Innocent Betrayal

by Mary Campisi

  He waited for her to respond. Time stretched on, the voice of the night engulfing them in a mysterious cacophony of sound. When at last she spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper. “What do you think I am?”

  “A rich man’s whore.”

  That seemed to shake her up a bit. She gasped and balled her hands into fists, but remained silent, neither admitting nor refuting the accusation. Damn but she’s not only a good liar, but a fair actress as well. He could almost believe her outrage.

  “What else could you be?” he flung back. “You leave in the middle of the night dressed as a boy, which is strange, even by my standards. Who knows?” he scoffed. “Maybe your nobleman lover likes to pretend you’re a street urchin until he deflowers you to discover the beautiful woman underneath.” Noah paused as the image of Emily, trapped and naked beneath some fat, old noble settled in his brain and tore at his guts. “That’s it, isn’t it?” he bit out. “That’s what excites him.”

  She wouldn’t answer. Instead, she huddled against the brick, turning away from him as though to shield herself against his hurtful words. Well, sometimes, the truth was an ugly bedfellow, and Emily might as well accept that fact.

  “I do have one question.”

  She turned further into the wall. Why did it bother him so much to discover she was a whore? He’d been with whores in his day. Plenty. But she’d seemed different. As annoying, mouthy, and frustratingly impossible as Emily Barry had been, she’d touched him, deep inside where his real feelings lay, lost and hidden.

  “I just want to know,” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm and unaffected. “Why you were so hot for me when you’d obviously just been with your lover? Or are you like that with any man?”

  She whirled on him like a she-cat. Was she angry or hurt by his words? “Yes,” Emily bit out. “I lie with every man who appeals to me.” He winced, surprised at the viciousness of her words.

  “Whenever, wherever, however, from nobleman to stable boy. It doesn’t matter and neither do you. You were just one more face,” she paused, her breath coming in harsh, heavy rasps. “Or should I say one more body among a string of countless others?” She pushed away from the wall, planted her feet squarely, and pointed a finger at him. “But you’re not worth the trouble.” With that, she turned and walked away, head held high, steps graceful, almost regal.

  And for the hundredth time since he’d first set eyes on her, he asked himself the same question. Who was Emily Barry?

  ****

  Slightly before dawn, three days later, two small figures darted about the docks of London’s most popular port. The morning was cool, the dock mostly deserted, save for a lone sailor or two. Conditions were perfect.

  “Are you certain you won’t reconsider and do this whole thing in a more civilized manner?” Belle whispered from her crouched position behind an old wooden barrel.

  Emily shook her stocking-capped head, her eyes glued on the deck of The Falcon. She’d seen movement a moment before, a dark clad, round figure ambling about. Where had he gone? “I can’t.”

  “But a stowaway aboard a ship full of men? That’s extremely dangerous.”

  Emily let out a low snort. “So are a roomful of marriage-hunting ‘gentlemen’ in London.” She leaned in close and whispered, “And most show no mercy or discretion when vying for the largest purse.”

  “I know,” Belle sighed. “I just wish you were on better terms with Mr. Sandleton.” She gnawed her lower lip. “It would make things so much easier.”

  “Nothing would ever be easy with that man,” Emily said, her head beginning to pound at the mention of him. She’d battled a ferocious headache for the past three days, ever since she decided to stow away on The Falcon.

  A tall, dark figure came into view aboard the ship. From the distance, Emily noted the proprietary stance of his well-muscled frame. She sipped in tiny breaths as she watched him.

  “Is that Noah Sandleton?” Belle whispered.

  “That’s him,” Emily said, trying to control the jumpiness in her body. What could he do to her if he found her hiding on his ship? Kill her? Certainly not. Have her thrown in Newgate? Possibly. Take her back to Ian? Most definitely. Well, it wouldn’t be an issue, because she didn’t plan on getting caught. She hadn’t figured out how to manage it, but she’d come up with a plan.

  “We’d better get you on board while the crew is still light,” Belle said as a few straggling crewman headed across the wooden planking toward the massive ship.

  Emily squeezed Belle’s hands and said, “Remember our plan. Ian thinks we’re shopping for the day. He’ll find the note I left him in his study and will be so thrilled we’re decorating ourselves for the duke’s ball, he won’t question a thing.”

