To Catch a Bride

by Anne Gracie

  “Yes, Miss Ayisha, too. Oh, and see if you can rustle up a new mattress, some pillows, and some blankets. I’ve got plenty of sheets.”

  Higgins looked confused. “Yes, Miss Ayisha changed your sheets every day, but what happened to the other—”

  “They went out of the porthole, Higgins,” Rafe told him. “They stank.”

  “Out of the—” Higgins’s face went blank. He straightened. “Of course, sir. I’ll see what I can do, sir.”

  As the door closed behind Higgins, Ayisha stirred.

  “Higgins is fetching us some food,” he told her, “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes, thank y—what happened to your face?” She stood up, shaking herself from her blanket, and peered worriedly at his jaw. “It’s all cut about.”

  “I shaved,” he said with dignity. “In cold water.”

  “Oh.” She bit back a smile. “I see. You could have asked Higgins to fetch some hot water. He comes back every hour in the daytime.”

  He took the blanket from her and made a rough bundle of it.

  “Here, I’ll fold it,” she began and bent to pick up the other blanket. She frowned. “What’s all this stuff drifting around the floor? It looks like—” She bent and picked something up. “It’s wool.”

  “From the mattress, I expect.” He bent and picked up her pillow, took the second blanket from her, walked to the porthole, and thrust them through.

  “Hey, what are you—”

  “They were dirty, too.”

  She looked at the bed and her jaw dropped. “What happened to the bed? There’s no mattress.”

  “It’s gone. It’s better that way. Wool harbors infections.” He took the shred of wool from her hand and dropped it out of the porthole. “Higgins is getting us a new one. Come and sit down. I’m worn out.”

  There was a knock at the door. “Ah, the food.”

  But it was Higgins, with a mattress, pillows, and blankets. “They didn’t have a big mattress, sir, but one of the seamen sewed two ordinary mattresses together. Like wizards they are with a needle. Comes of mending sails, I suppose.” He pushed the mattress through the doorway.

  “And Higgins, could you get me a hammock, please?” Ayisha asked him. “And a length of rope so we can rig up a corner for privacy.”

  “Certainly, m—” He broke off, as Rafe caught his eye.

  No hammock, Rafe mouthed silently from behind her.

  “Certainly, miss,” Higgins finished, his expression unchanged. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Rafe nodded. Good man.

  They spent the next few minutes reassembling the bed. By the end of it Rafe was almost at the end of his tether. He collapsed across it.

  Five minutes later a knock at the door revived him. “The food, at last,” he said and staggered to the door.

  But it was the captain. He looked Rafe up and down very carefully. “My felicitations, sir, on your recovery.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Rafe said.

  The captain glanced at Ayisha hovering at Rafe’s elbow, steadying him. “Miss Cleeve, you did a remarkably brave—and foolish—thing.”

  She smiled. “I told you, Captain, it wasn’t such a risk—”

  Rafe cut her off. “We’ll discuss that later!” It drove him wild to hear her dismissing it so lightly. “Captain, now you’ve seen I’m not plague-ridden, perhaps you could lift this quaranti—”

  “Sorry, but no, I have rules and they must be obeyed. However, I’d hate to be confined to a cabin for so long, and I see no harm in allowing you a short time on deck to take in some fresh air, sunshine, and get a bit of exercise—as long as you don’t come into contact with my passengers or crew, that is.”

  He looked a query at Rafe, who nodded. “Agreed.”

  “Good. I suggest you come up on deck during mealtimes, when the other passengers are eating. I shall inform the crew. You will dine later, in your cabin, after the others have finished.”

  Rafe nodded. “A good compromise. Thank you.”

  The captain took his leave, then he turned back with another thought. “Will you be wanting me to perform a service, sir?” He glanced at Ayisha.

  “No,” Rafe told him. “I’ll organize it once I get Miss Cleeve to her grandmother’s home.”

  “Service?” Ayisha asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “A wedding service, miss,” the captain said.

  “But—” Ayisha began.

  “Thank you, Captain, but there’s no need for this just now.” Rafe shut the door.

