The men worked out the details of the expedition while Lady Julianna was kind enough to remain quiet and not pepper Marianne with questions.
After the arrangements had been made, Beau and Marianne returned to Lord Copperpot’s town house in the wee hours of the morning.
Beau drafted a letter for Lord Copperpot, informing the man that he had to leave immediately due to an unexpected illness in his family. He assured his former master that Mr. Broughton had already been sent for. Grimaldi had seen to that.
Marianne wrote a similar letter for Lady Wilhelmina. If she hadn’t come to precisely like the young woman, at least she’d come to worry about her. Grimaldi had promised to ensure a suitable lady’s maid would be found for her as well.
Marianne and Beau waited in the servants’ hall beneath the staircase until they heard a footman come downstairs to indicate that Baron Winfield had ordered his coach put to. Apparently, the good baron wanted a ride to the docks.
As soon as Baron Winfield and Albina drove off, Marianne and Beau rushed across the roadway and hopped into a coach that General Grimaldi had ordered for them, waiting across the street.
The coachman gave them a letter from Grimaldi, which Beau promptly ripped open and Marianne read over his shoulder.
* * *
Agents M&B,
We’ve learned which ship they’re taking. It’s one of Worthington’s—the same one you’ll be traveling on as well. Stay in your cabin. Pretend you’re a married couple.
G
* * *
They both remained silent for the remainder of the ride to the docks, while visions of all the things that could go wrong spun themselves through Marianne’s brain. She’d never left England before on a mission. She’d never left England before at all. To date, her work as a spy had involved serving as a lady’s maid and listening at keyholes, but this, this was an entirely different type of mission. One that posed a great deal of danger.
She did her best to be brave, telling herself that obviously General Grimaldi thought she was up for the task or he wouldn’t have given her orders to go. Besides, she had Beau at her side, and from what she’d learned about him, he was an experienced agent indeed.
Sailing to France would accomplish more than one of her goals, however. She’d already intended that after she had discovered the identity of the man who’d killed Frederick, she would travel to France to attempt to locate her brother, David—or die trying. This new turn of events would merely help her accomplish the second task more quickly. Did it matter that her insides were a mass of nerves and she just might cast up her accounts at any moment?
Despite her misgivings, she plastered a confident demeanor on her face for Beau’s sake. He didn’t need to see to her while he concentrated on such an important mission. No. She would take care of herself, and do her best to see that Baron Winfield and Albina were brought to justice.
In a matter of only a few hours, Marianne and Beau boarded the ship and were already on their way out to sea. The ride along the Thames and out into the channel was a particularly choppy one. And the October wind that sheared through the ship’s wooden slats made the stateroom they’d been assigned extremely cold. The entire ordeal was made all the worse by the fact that they were confined to a cabin the approximate size of a hat box. And not for a big hat.
Additionally, there was only one bunk. One tiny bunk. Marianne took one look at it and decided not to think about it again until she had to. Instead she went about putting away the few articles of clothing she’d managed to stuff into her old, worn valise before they’d rushed off to the docks. Beau had quickly and efficiently put his things in the wardrobe before tucking his rucksack into the bottom of the cabinet.
To quell her nerves, Marianne next began looking through every drawer in the cabin. When she opened a cabinet above the small desk, she smiled. There sat a bottle of brandy and two glasses, with a note that she plucked up to read.
* * *
To make the journey more palatable,
Worth
* * *
“Seems the duke left us a gift.” Marianne sat the note on the edge of the desk before pulling the bottle and the glasses from the cabinet. She set all three on the desk as well.
Beau picked up the note and read it, shaking his head. “That fool. He knows I don’t drink.”
“I do.” The words shot from Marianne’s mouth.
Beau inclined his head toward her. “By all means, please, enjoy it.”
Marianne didn’t need to be told twice. Brandy might be just the thing to calm her nerves at the moment. She opened the bottle and poured a healthy glass for herself. “You’re certain you don’t want any?”
Beau shook his head. “No, thank you.” He took a seat on the edge of the bunk.
Marianne lifted the glass to her nose and sniffed its contents.
“Have you had brandy before?” Beau asked, a frown marring his brow.
“Yes,” she replied. “But not often. My brothers and I were always daring each other to do certain things. Taking a nip from Papa’s brandy bottle was sometimes one of them.”
Beau laughed at that. “I wish I’d had a brother.”
Marianne smiled. “I loved growing up with brothers. They taught me everything they knew, but they also always made certain I was safe.”
Beau braced his hands on the wooden frame of the bunk and scraped his boot along the wooden floorboards. “They sound as if they were quite good brothers. I’m sorry about Frederick.”
Marianne swallowed. Tears had sprung to her eyes. She shook her head to dispel them. “I still have David at least. That is…I hope I do.”
Beau turned his head to look at her. “Do you have any idea where he’s being kept?”
“No. But as soon as I find out who murdered Frederick, I intend to search for him.”
Beau’s brows shot up. “With General Grimaldi’s blessing?”
Marianne lifted her chin and swallowed. “I won’t need General Grimaldi’s blessing. In fact, after this is through, I intend to stay in France to look for David.”
