Property of the Marquis

Chapter 7

CHAPTER TWO

Dozens of boats formed a forest of masts that rose high above her head. The docks were crowded and hot, the humid air sweltering, except when a breeze came in off the ocean and momentarily cooled the skin. Laney was the picture of a classy, s****l woman, dressed casually in a pair of white shorts and a yellow halter top that nicely accentuated her hourglass figure, her ample chest and her tawny skin. The hint of her n*****s was visible at first glance, in style with fashion but not bold enough to assault the eye. She wore a broad-brimmed sun hat to shade her face from the intense Caribbean sun, a pair of dark tortoise-shell sunglasses, and the Marquis’ platinum bracelet, along with several silver bangles on her left arm.

Laney shuddered with remembrance as she walked along the docks toward the boat rental hut, trying to push away thoughts of Erik. This wasn’t about Erik anymore; he hadn’t deigned to stay in her life. Sometimes she was very angry about his death. She resented his checking out so early with so many questions left unanswered. Not the least of which was the mystery of the bracelet he’d placed around her wrist in a ceremony that signaled a deeper union between them as Owner and property, Master and slave—she was still not completely sure how Erik would have described them. Now Erik didn’t matter. She belonged to the Marquis, not her dead husband.

Sandra had Essex. Elise had her blonde boy conductor. And Laney had nothing but the bracelet. There were other options, certainly; cutting it off being one. But finding the man who owned it, who owned her seemed to be the only option she’d consider.

For months, Laney had believed that some unknown stranger might arrive on her doorstep and announce themselves as the Marquis—or his agent. Erik’s death had been public enough; anyone who knew him, knew he’d died. Learning that Essex had been in contact with Sandra confirmed that the masters from Marquis Island still had their eyes on the three women. But still no one came to claim her…or even use her. Why? The question begged an answer and consumed her thoughts for hours on end.

When no one appeared, she’d decided to take the matter into her own hands. This was certainly not a submissive thing to do, but what other choice did she have, with a well-spring of desire attacking her everyday, and the reminder of that raw sexuality of submission physically burned into her flesh and the bracelet an even more visible reminder.

“Sir!” she stood at the front of the rental hut, waving to the young man inside, who was eating an island rice dish and drinking Dr. Pepper. He turned around, and with eyebrows raised, set his meal aside and walked forward.

“I need to hire a boat and driver to take me to Marquis Island.”

“We no rent boats for island.”

“Oh, but you do. I was there before.”

The small brown-skinned man shook his head. “No go there. Private island.”

“Please, it’s just a run-down old estate. I’m a photographer, she held up her high-priced digital camera. I’m scouting the place for a photo shoot.”

“No, can do that, Lady. No one goes there.”

“Please. I pay well…”

He shook his head again.

“Maybe a fisherman, or someone with a pleasure boat?” she nodded toward the maze of boats behind her. “You know someone?”

“No, ma’am, no fishermen go there. Island bad news. Old man drown there last year. It’s all closed down now.”

“Please!”

He shook his head and Laney turned away, sighing miserably. To charter a plane to St. Martina only to be turned away was not what she expected, so she struck out on her own to speak with the boat owners and fishermen…certainly there was someone who could help her. She worked her way along the wharf, asking around and getting no results, until a middle-aged sailor wearing a white cap, and about to set off in his thirty foot sailboat, directed her to a fishing boat, and a fisherman at the far end of the farthest dock, closest to the bay and the ocean beyond.

“He sometimes goes that way. He’s been looking in on the island since the old man died.”

“The old man?” Laney wondered aloud. “Would that be Archibald Devane?”

“Yeah, that was his name,” the friendly fellow smiled.

“Well, thank you. I appreciate the information.”

Laney took off down what seemed to be oldest of the docks, which was a little rickety now. She stepped carefully to avoid the broken boards. Her heart fluttered excitedly when she finally spotted a man on the boat at the end of the dock. She moved on unwaveringly until she was standing behind the fisherman. He couldn’t have seen her with his back to him as he bent over a tangle of fishing nets at the bottom of his boat.

“Sir!” she tried to stir the fellow. “Sir! May I speak with you?” She raised her voice so it would rise above the sound of cawing gulls and a boat engine that nearly drowned out her voice.

She waited and was about to try again, when he suddenly turned around. Laney jumped back startled, staring into a much younger face than she anticipated. He wore baggy shorts, a faded purple t-shirt and a pair of sturdy boots. He couldn’t be more than forty, and was likely more her age of thirty-two. His face sported two maybe three days growth of beard and his short hair was in need of a trim. For just an instant, Laney had the distinct impression that the face of a Wall Street banker lay underneath his scruffy visage. And the way his pale grey-blue eyes lit into her, she was momentarily shaken.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, turning back to his work, focusing his attention on the fishing nets.

“I was told that you might be able to take me to Marquis Island.”

“You mean Lower Gull Isle,” he came right back.

“No, I mean Marquis Island.”

“Yeah, well the old man died,” he said, as he shifted a net from one side of the boat to the other, “and the pretty resort is pretty much a ruin now.”

“But you could take me there?”

“Yeah, maybe. The owner doesn’t much like people poking around, but they do.”

Laney waited for him to speak again, but he continued his work, ignoring her.

“So, what can I pay you? It’s very important that I return there.”

“You’ve been there before?” he briefly glanced her way.

“Once. A few years back. I was stranded there with my husband and some friends.”

“So, why go back?”

She had no intention of telling him the real reason, but she was prepared for the question and had her explanation ready. “I’m a photographer. I’m scouting out places to do fashion photo shoots. Marquis Island would be perfect. There’s a breathless tropical ambience you just can’t duplicate with sets.”

The fellow looked up again, a bit more interested now. He c****d his head and squinted, his deeply suntanned skin creasing at the corners of his eyes, He raised his hand to shade them from the sun’s glare. He probably couldn’t see her face with sun behind her.

“Five hundred dollars. US,” he said.

“Five hundred?” she looked shocked, but she really didn’t care. She’d pay him five thousand if that’s what it took.

“That’s the price. Take it or leave it. We can shove off tomorrow ‘bout noon, after I’m back from my early morning rounds.”

“Okay, I’ll be here.”

“Cash. Small bills, please, something I can spend.”

“You’ll have it.” She had twice as much cash in her purse. “I’m Laney Priestly,” she held out her hand.

He shook his head and smiled, holding up his grimy ones for her to see.

She smiled back. “Well, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

After a thorough inspection of the fisherman, she decided that there was nothing particularly unusual about him. He had an average build, muscled as you would expect from his occupation. He had a direct manner, and appeared honest and hard-working. She’d give him a decent tip.

“Alex Greenwood,” he said.

“I’ll be here at noon,” she replied.

“I should be back by then, but don’t worry if I’m not, I won’t forget.”

“Okay,” she smiled warmly.

Laney’s worries settled, knowing that she had a means to get back on the island. What troubled her more was the death of Archibald Devane, something she hadn’t expected. It was in her mind to speak with him about the island, the bracelet and the Marquis. What answers to her dilemma that the island could give up on its own she wasn’t sure of, and this put her trip in a whole new light. But she also knew that regardless of her narrowed opportunities for information, she’d make the trek and hope she’d find something on the island to guide her next step.