Goddess of the Hunt (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #1)(15)

Sophia gritted her teeth, marshalling all her available forbearance. She needed to leave, she reminded herself. She needed this man. “Turner. Miss Jane Turner.”

“Miss… Jane … Turner.” He teased the syllables out, as if tasting them on his tongue. Sophia had always thought her middle name to be the dullest, plainest syllable imaginable. But from his lips, even “Jane” sounded indecent.

“Well, MissJane Turner. What are you drinking?”

“I’m not drinking anything. I’m looking for you,Captain Grayson. I’ve come seeking passage on your ship.”

“On theAphrodite? To Tortola? Why the devil would you want to go there?”

“I’m a governess. I’m to be employed, near Road Town.” The lies rolled effortlessly off her tongue. As always.

His eyes swept her from bonnet to half boots, stroking an unwelcome shiver down to her toes. “You don’t look like any governess I’ve ever seen.” His gaze settled on her hands, and Sophia quickly balled them into fists.

The gloves. Curse her vanity. Her maid’s old dress and cloak served well for disguise—their dark, shapeless folds could hide a multitude of sins. But as she’d dressed herself for the first time in her life that morning, her fingers shook with nerves and cold, and Sophia had assuaged their trembling with this one indulgence, her best pair of black kid gloves, fastened with tiny black pearl buttons and lined with sable.

They were not the gloves of a governess.

For a moment, Sophia feared he would see the truth.

Balderdash, she chided herself. No one ever looked at her and saw the truth. People saw what they wanted to see … the obedient daughter, the innocent maiden, the society belle, the blushing bride. This merchant captain was no different. He would see a passenger, and the promise of coin.

Long ago, she’d learned this key to deceit. It was easy to lie, once you understood that no one really wanted the truth.

“Lovely, aren’t they? They were a gift.” With a gloved flourish, she held out her letter. The envelope bore the wear and marks of a transatlantic voyage. “My offer of employment, if you’d care to examine it.” She sent up a quick prayer that he would not. “From a Mr. Waltham of Eleanora plantation.”

“Waltham?” He laughed, waving away the letter.

Sophia pocketed it quickly.

“Miss Turner, you’ve no idea what trials you’re facing. Never mind the dangers of an ocean crossing, the tropical poverty and disease … George Waltham’s brats are a plague upon the earth. One your delicate nature and fine gloves are unlikely to survive.”

“You know the family, then?” Sophia kept her tone light, but inwardly she loosed a flurry of curses. She’d never considered the possibility that this merchant captain could claim an acquaintance with the Walthams.

“Oh, I know Waltham,” he continued. “We grew up together. Our fathers’ plantations shared a boundary. He was older by several years, but I paced him for mischief well enough.”

Sophia swallowed a groan. Captain Grayson not onlyknew Mr. Waltham—they were friends and neighbors! All her plans, all her carefully tiered lies … this bit of information shuffled them like a deck of cards.

He continued, “And you’re traveling alone, with no chaperone?”

“I can look after myself.”

“Ah, yes. And I tossed Bains across the room just now for my own amusement. It’s a little game we seamen like to play.”

“I can look after myself,” she insisted. “If you’d waited another moment, that revolting beast would be missing an ear.”

He gave her a deep, scrutinizing look that made her feel like a turned-out glove, all seams and raw edges. She breathed steadily, fighting the blush creeping up her cheeks.

“Miss Turner,” he said dryly, “I’m certain in that fertile female imagination of yours, you think sailing off to the West Indies will be some grand, romantic adventure.” He drawled the phrase in a patronizing tone, but Sophia wasn’t certain he meant to derideher . Rather, she surmised, his tone communicated a general weariness with adventure.

How sad.

“Fortunately,” he continued, “I’ve never known a girl I couldn’t disillusion, so listen close to me now. You’re wrong. You will not find adventure, nor romance. At best, you’ll meet with unspeakable boredom. At worst, you’ll meet with an early death.”

Sophia blinked. His description of Tortola gave her some pause, but she dismissed any concern quickly. After all, it wasn’t as though she meant tostay there.

The captain reached to retrieve his felt beaver from the bar.

“Please.” Sophia clutched his arm. Heavens. It was like clutching a wool-sheathed cannon. Ignoring the warm tingle in her belly, she made her eyes wide and her voice beseeching. The role of innocent, helpless miss was one she’d been playing for years. “Please, you must take me. I’ve nowhere else to go.”

“Oh, I’m certain you’d figure something out. Pretty thing like you? After all,” he said, quirking an eyebrow, “you can look after yourself.”

“Captain Grayson—”

“Miss. Jane. Turner.” His voice grew thin with impatience. “You waste your breath, appealing to my sense of honor and decency. Any gentleman in my place would send you off at once.”