks during a hurricane, she is forced to accept his assistance so that her sister will survive. Having witnessed the abuse of Joni, their mother and other women, Jane resents having to depend on any man—especially one as old-fashioned and marriage-minded as Laurence.

But she just can’t seem to shake him. Further catastrophes—including the arrival of Joni’s father-in-law—force her and Joni to remain under his protection in New Orleans. But who will protect her from her own growing attraction to him?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Teri Thackston
• Release date: Dec 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463887714

Teri Thackston

Teri Thackston is a native Texan and life-long lover of storytelling. Her award-winning novels cover the spectrum of romance, from suspense to paranormal to historical. Her very first novel—a blatant rip-off of the popular television series Get Smart—was written when she was at the wise old age of eleven years and will never—to the delight of readers everywhere—see the light of publication. Her more original works are seeing that light today and she hopes that fact will delight those same readers.

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The Captivation

of Dr. Laurence Chandler

by

Teri Thackston

The Captivation of Dr. Laurence Chandler

Copyright 2017

Teri Thackston

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or used in whole or part by any means without the written permission of the author ([e-mail]). That means that anyone who purchases the book—or receives it as a gift—may not then distribute any copies to other people without receiving written permission from the author.

All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, with or without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.00.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons—living or dead—or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Cover Design Copyright 2017 Teri Thackston

Base images for cover design:

Young woman

© Inara Prusakova Shutterstock.com photo ID 394439641

https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/woman-brown-dress-fashion-model-long-394439641

Young man

© Tony Bowler Shutterstock.com photo ID 145927013

https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/old-style-man-factory-area-wearing-145927013

The Captivation of Dr. Laurence Chandler

by Teri Thackston 2017

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Chapter One

Who knew there were so many ways to describe troubles of the bowels?

Dr. Laurence Chandler muttered to himself as he traversed the narrow corridor below decks on the SS Stenson. The bucking of the ship sent him stumbling into the wall to his left and he almost dropped the heavy brass lantern he had borrowed from a crewman.

Righting himself, he muttered, Too damn much brandy after lunch.

He frowned. Too damn much brandy had been the only way he could tolerate the worsening weather—or the conversation in the grand salon. Honestly, he could not recall a more tedious group of passengers. None were younger than the age of fifty and, once they’d learned he was a physician, every one of them became eager to consult with him on their various ailments.

The deck dropped beneath his feet and he fell against the wall to his right.

Not that I usually mind giving consultations for free.

Healing was his passion and he enjoyed the company of senior citizens, finding many of them witty and entertaining. But after spending the past few months with his blissfully happy sister and her husband as well as his cousin and his new wife, Laurence had hoped to meet a single young lady on the voyage home. Instead it seemed he’d booked passage on a steamer to the Old Folks’ Home.

The ship creaked as the steam engines sluggishly pushed the Stenson along its weekly course between Galveston and New Orleans. The Gulf waters had grown so heavy that he could no longer differentiate between the churning rumble of the side wheel and the thrashing of the waves. Laurence didn’t like travel by sea, and stormy seas made him seasick. A young lady’s company might have distracted him from that, too. Since that had proved impossible, once he achieved his immediate goal, he intended to seclude himself in the narrow bed in his cabin for the remainder of the voyage. Tomorrow morning, the ship would reach its destination. With any luck, he would sleep through the storm and then disembark without encountering any other passengers.

He hit the right-hand wall once and nearly dropped his lantern again. Careful, old man. He continued to mutter to himself. Don’t set fire to the ship.

Old man. Steadying himself, Laurence moved on toward the door that led to the hold. That’s me. Thirty-one and still looking for the right woman.

Yvette Bollier came to mind. That young lady had set her cap for him years ago and he’d been tempted to surrender. But the war had taught him that life was too important to waste on a woman whose main interest was her wardrobe. He wanted a strong—but amenable—wife who desired nothing more than to make a home for herself and her husband, and possibly a couple of children.

