An Inconvenient Mistress

By Caroline Kimberly

From the author of An Inconvenient Kiss: A prim Englishwoman needs to escape the Caribbean—and a seductive smuggler is her only hope . . .

Jamaica, 1820: Isabelle North needs a hero, and if an arrogant mercenary is all she can find . . . he’ll just have to do. She must get back to England before her past catches up with her, even if that means booking passage on a vessel captained by a man she cannot abide.

Phillip Ashford, notorious smuggler and captain of the privateer Intrepid, knows Miss North is trouble. She’s stubborn, for starters, and it’s painfully clear she’s conning him—she looks more like a schoolmarm than the rich man’s mistress she claims to be. But beneath her prim exterior is a sharp wit and courageous spirit that draws him in despite himself.

They both know they should keep their distance. But passion flares as they defend themselves on the high seas—until Phillip begins asking questions Isabelle would rather not answer. After all, how much can she really share with a man she’ll never trust?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Apr 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781426899683

Book preview

Chapter One

Kingston, Jamaica

1820

Isabella North, known to friends and family as Bella, coughed daintily, trying not to cringe at the putrid stench that filled the air. Picking her way carefully down the cold stone steps of the prison, she began to reconsider her plan. For the first time since she’d concocted this ridiculous scheme she took a moment to reflect on the fact that she was about to entrust her well-being, her life, to a stranger. A criminal, she mentally corrected, and apparently not a very good one as he was currently incarcerated. Not exactly the hero she’d hoped to find.

The jailer’s assistant, Mr. Greeley, helped her down the last few moldering steps into the prison. The other man who accompanied them, a Mr. Kolton from the notorious privateer ship Intrepid, brushed past her without a word. Isabella watched his gigantic, hulking form stride into the darkness and prayed she wasn’t making a mistake.

Cell at the end, Greeley called to Kolton, raising his torch for better light. Once the big man was out of earshot, he turned to Isabella. Don’t be fooled by his surly demeanor. Kolton is a good lot, he reassured her in his gravelly voice. I wouldn’t have recommended him otherwise.

Isabella nodded nervously and pulled her shawl around her more tightly. This was madness—she knew that down to her very bones. Yet when she thought of what might happen to her darling Charles if she didn’t do this... She steadied her nerves and forced herself to follow Greeley.

Kolton was waiting for them at the end of the corridor, muttering some very colorful phrases at the dark-haired figure slumped over in a cell. Isabella had heard plenty of obscenities in her life, many from her father’s patients, but she found herself blushing at such coarse language. Kolton finished his bilious rant and glared down at the man in the cell. The form didn’t move.

Isabella looked at the immobile figure then back at Greeley. "This is the infamous Captain Ashford? she whispered tightly. Of the legendary Intrepid?"

Keep your voice down, Greeley shushed nervously. Ashford is a wanted man. There ain’t no one in these cells sober enough to follow our conversation, but I still don’t need ya announcing his presence.

Of course, Isabella muttered trying not to sound as annoyed as she felt. Greeley was doing her an enormous favor by allowing her in here, she reminded herself. The least she could do was play along. Raising her voice for any of the prison denizens who might be coherent enough to care, she said in her best impression of an American accent, Yes, Mr. Greeley, that’s my sorry excuse of a husband. John...Marshall.

Under her breath she asked, What’s wrong with him? Is he hurt?

Kolton answered, his voice low and rough with a hint of a Scottish burr. He ain’t hurt, ma’am. He’s snockered.

Wonderful, Isabella said icily. Drawing herself up to her full height—which wasn’t much compared to the giant facing her—she tried to keep her tone civil as she said between gritted teeth, Mr. Kolton, I have little use, and even less patience, for an inebriate.

He’s no sot, ma’am, Kolton replied under his breath. Barely touches the stuff. Bella raised a brow at him, and he amended, Usually. A month or so back we lost several shipmates, one a good friend. Cap here’s spent the last weeks drowning his sorrows. He’ll be hale and hardy tomorrow morning, you’ll see.

