Taming the Wild Captain Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Epilogue

  Also by Gemma Blackwood

  Copyright © 2017 by Gemma Blackwood.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, businesses, places, events and incidents are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Captain Richard Kirby set his cards down on the table, avoiding the patch of spilled ale.

  "Gentlemen, the game is mine."

  The air in the gaming hell was full of smoke and the scents of stale beer and unwashed men. Kirby no longer noticed the fug. He had become immune to it through long habituation. The name of this particular den of iniquity was Mallory's, a notorious gaming hell deep in the heart of Seven Dials, and a place where a man might as easily lose an eye as make a shilling.

  Women in tawdry dresses flickered past at the edge of Kirby's vision, but he had no eye for the demimondaines. He was not at all distracted by the sights and sounds which invariably accompanied the descent from dusk to dark night in a place like this.

  The only thing that interested him was the game.

  His opponent across the gaming table slammed his fist down upon his own losing hand of cards.

  "You appear to have won," said the rough-shaven fellow. "Again."

  "I don't require your congratulations," said Kirby, with a tight, mocking smile. "Only your money."

  Instead of a fat purse, the man leaned in and produced a waft of foul-smelling breath. "You've been lucky tonight, friend."

  Kirby glanced down to see the point of a knife glistening in the candlelight. He raised an eyebrow.

  "Do you intend to call me out like a gentleman, Barnham? Or will you be satisfied with gutting me like a fish?"

  Jack Barnham's mouth slid open. It was not a smile. It was merely an opportunity to showcase his array of blackened teeth.

  "I call you a cheat, Kirby. What do you say to that?"

  Kirby shrugged. The slow, languid movement might have been described by an onlooker as careless or even lazy.

  What they did not realise was that muscles were bunching underneath the tailcoat he still wore despite the heat. As far as Kirby was concerned, a man not well-dressed was no man at all. His expertly-tailored appearance, however, did not mean that he was one to shirk a fight. Men underestimated Kirby at their peril.

  "I advise you to withdraw your accusation," he said. He took the measure of Mr Barnham at a glance. Shirt sleeves rolled up, a smear of dirt on his cheek, and the bleary eyes of a drunkard more than half in his cups. He did not fill Kirby's heart with terror. But a man so unstable might yet prove dangerous in his way.

  Kirby had served in the militia for seven years and had learned some time ago to treat every drunken fool with caution. The lessons his service taught him had come at great cost...although the price was paid as often by his adversary as Kirby.

  "I'm withdrawing nothing –" Barnham began, rising in his chair. Kirby remained seated, the better to let Barnham think he had the upper hand.

  Barnham took one step forward before his arm was caught and pinned in a pincer-like grip by the enormous, bald-headed man employed as security by the shadowy Mr Mallory.

  "Time to go, sir," said the man, expertly squeezing the knife from Barnham's hand so that it fell to the floor with a clatter.

  "He stole my money!" Barnham protested, pointing in Kirby's direction.

  "What, Captain Kirby?" The security officer almost dropped Barnham's arm, so great was his amusement. "I don't think he has much call for thievery, sir. You've been playing with the canniest gambler this side of London, and more fool you for staying at the table to let him bleed you dry."

  "He's right, Barnham," called an equally unsavoury friend of the gentleman, who had hurried over to see what was causing the commotion. "Kirby's a notorious gamester. You would have done better to leave off half an hour ago as I told you."

  Barnham's eyes bulged. He relaxed in the security officer's grip. "Very well. Very well. Let me go. I'll cause no more fuss."

  Kirby thought it better not to risk the fragile peace by staying. "There'll be no more trouble here, gentlemen. I'm on my way."

  "Good riddance!" spat Barnham.

  Kirby paused partway through pulling on his delicate leather gloves. "That is, I'll happily be the one to leave...once this fine gentleman has paid me what he owes."

  "You can't be serious," Barnham protested. "I don't carry around that amount of money!"

  "Then I can't imagine what you intended by gambling with it." Kirby extended a gloved hand, waiting.

  Barnham spluttered and turned as red as the military jacket hanging in Kirby's wardrobe in Cheapside, but he reached for his purse nonetheless and threw the entire thing into Kirby's hands.

  Kirby weighed it thoughtfully. "I shall do you the favour of assuming it's not short."

  "I should think it isn't," Barnham growled. "It's all I have."

  "Then I wish you better fortune the next time you take a turn at the tables," said Kirby, inclining his head graciously. He left the man fizzing with rage.

  The freshly-fallen night had a distinct chill to it. Kirby wrapped himself in his greatcoat before stepping outside. He'd had a great deal to drink that evening, possibly almost as much as the wretched Barnham, but his larger size and greater experience held out in his favour. The only effects he suffered were a pleasant warmth in the pit of his stomach and the faint sensation that the ground beneath his feet was not entirely solid. Such feelings were all too familiar. Kirby greeted his current light-headedness as an old friend.