Reaching the doorway that led into the hold that contained the passenger luggage, he dug in his trousers’ pocket. A crewman had loaned him the key for the locked hold. But another lurch of the ship sent him stumbling into the door, which popped open. The unexpected convenience cut short his distress at the ship’s unpleasant motions and, slipping inside the storage hold, he held the heavy lantern aloft. Its meager light spread across only a portion of the expanse. Crates and oddly-shaped bundles huddled among trunks and carpet bags. His own trunk stood, he knew from a previous excursion, against a bulkhead to his right.

Leaving the door open behind him, he cautiously made his way in that direction. The bucking of the ship made the course hazardous and he bumped his shin numerous times before reaching his trunk.

Wincing from the minor bruises, he set his lantern on the floor. Reaching inside one of his inner coat pockets, he withdrew his personal ring of keys. A few fumbling seconds later, he opened the trunk and found what he’d come for: a jar of his sister Jenny’s mayhaw jelly.

Mouth watering at the thought of the sweetness within his hands, he closed the trunk. The ship tilted suddenly and Laurence careened into the wall. A heavy thud preceded an unexpected—and muffled—female shout to his right.

Tilting his head to hear above the thrashing waves, he heard a female voice muttering the vilest of curses. He might have laughed if he hadn’t worried that the owner of the voice had been hurt. With many of the female passengers in their sixties, their bones could snap at the slightest blow.

Righting himself, he grabbed his lantern and, still clutching his jar of jelly, he called out, Are you hurt, madam? Where are you?

Above the rising whine of the wind and the roar of the waves came a surprised answer. Here! In the port storage room! The door is jammed!

Lifting the lantern, he turned his head in the direction of the voice and saw a small, closed door a few feet to his right. A large crate had slid in front of it, almost hiding it from his view.

I’m coming! he called and moved toward the door.

The ship tilted once more in the opposite direction, sending him stumbling again. The weather was definitely getting worse.

Nausea rose, liberally seasoned with dread. For just an instant, he considered prostrating himself on the floor and riding out the uncomfortable ride. Although he’d never thought himself a coward—especially after working so near the lines during the late war—he didn’t think of himself as much of a hero either. But hearing frantic pounding on the door, he had to do something for whoever was trapped inside the storeroom.

Lurching forward, he reached the door. I’m here. Half a minute and I’ll have you out!

Glancing around, he saw a hook on the wall and hung the lantern on it. Instantly, it began to sway, casting light and shadow haphazardly across the hold. He placed his jar of preserves in a pocket of his trousers then leaned his shoulder against the crate and pushed. It barely moved.

The thing must be packed with cannon balls, he thought as he took a deep breath and tried again. It took some doing, but he finally managed—with the aid of another sudden pitch of the ship—to move the crate aside.

Please! the woman cried. Get me out of here!

His head spun from a combination of the effort and the brandy. He rarely drank alcohol before sundown. But when those three bankers had started elaborately detailing their belly issues, he’d needed something to numb his mind.

Head settling, Laurence gripped the doorknob but it wouldn’t budge.

The doorknob is jammed! he called out. Stand back!

Unsure whether or not the trapped woman could hear him over the creaking of the ship and the moaning of the wind, he threw himself against the door. The wood cracked but didn’t give completely.

Stepping back, he drew a deep breath and then threw himself at the door. The wood splintered at the hinges, the door fell inward and he crashed through the opening and into a soft female body.

The woman cried out sharply as his weight and momentum knocked her away from him. He reached out to grab her, but in the semi-darkness—and being slightly inebriated—he missed. She fell backward onto a mound of ropes and burlap bags.

I am so sorry, he said, quickly kneeling beside her. He moved his gaze over her form, the uneven light from the swinging lantern beyond the doorway making her body look lumpy and misshapen. Are you hurt?

A low moan answered him.

Please don’t move until you’re certain, he cautioned. Perhaps I should run my hands over your limbs.

Don’t you dare!

The smoothness of her voice stopped him as he reached for her, and he narrowed his eyes to see her better. In the moving light from beyond the doorway, he ascertained that she was a petite woman, rather rotund and…oddly lumpy in the midsection.

She wore a bonnet but when she lifted herself onto her elbows, the headpiece fell forward, across her face and down onto her chest. Long hair spilled after it, covering her face and neck. Although it obscured her features, the darkness of the tresses told him that she was nowhere near fifty years of age. She was most likely in her early twenties, a realization that started him grinning.