His brows inched even higher. “Really?”
“That’s right.” She nodded firmly. “I’m not coming back without him.”
“I can understand that,” Beau replied. “If I had a brother who was in trouble, I’d go to the ends of the earth to save him, too.”
Marianne lifted the glass and eyed the amber liquid. “You said you don’t have a brother. Do you have any sisters?”
“Yes, a younger sister, Annabelle. She’s quite safe in London, however.”
“How old is she?” Marianne asked, trying to picture a sister who looked and acted anything like Beau.
“Twenty-two.”
“Is she married?”
“Not yet. Annabelle’s a bit…spirited. At least that’s the word my mother likes to use. To date, she’s refused all offers—and there have been over a dozen.”
“Are you close to her?”
“Not especially. She’s a wonderful young lady, it’s just that I’ve been…distracted.”
“With your work?” Marianne prodded.
“Precisely.” Beau sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face.
Marianne lifted the glass to her lips and finally took a tentative sip of the brandy. As soon as it touched her tongue, she frowned. “Ugh. It’s just as awful as I remember it.”
Beau smiled and shook his head.
Still clutching the glass, Marianne glanced around. The only other place to sit in the small room besides the bunk was the chair in front of the desk, but instead of pulling it out, she stepped over to the bed and sat a pace away from Beau. “Have you ever tried brandy before?” she asked, lifting the liquid up to the light.
“No.” He shook his head. “I can honestly say the stuff has never touched my lips.”
“What about port?” she asked next.
“Never,” he replied.
“Really?” Marianne blinked and took another sip. Another frown followed. “That�
��s surprising. I thought all gentlemen of the ton liked brandy and port.”
“Not me.” His voice was tight, and he was staring straight ahead at the wooden wall above the desk with a faraway but determined look in his eye.
“Why is that?” Marianne ventured.
Beau shook his head and quickly stood. “I need to go speak to the captain before we’re underway.”
Marianne lowered the glass to her lap and blinked at him. “What? Why? General Grimaldi said we should stay in the cabin.”
“I’ll be careful,” Beau replied stoically before quickly opening the door and disappearing into the narrow passageway without another word.
Staring after him, Marianne took a hefty sip of her brandy. Just as she remembered, it tasted better after a few sips. Or, more precisely, her tongue was numb enough not to notice after a few sips. Much better that way.
She sloshed the dark liquid around the short glass. Why was Beau still so reluctant to tell her his reasons for not drinking? He hadn’t answered her when she’d asked at the servants’ dinner at Clayton’s house. She’d assumed it was because he’d got jug-bitten too many times. But apparently, he’d never even tasted the stuff. That was interesting. Whatever his reason, he clearly was uneasy about it; she’d never seen the man leave a room so quickly as he just did.
She stood and set her brandy glass on the desk before opening the small wardrobe that was built into the wall. Her things and Beau’s were intermingled. A pang of some unexpected emotion reverberated through her chest. They were pretending to be a married couple. Something that could never truly happen. But seeing their clothes hanging in the wardrobe together, it felt real. If only for a moment.
Glancing at the door to ensure he wasn’t coming back right away, Marianne leaned into the wardrobe and sniffed his shirt. Ah, it smelled like him. A mixture of soap and man and something indefinable that was unique to only Beau.
Confound it. She was sniffing shirts. She’d clearly gone mad. Sighing, she closed the wardrobe doors and turned back to stare at the tiny bunk. How in the world would they manage to sleep in that thing together without her wanting to rip off his clothing?
She giggled as she picked up the glass again and finished off the brandy. She was already feeling light-headed. Perhaps if she kept drinking, she wouldn’t keep herself from ripping off his clothing. Perhaps.
Beau didn’t return until it was dark outside. Marianne had spent the day convinced he’d either been found by Baron Winfield or tossed off the ship by the captain for some reason. She was just about to go in search of him when he came barreling through the door with a tangle of rope and some books in his arms.
“Where’ve you been?” The question flew from her mouth. Oh, she was doing quite a fine job at sounding like a wife, wasn’t she?
A hint of remorse showed on Beau’s features. “I was with the captain. He’s having dinner sent to us.”
“That’s nice of him,” she replied before gesturing to the items he was carrying. “What’s that for?”
First, he held up the three books. “I got these from the captain. I thought you might like them to pass the time tomorrow.”
A secret thrill shot through her. She loved to read. She took the books and placed them in the cabinet. The Taming of the Shrew, The History of Tom Jones, and Sense and Sensibility. She had to admit, the man had made excellent choices.
“What’s that?” She pointed at the tangled rope.
“This is a hammock. I thought I’d try to string it up to sleep on it.”
Disappointment shot through Marianne’s chest. Apparently, he’d been thinking about the size of the bunk too, and had made arrangements to avoid it.
They both looked around the tiny cabin for a few moments.
“There doesn’t seem much of a place to string it,” Marianne pointed out.
Beau winced. “I was afraid that might be the case.”
“It’s all right,” Marianne replied. “The wind is picking up. If we share the bunk, we can share heat.”
Beau arched a brow. “If you insist.” His grin was unrepentant.
