Page 17 of The Summons (Legend of the King’s Ring #1)

W

hen servant girls entered her chamber with pails of hot water for a bath and one of the most beautiful gowns she’d ever seen, Emeline had stubbornly refused both. She would be loath to accept the captain’s trifling gifts, for no doubt a nefarious purpose lurked behind them.

Yet…

After the servants left and steam rose gently from the tub, along with the scent of the rose petals scattered across the water, she couldn’t resist. It had been a least a month since she’d soaked in a hot bath, not since she’d been home at the Hyde Estate on Kingston, Jamaica. Yet, the mere thought of that safe abode flooded her with longing… and sorrow. She missed her parents. She missed her grandparents, Captain Merrick and Charlisse. She even missed her sister and brother. Still, the bath felt beyond wonderful as she washed the sweat and stink from her skin and hair. If only she could wash away Captain Keene and this horrible nightmare as easily.

After her bath, she sat on the bed, drying her hair and staring at the gorgeous attire the servants had laid so carefully across the coverlet. It made no sense to put on her old gown when a new—and much prettier—one was available. She fingered the pearls embedded amidst the gold thread of the stomacher, then caressed the green silk skirt, richly embroidered in woven silver designs.

What harm would it do to at least try it on?

Pah ! Of course, it fit perfectly.

She had stood admiring herself in the looking glass when the servant girls returned, smiling and giggling as they assisted her with buttons and ties she could not reach. One of them pinned up her hair in a most alluring style. She had tried to engage them in conversation, but it seemed they didn’t understand her.

The thought that she was being prepped and primed, dressed and basted, for some elaborate main meal niggled at the back of her mind, but she ignored it. For now, at least. Especially when she saw her reflection in the looking glass, and the woman staring back at her was just as lovely as her sister or mother. But that couldn’t be.

Nay! Blast her feminine vanity! She had just begun to remove the gown when a knock on the door preceded Charlie’s face peeking through the opening. Instantly her brows shot up and she whistled. “Whoa. Is that you, Emeline?” She entered the chamber, dressed in her usual breeches, shirt, and leather waistcoat. Though they appeared cleaner.

“Nay. ’Tis not me.” Emeline continued unlacing the stomacher.

“Stop. I’m to take you to the banquet.” Charlie grabbed her hand, halting her in her task, then cocked her head. “Better to go fully dressed, Miss, than exposing anything to those besotted leches, eh?”

Emeline frowned. “Do I have a choice? Can I not remain here?”

“You know the captain. Now come along.”

And that was how Emeline now found herself walking into a large hall, complete with a long, white-clothed table in the center, lined on both sides by richly upholstered chairs. Livered servants scrambled about, placing steaming bowls and platters across it, while the captain’s crew stood in clusters, yammering and partaking of drinks offered by native servant girls on platters. Most of the pirates remained in their normal buccaneer attire, though some had donned more colorful vests and had run a comb through their hair. Their presence, however, was starkly at odds with the opulent room.

Richly embroidered damask tapestries decorated most of the walls, while oil paintings depicting ships and the sea were hung in gilded frames throughout. A chandelier of cut crystal hung from the ceiling, casting a golden glow over the room. Beyond the long table, a marble fireplace took up most of the wall, and she wondered whether it ever grew cold enough to use. To its right, a raised platform held various instruments in anticipation of a concert, causing a twinge of excitement within Emeline at the prospect. Elegant side tables lined the room, holding bowls of wine, punch, and sweet meats. A breeze, scented by wildflowers and the sea, drew her gaze to two large doors on her left, leading out to what appeared to be a portico overlooking a garden.

Several eyes pinned on her like falcons to their prey. Only one set of eyes made her heart race. Captain Keene broke off from a group of his pirates and headed her way.

Emeline glanced over her shoulder, looking for Charlie, feeling a sudden need to run back to her chamber as fast as she could. But Charlie had abandoned her and was helping herself to a plate of cheese on the sideboard.

Leaving Emeline frozen in place, unable to enter the lions’ den alone, unable to even move as the king of the lions approached, a hungry grin on his lips . He’d traded his pirate attire for a fine linen shirt with lace at the cuffs, covered by a black silk jerkin over which his necklaces dangled. Tight black breeches were stuffed into leather boots that clapped across the tiled floor as he moved. His dark hair was slicked back and tied behind him, but stubble still peppered his jaw. A silver dagger winked at her from his belt while his cutlass hung at his side, an ever-present symbol of danger that always hovered about the man.

