Free The Captain of All Pleasures by Kresley Cole Page A

the man shouted, “Oh, no, Nicole. I forbid it! There is no way I’ll allow you to do this for me. I’d rather rot in here than take her money. If you go to her, you’ll always owe her and she’ll tear you apart.”
    Nicole’s her real name? I knew she wasn’t a Christina .
    â€œFather, it’s the only way—the race is in four, no, only three days now.”
    â€œNo! That’s final. For once in your life, you will do as I tell you—my God, when you first arrived, you certainly didn’t feel this way.”
    Nicole took a deep breath and said in a wistful tone, “No, but I suppose fate’s trying to tell me that we can’t always get what we want.”
    Lassiter was silent. Finally he said, “I won’t be beholden to that woman even if you’ve changed your mind.”
    She acted as if she hadn’t heard him. “The sooner I go, the sooner we can get you out of here.” She rose calmly to depart, leaving Lassiter choking on his myriad, unheeded commands.
    Derek almost smiled when, on her way out, she called over her shoulder, “Oh hush, Father! My mind’s made up.”
    When she reached Derek, she paused and looked up to him, her face grave. She probably thought this was all his doing. He felt a flush of guilt because, if she hadn’t arrived when she did, it would have been.
    â€œListen, I can help you,” he said, not caring if Lassiter heard him.
    He did. “Shut up, Sutherland!”
    â€œGo to hell, Lassiter,” Derek barked before turning back to hear her response.
    â€œHaven’t you done enough?” she asked, her eyes laced with sadness as she turned to go. Derek was right behind her, but the big man who’d been waiting stepped in front of him.
    â€œNot unless ye’ll be wantin’ another fight,” he warned as he backed out the door.

    It rained, the bone-chilling, lingering rain that always reminded Nicole of her last stay in this awful land. She’d been five years old. Her father was broken, her mother dead. Somehow he’d managed to get them to London from the South American port where Laurel Lassiter passed away. He would tell his mother-in-law in person that her daughter had died.
    A week after the dowager learned of Laurel’s death, she’d reemerged from her room as forbidding as ever. Her blond, gray-laced hair was perfectly coifed, her spine rigid. Only she looked much, much older and was clothed in black. She demanded to see Lassiter, and Nicole had been sent outside to play. But as usual, she couldn’t get warm, so with frozen feet and hands she’d sneaked back into the house. She stopped outside the door to the sitting room and peeked in when she heard them talking about her.
    â€œShe’ll never marry,” her grandmother had predicted, her oddly dark, cold eyes taking in Nicole’s poor father, her disgust undisguised. He was quiet before her.
    â€œIf you take Nicole back on that cursed ship with all those filthy sailors, you can assure yourself that by the time she’s to find a husband, a husband good enough for her station, her reputation will be so shredded that no member of the nobility will want her. Not to mention the fact that she has already turned into a little savage.”
    Lassiter had looked as if he might argue—Nicole remembered wanting him to—but he seemed to draw deep from some inner well of patience. “I can’t let her go just yet,” he said, his voice toneless. “She is all I have left of Laurel. I have to keep her with me.”
    â€œSelfish as always, I see.” They both turned toward the portrait of her mother above the fireplace. Laurel had been a lovely, fair-haired young woman. In the painting, she would look forever merry, as if she’d just been told something humorous and couldn’t be trusted not to erupt into peals of laughter at any moment. The skilled artist had captured that