Bella pursed her lips, her frustration making her snappish, though she managed to keep her tone hushed. I’m sorry for your loss. But my business is urgent and your captain is of no use to me in this condition. I’ll have to find someone else.

Wait, ma’am. Kolton stopped her before she could retreat. Spying a full bucket of water in the corner, he pointed to it and asked Greeley, Mop water? At Greeley’s befuddled half-nod, the larger man picked up the bucket and doused the sleeping form with its contents.

The lump in the cell woke with a yelp and a snort and several nasty curses that made Kolton’s rant seem positively poetic. Choking and sputtering, the man jumped to his feet with surprising nimbleness—then stumbled backwards for several steps before shaking his head and blearily looking around.

Kolton, he coughed out. We seem to have hit a spot of weather.

Aye, Cap, Kolton said amenably, his voice low. It’s over now.

Excellent. He lurched forward, almost walking into the bars of his cell. Stopping abruptly, his head bobbed unsteadily as he surveyed his surroundings. Then he squinted up at the large man. "Why am I in the brig?’

As he came into the torchlight, Isabella started in surprise. Even muzzy with drink and filth drenched in his wild black hair, he was shockingly handsome. He was large—not as large as the hulking Kolton—but he was tall and lean and broad-shouldered. His skin was fine-grained and bronzed from the sun. Behind the nascent shadow of a beard his jaw and cheekbones appeared to have been chiseled from marble. His lips were full and mobile, and when he frowned at Kolton, Bella noticed the slightest dimple in his right cheek.

Most striking, however, were his eyes. They were pale green, almost gray, and fringed by the most extravagant black lashes she had ever seen on a man. The stark contrast between his thick, dark brows and light eyes was mesmerizing. Even bleary with drink, those eyes twinkled with wit and intelligence and mischief. If Bella had ever been asked to envision a fallen angel, Captain Phillip Ashford would’ve fit that image perfectly. Quite simply, he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

Isabella disliked him immediately.

He turned to assess her with those green eyes, and she felt the nape of her neck prickle as he took in her shabby appearance. She was wearing a nondescript, sturdy gown of unadorned cotton. She’d not bothered fussing with her hair—why bother when visiting a prison?—and in the oppressive Caribbean air it was easiest to pull her blond waves back in a tight bun. A thin sheen of sweat had formed at her hairline and her cheeks were undoubtedly rosy from heat and embarrassment.

Ashford gave her a quick once-over and clearly found her lacking. For the first time in her life, Isabella had a flash of jealousy that she hadn’t been born with her sister’s angelic looks.

I’m a bit jug-bitten for a woman, Kolton, Ashford said to his crewmate. But I do appreciate the thought.

Isabella felt her lips thinning in anger. By her side, Greeley bristled at the insult. Kolton shook his head. Cap, she’s not—

No she’s not. Ashford returned his attention to her. He squinted at her, as though trying to focus. He gripped the bars of his cell to steady himself. Bit plain, isn’t she? he said frankly, his voice smooth with a faint huskiness. Much too thin. I like women with a little more meat on their bones.

And a little less sense in their heads, no doubt, Isabella muttered.

Captain Ashford raised a brow at that. Feisty, he said, his gaze sharpening on her. I like feisty.

Isabella narrowed her eyes at him. Unlike his shipmate, he spoke with the crisp, smooth syllables of a peer. You’re a nobleman, she observed bluntly, not bothering to hide her disgust.

Ashford chuckled again. I think few people would consider me noble, sweetheart. But if you mean I was raised in polite Society, you’re correct. He leaned closer to her, as though sharing a secret. It didn’t take, I’m afraid. I’m rarely polite.

I gathered as much, she retorted hotly, ignoring her skittering pulse. Which likely explains your current surroundings.

He smiled at her, very deliberately, very wolfishly, and Isabella noted with growing frustration that his teeth were as perfect as the rest of him. If you weren’t dressed like a schoolmarm, you might actually be attractive, Ashford blathered, seemingly unaware of her tightening jaw. His gaze wandered lazily over her from head to toe, and Bella felt her cheeks blazing. Though, truth be told, you’re too scrawny to be beautiful. Even under that disaster you call a dress I can tell you’re all sharp angles.