  “What was he talking about?” Ayisha asked with misgiving.

  “Not at all good ton, weddings aboard a ship,” Rafe told her. “We’ll do the deed at your grandmother’s.”

  “Do what deed?”

  “Get married, of course.” He caught her look of amazement. “Well, it can’t come as a surprise. I explained it to you only a few days—or maybe it was a week ago, I don’t know. But I’m very sure that you understood me at the time. Why, you didn’t come near me for days.”

  She stared at him, as if stricken to silence.

  “Come now, Ayisha, surely you can see that after having spent three nights alone with me in my room—in my bed—we would have to marry.” All that time alone with him unconscious, and her with nothing to do, she must have considered the consequences, he thought, trying to squash the coils of guilt inside him.

  He’d realized it the moment he knew she’d slept in his bed. Realized it and been delighted. For Rafe, it resolved everything. He would have her exactly where he wanted—in his arms, in his life, and in his bed. And all without him having to make flowery speeches or make embarrassing admissions.

  And risk her tossing them back in his face.

  Now he wouldn’t have to do a thing—except do the right thing and marry Ayisha. It couldn’t be better.

  “But you were sick, unconscious,” she argued. “You didn’t even know I was there.”

  “Yes, but everyone else on this ship did. Come, my dear, there’s no need to look so upset; the damage is done now, so let’s make the best of it.” Why could she not see the advantages? Marriage would solve her problems and his. It would even solve the question of the succession—not that he cared about that.

  She looked at him. “The damage is done?” she echoed, an odd note in her voice. “The damage?”

  He gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s not so bad. We’ll rub along together quite well, I suspect.” And as his wife, he could truly protect her and take care of her.

  “Oh, do you?”

  He frowned. She sounded a little . . . annoyed? “Yes, there’s nothing either of us can do about it except accept the fact.”

  “What fact is that?” she demanded. “That because I saved your life and a pack of complete strangers know about it, we must now spend the rest of our lived married to each other?”

  He shrugged. “It’s the way of the world.”

  “It’s not the way of my world.”

  “Perhaps not, but in England—” he began, then changed his mind. “Well, actually it is. You cannot deny that marriages are arranged all the time in Egypt.”

  “Yes, but as you say, this is England.” She glanced out at the blue water of the Mediterranean. “Not yet, perhaps, but it will be.”

  “And marriages are arranged in England all the time, too. Both of my friends made arranged marriages—in fact Harry’s was made for the very same reason. And my own brother was arranging mine to Lavinia Fettiplace before I left—” He broke off. It was perhaps not the wisest admission he’d made.

  “Oh, wonderful.” She threw up her arms. “And I suppose she’s rich and beautiful.”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Of course,” she raged. “So he’ll be just thrilled when you toss her over for some girl you found in the gutters of Cairo.”

  “Not at first, he won’t—and you weren’t in the gutter, precisely—not that it matters. My brother will just have to put up with the change of pla
ns.”

  The change of plans couldn’t have suited Rafe better. He had no desire to marry Lady Lavinia. He’d fled the country to avoid it, in fact.

  “Put up with it, will we?” Her voice throbbed with fury. “Well, not me, Mr. Ramsey. Because I’m refusing your so-gallant offer to make a decent woman of me. I’m perfectly decent as I am, thank you!”

  “Of course you are—nobody is suggesting otherwise,” Rafe soothed. “There’s no need to get upset.” He put a hand out to her but she gave him such a look that he changed his mind. She had a right to be upset, he knew. Women wanted the flowery speeches, courtship, things like that. But it was too late for that—they were well and truly compromised and there was no other alternative but marriage.

  “Only Mrs. Ferris and others like her, I expect. They’ll be saying that I created a situation to get myself a rich and handsome husband.” She glared at him. “And you think so, too, don’t you?”

  “Now that’s not true. I don’t think that at all. I know very well I’ve been very sick. You meant well, I’m sure—I know,” he said hastily, seeing her expression.

