Fortune Is a Woman - Elizabeth Adler [121]
“Shall I see you at dinner?” he asked, looking anxiously at her as she left him, and she nodded, wishing shyly that she didn’t blush.
But back in her stateroom she worried about what to tell him. She was an imposter, traveling as the widowed Mrs. Harrison, and she’d bet that if he knew the truth he wouldn’t even want to speak to her. She told herself a hundred times she would have supper in her stateroom. She paced the floor watching the clock ticking slowly toward eight. At seven forty-five she gave in. She threw on a slender ice-blue silk dress with a deep V-neckline and long, tight sleeves. She pinned a huge cream silk rose at the shoulder, dabbed the French jasmine scent lavishly at her throat, brushed her blond hair into a shiny knot at the nape of her neck and checked her appearance in the mirror. She told herself nervously that no one could ever accuse her of having dressed to please him; she had gotten herself together in exactly ten minutes and looked as businesslike as any businesswoman could in clinging ice-blue silk. Throwing an aquamarine lace wrap over her shoulders, she made her way to the dining saloon.
She didn’t encounter a single other person on her way there and when she walked down the broad stairway into the saloon there were only half a dozen others present, all of them men. Captain Laird greeted her personally. “Please sit at my table, Mrs. Harrison,” he said, cheerfully. “There are so few of us left tonight and we’ll be glad of your charming feminine company.”
The dining room looked forlorn with its empty tables cleared of their glasses and silverware to avoid breakage, but the captain’s table was as beautifully arranged as ever, with everything anchored firmly into place. Captain Laird seated her on his right and Edward Stratton sat next to her.
“I thought you weren’t going to make it,” he whispered with a grin.
Despite herself, she laughed. “I almost didn’t,” she confessed, although she didn’t tell him it wasn’t because of the storm; it was because of him.
Captain Laird glanced knowingly at them; he was an old seafaring man, he had captained his own ship for more than twenty years and he had seen everything. He knew the beginnings of a shipboard romance when he saw one and he hoped, in a fatherly way, that young Mrs. Harrison knew what she was doing. Still, Edward Stratton was a gentleman, so he hoped for the best.
Francie was enjoying herself; she sipped a little champagne and nibbled at the caviar, listening wide-eyed to the captain’s tales of storms at sea, to the French diplomat’s stories of political skulduggery in wicked Shanghai, and to the businessmen’s sagas of double-dealing in Hong Kong and Singapore. They were all so sure of their masculine importance and she knew they thought of her as a decorative accessory, of as much value to them and their business world as the roses in the center of the table.
And then Edward turned to her and said, “And what is your reason for going to Hong Kong, Mrs. Harrison?”
“Oh,” she replied innocently, “I’m going to buy a ship.”
Silence fell around the table as half a dozen pairs of masculine eyes looked up at her.
“A ship, Mrs. Harrison?” Captain Laird asked politely.
“Why, yes.” Francie flashed them a dazzling smile. “A cargo vessel. I need it for my business, you see.”
“And may I ask exactly what business are you in, Mrs. Harrison?” the French diplomat sitting opposite asked, gazing admiringly at her. In his opinion, women who looked like that didn’t need to be in business, any man would be happy to give her as much money as she wanted just to be able to claim she was his.
“I am a merchant, Monsieur