Captivating the Captain (Scandals and Spies Book 6)

by Leighann Dobbs

  Gray laughed. “Perhaps she was aptly named, then.” He was a seaman, after all. He had learned a wide variety of colorful language that he refused to impart to his younger sister, whether or not it would help her with research for her book. “Did she ever finish that book she was writing?”

  Her last letters told him that the princess heroine had changed to a pirate captain. That had been just before he’d been promoted to Captain and given a ship of his own; he hadn’t been at liberty to answer her questions in the depth she had hoped. He wondered whether she’d ever found another navy man to provide the authenticity she’d wanted. Gray knew better than to believe that Morgan had given his permission for Lucy to take a venture out to sea.

  “She did,” Charlie informed him. “Last month, I believe. She still won’t let me read it until she copies it out neatly, but it is done at last.”

  He made a mental note not to inquire after its status when he next returned home. Although he was willing to listen to Lucy rattle off her latest changes to the characters and plot, he didn’t actually want to read the story. Books were much more Lucy’s domain than his, hence why he found it so ludicrous to be compared to her.

  After a moment, he murmured, “I’m happy she finally finished it.” He left the conversation at that, thinking the tension between them assuaged until they reached shore. It would be no more than three or four more minutes, if he could keep up the pace.

  Apparently, he’d underestimated Miss Vale’s desire for confrontation. He scarcely halved the distance before she repeated, “I don’t know what she sees in you at all.”

  He stifled a sigh. Clearly, she meant for him to ask her to elaborate. A wise man would ignore her. He’d already proven that he wasn’t a wise man when he’d kissed her. Biting his tongue, he turned his attention to Mrs. Vale. Although she sat with perfect posture, like her daughter, her hands neatly folded in her lap, the older woman pretended to admire the ocean and shoreline. He would have thought her deaf if not for the amused tilt to her lips.

  He rowed two more strokes before he bit off, “And why is that, Miss Vale?”

  “Charlie,” she corrected.

  It seemed she hated formality. She continued to call him Anthony, despite the fact that he’d never invited her to do so. In fact, the only people who ever called him by his given name were related to him. He supposed, what with her sister’s marriage to his brother, that she likely counted as family now. He tried not to picture what a family Christmas would be like if she were dogging his every step.

  She informed him, “You’re nothing more than a rigid navy captain.”

  He couldn’t decide whether or not that was meant to be an insult. In his line of work, advancement was made based on one’s manners and bearing as much as one’s work ethic. His family name held a lot of weight, and when coupled with the polite demeanor expected of an officer in the Royal Navy, it had helped him go a long way.

  He was fighting against his own instincts in order to do it, but he did the Graylocke name proud. Bit by bit, he was turning himself into the sort of man his father would have been proud of.

  He didn’t remember much of his father, the late duke, who had two sons older than Gray and one younger, who had a brilliant mind. Gray had always been a bit rambunctious, easy to rile and prone to jumping into situations without first considering the outcome. His eldest brother and youngest brother had received the bulk of their father’s praise. Meanwhile, if the duke was taking time away from handling the estates, it was likely to deliver a reprimand to Gray.

  Over the years, he’d learned to curb his hotheaded temper, as well as the wanderlust that prompted him to act first and regret later. The name Anthony Graylocke was no longer synonymous with misconduct. Even if he sometimes chafed at the strictures of propriety, the itch for adventure was slowly dying down, year by year. By the time he reached thirty, he might even be staid enough to consider finding that demure, well-mannered wife. Perhaps by that time, the thought of living with her wouldn’t put him to sleep.

  With an ornery look, Charlie accused, “You have all that adventure at your fingertips, and you squander it! Imagine what some people could do in your position.”

  “Their job?” Gray grimaced and tried to gauge the distance to shore. Almost there. He wouldn’t have to put up with her presence for much longer.

  “You have a ship! You have the wide ocean.”

  “I have a responsibility to my country and the men assigned to me. You want a boat that doesn’t come laden with responsibility, take this.” He tapped the side of the dinghy with his boot.

