Under Her Brass Corset Read online

  Afraid of losing control, Abigail tried jerking her fingers out of his. It wasn’t as if he was shaking her hand in greeting, and she wanted to dissuade him from making presumptuous liberties. They had just met. Only he continued to grip her fingers as if he had meant to detain her. That nervousness she’d had in the alley returned.

  “I have to go.” She snapped her hand quickly, freeing it from his, and then she started walking, praying he didn’t follow.

  “Maybe another time,” he called.

  As nervous as Captain Blackthorn had made her, he still had a captivating hold on her curiosity. He hadn’t really looked threatening, even with his eye patch. When he didn’t follow like a deranged stalker, she mutely admonished herself for jumping to conclusions. She missed the security of having someone looking out for her.

  “I could stroll in your direction.”

  She glanced back and saw he hadn’t moved.

  Cane in hand again, he pointed her way. “Maybe stay back just enough to give the illusion we’re not together,” he added, “but close enough to discourage anyone else from approaching you?”

  Sweet, considerate, his compromise seemed tailor-made to ease her fears. She debated refusing against selfishly accepting.

  “Or maybe you’d rather I walk on the other side of the street?”

  She weighed what she was about to get herself into. Facing a lonely, unprotected walk, and losing the only chance she may get to know him, or having a strong, handsome man escort her home. Despondency was the culprit. A lack of friends and two weeks without her father left her feeling the biting reality of an impending and unwelcoming solitude. She needed someone to talk to.

  “I see no need for the elaborate pretense, Captain Blackthorn,” she said, impressed by his persistence. “If you’re headed this way, we can walk together.”

  His long, sharp strides brought him to her side almost instantly. He towered over her, a powerful presence. And yet she felt no hint of danger.

  “Shall we?” He motioned for her to continue her course.

  The innocent brush of his arm against hers and his steady gait made her feel safe—protected from anything bad in the night. For some strange reason, that reminded her of her childhood dog, which coincidently happened to have the captain’s name.

  “I once had a dog called Jasper,” she said, strolling along casually.

  “Oh? And why would you name him that?”

  “I don’t know. I think it might have been the name of the man that came to our house and gave him to me.”

  “You remember him then?”

  Over the years, she had tried picturing her father’s friend. He seemed important, and yet the image of him remained elusive. “Not really. I couldn’t have been much older than four or five. My mother always ushered me out of the parlor quite fast whenever anyone came to visit. She was of the mind that children are to neither be seen nor heard when they are under the age of understanding. I never knew what that meant, other than I never reached that age when she was alive.”

  “I’m sorry. She died when you were young,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “How did you know that?” She stopped and looked up at him.

  “You just said you never reached the age of understanding while she was alive. It’s a good conclusion you were young. I believe you are extremely intelligent, and that being the case, your perception of people must have happened not too far along after your mother’s death.”

  “How conscientious you are, Captain Blackthorn. I often find people more self-centered and merely pretend to listen.”

  “I’m more than observant, Miss Thatch. I’m interested in whatever you have to say.” His statement gave her a disturbing feeling, just like the kind she got when she felt as if someone watched her.

  “We’ve just met. How can what I say have any meaning to you?” she asked, challenging him for a logical but comforting answer.

  “You walk alone at night when ladies usually hire a coach.”

  “Have you tried finding a coach at this late hour? It’s not as easy as it sounds.”

  “Regardless, your actions show a rare courage most women don’t try to engage.”

  “Because I don’t act like a fragile girl, therefore there must be something unique about me?” She laughed, finding his reply satisfactory.

  “Something like that. Now you were telling me about your mother. I imagine you’re a lot like her.”

  “Hmm, that’s what my father said. I don’t remember much, but I miss her greatly. Though, I think most of my heartache is from the fantasy I’ve built of her. Love from her was a quiet sentiment, expressed in small ways, like a biscuit before supper and a new hair ribbon for no special reason.”

  Abigail and the captain continued walking. Silence grew heavy between them as her thoughts swirled around the notion of inviting him to dinner. Everything in her wanted to drag him into her house and spend the night in his company. The longer she dwelled on the idea, the better she saw the desperation in the proposal. She had to consider how they just met. No formal introduction. No chaperone. And absolutely no barriers against indecency.

  Her attraction to him had overwhelmed her, but it wouldn’t be the first time she had let desire overrule antiquated theories of respectability. She’d had a fiancé once with whom she had initiated intimacy. Randolph Humphries, needless to say, quite approved of the idea of bedding her every chance she gave him. However, he never took control. He taught her what he knew, and then she had to take over, eager to explore the unlimited bounds of intimacy. Randolph, on the other hand, was resistant when it came to unconventional positions. It made her wonder if other men were as reticent.

  Although there wasn’t anyone to take notice of what she did, she considered the current condition of her house. Unable to afford to keep the place, she had the misfortune of having the bank foreclose soon. And with that imminent proceeding, she had started to pack her belongings. The mess made the place unfit for entertaining.

  “You were telling me about your family.” The captain resumed the conversation. “I’d like to hear more about my namesake, Jasper. Did you like him?”