Penetrating eyes swept over her in appreciation before they locked onto her face.

She swallowed down a burst of both excitement and fear.

Halting before her, he took her hand and placed a kiss upon it.

“Emeline.” He spoke her common name softly, sensuously, the sound of it on his lips making her blood heat. “You look lovely.”

Against her will, her traitorous breath fled her, and she uttered a tiny gasp. Which only made him smile all the more.

He knew his effect on her, the cad!

She must not play into his charm. Jutting out her chin, she jerked her hand from his. “I am not a doll for you to dress up for your pleasure.”

His smile grew even wider. “On the contrary, my little sugar bird, it seems that’s exactly what you are.”

“Sugar bird?” She stared at him, indignant.

“’Tis a bird native to this island, quite small in size yet armed with a powerful chirp.” He extended his elbow, still grinning. “It suits you.”

Frowning, Emeline turned to leave, but he clutched her arm.

“Forgive my impertinence,” he said. “Please,”—He seemed to choke on the word—“join us for dinner. You must be famished.”

The scent of roasted pork wafted beneath her nose, eliciting a growl from her belly. She needed to eat. She needed her strength if she was to escape this madman’s clutches. And escape she must. A better chance of that on land than at sea. Though how she would accomplish such a feat on an island, she had no idea.

She gave a tight smile, and ignoring his outstretched elbow, pushed past him.

’Twas Maston who pulled out her chair for her, his appreciative gaze scouring her gown and, in particular, the curve of her chest peeking above her décolletage.

“You look quite alluring tonight,” he said, then took a seat beside her, whilst the captain sat at the head of the table on her other side.

His pirates sat around them. Other members of his crew, along with those who surely ran the estate while he was gone, sat further down the table.

The dinner was uneventful. The food beyond delicious. In truth, Emeline had not seen such a feast in quite some time—roasted pig, lobster in cream sauce, turtle soup, yams, Cassava biscuits, guava, papaya, and pickled vegetables. Even the conversation did not bear the usual curses, drunken slurs, and ribald boasts. ’Twas as if the elegant surroundings leeched some of the vulgarity from the men. Finn had even manicured his overgrown beard for the occasion, and Rummy, who still drank more than he ate, seemed to have at least washed the grime from his skin. The surgeon, in his fine attire, looked out of place amongst these buccaneer fools, saying very little, as was his way, yet she sensed he observed everything around him in great detail. Then there was Charlie two seats down from her, conversing, laughing, and eating with these men as if she were one of them. Though weaker in physical strength and of a gender kept in subjection to men, her confidence astounded Emeline, and she found herself longing to have a smidgeon of the woman’s tenacity.

Emeline slipped a spoonful of turtle soup into her mouth and once again found the captain’s eyes upon her, assessing her reaction.

“My chefs are quite good, are they not?” he asked.

“Best food I ’ad in a long time,” Finn answered with a belch before she could respond, but his eyes were on the Ring gleaming from Blake’s finger.

Maston leaned toward her, the scent of his rosemary cologne overwhelming. “You must ignore his barbaric manners, mademoiselle. He’s unaccustomed to such fine dining and good company.”

“An’ ye are?” Rummy chuckled. “Don’t let ’im fool ye, Miss. Maston’s usual fine dinin’ consists o’ a bevy o’ whores in ’is bed.”

Finn chuckled.

A heated blush rushed up Emeline’s neck at the lewd discussion, and she silently chastised herself. Having grown up around pirates, she should be accustomed to such bawdy remarks.

“At least I have the use of both my limbs and can attract the attention of females,” Maston retorted, seemingly unaffected by Rummy’s insult.

Rummy slammed down his bottle, stood, swayed uncontrollably, and then plopped down to his chair again. “Out to swords, ye French toad! But when I’m sober.”

“Then never,” Charlie interjected, eliciting chuckles from the men.

“Enough!” Blake’s shout brought all gazes his way. “When you are on the Summons , you may act like the ill-bred, vulgar louts that you are. Here, I expect you to make an attempt at civility.”