“Not for that reason,” she said, her cheeks burning.
“Very well, but you need only say the word,” he replied.
Marianne couldn’t help the rush of heat that spread through her limbs at his words. She shouldn’t be looking forward to sharing the tiny bunk with him, so why was she?
Beau stashed the useless hammock in the wardrobe as a knock sounded at the door. “Who is it?” he said in an accent he’d affected.
“It’s dinner, Mr. Baxter, sir,” a voice called back.
Beau nodded at Marianne before moving past her to open the door. A cabin boy shuffled in with a tray on his shoulder. Leaning down, he placed the tray on the desk, then turned around and doffed his cap. “The captain says if there be anything else ye need, just let me know,” the boy said, pointing a thumb at his chest.
Beau flipped the lad a coin and he shuffled back out of the room as quickly as he’d come.
Marianne nearly jumped from the bed to examine the meal. “I’m starving,” she announced before removing the lid from one of the platters to reveal a healthy portion of stew, a biscuit, and some peas.
“It looks delicious,” she said, her stomach growling.
“Leave it to Worth to have a decent meal on a ship,” Beau replied.
“Perhaps that why Baron Winfield chose it,” Marianne said with a laugh.
Beau took his platter and sat on the bed to eat, leaving the desk and chair for Marianne.
An hour later, they had consumed the meal and the dishes had been removed by the cabin boy, who’d reappeared at precisely the right time; and Marianne had imbibed a bit more brandy.
Beau blew out his breath gave her an apprehensive look. “Well.” He gestured toward the bunk. “Shall we?”
Marianne tossed back the rest of her second glass of brandy. She wasn’t jug-bitten, but she was certainly less anxious than she had been before she’d imbibed. “Yes,” she said with a resolute nod.
“I can wait in the corridor while you—” He gestured toward the wardrobe.
“No, need,” she replied. “If you’ll just…turn your back.”
“Of course,” he said, spinning on his heel in a flash.
Marianne had to squelch her laugh. It was a bit ridiculous after all, considering the man had seen her entirely in the nude already on more than one occasion. At the moment, however, they were nothing but colleagues, and colleagues needed to turn their backs when changing clothes and sharing bedchambers.
She pulled her night rail from the wardrobe and quickly divested herself of her gown. She was dressed and under the covers before she announced, “I’m decent.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” came Beau’s sardonic reply.
She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling and turned her head toward the wall so he could undress.
“I, er, normally sleep in the nude,” he said.
Marianne gulped. “Well, uh, could you, perhaps, keep your breeches on tonight?”
“I can do that,” he replied, humor edging his voice.
Moments later, his weight settled onto the bunk beside her. They bumped into each other and both apologized before she nearly rolled herself flat against the wall on the far side of the bunk to keep from touching him.
“That cannot be comfortable,” he said with a chuckle.
“It’s not,” she admitted with a laugh, partially rolling back onto the mattress.
They laid like that, side-by-side, the entire lengths of their bodies touching from their shoulders to their legs.
“Comfortable?” Beau finally asked.
“Better,” she admitted. She was staring at the ceiling as if the dark brown wooden slats were the most fascinating things she’d ever encountered.
Beau leaned up on one elbow and blew out the lantern that hung above them. “I suppose this is as comfortable as we’re going to get.”
“I suppose s
o.” Marianne lay there in the darkness for what felt like endless moments, willing her breath to slow and her heartbeat to return to normal. Touching him, smelling him, being this close, was torture. Why hadn’t she tried harder to find a place for that confounded hammock?
She was hoping against hope that he’d fall asleep quickly. But she already knew from the nights they’d spent together that he wasn’t one to do so. In fact, previously they’d stayed up together for hours and talked. She again turned on her side toward the wall and tucked her hands beneath her head.
A few more endless moments ticked by before his voice sounded in the darkness. “I should have taken the hammock,” he breathed.
“Why?” she breathed back.
“Because even just lying next to you like this, I’m so hard it’s painful.”
Marianne shuddered. She could no longer deny the overwhelming attraction she had toward this man. She wanted nothing more than to turn into his arms and kiss him. But instead she whispered, “Touch me, Beau.”
His arms enveloped her from behind. His mouth came to nuzzle at her neck and his hand moved down her leg to pull up her night rail.
His fingers moved between her legs to tease her most intimate spot and he hooked her leg over the outside of his thigh before freeing himself from his breeches. She felt him probing between her legs, hot and hard before he slowly slid inside of her, giving them both what they wanted.
Marianne closed her eyes. They both groaned.
It had been so long. Too long. And she’d wanted him every single day. She wanted this. Had wanted it for weeks. Had missed it for weeks. But until he’d touched her again, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it.
“Oh, God, Marianne. You don’t know how much I’ve wanted you,” he breathed against her ear before he stroked inside of her again. “So much.” Another stroke. “For so long.” A third stroke.
Marianne was mindless. His hand hadn’t stopped touching her and his finger was rubbing her in little circles that made her hips arch into his hand. His mouth continued to suck at her neck and her nipples tingled as he stroked into her again and again and again.
The Valet Who Loved Me Page 17
