The Captain's Lady Read online

  The Captain’s Lady (Author’s Cut Edition)

  Historical Romance

  Jo Goodman

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Copyright © 1998, 2019 by Joanne Dobrzanski. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  eBook design by eBook Prep

  www.ebookprep.com

  Cover by The Killion Group, Inc.

  * * *

  Published by ePublishing Works!

  www.epublishingworks.com

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-64457-101-9

  Contents

  Dear Reader…

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Before You Go…

  Velvet Night

  Also by Jo Goodman

  About the Author

  Dear Reader…

  For a number of years now I have been asked by readers how they might get copies of my early romances. The answers—try a used book store, the library, or the yard sale graveyards—have never been satisfactory, least of all to me.

  * * *

  The Captain’s Lady allows me to give readers a different response. This is a reprint of my first book, Passion’s Bride. The only significant alteration is the title. That change wasn’t made to confuse you, but to give Alexis Danty and Tanner Cloud a bit more dignity and save me from blushing every time I had to say Passion’s Bride out loud.

  * * *

  I have always regretted that I didn’t know enough back then to send in my dedication page with the manuscript. It’s an oversight I can rectify now.

  * * *

  This one’s for the people who believed I could do it when I wasn’t sure what I was doing: my parents Klem and Joan Dobrzanski, my sister Yvonne, my brother John (who still thinks he should get a percentage), my less greedy brother Richard, co-workers at then Brooke-Hancock Group Home, Inc., and Linda Johnson who put the manuscript in the mail more than once when I thought it was working well as a doorstop.

  * * *

  They have all been thanked in other books but I had always meant to thank them from the first.

  * * *

  And I am mindful that it is you, reader, whose expressed interest has provided me with the opportunity to do so. Thank you for that.

  * * *

  Jo Goodman

  Prologue

  The small room was already smoke-filled. As if it were their voices which gave meaning to the issues, the men in the chamber talked on. Only in one area was there silence. The seat was occupied by a purposeful young man—his movements revealed this aspect of his nature—but in this cancerous haze, where men’s voices droned, ignoring signs of strain, he was uncertain what was expected of him.

  Tanner Frederick Cloud had ceased to be interested in what was being said. He was familiar with all the issues under discussion: the failure of Jefferson’s Embargo Act to hinder British or French forces by halting the flow of supplies from America; the subsequent setback to New England shipping firms; the British blockade extending down the entire coastline of France and making it dangerous to trade with the continent; the threat of secession by New England states if President Madison asked for a declaration of war; and the unreasonable search and seizure practices the Royal Fleet inflicted on American vessels and men.

  From his own experiences he was aware of the gravity of the issues, but as a captain in the fledgling United States Navy, he had little to do with the four other men in the room.

  “…Alex Danty.”

  His wandering attention was captured by the sound of that name. He glanced casually around the room, shifting his lean body slightly to see if anyone had noticed his involuntary tightening. Senator Howe’s sudden decision to open the windows and clear the air let Cloud know that his reaction had been noted and now was being analyzed under the cover of innocuous activity.

  It was too late to pretend Alex Danty meant nothing to him, but he chose to remain silent, concentrating on the argument that had erupted shortly after Danty’s name had been introduced.

  Bennet Farthington was speaking hurriedly. His fingers brushed through wheat-colored hair in a nervous gesture and his blue eyes were focused on Robert Davidson, the representative from Rhode Island.

  “You’re mad, Robert! Absolutely mad! How could Alex Danty help us? What possible use could we make of a pirate?”

  Davidson laughed derisively at the young man. “For an aide to the Secretary of War you are singularly uninformed, Bennet. Considering Danty’s been carrying on a private war with the British for eighteen months, I’m surprised Dr. Eustis hasn’t kept you up to date.”

  “I read the papers. I know Danty’s sunk eleven fleet ships.”

  “Twelve.”

  “An even dozen, then. It has nothing to do with us.”

  The senator from Massachusetts listened to the exchange with more interest than his casual posture at the window indicated. His gray eyes rested thoughtfully on the young naval officer they had selected for a difficult assignment. Howe was pleased with the captain’s earlier contribution, an outline of tactics that would make it possible to win against Great Britain in the event of war. This young man had a succinct manner of speaking which Howe suspected annoyed the others with its decisiveness. However, it had been the captain’s resolute sense of his own correctness that had convinced Howe they had made the right choice. That trait might frighten the others, but to the senator it was the flaw which made Tanner Frederick Cloud eminently suited to their purpose.