I beg your pardon! Bella huffed.

See there, Ashford said, wagging his finger triumphantly. Even your tone is sharp. I bet your elbows and knees are knobby. He cocked his head, considering her. I can’t decide if I’d rather tup you or feed you.

Cap! Kolton hissed. Mrs. Marshall isn’t a ladybird. She’s a client!

The inebriated man seemed amused by this statement, and Bella felt her waning patience evaporate. Your quartermaster is correct. I’d like to retain your services, she snapped quietly.

At his rakish look, Bella felt herself flush down to her toes. He enjoyed flustering her—that much was obvious. No! she hissed. I have some...cargo for you to transport. To England.

Ashford shook his head then had to find his balance. I’d love to help you, sweetheart, but my days of ‘transporting cargo’ are over, he said stubbornly. I’m giving up the sea to lead an honest life.

But you haven’t heard my offer, Bella protested, trying to keep her voice down.

Ashford waved his hand, making him wobble precariously. I don’t need to hear it. Come morning, when I’ve sobered up, Greeley here will accept my generous bribe and release me from these lovely accommodations. Then I’m selling that blasted ship and retiring on a deserted beach with a beautiful native princess—one who doesn’t speak a word of English, mind you—and not a care in the world.

Cap, you don’t understand, Kolton stated quietly. Rumor has it the lieutenant-governor is ready to sign the orders for your execution.

Ashford made a face. Jamieson is going to execute me? Why?

"Well, you did seduce his wife," Greeley said bluntly.

Ah, the lovely Marguerite, Ashford said with a wistful sigh. He waved dismissively. She seduced me. Besides, that’s hardly grounds to execute me.

Kolton began ticking Ashford’s crimes off on his fingers. You openly seduced his wife. You hijacked several shipments of his brandy. You paid him only a fraction of the ‘docking fees’ that you’d agreed to pay in exchange for safe harbor. You cheated him at cards. Shall I continue?

Ashford pointed drunkenly at the two men. I never cheat. I simply know how to play my opponent, which is something Jamieson should learn.

Kolton rolled his eyes at the man’s stubborn drunkenness. "You cost him a small fortune and you embarrassed him."

In my defense, he owed me that money. Ashford waved him off. If a man can’t pay his debts on time, he should expect to have them collected...unexpectedly. Furthermore, I think we can all agree that stealing somebody else’s ill-gotten goods isn’t a crime, he argued. He stopped for a moment to consider his convoluted logic. Not really.

It may not be a crime, Greeley said, but it was bloody stupid. Kolton is right. Come morning, Jamieson is going to charge you with piracy. I guarantee that if you’re found guilty, you’ll be swinging by nightfall.

Ashford waved his hand. So be it. Guilty as charged.

Kolton reached through the bars and grabbed his captain by the shirt. Looking squarely into his eyes, he said, I know you blame yourself for Andrew, but letting yourself hang for a trumped up charge is not going to bring him back. Phillip, we need to leave Jamaica.

Ashford exhaled heavily and drooped a bit, and Isabella feared he’d passed out. Instead, he nodded and steadied himself. He freed himself from Kolton’s grip and smoothed his shirt. He straightened proudly and considered all three of them.

Madam, we have a deal, he said with a drunken flourish that nearly landed him on his face. He managed to right himself with the help of the bars. Mr. Greeley... he motioned to the jailer, ...if you’d be so kind—

Greeley brandished a set of manacles. Captain Ashford obediently turned his back and put his hands together behind him so the jailer could reach through the bars and snap the shackles over his wrists. Then Greeley unlocked the door and let the captain stagger out. Kolton took an arm to steady him and they began making their way toward the exit.