  Belle nodded. “And at exactly seven o’clock, I shall present him with this note.” She patted her pocket.

  “Then he’ll know I’ve taken off to America with my unwilling host, and it will be too late for him to stop me.” She tried to keep the triumphant note from her voice, but it was difficult.

  “I’ll miss you, Emily,” Belle said, her eyes bright.

  “And I, you. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.” Why did she suddenly feel like she was deserting everyone who cared about her and loved her? She thought of Ian, proud, unbending, fiercely loyal, and the victory she’d felt a moment before faded.

  “Go. Now,” Belle said, giving her friend a quick hug.

  “I’ll write as soon as I am settled. I promise.”

  “I know you will,” Belle whispered.

  “I’ll work on a plan,” Emily sniffed. “A plan to get you to America.” She tried to smile. “You know me, I always have a plan.”

  “Take care of Christopher.”

  “I will.” Emily hugged her friend one last time, before straightening and heading toward the ship. She flung her canvas bag over one shoulder and concentrated on imitating the purposeful swagger of the sailor in front of her. Unfortunately, he was several inches taller and many pounds heavier, making her attempts more comical than serious.

  A hard slap across the shoulders almost sent her flying over the roped railing. “Wot ye’ got in yer trousers, mate?” came a deep, gravelly voice from behind. “Is it bugs or a slithery snake?” Emily kept her eyes down, ignoring the loud guffaws and hoots that followed.

  “Aw, now, I didna’ mean ta hurt yer feelins’,” the old sailor said, draping his burly arm about her shoulders. “Wot’s yer name, boy?” he asked, skewering his face so close that Emily was forced to stop. Stealing a quick glance in the sailor’s direction was much more than she wanted to see. Or smell. His black, beady eyes scrunched almost closed as they studied her. A long scar ran from his forehead to the left side of his jaw. He had several teeth missing and when he smiled, which he was doing now, she could see great black gaps in his mouth.

  Emily couldn’t tell if the foul odor emanating from the man came from his mouth or his body. Either way, the result was a sour, garlicky-onion smell, mixed with rotten cabbage.

  “Ease up, Big Tom. Ease up.” A jovial voice rang out to the right of her. Emily hazarded a glance in the direction of her savior. He was a short, robust man with a ruddy face and long white hair and beard to match. With his bright blue eyes, he reminded her of St. Nicholas.

  “Ah, John, I didna mean no harm,” the giant said.

  “We’re travelling light as it is this trip, Tom, and we can’t have you scaring off the new crew, now can we?” the man named John said.

  “No, sir,” Big Tom said, bowing his head low like an over playful puppy who’d just been caught with his owner’s shoe.

  “No harm done,” the older man said, walking alongside Emily. They were less than twenty feet from the ship. “What’s your name, boy?”

  Emily hesitated, cleared her throat and squeaked out a small reply, “Simon.”

  “Ah, Simon,” John repeated. “Fine name. My uncle’s name was Simon.”

  Emily nodded, not knowing what else
to do.

  “You’ll like the captain,” John continued in his soothing voice. “He’s fair and decent. A true gentleman.” He paused, then pointed a stubby finger. “There he is. Look. Over there.”

  “Hmmm,” Emily mumbled, darting a quick look up. It was Noah Sandleton, all right. Proud, arrogant, Noah Sandleton. In command, as usual. Her head dipped low. She kept her eyes to the ground, lest he spot her and recognize her from the fear in her eyes. And it was there, enveloping her whole body, squeezing the breath from her chest, filling her nostrils with its scent. She was so close. She could not fail. She would not fail.

  “Be damned. Where’s he got himself off to now?” John said in a puzzled voice. “Ah well, no matter. You’ll meet the captain soon enough.”

  Emily’s eyes shot up toward the spot where she’d last seen Noah. She let out her breath in a great gush of relief. It was empty. Noah Sandleton was gone.

  ****

  She was going to die. Emily was certain of it. And right now death would be a welcome relief from the endless rocking of the ship. She’d decided that hours ago when the ship first left port and encountered choppy waters, but her sentiments had increased tenfold with the rocking of the ship. Her quarters were dark and cramped and she could barely feel her legs anymore.

