Shipmate: A Royal Regard Prequel Novella by Mariana Gabrielle Read Free Book Online

his boot.
    Sir Jasper was younger than Myron, if not in
visage, at least in swagger and smugness. Though they were nearly
the same height, Sir Jasper’s thin face was slightly bonier than
his shoulders, leaving Myron with the sure knowledge he could snap
Smithson in two like a matchstick, if need be. His hair was worn
long and tied in a queue, dragging his forehead back and
lengthening his features, the greying locks greasy and dusted with
flakes of dried skin. The velvet-trimmed suit the man wore was well
tailored, the fabric sturdy, but the nap was begin to shine and,
after Myron’s excruciating visit to Pinnester’s tailor, he could
tell it was at least a few years out of date.
    Once the hot water had been delivered and
talk of the weather exhausted, Sir Jasper’s voice turned as oily as
the bridge of his nose when he waved his hand at his
brother-in-law. “You need not stay, Effingale. Holsworthy and I can
do business without you.”
    “You will not,” Effingale returned in a
quiet voice. Were that precise tone directed at him, Myron would
already have a knife in his hand. Effingale’s quiet exactitude was
more treacherous by half than Sir Jasper’s blustering. “And as
always, you may call me Lord Effingale.”
    Sir Jasper just snapped, “My daughter, ain’t
she, Effingale?” sloshing a bit of brandy from the tumbler to his
thigh and rubbing the stain into his breeches.
    “ Lord Effingale,” Myron said, though
he had been on an informal basis with the man for almost a
sennight, “should you prefer, you may certainly leave me to discuss
the matter with Miss Smithson’s father.”
    Their eyes met and Myron acknowledged
without words that he knew this man did not have his daughter’s
best interest at heart—and that Effingale did. The viscount slowly
traversed the carpet, placing the decanter of his good brandy back
on the sideboard as he left the room.
    Myron sat forward to pour himself more tea.
Sir Jasper seemed to be in no hurry to discuss terms, as he was
more focused on gulping as much good brandy as he could. This was
to Myron’s advantage, though, for if there was one thing he could
do better than anyone he had ever known, it was negotiate a
contract. Starting with remaining silent until his opponent
blinked.
    Myron sipped his tea slowly, waiting for
demands to be made known by the other man; the term gentleman sat more easily on Myron than it did on Smithson,
and Myron still didn’t like it on himself at all. Tracking Sir
Jasper across the room to the brandy decanter, he watched the level
in the glass rise nearly to the top before Miss Smithson’s father
replaced the crystal teardrop stopper and pushed the carafe across
the wood, likely leaving a scratch.
    On the way back to his seat, Sir Jasper
finally spoke. “You want to marry my daughter, do you? My dearest,
darling girl?”
    Myron inclined his head. Not only did he
want it, but if the alternative were leaving that shy, gentle young
lady in the hands of this degenerate, he would do nearly anything
to accomplish it, including a trip to the Scottish border. He was
more than half-certain Effingale would loan his carriage if it came
to that. Still, no use showing his hand when he didn’t yet know if
this man knew how to play cards.
    “I heard you want to take her off to sea
with you.”
    “Correct.”
    Sir Jasper shook his head slowly, false
concern etched into his forehead, clucking his tongue in a small
rebuke. “I’m afraid I could never allow such a thing. She is my
little girl, you know. Just a gentle babe. Would break my heart to
put her in such danger. Her mother, God rest her soul, would strike
me dead if anything should happen to that sweet girl.”
    The questioning look over the rim of Sir
Jasper’s glass tried to determine if Myron was buying the line of
fustian being slung about the room. Myron schooled his eyes to
provide no answer and waited to see how long it would take for Sir
Jasper to admit what he wanted. Almost