"Heavens, but that lady's glass smile will never break. I personally recommend it as the eighth wonder of the world. What is interesting—though hardly problematic— about Nelson's latest affair, is that he and his Emma are conducting it in her husband's house—the Italian ambassador, no less—and with the good ambassador's apparent approval. Some say participation. All in all, a most unusual menage a trois."
Garrett's gaze filled with the shared amusement. "Now I have heard everything. My God, what has the Admiralty said? The Crown?"
"Nothing. We can't afford to lose him: he knows it; they know it; we all know it. He, like other parties, whom," the admiral's brows lifted as he leveled his gaze JO accuse Garrett, "I shall not now name, have a license to incite our . . . ah, civilized outrage. Of course, I saw the news as a highly imaginative solution to the persistent problem posed by man's inherent infidelity. What a kind, obsequious man this ambassador must be! Imagine what a happy world it would be if every husband could be counted on to be so generous with his wife's favors—"
Gayle set down a tray of delicious appetizers, freshly caught lobsters in pastry shells, another tray of crackers, apples, and cheese as Garrett interrupted to demand through his laughter. "Tell me Nelson has found the situation sufficiently intriguing enough—"
"To put his breeches back on and kiss dear Emma and her good-natured husband good-bye? Indeed. Our great director is arming twenty-seven ships as we speak." The admiral leaned back, abruptly serious as he spread his hands on the table. "You know, of course, what must be done."
"Oh, aye," Garrett said, "the impossible." "But not for you, Garrett! We must find them and discover whom or what they plan to attack. Our speculations are endless, but they amount to less than what's left in a drunkard's cup: Egypt, the West Indies, the Holy Land. Our only hope in hell is to reverse the tide and surprise them where they sit. We have to know; the very fate of the navy rests in your hands." The admiral lifted his goblet, but seeing Garrett's skeptical expression he slammed the goblet down. "God knows, you've pulled off worse,Garrett.History,our poor drama, is at stake-"
"History is always at stake; fate rests with each breath we take," Garrett smoothly interjected and he rose, turning his back to the table as he thought. He knew what it entailed, a trip to the Moroccan court. If anyone could be made to disclose where the French fleet had sailed, it would be the French ambassador there. And only with one hell of a bribe.
'The issue is time," Leif wisely foresaw. "They can't keep an entire goddamn fleet hidden for long. No doubt we can discover the secret, but can we get the word back in time to stop them? There's the question."
"Aye," Garrett nodded, turning back to the table.
"Don't look alarmed, Admiral. We have a chance, a fair chance, depending solely on the presents you've brought me. What have you?"
"Well, Nelson pulled no stops for his youngest and, I must say, favorite captain. Your reputation will grow, for it appears as if you have downed another man-of-war this time. I've got a ship full of crates, over a hundred, each bearing eighteen shiny new British muskets. Here, Commander." He motioned for Harolds to hand Garrett the seal and papers, an order he promptly obliged. "One of Sir Admiral William's seals. Second in command. A clever edge to the correspondence this time."
Garrett smiled as he examined it, then handed it to Leif. "I'm impressed. Perhaps it will not be so difficult after all. Well," he rose, "let me go see to the unloading, before we take a look at the field."
As Garrett left, Juliet retreated, her head spinning. Garrett was not a pirate. He was a spy ... a British spy, one who owned the rank of captain ., . the youngest-ranked captain, Nelson's favorite. . . .
Dear Lord, why didn't the news reassure her?
For it changed nothing. Even if he wasn't a barbarian, he acted like one. Even if he had a place in the civilized world, he stepped out of it with her. The shock of it overwhelmed her, though; she just couldn't believe it. She tried to see Garrett in the changed light, but without success. He was still a barbarian, a rogue, a criminal—
"Who do you belong to, Juliet . . ."
No, she covered her ears again, denying it, trying to stop the memory as if it were a sound, a thing that would disappear, vanish in air. She'd never belong to him . . . never!