Perhaps the rest of the evening won’t be a lonely loss after all. I wonder if she likes mayhaw jelly.

But as she clutched at the fallen bonnet, he caught the glint of a gold ring on her left hand. No wonder he hadn’t seen her about the ship. No doubt she and her husband had ensconced themselves in their cabin to avoid having to mingle with the older passengers.

Laurence sighed. Too bad for me.

Reaching out with both hands, he gripped her upper arms and drew her gently to her feet. Immediately, she began to slap at him with her bonnet.

I told you not to touch me!

To shield his head, he released her. She immediately stumbled backward, squealing. She would have fallen again if he hadn’t grabbed her arms once more.

I apologize, he said, steadying her. I just wanted to help you up.

A long moment passed in which she didn’t move, didn’t try again to escape from his hands. She just stood there, twisting that silly bonnet in her clenched fists. Finally, she peered up at him through the strands of hair that still obscured her face, and he heard her sniff.

Are you drunk? she asked, her voice wary.

Um…well…I had a little brandy, he admitted. But I would not say that I am drunk.

Well then. Please. Let. Me. Go.

Hearing the tension in her voice, he released her again. This time, she remained on her feet, although her stance appeared as unsteady as his own on the rolling ship. Lifting one of her hands to the back of her neck, she again moaned quietly.

Let me look, he said. I’m a physician.

She tilted her chin up in his direction and cocked her head as if studying him through her fall of hair. You are?

Yes. And since a blow to the head can be quite serious, you must allow me to look.

It’s not my head. It’s my neck. She hesitated another moment and then, turning her back to him, reached up with both hands to part her hair away from the back of her neck.

Laurence stepped close and peered at her neck. But the moving light—and his brandy-blurred eyes—made it difficult for him to see clearly.

Step out where there’s better light, he said, and backed through the door.

She followed stiffly into the main hold where the light from his lantern could illuminate her better, but continued to keep her head down. When she turned her back to the swaying lantern, he glimpsed a long scratch across her neck.

You’re not bleeding, he said. Can you turn your head without pain?

Before she could answer, the ship pitched like one of his brother-in-law’s unbroken stallions, tossing Laurence and the woman against the wall, then the crate and finally each other. When another bucking of the ship threatened to throw both of them into the wall again, Laurence grabbed the woman from behind and pulled her back against his chest.

Let go!

Blast it, be still! Wrapping both arms around her waist, he pressed back against the wall and braced his feet against the pitching deck. When she struggled to get away, he snapped again, Be still, woman!

Most of her obeyed. Her back, her head, her arms and legs went still. To his shock, however, her soft abdomen slid downward, away from his forearms. Peering over her shoulder in some alarm, he saw a pillow fall from beneath her skirt and land on top of her booted feet.

He pressed his hands into her suddenly flat abdomen. What in the—

Both of her hands shot up, fisted, and slammed backward, striking Laurence in the face. He shouted in pain and, releasing her, raised his hands to shield his eyes.

What are you do— His question ended in a grunt of pain as she twirled toward him and punched him in the stomach.

I told you not to touch me! she shouted.

As her blows continued, Laurence backed away, arms raised as he tried to escape from the furious woman. He stepped on the pillow that had fallen from under her dress and slipped, striking his elbow on the frame of the storage room door.

Ow! he shouted. Suddenly the crate that had blocked that door moments earlier slid toward him. To escape it, Laurence threw himself to the side, stumbling into the storeroom, and fell onto the mound of rope and burlap onto which the woman had fallen moments earlier.

Looking up, he saw that the crate blocked the open doorway again. He caught just a glimpse of the woman’s head above it as she whipped around and darted away.

Rising, he exhaled in frustration then stepped to the crate.

Here I go again, he thought, and leaned against the crate with all his might.

* * * * *

How dare he manhandle me! Jane Wesley grumbled to herself as she staggered along the narrow passageway toward the steep stairway that led out of the ship’s hold. She still clutched the stolen bonnet in one hand, using the other to balance herself against the passageway wall as the ship pitched and rolled. Isn’t that just like a man?