  The young woman made a face. “You don’t appreciate what you have. You should embrace it.”

  “Embrace what?”

  “The opportunity for adventure!”

  He did. It was what had steered him to join the navy, as opposed to the infantry, when his father had passed on. He’d sailed across the Atlantic, chased down French traitors, and been in more battles and skirmishes than he could count. If that wasn’t adventure, he didn’t know what was. He countered, “I’ll embrace the adventure of parting ways with you in France.”

  Charlie made a face. She looked about to start another argument, but her mother laid a restraining hand on her sleeve. Mrs. Vale looked from her daughter to Gray and back. “Let’s remain civil, shall we?”

  He would rather Miss Vale remain silent.

  Fortunately, they reached the shore seconds later. He vaulted from the boat, sloshing through the shallow water as he hauled the dinghy safely ashore, where the tide wouldn’t tug it off the beach. He then offered his assistance to Mrs. Vale first.

  Her daughter attempted to disembark from the boat on her own. Her skirts impeded her progress. They tangled around her legs as she tried to climb out, and she lost her balance. Gray swiftly released Mrs. Vale’s hand and caught Charlie.

  She landed heavily against his chest, halfway on him and halfway still in the boat. He gripped her waist and lifted her out, depositing her on the sand in front of him. He battled the urge to pull her closer and released her instead, clearing his throat. “The town is west along that ridge.” He pointed. “It shouldn’t take us more than an hour to get there by foot.”

  “An hour?” Miss Vale echoed. “Why didn’t we just dock in the harbor? It is a port town, isn’t it? We have a French ship.”

  “It is, but we aren’t French. It’s safer to approach on foot.” He collected the two small valises belonging to the Vales. Then he turned, striding toward the winding trail that led from the beach up the craggy cliff face to the top of the ridge. “Come, let’s hurry. I’d like to be back on the barque by sundown.”

  Mrs. Vale picked up her skirts, squared her shoulders, and set out without complaint. Her daughter, on the other hand, was not so agreeable. She balked next to the dinghy as he turned away. He strode a couple steps on the soft sand, which was riddled with stones and wisps of seaweed, before the patter of her footsteps chased after him.

  “You’re coming with us? Don’t be absurd. This isn’t your mission!”

  He took a deep breath. Her mother, already on the track ahead, didn’t appear to hear Miss Vale’s protests.

  “It became my mission the second you thrust that missive from Lord Strickland in my face. If it is my duty to see you safely to your destination, I will see you to the doorstep of… ” He frowned. Had either woman told him where in town they meant to go?

  “Madame Renault,” Miss Vale supplied. “She’s a friend of your mother’s. I have a letter of introduction here—” She reached into her bodice once more.

  Gray looked away. “Keep it hidden. We aren’t there yet.”

  She scoffed. “We don’t have to go anywhere. You’ve delivered us safely to France. Mama and I can continue from here.”

  “I’m not going to leave two women in enemy territory without protection. That is final.”

  Charlie looked as though she meant to argue, but they reached the bottom of the path.

  He stepped b
ack and gestured for her to precede him. “Besides, if I wasn’t here, who would carry your valises?”

  Although she no longer argued his presence, she stepped back and crossed her arms. “I’m not walking in front of you so you can ogle my rear.”

  He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “Very well. I’ll go first, so you can ogle mine.”

  She scurried onto the path ahead of him. “I would never!”

  Chuckling under his breath, he followed. Now that she’d drawn his attention to her figure, she did prove pleasing to look at. When she didn’t have the breath to argue with him, at least.

  Gray frowned. “This is the address?” He spoke in stilted French, in case a neighbor happened to be listening.

  Miss Vale tugged the envelope from her bodice and checked the address. “Yes,” she answered in the same language.

  With the day in full swing, everyone in the village had been too preoccupied with work to notice a gentleman escort two ladies into the town.