The jailer turned to Bella. His expression seemed strained as he took her arm and led her through the labyrinth of the prison. Kolton’s a good man, he said to her under his breath. And Ashford’s as honorable a smuggler as you’ll find, Miss North, but he’s still dangerous. Don’t be fooled by what you saw of him tonight—he’s sharp. More than that, he’s ruthless. Be on your guard.

He held something out to her, and Isabella saw it was a key. She took it hesitantly and looked at the jailer uncertainly. Greeley said softly, "If I were you, I wouldn’t unlock those manacles until you and Charles are safely aboard the Intrepid."

Bella tucked it away safely, thinking that was sound advice. Thank you for everything, Mr. Greeley, she said, pulling a small purse from deep within her skirts. She handed the jailer the pouch and said, I’m sorry I don’t have more to give you. You’re welcome to take whatever you like from our rooms once we’ve left the island. It’s not much, but it may be worth a few extra shillings.

Greeley pushed the pouch back at her gruffly. Not necessary, Miss, he said. You and Miss Lolly tended my little Mary when she was ill. If you ladies hadn’t been there for her— He broke off abruptly. I wouldn’t think of taking your money. Besides, you’ll need a little blunt when you land in England.

Thank you, she said, and her throat tightened at the man’s kindness.

Greeley gave her a sympathetic look and touched her arm. Damn shame about your sister, he said. But you’ll keep her boy safe. I know you will. Bella nodded and forced herself to swallow the lump that rose in her throat. He turned without another word and led her through the jail, quickly catching up with Kolton—who was practically carrying Ashford. She ignored the captain’s ribald comment as she passed him, lifting her chin higher, and silently climbed out of the stench of the jail.

Once she emerged into the jailer’s office, Bella took a deep breath, letting the tangy salt air calm her screaming nerves. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she stopped to study the two sailors struggling into the room.

She warily eyed the man to whom she had entrusted her life. Captain Ashford’s head bobbled as the quartermaster tried to help him through the door. He tripped over his own feet and both men struggled to stay upright. Bella cringed inwardly. This was not exactly reassuring.

She touched the key she had safely stashed in a small pocket deep in her skirts.

Greeley gave her a reassuring smile, and she forced herself to nod. Then she bade farewell to him and followed her newly purchased hero outside. Kolton told her that they’d escort her home, something that Bella gladly agreed to in spite of her reservations. This area of the city was unfamiliar to her and it was well after dark. She gave them an address close to her temporary domicile and set off at a good clip. Her companions shuffled after her with a fair amount of staggering and bickering.

It wasn’t long before Bella realized she wouldn’t make the mile and a half walk home before dawn at the pace they were going. Ashford was too large and too drunk for Kolton to handle alone, especially since the captain was still in irons. With a heavy sigh Bella took the captain’s elbow. Ashford turned to say something to her but lost his balance in doing so. As Kolton tried to recover from the stumble he loosed his grip on the captain’s arm. Captain Ashford overbalanced and tripped into Isabella. They tumbled to the ground in a slow, graceless heap with Bella’s backside taking the brunt of the fall.

Before she could catch her breath, she found a very large, very warm male body landing helplessly on top of her with a pained grunt. She struggled to get out from underneath him but merely succeeded in positioning herself more awkwardly beneath him. It was both exhilarating and disconcerting, and she forced herself to be still. Unable to breathe, Bella tried to cover her discomfiture with an icy glare at the man on top of her.

It drew a smirk from him. I told you her knees were knobby, Kolton, he grinned down at her, his beautiful face only inches from her own.

Bella’s eyes watered at the sour tang of alcohol. Are you sure this isn’t a regular condition for him, Mr. Kolton? she asked sharply. Kolton hoisted the drunken man off of her and helped her to her feet. His breath smells as though he’s pickled from the inside-out.

The quartermaster chuckled but Ashford studied her. He appeared as off kilter as Bella felt. Exactly who are you? he groused.

I’m your new client, she told him firmly, busying herself with brushing off her skirts so she didn’t have to meet his eye. That green gaze unnerved her. When she felt steady enough she took the captain’s arm. Working together, she and Kolton struggled to get him facing the right direction. After several failed attempts, and a good deal of sweat on Bella’s part, they finally managed to keep him upright and moving. They continued down the dimly lit street.