  She laughed, finding him intuitive with his insights as to what topics to avoid and which to employ to bring a smile to her face.

  “We were inseparable for years,” she said, fondly remembering her beloved pet. “He went everywhere I did. And at night, he slept with me.”

  The captain’s “Aha” made heat flare from her neck to her cheeks with embarrassing speed. Talk of Jasper in her bed gave her cause to envision the captain in that exact same place. Could he guess she was contemplating making love to him?

  She thought of Randolph. They had a terrific relationship for a while. Then he became more demanding of her time as if those moments in the dark when they were naked had made her a slave to him. The tiny glimpses of what marriage would be like drove her to ending their relationship. It ruined her reputation in that social circle of his friends. But she felt happier, even though she heard her neighbors’ rumors that she’d die an old maid.

  “I’m sorry. Here I go prattling on about my dog without giving you a chance to tell me about yourself. A captain, you said. Do you have your own ship?”

  “I have one of the finest ships in the world.”

  “Such a boast makes me ask, how do you know it is the finest?” She looked up, taking in the slope of his jaw, the outline of his lips. The movement of his mouth spun daydreams in her mind. Kissing him appeared so appetizing.

  “I’ve been everywhere and I’ve seen what the world has to offer,” he said wistfully. “A ship is built of wood and metal and fabric, but the finest is outfitted with love.”

  The sentiment sent a shiver through her. While she hoped to give her heart to someone, she also felt a terrified reluctance. Those she had truly loved—her mother, her father and even her dog—had died. The man she had planned to marry turned out to be so domineering she had run from her commitment to him.

  �
��Love?” she murmured, wanting to hear more, regardless of her usual aversion to the topic. She turned to him, excited by the hint of passion.

  “There’s nothing quite like owning a vessel that lets a man tame the wind and cut a path through a sea filled with dangerous creatures.” His smile suggested he knew how intense her insides fluttered with the prospect of finding such an all-powering love.

  Yes, the captain was a stranger. Yes, she had just met him on a darkened street. And yes, she was vulnerable. Still, the hope of an emotional uplifting had her spellbound. Even if for one night, she wanted someone to care that strongly about her.

  Jasper needed something to do as a deterrent to touching Abigail again. Every second she stood there looking stunningly alluring had been another second closer to him doing something unspeakable. There would be no explaining an impulsive kiss, so he put his arms behind his back and held his cane with both hands.

  “What dangerous creatures have you encountered at sea, Captain Blackthorn?” Abigail turned to him, walking backward for a second before spinning forward again.

  Every floral-etched brass button on her short waistcoat held the garment closed snugly. A wide black velvet sash around her waist enhanced the hourglass shape of her small frame. Grommets on the sash held hooks, and from those hooks hung a watch fob chain, a man’s coin purse and a couple of brass skeleton keys.

  “Whales, sharks, many are unnameable.” He walked cautiously, feeling more like a predator than a protector. Since the day she was born, she had been in his care without her knowing it. New developments in his life required him to watch her more consistently. Intuitively he had suspected she was in danger. He was sure of it when he arrived in port the day before and learned of her father’s death. The coincidence of his arrival was just too timely.

  Jasper thought of the puppy he had given her. Back when he visited her father on a frequent basis, he’d always brought Abigail a present. The animal for her fourth birthday was his last gift. By accident or fate, he was immortal, and it left him no choice other than to break ties with the family before Abigail was capable of remembering him.

  Over the years, he had kept to the shadows, following, spying and learning her habits. He watched her grow into a beauty. As she took on all aspects of maturity, acquiring the shape and disposition of a woman, he developed an intense fascination for her. At the age of nineteen she accepted a betrothal to Randolph Humphries, and over the span of the two-year engagement, Jasper watched her imaginative growth diminish. When he realized she was sexually active, jealousy hit him hard and he no longer saw or thought of Abigail as a child. He’d had a measure of satisfaction five months ago when he discovered she had cast aside her lover. His longing to experience what an undeserving man had with Abigail had prevented him from seeking out other women. Tonight he felt lecherous because of that abstinence. His ache to pounce was overwhelmingly strong as his mind replayed his fantasies. There was no counting the number of times he had awakened in a feverish sweat, drenched by orgasmic dreams. It would all start with him entering Abigail’s house, stealing quietly into her room, and finding her there naked on her bed—waiting for him.

  Jasper looked at her now, wondering what possessed him to come forward for something as inconsequential as helping get her foot unstuck from the harmless pavement. There was no future with her, no matter how much he wished for it to happen. How would he keep his eye on her after tonight without her recognizing him?

  “Are you in port for very long?” Her voice shook him from his reveries.

  The question smoothed the way for him to tell her outright who he was and why he was there. Except if she was aware of everything and accepting of his affections, what would stop him from pulling her into his arms and kissing her?

  “No,” he answered, sticking to his decision to stay out of her life.

  Immortality came with a burden—to lose those near and dear to the heart. Over a hundred and fifty years ago, one woman, Isabel, taught him the pain involved in losing someone. Since then, he forced himself to stay clear of all long-standing associations with mortals.