  The harbor, a deep one if the three-masted ship in the dock was any indication, resided to the north. Squat, shabby little buildings ringed the water’s edge, spreading out like ripples. The address on the letter coincided with a modest home on the southern edge of the town. It would have been easy for him to deliver the two women and continue on his way unnoticed.

  If Madame Renault had been home, that was. Judging by the closed and weathered shudders and the air of stillness around the house, no one was in residence. When he stepped closer and tried to peek through the slats, the only thing he found was a layer of dust on the inside window ledge. Someone hadn’t been home for quite some time.

  Miss Vale rapped boldly on the door and waited.

  “Don’t hold your breath,” he informed her. He strode around the side of the building to try looking through a different window. They were all latched from the inside, though one near the back had a corner broken off. He peered inside. Items were strewn across the parlor furniture. The bookshelf and mantel were bare. It seemed as though the occupant had left in a hurry, perhaps after a struggle.

  “Are you looking for Madame Renault?” a woman asked from next door.

  Gray stiffened. He turned, hoping that Miss Vale wouldn’t answer in her questionable French, though his was no better. They would be discovered to be English at once.

  And then? That three-masted ship likely belonged to the French navy. Merchants and couriers rarely sailed ships so big. If the enemy was in town, all three of them would be captured as prisoners of war. And if Mrs. Vale was unveiled as a spy… that future didn’t bode well for anyone involved. Gray might be able to withstand torture, but Miss Vale, for all her brazenness, would not.

  With a smile, Mrs. Vale tucked her hands demurely in front of her and answered in flawless French. She spoke too rapidly and smoothly for him to understand every word, but he caught the words south, friend, visit, and marriage.

  Miss Vale, who must have caught the last, did not look the happy bride. However, when the woman turned her attention toward her, Charlie brightened and pretended excitement with a smile. She almost fooled Gray, if not for the set of her shoulders. She would sooner do battle with the suitor who begged for her hand than marry him. Gray tried not to smile.

  “And is this the groom?” the neighbor asked.

  His heart skipped a beat. Never. He tried to smile, but it was strained.

  “Brother-in-law,” Mrs. Vale explained and then added something about her gratitude for his escorting them north.

  Fortunately, the local woman appeared to believe the lie. She and Mrs. Vale spoke for a moment more before they parted, and Mrs. Vale beckoned for him and Charlie to follow. They strolled out of sight before the woman leaned close enough to whisper, “Madame Renault has not been seen for a week. She didn’t tell her neighbors why she left—she simply absconded in the dead of night.”

  Perhaps her English ties had been discovered. Whatever the case, they couldn’t remain here. And without some form of shelter, the Vales would almost certainly be discovered by the authorities. He had to get them off the streets as soon as possible. “I know a family in town,” he murmured.

  “Friends?” Charlie looked dubious.

  “I don’t know if I’d go that far. They’re smugglers to and from England.”

  Mrs. and Miss Vale exchanged a glance. “Are they trustworthy?” Mrs. Vale asked.

  “That depends on who you ask. But they owe me a favor, and their residence is on the east side of town, near the harbor. If we can reach them, they will be able to shelter us. They might even be willing to help with your search.”

  Charlie didn’t seem convinced, but her mother nodded. “It seems like our best chance. Lead on.”

  8

  What if Anthony is wrong?

  Charlie couldn’t purge the question from her mind. Her ears roared as she crossed through town on Anthony’s arm, as brazen as could be. She thought they should be hiding, skulking from shadow to shadow. Instead, he and Mama seemed bent on taking their time, each carrying a valise and strolling as if on an afternoon jaunt through Hyde Park. They carried on a low conversation as they walked, in French. Panic gripped Charlie the longer they walked like this. She spotted a French soldier down the street. Anthony didn’t alter his pace.

  Charlie struggled to focus on sorting out the translation to the conversation. She only understood snippets of Anthony’s explanation of how he knew these people. They were smugglers whom he’d caught en route to England but hadn’t prosecuted. He claimed that his enemies were French soldiers, not civilians.