What’s the cargo? Ashford demanded abruptly.

Does it matter? Bella asked him. You’re a smuggler. You’re paid to smuggle things—not to ask questions.

Actually I’m a privateer. Smuggling is just a side venture. And I always ask questions, he defended. Especially when it’s clear that my client is hiding something.

What makes you think I’m hiding something? Bella asked, nonplussed.

"Because you’ve hired me," Ashford slurred pointedly.

Bella shrugged, hoping to change the topic. It’s nothing illegal, I assure you.

Even inebriated the captain was quick. If it’s nothing illegal, sweetheart, you wouldn’t need my services, now would you?

Isabella bit her lip against the smile that threatened to break. It would do no good to let him think she found him amusing—he was arrogant enough. Instead she looked haughtily at him. Since you seem to find my offer objectionable, why don’t we return you to your previous accommodations? I’m fairly confident you’re not the only smuggler in the Caribbean.

Privateer, Ashford hiccupped. And there’s no need to get shrewish. In the next breath his voice was low and smoky. I’ll gladly provide whatever services you ask of me.

She barely managed to suppress the shudder that coursed through her at his suggestive timbre. For the price I’m paying for those services, I should think so, she quipped stiffly.

Kolton chuckled. You’re in no shape to spar with this one, Cap, he said with a snort. She’s sharp.

It’s the knobby knees, Ashford shot back. Makes a woman ill-tempered.

Bella abruptly dropped his arm, causing him to nearly fall over again. My knees and I can find the way from here, gentlemen.

Kolton eyed her cautiously. Are you sure, ma’am? We said we’d see you home, and we mean to.

Thank you but this is fine, she told him firmly. How shall I find you?

Kolton gave her directions to the cove where the Intrepid made port and Isabella promised to be there before daybreak. She turned to leave but was stopped by a husky voice. Sweetheart, aren’t you forgetting something?

Taking a deep breath, she mustered her remaining patience and turned to face the captain. He rattled his manacles. The key? he asked sweetly.

Isabella closed the gap between them and forced herself to look into Phillip Ashford’s eyes. She could lose herself in their pale green depths, she realized, as intense and wildly beautiful as the sea itself. He raised his dark brows, feigning an innocence he’d likely never possessed, and a new surge of irritation washed over her. It was unfair for anyone to be so charming.

With more than a little pleasure, she batted her eyes ingenuously. What key?

It took a moment for realization to dawn on him and Bella nearly laughed at his expression. He dropped his seductive façade in a heartbeat. The angry glare he gave was almost frightening. I’m not playing. Give me the bloody key.

I wouldn’t dream of playing with you, Captain, Isabella said. But that key is my only guarantee that you’ll still be in port when I arrive.

You can’t leave me in manacles overnight! he snarled. Kolton, do something about her!

Kolton winked at her. Sorry, Cap. I don’t want to drop you again.

Bella tapped Ashford on the nose. I’ll see you in the morning, sweetheart. Pleasant dreams.

At that she spun on her heel and marched down the boulevard, ignoring Ashford’s stream of threats and coercions. She waited until the two men disappeared before looking around to make sure no one was following her. Then she quickly changed tack and hurried two streets over toward the shop where she and Charles had been staying for the past fortnight.

Looking around a final time, Bella ducked into a modest dry goods store. She locked the door behind her and crept up the stairs to the small room she and Charles shared. The shopkeeper’s sturdy daughter, Maggie, was sitting in the front room darning a stocking. She looked up and smiled at Bella.

Is he sleeping? Isabella asked. Maggie nodded and began gathering up her sewing basket. I hope he wasn’t too much trouble, Bella said softly.

Not at all, the girl grinned. He’s quite a gentleman. Did you find what you needed?

I’ll make do, thank you, Bella said.

Well then, Maggie said, rising. I’ll be off to bed. Mum asked us to check inventory tomorrow morning before we open.

Isabella nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. Good night, Maggie.