In spite of her anger, fear shot through Jane. She’d seen that man yesterday during one of her stealthy forays to pilfer food for herself and her sister. He and the captain had passed the galley just as she’d been about to slip out with her arms full of fresh apples and stale biscuits. Ducking out of sight, she’d overheard him tell the captain that he had met every passenger on the ship and he’d been amazed that not one of them appeared to be under the age of fifty. This evening, having seen her hair after the bonnet fell off—and that stupid pillow fall from beneath her gown—he must know she wasn’t one of the elderly women that had booked passage on the SS Stenson.

This is just great, she thought as she opened the door leading to the stairway. The bulky skirt of the expecting gown she’d borrowed from her sister wrapped around her legs, slowing her progress as she ascended the narrow stairway. The tossing of the ship didn’t help, making it difficult for her to make any headway, and desperation swept through her.

But that desperation didn’t belong solely to her. Some of the emotion came from her sister. Twins, she and Joni shared a unique connection that allowed them to experience each other’s’ emotions. And Jane definitely detected fear coming from her sister. The intensity of it forced her to put aside thoughts of the man from whom she’d just escaped. Joni’s safety was her top priority. Born almost ten minutes later than Jane, Joni had always been her little sister in spite of the fact that they were identical twins, and that made her the most important person in Jane’s life.

I’m coming, Joni. Just find something to hold onto.

At the top of the stairway, she forced herself to pause before opening the upper door. The Stenson was a diminutive steamship but it was a luxurious one. The passenger cabins, while small, were well-appointed, and all of them were located on this deck. For the first two days of the trip, Jane and Joni had hidden in that storeroom in the hold from which she’d just escaped, fearful of being discovered by the crew. Jane crept out only twice to pilfer food, and the same crewman almost caught her on both occasions.

Then she had overheard one of the crewmen mention that there were several empty passenger cabins on the ship that trip. With her sister heavy with child, Jane had decided to move them into one of those empty rooms early that morning. Joni became instantly more comfortable with a bed to sleep in instead of a pile of rope and old burlap bags. Jane appreciated the promotion, too. But after she’d woken from a brief nap early that evening, she’d realized that the only thing of value they owned—Joni’s wedding ring—had vanished. The only place it could be was in the storeroom where the two of them had hidden.

Donning her sister’s spare expecting gown, stuffing a pillow inside to make herself appear heavier, Jane had hidden her hair under the bonnet she had stolen from one of the other passengers, and then she had crept down to the storage hold. To her relief, she’d found the ring under the pile of burlap bags. Joni had slipped it off when her hand had swollen and she’d tucked it inside Jane’s reticule. It must have slipped out of the bag at some point while they’d been hiding. Unfortunately, Jane became trapped when the storm intensified.

Now she piled her hair on top of her head and put the bonnet back on. She felt almost naked without the pillow to conceal her figure. But she could do nothing about that now. Easing the door open, she peered out into the wider corridor that ran from one end of the ship to the other. A couple of cabin boys lurched along the center of the corridor. Fortunately, they were headed away from her. But she heard a male voice from the other direction. Without peering around the door, she ducked back into the stairway and pulled the door closed.

Hold on, Joni. I’ll be there soon.

Closing her eyes, still holding the door latch, Jane pressed her forehead against the wood. She tried to calm down, to send peaceful emotional waves through the storm-tossed ship to her sister.

It almost worked. Her own heartbeat slowed. She could breathe more easily and began to calm a bit. She sensed her sister calming, too.

Then a hand clamped down on her shoulder. Squealing in shock, she opened her eyes and whipped around. Unexpected light surrounded her and she looked up into the face of the man who had just rescued her.

And he was furious.

Why did you leave me behind? Laurence demanded, holding the lantern high above his quarry.

The young woman’s silence didn’t surprise him. He must have looked livid—he certainly felt it now that the effects of the brandy were wearing off—and he must have terrified her.

The moment stretched out, giving him time to be struck himself…by her beauty. She had tucked her hair back under her bonnet, revealing her full visage to him. Her features were delicate, almost pixyish, although her nose crooked just the slightest bit in the middle. Her eyes were large, wide and dark but, with only a unsteady glow from his lantern, he couldn’t make out their color.