  That may be true, but she had to wonder what these French smugglers thought of him. They knew him for a British captain in the Royal Navy. If they decided to alert the authorities, Charlie would have no hope of finding Papa. She didn’t want to contemplate what other ills would befall her.

  As they entered the next street, out of sight of the French soldier, Anthony quickened his step. He must be worried about being found out, as well. Charlie matched his pace without complaint.

  When they reached the house in question, he dropped his arm. “Stay behind me,” he whispered. “And as tempting as it might be, let me do the talking.”

  Charlie glared at his broad shoulders as he rapped on the door.

  After a moment, it opened to reveal a short woman nearing fifty, rounder on the bottom than on top. “Madame Estreux,” Anthony greeted her in French, “may we come in?”

  “Gray! What a surprise. Oh yes, of course, come in and rest your feet.” She darted a glance up and down the street, wary, as she ushered them inside.

  The moment the door was shut, they switched to English. Madame Estreux had an accent, but her vocabulary seemed much improved from Anthony’s and Charlie’s abilities. While the older woman greeted Anthony warmly and tried to extract information from him regarding their impromptu visit, Charlie sidled closer to Mama.

  “What should we tell her? The same thing we were set to tell Madame Renault?”

  Mama hesitated. “We prepared to stay with Madame Renault for days, perhaps longer than a week. We can’t hazard staying with a stranger for that long.”

  “But what about Papa?” Charlie glanced at Anthony and the smuggler as he begged for shelter during the day, promising to leave come nightfall. However warmly the woman had greeted him, she seemed reluctant to offer him sanctuary.

  Mama whispered, “We’ll have to find him on our own, another way.”

  “I’ll go out and search with you.”

  Mama shook her head. “No, Charlie. You’re too conspicuous, and your French isn’t what it might be. I’ve been trained for such a thing. I’ll discover what I can, and if I catch wind of your father anywhere, we’ll plan accordingly.”

  Warily, Charlie glanced at Madame Estreux and Anthony, who now spoke more quietly. His back was turned to them, muffling the conversation further.

  What are they whispering about? Charlie didn’t speak the words out loud. She didn’t know what h
er concerns were precisely, but she didn’t trust the smuggler.

  “Let me handle this,” Mama said.

  When she strode up to the whispering pair, they seemed to have reached some kind of truce. Charlie followed hesitantly as Mama spoke in fluent French. “Forgive the intrusion, Madame. We were set to stay with a friend, but it appears she no longer lives in this town. My daughter is an Englishwoman and speaks limited French like her father. Her father, the scoundrel, is on the run from the authorities, and we chased him here. He stole the money for my daughter’s wedding when he left. Without it, her fiancé won’t have her. I beg you, he must be here. We must find him before it is too late.” She leaned closer, putting a hand on Madame Estreux’s arm. “Do you have children? Wouldn’t you go to any lengths for them?”

  The smuggler nodded. She sighed. “I have a room in the cellar where she and Gray can wait for nightfall, but you cannot stay long.”

  Charlie had never realized that Mama was such an accomplished liar. She didn’t know whether Anthony had alluded to some of the truth, but if he had, Mama’s tale mirrored the truth closely enough in order for Madame Estreux to believe them. She even seemed a bit sympathetic, and she and Mama entered a tête-à-tête and spoke in low, rapid French.

  Anthony glanced between Charlie and Mama, clearly curious, but he didn’t interfere. In fact, he didn’t even speak a word. He stood there with military posture and pretended to be a fixture of the foyer.

  By the time Mama was done talking, Madame Estreux had promised the help of her family in looking for Charlie’s father. She beckoned Charlie and Anthony closer. “Come, mes amis. I’ll show you to the cellar. Once we’ve returned this evening, we’ll let you out again. Does anyone need to use the chamber pot before you go in?”

  Charlie did as Mama asked and didn’t speak out of turn. She didn’t draw attention to herself as she found herself shut in a cramped room behind the wall of the smuggler’s cellar. As Madame Estreux shut the hidden door, closing Charlie and Anthony in together, Charlie held her breath.