She hated that she was being deceitful, especially to someone as good-hearted as Maggie, but it was safer for both of them if Maggie had no idea where or why she was gone come morning. Still, this sneaking about and lying to the few people who had shown them genuine kindness left a particularly foul taste in her mouth.

A tuft of blond hair poked out from underneath the covers and Bella walked over to the bed to gaze at her beloved Charles. He was perfect—as lovely and sweet as her sister had been. The deep sadness she always felt at Lorelei’s absence washed over her as she studied the boy.

Charles stirred slightly when she pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. His lip bowed just a bit in his sleep and that tiny expression was so similar to her late sister’s that it nearly took Bella’s breath away. It was odd how such little things—an expression, a scent, a sound—could remind her of Lolly. Those moments often happened without warning. Each time they did, Bella felt like she might drown in her grief all over again.

Isabella made herself choke back the tears that were welling up inside her. Lolly was gone. Charles was all that mattered now. She would do whatever she must to make sure he was safe—including trusting a man she would never trust if circumstances were different.

Chapter Two

Phillip returned to consciousness in slow, fuzzy increments. The air tingled in his nose, heavy and tangy and too fresh to be a tavern. The sound of waves crashing against the shore crept into his awareness and he realized he was lying on the beach. He tried to voice this brilliant observation but his mouth was parched and his tongue felt thick. He desperately needed a drink of water.

Upon opening his eyes he discovered he had a blinding headache, so he shut them instantly with a groan. It was too late, unfortunately. The furious pounding in his head had set in, relentlessly reprimanding him for his bad behavior.

Vaguely he remembered that he’d started drinking rum about a month ago and hadn’t really stopped.

Memories flashed through his thoughts, scattered and disjointed, and he forced himself to focus on them for the first time since the accident. Andrew was dead. The knowledge that he’d lost his dearest friend hit him like a kick to the teeth. His friend had died in the wreckage of a cannon misfire along with the ship’s powder monkey—a boy named Gavin—and a gunner who went by Smitty. Phillip felt the loss of his crewmates so acutely, so intensely, that he understood there wasn’t enough rum in the entire Caribbean to drown his guilt. He wished savagely that he’d been part of that debris.

He’d known Andrew Greyson from the time they’d been in short pants together. They hadn’t really become friends until their time at Eton, though once there they’d become inseparable. Until Andrew, the only other person he’d ever allowed himself to trust implicitly was his twin brother, Simon. Andrew and Simon knew him, not his reputation. But it had been years since he’d spoken with Simon and now Andrew was gone.

Andrew was dead.

Instead of being allowed to wallow in his misery, Phillip’s thoughts were interrupted by the muffled conversation and clamor that signaled his crew was readying the ship for departure. That couldn’t be right, though. The Intrepid wasn’t supposed to set sail without his say-so, which he was almost certain he hadn’t given. He had not and he would not give the order to raise sail. In fact, he was never stepping foot on the cursed ship again. Life at sea was over for him.

Shoving down his grief, Phillip forced his eyes open. What day was it? He tried to remember...and failed. Gads, he had no clue. He must have been more smashed than he realized. The dim gray of the predawn hour silhouetted the men as they busied themselves loading cargo. Annoyed at this distraction to his self-pity, he stirred to rise. If his ragtag band of sailors and honest criminals thought they were dragging him out to sea in search of riches and adventure, they were sadly mistaken.

The thought of boarding the Intrepid after watching his boon companion bleed out on the ship’s deck chilled him to his bones. He couldn’t return to that life. Besides, it was Andrew’s ship, after all, and Andrew was gone. There was no point in sailing it now.

Phillip struggled to sit up, angry at the world and the unfairness of it all. He’d like to burn the ship to the ground. He would burn it, he told himself resolutely—once he managed to stand up.