  He took a deep breath and said in a calming voice, “Of course I know you meant nothing but the best. But life doesn’t always have the outcome one expects, and though this may not be what we both . . . expected, still it’s not so very bad, is it?” He gave her an encouraging smile.

  “Not so very bad?” She clenched her fists, rolled her eyes upward, and emitted a furious growl.

  Rafe frowned. Clearly he was a less desirable catch than he’d imagined, though at least she thought him handsome. He thought about telling her about the heir. A lot of woman might like the idea that their son would one day become an earl. But dammit, no, he wouldn’t bribe her into it. That would be too undignified.

  He came back to the recurring thread in her argument. “If it’s Mrs. Ferris you’re worried about, well, don’t. She’s quite beneath your touch. Just ignore her,” Rafe recommended loftily.

  “Ignore her?” she almost shouted. “How can I ignore her when I’m supposed to marry you because of what she and others like her think?”

  “It’s what the whole world will think,” Rafe said irritably. It made perfect sense to him. What the devil was she getting so hot under the collar for? They’d got on perfectly well until now, and once she calmed down, they’d get on perfectly well again, he was sure.

  “No, what the whole world will think—if I marry you, which I won’t—is something like”—she put on an overly genteel voice—“ ‘Oh, look, there goes Ayisha Ramsey. She was no one until she pretended Rafe Ramsey had plague. Of course he didn’t, it was just a minor fever, but she locked herself in with him for three whole nights—such melodrama, my dear! And when he recovered, the poor man was forced to marry her. Sooo tragic.’ ” She stormed to the door, flung it open, and found Higgins standing there with a tray of food.

  “Stand back, Higgins,” she snapped. “I’m going up on deck, and I’d hate to brush up against you by accident—”

  “Miss?” Higgins stood back.

  “Because then I’d probably have to marry you—” she finished.

  “Oh, now you’re just being silly,” Rafe began.

  “Which would suit me a—a damn sight better!” she concluded in a throbbing voice and ran off.

  She left in her wake a shocked silence.

  “Sorry to interrupt, sir,” Higgins said ruefully after a moment. “Just came to bring you some food and to let you know everyone’s gone in to dinner, if you wanted to go above decks.”

  “Thank God, I’m starving,” Rafe declared. He lifted the cloth from the tray and stared at the contents. “Clear soup? Poached eggs? I said I was starving, man. I’m weak as a kitten. I need meat. And some good red wine.”

  “Sorry, sir, but your constitution needs slow building up. It couldn’t cope with meat and red wine—and you know it, sir. Remember when you had that wound and the fever came on after the surgeon had stitched you up? I moved heaven and earth to get you a good plate of meat when you felt up to it.”

  “And I threw it all up a minute after I ate it, I know. Terrible waste. But soup and poached eggs?” He looked at the pallid liquid, the runny blobs on a piece of dry toast.

  “It’s good chicken soup,” Higgins coaxed. “If Miss Ayisha had her way, it’d be gruel.”

  Rafe glanced the way she’d run. “Are you sure you don’t mean hemlock?”

  Higgins smiled. “She’s in a passion to be sure, but she’ll calm down. You know she thinks the world of you.”

  “Does she? Doesn’t look like it to me.” Rafe took the tray and sat down. He peered under the cover of the second plate. Eggs, as well.

  “Females don’t always say what they think, sir, you know that.”

  Rafe snorted. “I know. They get emotional about things that are perfectly straightforward.”

  “That’s true, sir.”

  He took a mouthful of soup. Not bad. He drank some more. “I mean, she knew the consequences. That first night out of port I warned her about us being seen together too often, unchaperoned; the danger of being compromised.” He shook his head. “I should have got her a maid.”

  “It would have made no difference, sir.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “She was hell-bent on saving your life, sir, not thinking about being compromised.”

  “I know that, Higgins,” Rafe said impatiently. “Headstrong little fool throws herself into danger all the time. Doesn’t think about the consequences. That’s why it will work, this marriage. She needs to be steered by a cooler, more rational head.” He finished the soup and ate a mouthful of egg and toast.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Admittedly, the captain was a little premature, but how could it possibly be the shock she seems to think it is? She’s acting as if it’s an insult.” He glanced at Higgins. “I mean, I’m a reasonable catch, aren’t I?”