  Howe tapped his cigar lightly, allowing the ashes to fall to the carpet, and returned to his chair. It only remained to be discovered what the captain knew of Alex Danty, the renegade who was the focus of their plans.

  “What’s Danty’s purpose?” he asked smoothly. “He’s not an American, is he?” Howe looked pointedly at the captain but was disappointed.

  Granger, the head of a failing export business in Boston and a competitor with the line owned by Cloud’s family, spoke up. “No one knows. He appeared out of nowhere a year and a half ago and has been keeping the British in a constant state of turmoil. He never takes anything from the ships except supplies and arms. He offers freedom to impressed sailors—British and American alike—then he drops the remainder of the crew on an island or within swimming distance of one and sinks the vessel.
<
br />   “I’ve read accounts that say he makes a personal search of the crew—as if he were looking for someone. No one even knows what Danty looks like. They say he wears a mask because he was disfigured in battle. The men who were freed by him and chose not to join him have nothing to say—except that they’ll never be able to properly thank him.”

  “I don’t give a damn what he looks like or what his purpose is,” said Davidson. “And neither does Madison. Can you imagine what help Danty would be if he were working with our navy? It’s a thought, isn’t it? One privateer putting an end to the Royal Fleet while we can barely muster the funds and forces to back a declaration of war. He must have compiled a lot of information on British movements. We could use him.”

  “Could Danty be French?” asked Howe. “They have just as much reason to want his help.”

  “French? It’s possible,” Davidson said thoughtfully. “Perhaps he has connections with Lafitte.”

  “Good Lord, Robert. How many cutthroats do you want on our side? Danty is one thing. Jean Lafitte is quite another. He has been disrupting merchant ships in the Caribbean for years—and I’m talking about American as well as British vessels.” Bennet lit a cigar and drew on it deeply.

  “I disagree. True, Lafitte is no respecter of flags, but New Orleans is a very valuable port. All of our products from the west have to pass through there. Our navy could use someone like Lafitte. He has a selfish interest in keeping that port open, to prevent a British blockade.”

  Howe stopped Farthington’s reply by lifting his hand. “It’s immaterial to discuss this further, Bennet. Especially when you have Madison’s orders in your pocket. We have been asked to arrange a meeting with Danty and secure his help. The matter is settled.”

  “No, it isn’t.” His voice cracked slightly with the effort it took to speak after remaining quiet for so long. The eyes of every man turned to the officer, giving him the benefit of their surprised, if not respectful, silence.

  Tanner Frederick Cloud surveyed their anxious faces and he tightened his smile as he returned their gazes. Did they really have orders that concerned him? His superior had sent him to the meeting telling him only that he was to do whatever they asked of him. Cloud was no longer certain of the merit of that order. Their talk made him uneasy but he could not name the reason for his discontent.

  Cloud felt as if the senator, his state’s senator, he reminded himself, was orchestrating this meeting. The captain had little doubt he had been maneuvered into making a statement. He had felt Howe’s calculating stare on him more than once, silently demanding he speak out on the subject of Alex Danty. Cloud wondered if his reluctance to do so would cost him his position.

  He had been given command only three years ago, in 1809, at the age of twenty-five. He had been offered the commission after having escaped his own impressment into British service, but not before the British had been able to leave the mark of his belligerence on his flesh. The scars from the whip could still be seen on his lean, muscular back; the lines slashed in thin white strips on otherwise bronzed skin.

  For three years he had sailed his own ship with a good crew and the fear of being impressed again never left him. Frequent trips to Europe increased the possibility, but he had already decided he would take his own life before he allowed himself to be forced to serve the Union Jack again.

  He lowered his heavily lashed lids, momentarily denying the men a view of his disturbing green eyes; eyes that could look at them as well as through them. When he raised his head, running his fingers through dark copper hair, he knew he could not put them off any longer. He pushed his chair away from the table and stretched his long legs in front of him until he could see the tips of his knee-high boots. He placed his hands on either side of the arms of his chair, gripping the wood. He knew without looking that his knuckles were white and that the muscles in his forearms would actually hurt later because of his tension. It was always this way when he thought of Alex Danty. And now these men wanted to know. They wanted to know what he had known since the name of Captain Danty had been mentioned to him eighteen months ago when the first of a dozen British vessels went down.

  His voice cut through the silence with its sureness. He spoke firmly, softly; the steely edge in the timbre of his voice came from knowing he was right.