  What else was there for an officer of the militia to do on leave, after all, other than drink and line his pockets with the spoils of his gaming prowess?

  The street outside was scattered with the usual evening inhabitants of this shabby part of London. A group of raucous young gentlemen were stumbling from one door to the next – it was a lively area for gambling hells and the lesser-known drinking clubs. A few pinch-faced women watched them go, their dresses cut considerably lower and coloured more brightly than those found gracing the bodies of the ladies of the ton. It was as mundane to Kirby as the four walls of his own bedroom in his Cheapside lodging-house.
>
  No, not entirely mundane. There was one figure who did not belong in the scene.

  A familiar figure. A feminine figure.

  Acting on instinct, Kirby reached out and caught the young girl by the arm as she made to push past him into Mallory's. A shocked face turned towards him, as wide-eyed and innocent as the moon, and revealed a tumble of red curls from the edges of her bonnet that Kirby would not easily forget.

  "Miss Alice Sharp," he announced, every piece as amazed as she was.

  "Captain Kirby!" she gasped, wrenching her arm from his grasp. "No – no – now you will spoil everything!"

  "What the devil do you think you're doing here, unaccompanied and at night?"

  Alice was the sister-in-law of Kirby's closest friend – none other than the Duke of Westbourne. What business she had here in the gutter of London, he could not imagine.

  "I am going inside," said Alice, taking a step forward as though she truly intended to enter the gaming hell.

  "You certainly will not!"

  "Why? Is membership required?" She turned up her pert little nose. "It surely cannot be a gentlemen-only establishment, for I have seen several women enter – unaccompanied as I am."

  "You are not that sort of woman," Kirby growled, and hustled her down the street. Alice's loud protests drew more attention towards them than he would have preferred. "Stop that at once. It will not do for you to be noticed here, of all places."

  "I would run no risk of being noticed if you had not taken hold of me in such an uncouth manner!" she protested. Kirby ignored her and kept marching towards the street corner, where he was relieved to see a hackney coach standing empty. He hailed the driver and pushed Alice into the carriage.

  "Amberley House, Portman Square, as quick as you can," he ordered sharply. The driver whipped the horses to a lively pace. Amberley House was the London residence of the Duke of Westbourne. Alice would surely be staying there for the Season.

  Only when the dark rooftops of Seven Dials had slid from his view did Kirby begin to relax.

  Alice Sharp was sitting very upright opposite him, her hands folded in her lap and her proud face tilted upwards to hide the tremble of her lip. The intensity of her gaze made him feel that she was holding him up to the light, turning him this way and that, and examining his soul.

  "There was no need at all for that sort of behaviour," she said, with all the pride and authority of a chit of a girl more than ten years Kirby's junior. "I was perfectly safe, and I had business to attend to."

  "No young lady of the ton has any business in a place like Mallory's," he answered curtly. "The very sight of you entering such an establishment would have been an indelible blow upon your reputation."

  "But I –"

  "You do not know what you are talking about. That is plain enough. What are you, seventeen years of age?"

  "I am eighteen," she snapped.

  "You know nothing of that world. What on earth were you doing there?"

  Alice's mouth clamped shut. Kirby sighed. He had no patience for the foibles of a silly young girl too foolish to guard her own reputation. "No matter. I've no doubt that Westbourne will have it out of you soon enough."

  "You must not tell the Duke!" she gasped, her eyes suddenly wide. There was something most disconcerting in that clear hazel gaze. Kirby strove to avoid it.

  "I shall certainly tell him. He is responsible for your well-being here in London, is he not? It would be an act of betrayal if I did not inform him of your activities. Your actions reflect upon him too, you know."

  "You are too cautious, Captain, and too concerned with the character of people who bear you no relation."

  "I will always be concerned with the good name of my friend."

  "And your own good name? I take it you do not suffer from your attendance of such places as Mallory's?"

  "My name is far from good, Miss Sharp. And I have no ambitions to better it."

  Alice appeared to have a sharp retort ready on her lips, but Kirby met her with an expression so grim that she closed her mouth again and turned her face to the window. She was the very picture of high dudgeon. Why on earth she took issue with his perfectly reasonable warnings he had no idea.

  Whatever was a young, innocent and pig-headed girl like Alice Sharp thinking of, walking unaccompanied directly into the lion's den that was Mallory's gaming hell?

  CHAPTER TWO

  Alice stood in the hallway of Amberley House and prepared herself for a firm dressing-down.

  She loved her brother-in-law very dearly, but, all things considered, Harry was perhaps too young to assume the role as head of a household containing two lively, young, unmarried people. She and the Duke's brother, James, had run the young Duke ragged with their escapades among the ton over the spring, and the Season was not nearly over.

