The Kiss: An Anthology About Love and Other Close Encounters(37)

Bathsheba had never felt this elegant - or nervous.

Mr. Hutton called in the afternoon as his card had indicated.

Her father came out of his library to make his acquaintance, only to discover that he had already met Alistair Hutton some years previous. They immediately fell to talking about things that had taken place since their last meeting. The conversation then turned to current affairs, leaving Bathsheba waiting patiently to garner Mr. Hutton's attention. In the end, she laughed and went about making sure they both had sherry rather than tea.

When Hutton mentioned the next evening's event, her father finally realised that the man might have come to see his daughter too. He made an excuse and left them for a quarter of an hour or so in the salon.

Bathsheba was wearing a soft blue day dress made of shantung silk which flattered her figure and brought out the colour of her eyes. For Alistair, there was no doubt that she stirred something within him. All the time he had been talking with her father, he had been aware of her on the periphery of his vision. It had been hard to concentrate on everything her father had discussed because he had been imagining how his life would be with her at his side.

As soon as they were alone, he apologised for not having been in contact sooner.

“I am sorry to have left it so late before seeing you again. I do hope that you had no misgivings about our tryst tomorrow evening? Urgent business meant that I had to leave the city rather precipitously. I needed to make a trip to Portsmouth about one of my ships and its cargo.”


“I do hope that your business went well?” Bathsheba quipped. She hadn't imagined that he was in shipping. It could be a prosperous venture as easily as a disastrous one. Many were the ships that were grounded, wrecked or even pirated.

“Yes, this time all was well with the cargo. The problem came from a dispute with the crew. My agent and I managed to sort that out without too many hard feelings.”

She was tempted to ask more, hoping the subject would veer towards his five years in North America. Since the afternoon in the teashop, her imagination had run rampant. She had invented all manner of motives for him being in the ex-colonies and then again, why she might not like to hear why he had been there five years. She could invent until the cows came home, but if she never knew the real reason, it would be wasted time.

“Has your shipping enterprise anything to do with your five years in the ex-colonies?”

There. She'd asked.

“I suppose you could say that it has,” he replied as though he had never thought of it before.

“I was a privateer for his majesty's government during the war with the United States.”

Bathsheba drew in a sharp breath involuntarily. She had not imagined something quite that dramatic. A privateer was the next step up from a pirate.

Alistair heard her and gave a sardonic smile. He did not like lying, which might be considered a defect in a privateer, however, he'd preferred taking the risk and being honest with her. He was preparing a solid foundation for any future dealings they might have - if any were to be had after this revelation.

“I imagine, then, that you have lived an exciting life...” she trailed off comparing her own inconsequential life with his.

“I was young and longing for adventure. Adventure was served to me on a silver plate for six months until a storm put the ship out of commission. Couldn't have been better for the Americans as we became easy prey. I don't know if you know, but captured crew of privateers are treated as prisoners of war?”

She shook her head. She didn't know a lot about the particulars of war and even less about the particulars of the high seas. Women were kept ignorant of anything that might hurtle their sensibilities. She certainly didn't have easy access to much except perhaps newspapers, which were known for their sensationalism. Her father was reluctant to discuss anything of any political consequence with her, so she was pretty na?ve when it came to anything outside her own domain. He must have guessed that. The Satyr's Seduction should have told him a lot.

“Does that mean that you were taken as a prisoner of war?” she asked.

“Yes. That is what happened. I was in a prison for nearly two years. Just as well that I was young and healthy because the conditions were atrocious.” He wasn't smiling as he remembered the filth and the rats.

“At the end of the war, the survivors were released and left to fend for themselves. I managed to sign on as crew on 'The Dainty' which was headed for the southern hemisphere. Difficult to be subservient when one has been master of his own ship, but I had no choice. I had no proof of my identity and even less money.”

“What a remarkable life you have lived,” Bathsheba said enviously.

“Did you not want to come back to England?”

“Ohhh, yes, but no one would take me on, except that one captain heading south. I was a scrawny specimen by the time I got out of prison. The captain's second journey, however, was back to our fair isle, so I signed on again and worked my way home with the same man. He was good to me, perhaps believing me when I told him I had funds in England. I just couldn't get at them without proving who I was.”

“How extremely frustrating for you. It would seem that you are now back to your old self, though.”

“No. I don't think my old self would have been in a museum and had the good fortune of meeting you,” he answered almost to himself. He then grinned at her and her heart missed a beat.