  “Alex will not help us, gentlemen. No matter what the President has asked you to do. Bennet, you may as well keep your orders where they are. Danty is involved in the pursuit of one man. The captain will not stop until it has been accomplished.”

  “Why are you so sure?” Davidson thoughtfully tapped a finger on the side of his long, angular nose. “I can hardly credit he’s been sinking ships to get at one man. All that destruction with revenge as the sole motive? I find that very difficult to accept.”

  “Then you are going to have greater difficulty accepting what I’m about to say. Danty is after one man and it is her quest, her pursuit, and her aid you wish to seek. ”

  Total silence greeted his words. Howe coughed as the smoke from his cigar filtered from the ashtray toward his nose. Abruptly he snuffed it out and cleared his throat. “Are you telling us that Alex Danty is a…a…” He could not go on. His shock gave way to laughter and the others joined in.

  Cloud had expected such a response. He tried to excuse them, thinking that they had only met him this evening and they could not know he never made a statement without being able to support it.

  “I am telling you Alex Danty is a woman,” he said quietly. It was as if he had slammed his fist on the polished table. The laughter stopped.

  Howe recovered first. “How do you know, Captain? Have you seen Danty?”

  Cloud said nothing. The moment stretched into an eternity in his mind. He wanted to tell everyone to go to hell. His word should be enough. He had no doubt about Alex now but he could remember a time when it had been difficult to accept. Could he expect so much from them? They didn’t know her. The truth was he did not want to remember the incident and even less did he want to share it. Alex’s problems were her own, to deal with in any way she saw fit. He knew her reaction would be one of disgust if she ever learned she had been casually talked about in a meeting of this sort.

  He sighed. She would never find out. At least he could be thankful for that. He would never see her again unless she wanted it, and once they heard her story they would understand why she would never join them. It was to save her from even being asked that he reluctantly decided to talk….

  Chapter 1

  “Damn ’im! Damn ’im ta ’ell!”

  For all that it was whispered, the curse had a strangely virulent quality. It was born of hatred and fear, loneliness and anger, yet these emotions could not be heard, trapped as they were in an icy delivery. “Oi ain’t lettin’ ’im sell me! Oi ain’t!” This time the cry was accompanied by the panicked movement of small hands along the length of two braids the color of beaten gold. Amber eyes, seemingly overlarge in such a thin, somber face, stared at the betraying flutter as if willing the fingers to be still. Even as Alexis quieted her hands, her mind was working feverishly. The events of the past few hours made it clear that she would have to leave if she were to avoid humiliation at the hands of the man she had called her father for all of her thirteen years.

  For as long as she could remember, Alexis had been asked to be grateful to the distant relatives who had taken her in, pretending to disregard her illegitimacy and the fact that Alexis’s birth had meant her mother’s death. But their pretense had long been obvious to Alexis due to the ill-timed remarks and blatant accusations tossed at her regarding the details of her birth. Although Charlie and Meg Johnson provided shelter, Alexis was well aware of her own value in this family of shiftless dreamers. Among the four children she had no friend, and for Charlie and Meg she felt only contempt.

  Until recently Charlie’s schemes for easy money had not involved Alexis, but lately Meg complained she was not doing her share. “Givin’ ’erself airs. That’s wot she’s do
in’,” Meg whined to her husband, referring to the time Alexis spent in the park, inconspicuous behind flowering shrubbery, listening to the conversations of the ladies who frequented the place. “She wants ta talk loike ’em laidies, she does.” And to further condemn her Meg went on to say that when Alexis wasn’t in the park she was escaping her work by walking along the river, watching the ships or simply daydreaming.

  Charlie, in a typically impulsive gesture, decided to put an end to his wife’s needling and Alexis’s defiant, ungrateful attitude by selling her. Alexis knew only too well what that meant. Now that she was banished to her room she cursed Charlie as well as any swell who would purchase a virgin to rid himself of the pox.

  Alexis shut her eyes and pressed on her lids with the heels of her hands, making everything black until fleeting sparks of color appeared. She watched the floating spectrum, a rainbow for her gray world, knowing it was hers alone to see. No one else could witness the display of fireworks she controlled. She released her hands and opened her eyes, blinking a few times to restore her vision. Reality was the cracked ceiling, the blistering paint on the walls, the streaks on the windows. Alexis laughed suddenly. This would be her reality for only a few hours more. Even before she’d reached the age of thirteen she’d known surviving meant escaping.