Tension tightened down the table like a taut line, and Emeline sucked in a breath, praying a fight would not ensue.

Maston must have sensed her nervousness, for he laid a hand on her arm and smiled. Normally she would have been touched by the gesture, but a hunger lingered beyond the grin that sent a chill through her.

The exchange did not go unnoticed by the captain, who glared at Maston before ordering the footman to remove his plate and serve dessert.

By the time the rum-soaked cake and candied fruit were served, Emeline’s stomach had twisted in a knot. All the elegant surroundings, the fine attire, and scrumptious food in the world could not make gentlemen out of pirates. Only God could do that. She’d seen it happen more than once. Still, she had foolishly allowed herself a moment’s reprieve from the horror of her situation, allowed herself to be overcome by the lavish surroundings. But these men had brought her crashing back to reality.

With the meal completed and everyone’s bellies full of food and wine, Emeline rose, feeling her strength already returning. With it came a desperation to retire to her chamber to pray and plan her escape.

But the captain quickly took her by the arm. “The evening is young, Miss Hyde. I have provided music and dancing.”

Surely, he jested. Confused, she met his gaze, stunned to find sincerity in his penetrating eyes. “If you please, Captain, I have a headache and wish to retire.” She turned away.

“Nonsense.” He held her in place and smiled. “Music is the best healer, wouldn’t you agree?”

She would, for she could easily get swept away during a good concert. “I see I have no choice since I am your prisoner, Captain.”

“I prefer disinclined guest.” He gave a slight bow.

“You mock me and my grisly situation.”

“Grisly?” He jerked back in feigned shock. “Come now, is it so bad?” He waved his arm over the room and the table still laden with sweet fruit and cake.

Frowning, Emeline refused to answer.

“Then allow me to make your situation more pleasant.” He led her to the side as liveried servants cleared the table. “At least for tonight.”

“If you wish to make my situation more pleasant, then I beg you, send me back to my father.”

His eyes narrowed. “In good time, Miss. For now, a little music should soothe your soul.” He urged her to sit in one of the chairs lining the walls as servants moved the table aside and several musicians began tuning their instruments.

Once the captain’s attentions were elsewhere, Emeline made her way to the open doors where a light breeze stirred the curls at her neck and filled her nose with the scents of earthy loam and flowers. One peek outside revealed a long porch overlooking gardens too dark to see in the slim moonlight.

The most delightful sound turned her around. Was that Handel’s Rinaldo? One of her favorite operas by the talented composer. To her added surprise, the men playing it were quite good.

Blake must have noticed the approval on her face as he marched toward her. “Ah, you recognize Rinaldo?”

“Of course.” She studied him, the strength of his jaw, those piercing green eyes—all pirate captain, and yet this night for some reason he played the part of a gentleman. Real or a charade? Truth or lies?

He must have read her thoughts, for he snorted. “You wonder how a lowbrow thief and blackguard could possibly appreciate the finer things in life.”

A traitorous smile lifted her lips. “I admit to being surprised.”

He extended his elbow. “When they play an Allemande, I will surprise you even further.”

Against her better judgement, she slipped her hand onto his arm and allowed him to usher her back inside.

The rest of the pirates seemed disinterested in the musical selection and more interested in the fresh bowl of wine punch on the sideboard. Charlie, Pedro, and two other pirates sat at a small table in the corner playing cards, while Finn with pipe in his mouth, Rummy, and a dozen others stood staring at the orchestra as if they’d flown in on wings.

’Twas such an odd sight that Emeline began to wonder if she was still asleep on the Summons , dreaming the entire event. It had to be a dream, for none of it made sense. Though why would she dream such an outlandish night? Perhaps her longing for a hero had perverted her thoughts into thinking Captain Keene could be that man. Preposterous!

Therefore, when the gentle, melodious notes of the Allemande filled the room and he asked her to dance, she agreed. If this was all but a figment of the frivolous imagination her father always teased her about, why not enjoy it?

b

Blake swept the lady onto the floor, bowed, and began the steps of the dance he’d learned a year past. It involved quite a bit of hopping and shifting of his feet, but he was intent on conquering it. If some dandified nobleman could do this, then hang it all, so could he!

The lady maneuvered the steps with grace and precision. Of course she did. She came from noble stock, her grandfather an earl—a man of power and culture. Both of which Blake would soon gain for himself.