What would happen if she pulled back the curtains and appealed for their help? She tried to imagine the scene, how Garrett would explain her presence and predicament. What would the admiral do?
Nothing, she realized. He would do nothing, for Garrett would change the truth, distort what had happened, and no doubt convince the gentleman he was doing her a favor by extending his protection. No one would even bother wondering who it was that was protecting her from Garrett.
For the hundredth time she saw her only hope lay in waiting for the chance to escape, a thing not possible when she was surrounded by miles and miles of endless blue sea. Soon though, soon . . .
Leif still examined the correspondence in Garrett's absence, even as the conversation changed, shifting back to the speculation as to where the French fleet planned to attack. The door opened and Garrett stepped inside. All gazes were riveted upon the creature that followed Garrett inside. The two younger officers rose in alarm. Billings even pulled a pistol until theadmiral himself laughed. "Surely you've both heard of Garrett's exotic pet? This is Garrett's famous panther, Tonali. If you mind your manners, he will only ignore you."
"Aye, rest easy, commanders," Garrett said, "Ibnali is happy and I can assure you, well fed. I could not keep him away from the admiral any longer."
The admiral claimed the distinguished honor of being among the three or four people Tonali was not indifferent to, and only because the admiral kept a box of catnip on his ship for just these encounters. Amused, Garrett watched as Tonali stalked to the admiral's side and rubbed against the chair, allowing the admiral to pet his head until the admiral removed the treat from his pocket, talking to his cat as one might talk to a child.
Tonali knocked the sachet from the admiral's hand, then pounced on it, rolling over it, rubbing his head over the scent.
Billings still watched with alarm. "I always thought the story of the panther was just one of the legends following your name. . . . How, dear Lord, where did you get him?"
"A long story," Garrett said. "One I'm sure we don't have time for, not if we mean to stop this small matter of Napoleon." "Speaking of small matters," the admiral chuckled, "Josephine is heard complaining recently . . ." and so the lively conversation went, periodically erupting into laughter despite or perhaps because of the ominous, increasingly threatening world situation being discussed. Dinner was served and the men continued to talk for two hours more as the crew labored to transfer the precious cargo from the shore to The Raven.
Juliet waited, listening, but not to the heated discussion of their plans, lost as she was to the turmoil of her emotions and the strangeness of Garrett being not only a member of His Majesty's Royal Navy but holding the rank of captain in it. Just as hunger and thirst began to vie equally for her attention, the discussion seemed to conclude at last as Leif and Garrett rose to see that the crew had finished the task.
Tonali watched Garrett exit without understanding. Leaving his treasure behind, the cat rose, moving to the bed. A single swipe caught the drapes in his claws. Juliet gasped as the curtain fell. Taking his rightful place, Tonali leapt onto the bed and lay across her feet, turning his gold watchful gaze to the men at the table.
Billings was in the midst of relating his impression to his admiral: "The man is even larger than the sum of the rumors—" Yet he stopped, turning to see what caught Harolds' and the admiral's stunned gazes.
Juliet sat on the bed perfectly still as she received the interested gazes of the three officers. She clutched the robe tightly about herself and her eyes lowered with the shame of her position. She tried to swallow as her heartbeat quickened, more when she heard first a whistle then, "Well, exotic pets, indeed!" the admiral chuckled.
&nbs
p; "My God, that is beautiful!"
"Aye, little wonder Garrett was late! Saving the world would be a small inducement to leave that bed."
She did not look up when she heard the admiral rise from his chair to approach the bed where she sat. They stared at her as if she were on display in a glass cage, an exotic pet indeed, and if she had a thought above the clamor of her distress, it would have only been a fervent wish that the earth would open up and swallow her whole.
"My dear, have you been here the whole time? Doesn't Garrett ever let you leave his bed?"
She could not answer if she wanted to, and the clamor of her heart grew so loud she didn't hear Garrett opening the door. He took in the scene at a glance: how incredibly beautiful she looked, the shame rising on her cheeks, trembling through her small form. A shame he knew she didn't deserve, the very reason he did not want her exposed to their comments. Comments he saw had already been voiced.
