The Daredevil Snared. Stephanie Laurens
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what the situation really is before any hopes are raised.”
She’d understood perfectly. To have lost all hope, then have it handed back, only to have it snatched away again...that would be beyond cruel. She’d nodded. “Of course. I’ll go out with Diccon tomorrow and meet with...Captain Frobisher and learn all I can.”
So here she was, collecting nuts by rote, but... “Where the devil is Frobisher?” she muttered.
She bent over to pick up yet another nut—and a frisson of awareness swept over her nape. She abruptly straightened and looked around, searching through the shadows beneath the trees.
And he was suddenly there, walking out from the shadows, materializing from the gloom. She swung to face him and swiftly took in all she could see—all her senses could glean. The confidence in his easy stride, his lean, clean-cut features, his square chin, and the thick, dark locks that overhung a broad brow. His relaxed expression contrasted with the sword that rode on his hip—so very comfortably, it seemed. He was at least six feet tall and broad-shouldered, all lean muscle and masculine grace, then her gaze rose to his face, and she noted the network of lines at the corners of his eyes that she’d noticed many sailors bore. Then her gaze skated down over his strong nose and fastened on his mouth.
On a pair of mobile lips that looked like they curved readily...
And there her gaze remained as he halted before her.
Stop staring!
With an effort, she managed to haul her gaze to his eyes. The lines at the corners crinkled as he smiled.
She felt her temperature rise and feared it showed in her cheeks. But great heavens! Smiles like that—on men like him—should be outlawed.
“Good morning. Miss Fortescue, I believe?”
His voice was deep, slightly rumbly, and ruffled her senses like an invisible hand.
She managed a nod. “Ah...yes.”
So eloquent! She nearly shook her head in an attempt to shake her wits back into place. Instead, she forced herself to look aside, to glance at Diccon; he’d drifted away searching for fruit and berries.
He’d heard Frobisher’s voice and came running up.
She caught the boy to her, draping a protective arm over his shoulders. “Diccon told us you had come to learn more about the camp so that a rescue could be mounted.” Reminding herself of Frobisher’s supposed purpose helped her stiffen her spine. She raised her gaze to his eyes once more. “Is that so?”
He inclined his head, but his expression hardening, he lifted his gaze from her face and scanned the vegetation about them. Then he returned his gaze to her eyes, and all trace of the lighthearted gentleman had vanished. “Forgive me for asking this, Miss Fortescue, but I must. Don’t rip up at me.” He lowered his voice. “Are you truly free of Dubois? Free to talk, free to take back what I say to your colleagues at the mine?” He paused, then, his blue gaze locked on her eyes, he asked, “Can I trust you?”
“Yes.” The word came spontaneously, and she realized she meant it on every level. How odd. She didn’t trust others all that easily. Fate and hard-won experience had taught her bitter lessons she’d never forgotten. But there was something about him—this man who had, against all hope, walked out of the jungle to meet her—that spoke to her and reassured her at some level she didn’t comprehend. She nodded and repeated, “Yes. You can trust all of us.” She gestured in the direction of the camp. “We’ve worked together for months. If we had any who might have been tempted to collude with Dubois and his men, we would have known long ago.”
She glanced at Diccon and realization dawned. “But if it’s my coming out with Diccon that has worried you, I had already asked Dubois for permission for the women, one a day in rotation, to go out with Diccon. Dubois agreed to a trial, but with only me being allowed out and that only for an hour, and only to collect these nuts”—she gestured to the contents of her basket—“that he particularly enjoys. He very likely hopes his conditions will drive a wedge between me and the other women by making me appear to be favored.” She grinned cynically and glanced up at Frobisher. “That’s how he thinks. Unfortunately for Dubois, it was another woman’s idea—I just offered to ask.”
He frowned. “I need you to tell me about Dubois—about how he manages the camp and all of you.”
She hesitated, her gaze on his face. His handsome face, but this time, she looked beyond the glamour. “First...will you tell me your name, please?”
He met her eyes, then he stepped back and swept her a bow. “Captain Caleb Frobisher, of Frobisher Shipping Company, sailing out of Aberdeen.” Despite his level tone, as he straightened, he waggled his brows at her.
She nearly laughed in surprise, threw him a mock-disapproving look instead, but the silly byplay reassured her. “Hopkins and Fanshawe thought that was who you were.”
“Ah, of course. I don’t know them personally, but they would know my older brothers.”
She peered into the shadows behind him. “Diccon said you had twenty-four men with you.”
Caleb grinned down at Diccon, who had remained beside Katherine and was staring up at Caleb with rapt attention. “That’s correct, but most are busy burying some weapons in a cache by the lake, and others are watching the compound or guarding our camp. I only brought one man with me—a friend, another captain, who I’m grateful saw fit to join me in this mission.” He returned his gaze to Katherine’s face. “With your permission?”
When she nodded, he waved to Phillipe to join them.
Phillipe walked out of the jungle. Caleb performed the introductions—and discovered he wasn’t all that happy to have to watch Phillipe bow over Miss Fortescue’s hand and press a kiss to her knuckles.
He knew it was just Phillipe’s way, yet...
But on retrieving her hand with no more than a polite smile, Miss Fortescue immediately returned her bright hazel eyes to Caleb’s face. “Weapons?”
He felt oddly mollified. “Indeed.” He looked at Diccon. “Perhaps you’d better gather more fruit so that you can go back with Miss Fortescue. She only has another twenty minutes or so left.”
Diccon flashed Caleb a swift grin. “All right. Will you still be here?”
“Yes.” Caleb looked around and spotted a fallen log; he pointed to it. “We’ll be over there.”
“Right-o!” Diccon smiled at Miss Fortescue. “There’s a big berry bush I passed yesterday nearer to the lake. I’ll be back in no time.”
“I’ll wait for you.” Miss Fortescue watched Diccon run off, then she looked at Caleb. “Sadly, there’s no need to protect him. He told us he thought that you and your men had killed Kale and his slavers. Is that correct?”
Caleb kept his gaze on Diccon’s dwindling figure. “We didn’t just kill Kale and his crew—we wiped all sign of them from this earth.” He looked back and met Miss Fortescue’s pretty hazel eyes without apology. “That’s where the weapons come from.”
Her gaze remained steady on his face. “Once that news is known in the compound, you’ll be feted as a hero. For all of us, Kale was the instigator of our captivity.”
Caleb hesitated, then said, “He might have been the one who arranged your kidnappings, but the instigators...sadly, they’re closer to home.” He saw the questions leap to her eyes, but forced himself to wave them aside—to wave her to the fallen log. “You don’t have much time, and there’s a lot of information we need, as well as news we should impart.”
She nodded and accompanied him to the log. He reached for her hand—felt the delicate bones under his larger, stronger fingers; he gripped gently and handed her to the log. She drew in her skirts and sat, with an unconscious grace that would have done credit to a ton drawing room.
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