Nicole Jordan (2 page)

He turned those brilliant green eyes on her, and she thought she saw a gleam of amusement shimmering in the clear depths.

“A good many, yes.”

“I should like to hear about some of them.”

Giving a chuckle, her father shook his head. “Oh, no, my girl. Any of Deverill’s tales would be unfit for a young lady’s tender ears.”

Feeling her face warming again, she gave her father an affectionate but exasperated glance as she replied to Deverill. “I love Papa dearly, but he tends to wrap me in cotton wool.”

Deverill’s sensual mouth curved with definite amusement this time. “But he is right to warn you away from me, Miss Maitland.”

“Are you so wicked, then?”

“To you, I am. I’m the black sheep of my family, I fear.”

“What did you do that was so shameful?”

Her father snorted in disgust and answered for him. “Deverill dared to join the merchant marine when he was a lad and then had the audacity to make money in the shipping trade.”

It was an extreme sore point with her father, being condemned for daring to make his fortune through his own labors.

“I defied my father,” Deverill agreed, “and ran off to sea. I and my American cousin set off together to see the world and make our marks on it.”

Antonia eyed him with curiosity. “Your father is a knight, I believe.”

“Yes, but as the youngest of three sons, I will never inherit the title.”

Yet he still had a measure of blue blood running in his veins, Antonia reflected. His Christian name was aristocratic as well, since
Trey
was a shortened version of Treylayne, from his mother’s side of the family.

He was also reportedly very wealthy. Deverill owned a small fleet of armed vessels that hired out to shipping companies and provided protection for the huge, lumbering merchantmen carrying valuable cargo, both from the French navy and from marauding corsairs. Rumor was, however, that he had grown rich from confiscating fabulous pirate treasure.

“I should have liked to run away to sea,” she remarked lightly, “but it would have disappointed Papa terribly.”

“Aye, daughter, you would have broken my heart. But you’ve made me proud. Antonia,” he boasted to their guest, “will make a brilliant match one day.”

When she felt Deverill regarding her, she returned her attention to her blancmange pudding, not wishing to discuss such personal matters as her father’s dreams for her.

His fondest wish was that she marry a British nobleman to elevate her position in society and diminish the stigma of her breeding. Her mother had been of noble birth, and Samuel Maitland couldn’t bear the thought of his daughter languishing on the fringes of society due to his lack of respectability.

Antonia adored her father and would do nearly anything to please him, even it if meant quelling her own secret yearnings for something more exciting and adventurous than the proper, stifling, grandiose life that most society ladies led.

She glanced at her tall, brawny father, noting that he seemed to have grown older in the month since she’d last seen him. His bright red hair was now speckled with gray and his face more lined, while his once jovial personality had dimmed, burdened by the sadness that had stricken him at his beloved wife’s death many years ago. The fact that he now lived for Antonia—his only child—was not lost on her.

She didn’t realize she had fallen silent again, however, until her father addressed her.

“It’s time you leave the men to their port, my girl. Deverill and I have a great deal of business to discuss, and he will only be here this one night.”

“Very well, Papa,” she said, hiding her disappointment and forcing a smile as she rose and came around the table to kiss her father’s ruddy cheek. “I will be in the drawing room if you need me.”

Both men politely stood for her, and as she left, she heard her father say, “Let us retire to the Map Room, Deverill. I have an intriguing new design to show you.”

The Map Room was what Samuel Maitland called the large study where he sketched out plans for his new ships. Lately, in a further effort to become more respectable, he had begun ruling his empire from home rather than traveling daily to his offices near the London docks.

He enjoyed having an appreciative audience, however, someone who recognized his brilliance as a designer, which only a fellow nautical man like Deverill could truly do. When Antonia heard their shared laughter, she winced at her own selfishness. She might be jealous of Deverill for claiming her father’s attention away from her, but she was very glad to hear her father laugh.

She was still alone in the drawing room an hour later when the Maitland housekeeper, Mrs. Peeke, brought her tea.