He believed he’d met all the passengers since the SS Stenson had pulled out of Galveston two days earlier. But this young woman was a beautiful stranger that he would most definitely have noticed among the others…especially since he had been looking for a sea-going companion exactly like her.

Who are you? he asked when she continued to remain mute.

She had no chance to answer as the ship pitched again. The motion threw her toward him and he took advantage of the moment. Catching her around the waist, he scooped her up and over his shoulder. In spite of her bulky dress, she weighed hardly anything. Still holding the lantern in his other hand, shoving open the door with his shoulder, he stepped into the corridor.

She struggled, making it difficult for him to walk what with the pitching of the ship and his own still slightly unsteady condition. Fortunately, his cabin stood only a few yards away. Reaching the door, he set her on her feet.

Stay, he ordered, even though it proved almost impossible for either of them to maintain a still position on the rolling deck. He hung his lantern on a nearby hook and reached into his trousers’ pocket to get his room key. It was then that he discovered the jar of jelly he’d put there for safekeeping had cracked.

Swearing under his breath as an edge of glass scraped the side of his hand, he withdrew his sticky fingers…just as his comely companion punched him in the stomach again. She hit him hard enough to double him over then shoved her way past him.

Jane didn’t get more than two steps before the man grabbed her again. Although he wheezed from the blow she’d struck to his stomach, he reacted quickly…and with unexpected strength. He easily swept her once more off her feet, carried her inside a room and tossed her on a bed.

Seconds passed. The door slammed. Alarm froze her heart. Light swirled as he hung his lantern on hook in the middle of the low ceiling. He turned up the wick and faced her.

Oh, but he was angry. Angry, curious and actually quite magnificent in a way that might have interested another woman. His blue eyes made her think of still, cool water…with fire blazing beneath the surface. His hair was dark—almost black in the lantern light—and his facial features were chiseled and fine.

No. You will not think like that. You will not allow any man—no matter how magnificent—to get in the way of your goal. Especially a man who treats you like a bundle of flesh he has every right to toss around!

Why did you leave me behind? the magnificent man demanded as he reached into one of his trouser pockets.

She blinked several times, fearful that he might draw some weapon. Instead, he drew out what appeared to be a broken jar of…jelly.

He muttered something unintelligible under his breath as he placed the jar on a nearby bureau. It promptly slid across the surface as the ship tilted. Jane and the man staggered in the same direction. He managed to catch the jar then, opening the top bureau drawer, he placed the jar inside. He drew out a handkerchief and began to wipe off his hand. A tart scent of fruit drifted to Jane.

He lifted his gaze to hers once more. I could have been trapped down there.

I…I’m sorry. She swallowed. I had to go.

The flesh at the corners of his eyes crinkled as he studied her. What could be so important that you couldn’t wait a moment to help me as I helped you?

She shook her head. Her bonnet slid backward, held in place only by the knot she had tied. She reached to grab the tie, but opted to steady herself by catching the footboard of the bed instead.

His brow furrowed as he turned back toward the bureau. I might have drowned if the ship overturned in this storm. The least you could have done—

Jane lunged off the bed.

But he caught her again and pushed her back on the thin mattress. Alarmed that he had some nefarious intent, she dodged his hand and scooted backward across the bed. Instead of finding a different escape route, she came up against a wall.

He lifted both hands, palms down. I’m not going to hurt you. My name is Laurence Chandler, he said in a quieter tone. I really am a doctor, and I assure you that I’m not in the habit of accosting women.

He looked sincere but how could she be sure? She’d been lied to before.

He lowered his hands. I apologize. I realize you’re frightened. Is that why you ran?

She nodded hesitantly. I…yes. The storm…it…made me panic.

I understand. It has distressed me, as well.

He took a step back, giving her the room she needed to stand up without her skirts brushing his body. She took advantage of the space to do just that. Then she started to inch her way around him. It was difficult to do with the ship bucking like a green filly and the loose dress tangling around her feet, but she managed to stay upright.

Would you like me to escort you to your room? he asked, also shifting his feet to compensate for the unpleasant movements of the ship.

It was as if they were engaged