When they finally met together and entwined their arms, her shocked expression, tainted with delight, warmed him.

“You are quite the dancer, Captain. Wherever did you learn?”

They spun around, still clung together. “There is much you do not know about me.”

“Nor do I wish to as long as I am your prisoner,” she spat back.

Her curt statement broke his jovial mood. Still, he finished the dance with as much flourish as he’d been taught, aware of how his crew gaped at him. He could only hope that seeing their captain behaving the coxcomb would not give them the false impression he was any less ruthless and commanding as always.

If so, they would find out the hard way.

He led Emeline to the side table and handed her a glass of punch. She hesitated at first, casting a suspicious glance his way before taking it. Did she think he would drug her?

The thought saddened him. Then again, how could he blame her?

To be honest, he’d been quite surprised at his own reaction to the lady when she’d entered the banquet hall. Quite surprised, indeed. ’Twas not so much the elegant silk gown and bejeweled stomacher, nor the delightful curve of her breasts peeking above it. Nor even the way her hair was swept up in a bouquet of curls, bedecked with glistening jewels. Nay. ’Twas the way the lady floated into the hall like a princess and not a prisoner, the way light and goodness entered with her and chased away the dark depravity that always hovered around him and his men.

Now, as he watched her take a sip and her striking gold eyes met his, he wondered why he’d ever thought her anything but stunning.

Shaking off the thought, he searched the table, found a bottle of port, and poured himself a large glass. He needed a drink. A strong one. The sweet, potent wine lit a fire in his belly and sent torrid waves throughout him. Alack, what spell had this lady cast upon him? For he had vowed to himself and to any God who was listening that he would never give any part of his heart away again. He fingered the Ring. Perhaps ’twas the relic that caused his enchantment. If so, he must be more careful to resist.

The orchestra struck up a harmonious tune, drawing Emeline’s gaze. The dulcet sounds of a violin rose above the melody, and she closed her eyes, seemingly lost in the music, delight written on her face.

“You enjoy the violin?” he asked.

She smiled before she opened her eyes. “Yes, my mother plays. She taught me.”

His brows shot up. “You play? I should like to hear you.” And he meant it, for the sound of a violin always soothed him.

In an instant, her joy fled her as she tightened her lips. “As I have said, I’m not here for your entertainment, Captain. Either I am your prisoner or you must set me free.”

Downing his port, he took her by the arm to a nearby chair, where he all but forced her to sit. She had broken the spell, thank the stars, for he found his anger rising.

She gazed up at him, moisture glistening in her lustrous eyes. “What is it you want from me, Captain?”

“For now, to stay here whilst I arrange for Pedro to return you to your chamber.”

’Twas for the best, Blake told himself as he marched across the floor, seeking the cabin boy and cursing himself for a complete buffoon. There was no other explanation. For some idiotic reason, he’d wanted to impress the lady this night. Ludicrous. How could a prisoner be impressed with her captor?

Pedro was nowhere in sight.

Scads! Grabbing a bottle of rum from a table, he drew it to his lips and took a large sip, propriety be hanged. He needed some air, needed to clear the woman from his thoughts. Out on the porch, he found Sam staring into the darkness.

Blake slid beside him. The old surgeon spoke few words, but when he did, they were oft full of wisdom. And oh, how he needed some wisdom at the moment. As fortune would have it, he didn’t have long to wait for the man to regale him.

“Your infatuation with the lady grows.” Sam leaned on the railing, glass of punch in hand, staring at the strip of moonlit sea in the distance.

“Hardly.” Blake cursed.

“Then why keep her?”

Blake shrugged and took another sip of rum. “Let’s just say she keeps my demons at bay.” ’Twas not a lie after all.

“Women are demons.” Sam gave a rare chuckle. “Naught but trouble, Captain. I sense this one is more dangerous than she seems.” He drew a deep breath. “I foresee she will disrupt all your plans, should you continue this dalliance.” Then glancing over Blake’s shoulder back into the ballroom, he gestured with his drink. “My point is made.”

Pivoting, Blake found Maston dancing with Emeline, though ’twas not like any dance Blake knew, for the man’s hands were all over the poor woman.

“Hang it!” He charged the couple.