Antonia would have liked for the kind, elderly woman to stay and keep her company, but Mrs. Peeke was a stickler about servants knowing their proper place. So they merely chatted a moment, with the housekeeper asking her about school before bustling away with a smile and a muttered comment about making certain the master received proper sustenance, since he became forgetful when he locked himself away in his Map Room.

Antonia tried to ignore her loneliness as she finished her tea. Then, feeling restless, she put down the book she was reading and went upstairs to change out of her fashionable white muslin dinner gown into the warmer, green velvet riding habit she usually wore for target practice.

The April night was cool and damp when she made her way out-of-doors. On the grounds at the far rear of the mansion, her father had built her an archery range that ran the entire width of the estate. The target distance was only sixty yards rather than the standard one hundred, which most archery societies used for competitions, but for training it served Antonia well. Archery was one of the few sports that permitted female participation, and she hoped one day to be granted membership to the Royal British Bowmen.

She was severely out of practice now, for the Baldwin Academy considered even that tame sport too indelicate for their young ladies to indulge in. But shooting tended to calm her restlessness, since it required skill and concentration.

There was enough moonlight to see by as Antonia descended the terrace steps and followed the path through the landscaped gardens. She passed a gazebo with its delicate lace woodwork and clinging rose vines, her late mother’s favorite spot to enjoy a summer morning, and arrived at a small outbuilding where her equipment was stored. There, she lit two lanterns—one that she placed at the far end of the range to illuminate the circular straw boss, the other on the marble table beside the shooter’s line.

Then she retrieved her bow and a quiver of arrows and took up the archer’s stance. She was glad to feel the smooth, polished yew of the bow in her hands. And from the moment she nocked a wooden arrow and drew back the bowstring, a sense of pleasurable calm descended over her.

Her skills were indeed rusty. In the first two rounds of twelve arrows each, a majority struck the target but only three hit the golden bull’s-eye in the center.

Antonia was in the middle of her third round when she suddenly sensed she wasn’t alone. Whirling with a start, she spied Trey Deverill standing in the shadows a short distance away.

She brought her hand to her throat, where her heart had lodged, and let out a breath of relief.

“Forgive me for startling you,” he said in his deep, velvety voice as he moved toward her. “From my rooms I heard curious sounds and decided to investigate.”

When he halted near her, the lantern light illuminated his striking features. Deplorably, Antonia’s heart leapt again, this time with renewed awareness of his undeniable masculinity.

She managed a nod at his apology, yet she was annoyed at herself for always becoming so flustered in this particular man’s presence.

“I thought you were with my father,” Antonia said coolly, turning back to face the target.

“He suddenly was struck with an idea for a new staysail design, so he wanted to make a sketch and calculate some measurements.”

Her mouth curved with wry understanding. “Then he will undoubtedly be up till all hours of the night. When Papa becomes obsessed with a new design, he never sleeps until he has all the details completely worked out.” She sighed and nocked another arrow. “I will be fortunate if he emerges from the Map Room before my holiday is over.”

“Can’t you simply join him there?”

“Oh, he allows me in, but I am not truly welcome. His work is not appropriate for a lady, you see.”

She let the arrow fly and watched the whooshing arc. When the tip lodged very near the gold center, Deverill murmured in approval. “Impressive.”

“Thank you, but this is a shorter distance than customary for competition.”

“Archery is an unusual accomplishment for a lady, isn’t it?”

Antonia smiled with wry humor. “Indeed. It is also one of my
few
accomplishments. I am not musical, nor can I draw very well. And I detest sewing. This and riding—and perhaps languages—are my only claims to talent, I’m afraid.”

“A virtual Amazon.”

She winced at the painful image and pressed her lips together.

“I say that with admiration,” Deverill remarked, evidently realizing he had struck a nerve.

“When a lady is as tall as I, Mr. Deverill, she doesn’t appreciate comparisons such as that.”

She felt his measuring gaze skimming her body. “Your height seems unexceptional to me.”