Garrett moved to the bed. His expression warned each man present that not a word more could be said, a warning that managed to alter the admiral's very next words. "Garrett, why would you think to hide this exquisite creature?"
Garrett took her small hand in his. Juliet clasped it instinctively, welcoming the security of his touch as she would a lifeline. "I'm sure you'll understand, Admiral, when I say my lady was not feeling well today—"
"My lady?" The admiral didn't understand.
"Yes," Garrett's gaze fell on Juliet as he said, "Please may I present Lady Juliet Ramon Van Ness, recently made my wife."
With a silent curse, Gayle left Juliet in Garrett's quarters and quietly shut the door behind him. Troubled by what he saw, he paused outside. Without any real awareness of doing so, he folded his long legs to rest on bent knees, striking a contemplative pose as he considered the predicament.
His father always said the greatest uncertainty in the world is a woman's shifts in mood, that they are about the last thing a man should pay homage to. ... "As soon as you start attending to a woman's mood, it swings back to smack you in the head. . . ." Having been raised in a house with four older sisters, having accumulated far more experience with the fairer sex than the vast majority of men twice his age, he knew well the wisdom of those words.
Yet Juliet's mood did not swing, it rather sank, lower and lower. She just kept getting worse: sadder, more solemn, and more troubled, retreating further and further into the quiet privacy of her mind. She rarely spoke or did anything more than pace like a caged, half-mad creature searching endlessly for the way out. Now that death separated her from her uncle forever more, one would have sworn the great umbrella of Garrett's protection would have helped her to start mending the pain she had endured.
This was not happening. He saw the danger, even if Garrett only scoffed at it. Garrett replaced her uncle in her mind's eye; she saw Garrett as the enemy, the man who kept her helpless and locked in this cage. How could he make her see how wrong she was?
All of it centered on her love for Tomas. Or rather, on her illusion of love, one she could not see through, for as Garrett had said, her circumstances made Tomas the only person who provided a measure of comfort to her. As desperate as she had been, it stood to reason she'd exaggerate her happiness with him as well as his worth, virtually creating a man from that pitiful creature of contempt.
Garrett and his father felt certain she would eventually come to know the truth, it being so obvious. Perhaps because he was so close in age to Juliet, because he had only recently lost the rich idealism accompanying youth, he knew this wasn't so. She would never see Tomas in the cold, unkind light of reality as long as she saw Garrett as her enemy. Aye, she'd only begin to make the comparison between the two men in her life when she saw Garrett as her savior.
He saw what he should do. The risks were great, risks he'd not be willing to take if there was any other way around the problem posed by a lovely young lady named Juliet. Yet then again it just might work. . . .
Juliet pretended not to hear the boots in the hall, lost as she was to the book she read. Nor did she look up when Gayle entered, offering only a slight nod in acknowledgement of his pleasant greeting. Mentally she prepared herself to resist his attempts to engage her in conversation. Gayle was clever, she had to give him that, the way he persisted in finding new ideas to get her out: strolls on deck, help to climb the mast, card games and singing outside, an opportunity to peer through Garrett's telescope. Once he even asked if she would help Pots in the kitchen! Just as he also persisted in trying to engage her in conversation with a wide range of unlikely topics: Would you like to hear how Garrett came to have an honest-to-blood prince on board . . . did you know my father once . . . Garrett one time ... I remember once . . . and so on.
Perversely, perhaps, she resisted. She would not participate in life so long as that life was not of her own choosing. Besides, how could she risk doing anything that might draw a second more of Garrett's attention to her after what had happened? He made the result of his attention perfectly clear. It was a thing to be avoided at all cost. All cost . . .
Gayle's silence first alerted her to a change. He leaned against the door, his arms folded across his chest as he considered her. His hair, like that of Garrett and his father, was long too, falling to his shoulders. He had the habit of combing it back with his fingers, a gesture signaling uncertainty. Yet a smile contradicted his uncertainty. "IVe good news for you, my lady."