  All things considered, she counted herself lucky that it was only the Duke shaking his head in disbelief in front of her, and not his wife, Alice's sister, Catherine. A Duke's anger was a thing to run from, certainly, but the disappointment of a sister far outstripped it in terms of guilt and shame.

  "Walking the streets? Alone? At this time of night?" The Duke was caught midway between rage and despair. "Why, anything could have happened to you! You are lucky you were not robbed – or worse!"

  "Now you are being dramatic," sighed Alice, longing to flounce into the nearest chair and display her disdain for the silly rules of Society as clearly as she felt it. She respected Harry too much to do it, however; she stood and bore his disapproval bravely.

  "I am being nothing of the sort. This is not Elmston," he snapped, referring to the Devonshire village where they had both grown up. "London is full of dangers, particularly at night. I know your thoughts about the niceties of Society – indeed, I am sure every bright young woman who has Come Out has entertained similar feelings – but this is one rule rooted in concern for your safety. You must not walk about alone!"

  "I was not alone," said Alice, with a grimace. "Captain Kirby was kind enough to chaperone me directly back home."

  "You were born under a lucky star and you do not know it," growled the Duke. He turned to Kirby. "Is there any chance that she was seen?"

  "I pray that we escaped notice. I cannot say for sure."

  "Hang it all, Alice!" Harry turned on his heel and stalked into the drawing room. "Kirby! Come and help yourself to a drink. I am most painfully in need of one."

  Alice hesitated in the hallway, but Captain Kirby gestured for her to walk ahead. Evidently her telling-off was not yet complete.

  Harry poured himself a hefty slug of whisky and passed the bottle to Kirby. Catching Alice's eye, he gestured roughly towards a chair. "Sit down, won't you?"

  She obeyed, feeling her skin start to burn with humiliation. She was not accustomed to being the object of such sharp attention anywhere outside of a ballroom. The experience was far from pleasant.

  "Where were you going?" asked the Duke, once the drink had calmed him. "What sort of secret business could possibly call you out at such an hour?"

  "I simply wanted a walk," she answered. She was not a natural liar. The flush of deception coloured her cheeks.

  The Duke sighed. "Kirby? Should I take her at her word?"

  Alice closed her eyes and waited in great anguish for the final blow to fall.

  "I cannot see why not," answered Captain Kirby. Alice jumped as though she had been pricked by a needle. Her confusion did not escape either gentleman's notice.

  "A walk," the Duke repeated sarcastically.

  "London can be most confining in hot weather," Kirby remarked mildly, sipping at his drink. "I myself often find I am stifling for want of clean air. I quite sympathise with the lady's wishes – though not, of course, her method of action."

  Alice could not understand what she was hearing. There was no conceivable way that Captain Kirby truly believed she had been stopped at the doorway of Mallory's in the pursuit of a simple turn in the fresh air. What motive did he have to lie for
her? She was almost tempted to blurt out the truth in order to discover his purpose.

  "That is all you were doing?" the Duke asked suspiciously. "Walking? There was no secret assignation? No meeting with a lover?"

  The truth rose inside Alice like a fountain, poised to tumble from her lips. Now that the moment was come, she could hardly bear the thought of forcing Kirby to lie for her.

  Behind the Duke's back, the Captain very gently shook his head.

  "No assignation at all," she said, trying not to stutter over the words. "My, Your Grace, you have quite the imagination! How many secret lovers do you suppose I possess?"

  "Ideally, none," he grunted. "Very well. Kirby, I must offer you my most sincere thanks. As you see, I am overrun with foolish young things who have no respect for the way things are done."

  "Yes, I heard about young Marsden's latest scrape," grinned Kirby. That was James, the Duke's younger brother, who was notorious for his reckless driving and seemed to spend as much time falling out of his curricle and scandalising the pedestrians of Hyde Park as he did sitting in it.

  "Nothing was broken," said the Duke. "Except of course the front wheel, and James's pride. I cannot bear to think of the state my family name has been reduced to all over town."

  "You yourself have always been the perfect gentleman," said Alice tartly. "An example of good behaviour for us all to follow."

  That was designed to cut, and by the flash in the Duke's eyes it did. His own recent marriage to Alice's sister had come with its own share of gossip-worthy conduct.

  "You go too far, Miss Sharp," he said. "Perhaps your exertions this evening have left you overtired. Shall I send you to bed?"

  Alice bit her lip. How could he treat her like such a child in front of Captain Kirby? She was shamefully embarrassed! "I am sorry, Your Grace."

  The Duke cracked a smile. "A sharp tongue for a Sharp woman, I fear." This was a favourite saying of his since he had married the middle Sharp sister. "Now, Kirby, I am most disappointed that you did not tell me you were in town."