Antonia glanced up at Deverill, who was a full head taller than she. “I suppose compared to you, I am not excessively tall, but for a girl, height is a decided drawback. I tower over a quarter of the gentleman I meet.” Picking up the next arrow, she couldn’t repress another sigh. “It would have been so much better if I had been born male.”

“Better for whom?”

“For my father. Myself. I could have taken over his company, for one thing.” She loosed the arrow, watching with satisfaction as it hit the bull’s-eye. “Papa wanted a son—I suppose all men do. But my mother died before she could give him one, and he never considered remarrying.”

“And for yourself?”

Realizing he sounded truly interested in her answer, Antonia shot Deverill an arch glance. “Why, I could sail around the world, having adventures as you do. I have never had a single adventure. The closest I’ve come is christening several of my father’s new ships. I admit I envy you. You fight pirates; I sew samplers.”

He looked slightly amused. “Fighting pirates is not all it’s cracked up to be, Miss Maitland. It’s hardly glamorous and often dangerous.”

Studying him, Antonia suddenly frowned, recalling the scars she’d seen on Deverill’s bare chest. She had glimpsed even worse ones on his back. “Is that how you acquired your scars? Battling pirates?”

In the gleam of lamplight, she could see his expression darken. “Some of them,” he answered finally.

Regretting that she’d evidently struck a nerve of
his,
she shook herself from her self-pity and contrived a light reply. “Well, it is still more exciting than any pursuits allowed a lady.” Her gaze turned speculative. “I don’t suppose you would consider taking me with you on your next voyage?”

His eyebrow shot up, as if not quite believing her question.

“Surely you don’t hold superstitious objections about permitting females on board your ships, Mr. Deverill?” Antonia asked, her tone teasing.

Deverill answered in kind, humor lacing his voice. “I might not object, but your father would be devastated to lose you.”

“Alas, that is true.”

“He has very definite plans for your future.”

Reminded of her father’s dreams, Antonia nodded. “Papa wants what he thinks is best for me. He won’t be content until I marry into the nobility.”

“The nobility is not all it’s purported to be, either,” Deverill said, his tone dry.

“Yet for someone of my social station, a noble marriage would be a high achievement. And most young ladies in my situation marry for convenience. Few heiresses ever make a love match or experience a grand passion. And it will make my father extremely happy.”

When Deverill’s mouth curled slightly at the corner, Antonia regarded him curiously. “I gather filial obedience is not a virtue with you?”

He flashed her a grin. “In your case, I’m sure it’s admirable, but my soul shrivels at the prospect of wedding to please my father.”

Her lips pursed in speculation. “No, somehow I cannot imagine you tamely making a marriage of convenience at your father’s behest.”

His chuckle was rich. “That is beyond the realm of imagination. In any event, I am quite satisfied with my life and have no plans to settle down. My lifestyle doesn’t lend itself to marriage.”

“Because you are always wandering the globe.”

“In part.”

Turning back, Antonia fitted another arrow to the bowstring. “I still wish I could accompany you. It would be gratifying to have just one small adventure before I settle down to a tame existence.” She released the arrow, grimacing when it went wide of the target. “Just once I would like to do something a bit wild and daring. I have never done anything wicked or scandalous or shocking in my entire life.”

“And just what would you consider wicked or shocking, Miss Maitland?”

“Oh, I don’t know. . . .” She paused, then stilled, suddenly feeling reckless. “Yes, I do know.” She slanted Deverill a glance. “A kiss would be satisfactorily wicked.”

“A kiss?”

Antonia turned fully to face him. “Would you show me what it is like to be kissed? I have never been kissed before, Mr. Deverill, and my best friend, Emily, teases me unmercifully about it. Emily is not fast, but she had a kiss a full year ago from a gentleman who was a friend of her brother’s. And I admit, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be kissed by a dashing adventurer. This could be my only chance. The Baldwin Academy is very strict, never allowing us to associate with anyone the least bit disreputable. And I am not likely to encounter many men like you once I put up my hair and enter society.”

She had surprised him, Antonia could tell. He was regarding her with wariness, amusement, perhaps even a glint of admiration for her boldness.