  “Hmm, that’s too bad.” Abigail’s sigh hinted of disappointment.

  At least that’s what he wanted to think. His fondness for her had entrenched him too deep to avoid overanalyzing her words. He had watched out for her for an old friend. Along the way, he found himself wanting to take care of her on a regular basis. He never expected his guardianship would move to a level of obsession.

  “This is it.” Abigail stopped at the walk leading up to the porch of the familiar dark green house. “See, only a block from where you found me.”

  “Yes, so it is.” He stared at the wine-colored fretwork and the dirty, white-framed windows. “I like it.” How could he not? He had spent many years watching the place.

  “So do I.” She fingered one of the rusty wrought iron pickets on the fence enclosing the yard. “Unfortunately, I cannot afford to keep the place.”

  “That’s a shame since it’s been in your family for a long time.”

  “Yes, it has.” She looked at him sadly. “But how did you know how long my family has had this house?”

  He touched a rose vine on the fence remembering how he had watched Abigail smelling the bright red flowers several times over the years.

  “Your talk of the dog,” he said, covering his slipup about the house and her family. “I just assumed you’ve been here all your life since you said you were given a dog here.”

  Abigail’s eyes watered with a shimmer of tears. Offering to help her directly was out of the question. It didn’t mean he had overlooked her problem. In fact, he had already arranged with his solicitor to buy the house the moment it went on auction. Afterward his solicitor was to offer her the house at an outrageously low rent and a lifetime lease.

  Jasper glanced away from Abigail when a very short man emerged from the dark shadows.

  “A few coins for the poor?” the fellow asked.

  Jasper reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out his leather coin purse, knowing immediately what the troll came for. “What can I expect for this?” He dangled the heavy pouch in front of him.

  “What do you ask?” the troll replied, scratching his crooked nose while he studied Abigail.

  “Only which you are capable to offer,” Jasper answered, wishing to make the deal a brief exchange.

  Obviously too intimidated by his ugly appearance, Abigail didn’t speak. Or had she encountered this troll before? It was doubtful since members of the breed seldom showed themselves to anyone.

  “Done,” the troll said with a nod.

  Jasper tossed the money to him. “A fair trade.”

  The troll gave him a nod again and strolled away, disappearing back into the darkness.

  “I think you gave him too much,” Abigail said. “And what was it you asked him to do?”

  “He’s a troll, and—”

  “That’s not very nice.” A hint of annoyance sharpened her tone. “He didn’t accost us, and it must have been hard for him to swallow his pride and ask for help.”

  “Help?” Jasper laughed, adoring Abigail’s sense of compassion and her naïveté. “You don’t really think he was in need of help, do you?”

  “I don’t understand.” Her eyes sparkled with irritation and an inquisitiveness that suggested she was open to hearing about the realities of make-believe. It gave him a bittersweet feeling of possibilities he wanted to explore.

  “The man was a troll, the kind you’ve heard about in fairy tales. He wasn’t looking for a handout. His mission was to test us.” Although Jasper suspected it was more an assessment of him rather than Abigail.

  “Trolls don’t exist,” she scoffed. “And even if they did—what kind of test?”

  “A troll can give a person bad luck if he’s of a mind to. If I didn’t give him any money, I’m afraid he would have left behind the worst for us, especially you, since this is your house. Now he cannot.”

  “I didn’t he
ar anything about luck in the conversation. How do you and he know you were talking about the same thing?” The words were a backdrop to the beautiful way her mouth moved.

  He’d heard her talk many times over the years. This was different. Rather than his distance from the conversation, she was looking up, directing every word to him. A blend of sweetness and heat from her breath dusted his face. He recognized the sated calmness of her expression. It wasn’t as if he had seen her naked or engaged in sex with her fiancé. Yet he knew the look—it was reminiscent of the afterglow, making her eyes sparkle and her cheeks redden. A bout of protectiveness, a twinge of jealousy, he had half a dozen emotions for the way he’d felt then, and they were even stronger now. He liked her too much. Resentment for his immorality reared as he thought of the heartache he would suffer when he walked away.

  “How do you know he’s a troll and not just an unattractive, ungainly small man?” She pursed her lips, showing a wavering inflexibility to accept reality. The pucker hypnotized him as he considered how to soften her stubbornness with a kiss.

  “I know trolls,” he answered, focusing on the topic instead of the pink pliability of her lips. “A long time ago, I ran into some trouble and I needed a place to stay until the matter was straightened out. A friend introduced me to one of their kind, and I was invited to stay in the catacombs.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  Her question surprised him. Had he taken her argument wrong? Did she believe in trolls and fairies and all things magical?

  “I’m sorry, that was rude. Of course it’s none of my business,” she said when he didn’t immediately reply. “And for your information, the catacombs under the city are uninhabitable.”

  “No need for apologies, you don’t know me,” he replied. “It’s natural to question my claims.”

  He didn’t like the hint of narrow-minded thinking. Abigail once had an imaginary friend when she was six. She talked to the invisible person just as she talked to him now. For Mr. Humphries to smother her openness to accept anything outside the mundane realm of her life further proved how good it was her relationship with that man was over.