  “An excellent catch, sir.”

  “No, not excellent,” Rafe said seriously. “My birth is good, but the fortune is only average.” He took another bite.

  “I don’t think Miss Ayisha cares two pins about your fortune, sir.”

  “Well, I didn’t think so, either, but she’s clearly got her sights on something—or someone—better.”

  Higgins hesitated. “How—exactly—did you propose, sir?”

  “Propose? I didn’t. No need to. Captain broached the subject first, and I went on from there.” He pushed the plate aside. Halfway through a piece of toast and an egg, and he was full.

  “Women like to be proposed to, sir,” Higgins suggested diffidently. “Like to know they can say yea or nay.”

  “Well, you heard her, she said nay. Loud and clear. I imagine the whole ship heard her.”

  “Everyone’s at dinner, sir,” Higgins assured him. “They wouldn’t have heard a thing.”

  “Well, you get off and have your dinner.” Rafe waved him away. “And if you value your skin, don’t tell me if it’s roast beef.”

  Rafe lay down on the bed. Why did women have to complicate everything? It had been the perfect resolution, what he’d intended all along, almost from the moment he’d set eyes on her.

  She seemed so alone. He was alone, too. She had one close relative, her grandmother, but she could very easily die, soon. Grandmothers did in his experience. And Rafe only had one brother and he wasn’t the slightest bit interested in anything other than Rafe’s ability to produce an heir.

  It seemed like a natural partnership. She would be alone in a strange country, needing protection, needing to be cared for and looked after. And he was good at that. It was one of his few skills.

  They’d started out their acquaintance at daggers drawn, but he thought things had settled down nicely between them since. The trip to Alexandria had been quite pleasant; they’d admired the sights and chatted about all sorts of things.

  He’d left her friends in a secure position. She’d liked his little gift—he hoped it mad
e up for his insisting she left the old cat behind. And that little chat up on the deck that first night, when she’d stood beside him and talked about things he hadn’t thought about in years . . . with her hand tucked into his arm.

  As for saving his life. He could not get over that. Pulling his pistols out to stop them from sending him ashore.

  And what followed after that. Fever was damned unpleasant to deal with, he knew. But she’d done it, taken care of him like a little Trojan. He still hadn’t quite come to terms with how he felt about that. Grateful certainly, but also . . .

  He couldn’t explain it, even to himself.

  So offering her marriage was the right thing to do on all levels.

  Her vehement rejection had shocked him.

  But he wasn’t going to give in. He’d lay siege to her, wear her down, talk her around to his way of thinking. It worked in war, it would work in . . . life.

  He’d take her to her grandmother’s, explain the situation, and ask for her grandmother’s permission to wed her. The old lady would back him up, he knew. Allow her precious newfound granddaughter to be disgraced? Not in a million years.

  So he’d sort things out at Cleeveden, and then head off to straighten things with George and Lady Lavinia. Not that he’d ever made any promises to her, thank God. But she’d known of the intention, and he didn’t want to embarrass her.

  He’d explain the situation. She’d understand. She wasn’t a bad sort. Just not his sort.

  George would come around in the end. Breeding was what counted most with George. The Cleeves might not be nobility, but it was an old and venerable line, and on her mother’s side she was related to half the noble families in the land. George cared about an heir more than anything; he’d end up grateful that Rafe was even getting married.

  And though she had no fortune, she would inherit something from her grandmother, he imagined, and in any case he was perfectly content with what he had.

  But was she? Her reaction had shocked him, shown him he didn’t understand her at all.

  Since his grandmother died, he hadn’t been close to many women. Apart from Gabe and Harry’s aunts and Luke’s mother and sisters, the transactions with women he’d had up till now were either distant, polite, and formal—he was very good at balls and dinner parties, for instance—or convenient, lusty, and with no strings attached. Those connections began and ended at the bedroom door.