That was another thing: ever since the night Garrett saved her by saying she had married him, the entire crew, even Leif and Gayle, had taken to calling her my lady. She might have been grateful to Garrett for the favor had he not put her in the horrifying situation in the first place.
The shock of discovering that a title went with Garrett's name had been too much to absorb, especially just after learning he was not one of the world's most nefarious pirates but rather a British naval officer masquerading as one. She hadn't time to assimilate all it meant, not as long as she had to endure the gentlemen's endless apologies and their even longer congratulations—one might have thought the admiral had gotten married himself, he seemed so pleased with the situation. Only later she decided it didn't mean anything, save for an indication of the complexities of Garrett, complexities associated with his name as well as his person, for what did it change, really? Nothing. She was still trapped, held helpless and at the mercy of the most dangerous man alive, title or no.
"Dont you even want to know?"
"Very well," she replied softly, and only because it seemed the easiest path to the conclusion of the interview. "What good news have you?"
Gayle came to where she sat, kneeling in front of her to meet her eyes. "Well, Garrett's been discussing you and your ... ah, situation with my father. He is beginning to change his mind. I should rephrase that: he has changed his mind. He asked me to tell you he has decided to return you to your young man after all."
She stared, just stared, her eyes filling with emotion as she searched his face looking for a trick, a catch, one thing, anything, that would change the miracle in those words. "Gayle . . . please," she whispered on the heels of a frightened pause, "do not tease me—"
"Ah, Juliet, I'm not teasing you. Look, it's like this: Garrett sees how unhappy he's made you. He still doesn't think the young man deserves your affection but he realizes he can't keep you from him forever. And since he has not been able to change your mind he's hoping that you'll change your mind once you've a chance to be with him again, with all that has happened."
Still staring, she started to shake her head in denial. For having been so long a victim of unkind circumstances, she could hardly trust the idea yet alone the reality, could hardly believe that her luck swung with such maddening capriciousness, much less that her luck could change at all. "Gayle," she whispered still, her hand came to her mouth as if prepared to contain the emotion. "Is it ... oh, did he really—"
A sad smile lifted on his handsome face and he nodded. The emotion greeting the nod was joy, a rapturous kind o
f exultation bursting through her. She fell into his arms and clung to his neck. His arms came around her to celebrate her new-found happiness, and two things became clear to him: he had just made a horrible mistake and he was happy for it.
"Wait, Juliet, I've still some explaining to do," he pulled back to tell her. "There are conditions you must agree to."
She would agree to carrying a banner through Hades, anything so long as he returned her to Tbmas. "What?"
"You must never discuss it with him—Garrett, I mean. You know how adamant he's been and, well, the subject of your young man is still upsetting to him. Then too, a conversation about .Tomas might make him change his mind, and we wouldn't want that, would we?"
Garrett had already made this perfectly clear to her; he was the last person with whom she'd discuss Tomas. She nodded, sealing the deal.
"Good," he smiled. "Nor my father for that matter. He's the same. It's probably best if we just pretend nothing has really changed until . . . until — "
"Until when, Gayle?" she grabbed his hand as if needing more of his attention. "Oh, when shall he take me back?"
"Not for awhile yet. We have to finish this business with the French, you know. We should reach Tangiers by week's end. Surely you wouldn't want to give Napoleon free rein to charge, just so Garrett could take you back? Not just lives but nations are at stake!"
"Well yes, of course . . . But . . . well, how long do you think it will take?"
"A couple of months, less if we're lucky. Garrett's always lucky, too, you can count on it. Besides, his agents still have to settle this matter of your cousin before he can send you back."
"I keep forgetting about her ... oh, but it doesn't matter so long as it's soon! Soon we will be together again! Tomas should be through with the university then, too, and he can . . . marry—"
Gayle watched the emotion change in her eyes as she confronted this uncertainty about her future. He read her thoughts and knew how to answer. "No, Juliet, don't think of that now. At last you have the chance for everything to work itself out. Know that it will. I promise."
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