In his foggy and frustrated state he slowly realized his arms weren’t working. He also discovered there was a fierce ache in his shoulders and back. It took several moments of struggling, but he finally comprehended that his hands were shackled behind him. Like a bolt of lightning, his misdeeds from the past week came rushing back: the fist fight he’d instigated at the tavern; the officers escorting him to a jail cell while he sang a bawdy shanty; Kolton visiting and yelling at him that he could rot in jail until he dried out; Greeley’s threat that he would be tried for piracy; the fear that Greeley’s threat was more than a warning; the prim little woman who’d bartered for his release.

The woman.

Oh yes. He remembered her. Phillip glowered. That horrible stick of a woman had freed him from the cell but had left him in irons.

Somehow he managed to prop himself against a palm tree and look around. The little harridan—and the key to his freedom—were nowhere to be found. Phillip frowned. He must have been drunker than he’d realized if a mere slip of a thing had gotten away from him while leaving him chained up. Maybe he’d been dreaming...reality had been a bit blurred of late.

Kolton! he bellowed.

His quartermaster appeared almost instantly, as though he’d been hovering around like a mosquito—which he likely was. Aye Cap? the big man said.

Kolton, we appear to be making ready, he snarled.

Aye, Kolton nodded. You gave orders last night.

Did I? I don’t remember that, Phillip stated.

Kolton shrugged. Well, you slurred them, but none of us would think to disobey Cap’s direct orders.

Phillip frowned, suspicious of his most loyal crew member. When I was slurring my orders, did I mention where we were headed?

England, Kolton said simply.

England, Phillip repeated, happy to take his ire out on someone. That doesn’t sound like me, does it?

Kolton shook his head. All due respect, Cap, ye ain’t been yerself.

That was undoubtedly true.

Phillip sighed, knowing he was being unfair. He could wait until the real object of his wrath appeared. Kolton, my memory’s a bit hazy. Did I recently meet a young lady? he asked.

His quartermaster shrugged again. Several, I believe.

Phillip nodded, his irritation rising once more. I’m wondering about one in particular. Skinny. Blond hair. Sharp tongue. At the other man’s feigned bewilderment, he glowered. Has the key to my chains.

Aye, Cap. The other man nodded. That’d be Mrs. Marshall.

And where might Mrs. Marshall be this morning? Phillip ground out.

Well sir, none of us have seen her yet, Kolton said simply. "She should be here soon though. The young lady was determined her cargo would be aboard the Intrepid before we made sail."

Phillip wanted to shout. The nerve of that little baggage—leaving him in chains overnight and expecting him to smuggle whatever ill-gotten goods she meant to panhandle. He’d like to tell her exactly where she could stow her blasted cargo. Instead, he huffed, Did she say what we’d be hauling?

Kolton reached down to help Phillip to his feet. Don’t rightly know. The girl was a bit tight lipped.

Phillip groaned as he rose to his feet. He swayed as his knees buckled from the stiffness that had set in. His head throbbed even more furiously than before, so it took some time to survey his crew’s progress, but he gauged they’d be ready to sail within the hour. They were too damned efficient, he cursed silently. He took a hesitant step and his stomach roiled. There was no way he was in any shape to sail—not today. Not ever. And especially not for an ill-tempered cat like Mrs. Marshall.

Kolton held a cup full of drinking water to Phillip’s mouth, and even though he hated to be hand-fed like an infant, he was too thirsty to refuse. He drank deeply, letting the cool water ease his anger a fraction. If he weren’t so damned hung over and irate he might appreciate the young woman’s pluck. It took courage to lock a grown man in irons.

Of course it was going to require even more courage to unlock those irons, he mused darkly. Because once she did, Mrs. Marshall was going to pay for this outrage.

Dearly.

Phillip waited impatiently, helplessly. What seemed like an eternity, but was probably little more than a quarter hour, passed before a small carriage pulled up. Relief washed over him at the knowledge that salvation was at hand. His newly discovered nemesis descended and spoke a few words to Kolton, who’d rushed to greet her. Before Phillip could protest several members of his crew—at the quartermaster’s direction no less—grabbed two trunks and a few sacks from the carriage. They hauled them toward the ship with the efficiency that Phillip had learned to expect from them.

Phillip waited quietly,