  What could she expect, when she was stowed away in Noah Sandleton’s armoire? How long had she been in here? Three hours? Four? There’d been no time to seek out a safe haven, what with all the crew moving about, shouting commands, readying to set sail. Then she’d heard his voice and panicked, stealing into the first cabin she saw. Not until she lay crouched in the armoire did she smell Noah’s spicy cologne and realize her mistake.

  The ship rolled again sending Emily’s stomach somersaulting. If she could only get fresh air, a breath, perhaps, of something other than the spicy cologne and stale cigar smoke that filled her nostrils. Then maybe her insides would settle and cease their continuous flips and turns.

  She struggled to her knees, burrowing her way through the pile of clothing, seeking a different, less offensive scent. Her fingers landed on a swatch of silk material. Odd that silk should be in Noah’s chambers. Emily pressed the fabric to her nose and sniffed the sweet, overpowering fragrance that emanated from the material. A woman’s perfume? It certainly smelled like it, but it wasn’t anything like the lilac water Emily preferred. This was more of a compelling, exotic blend, demanding and bold, like the wearer would be.

  Unable to contain her curiosity, Emily ran her fingers over the silk again. Behind it were other garments, definitely a woman’s, made of soft filmy fabrics. The last one she touched was but a wisp of satin with gaping holes where they shouldn’t be. Emily withdrew her hand quickly.

  Damn Noah Sandleton. Damn him for accusing her of something he himself was doing. And damn him for making her care.

  The ship pitched again and Emily flew against the side of the armoire. At least everything was bolted down so there was no fear of toppling over. Unfortunately, the same could not be said of Emily’s stomach. At any moment she was going to lose the few biscuits she’d stolen from Mrs. Florence’s pantry.

  She sipped in a breath and tried to ignore the sour taste in her mouth as she thought of her family. Soon, Belle would deliver the letter, a single sheet of scented lilac paper, informing them only that she was sailing aboard Noah Sandleton’s ship to meet Christopher and asking them to forgive her dishonesty.

  She prayed they would understand and forgive her. Perhaps not right away, but in time. She reached into her coat pocket and patted Christopher’s letters. There were six of them, worn and tattered from so much handling. A few had smudges on them where Emily’s tears had mingled with the ink. Very soon it would all be over thanks to the help of her friend and, she grudgingly admitted, Noah Sandleton.

  The very thought of the man unsettled her. She refused to dwell on what his reaction would be if he discovered her aboard his ship. He would not find out, he simply would not. Her stomach did another flip-flop. Squeezing her eyes shut, she huddled into a small ball, resting her weary head on her knees and drifted into a deep, troubled sleep.

  ****

  “What the hell!”

  Emily jumped, fully awake. Her eyes flew open to find a furious Noah Sandleton glaring down at her. He towered over her, drenched from head to toe, looking as wild and untamed as the storm outside. Tiny droplets of water fell in a steady stream from his long, wavy hair, which, when wet, looked almost black. His broad arms crossed over his chest, revealing a mass of dark hair above the half-opened shirt that clung to his well-muscled body. His breeches looked like a second skin. She tried to scoot farther back into the armoire, but there was nowhere to go.

  “You!” Noah roared, grabbing her arm. “What in God’s name are you doing on my ship?” He pinned her with eyes as dark and unfathomable as the storm outside.

  “I can explain,” Emily began feebly.

  “Get out of there,” he demanded, yanking on her arm. “Get out now, before I drag you out.”

  She tried to move but her limbs refused to cooperate. They were weak and lifeless after so many hours scrunched in a corner. She searched for something to hang onto so she could pull herself up, but she was weary and disoriented.

  The ship pitched and flung her back, slamming the doors to the armoire shut. Emily flailed about inside as dizziness overtook her.

  A few seconds later, Noah crashed the armoire open, almost ripping the doors from their hinges. He flung aside several garments trying to reach Emily. She hit at his face and kicked with her feet, squirming and yelling as he grabbed for her arm. She would not go down without a fight, she vowed as he half lifted, half dragged her out of the closet. Hoisting her into his arms, he carried her across the swaying room toward the bed, mindless of the wet spots he made on her shirt and breeches. Emily turned her head toward his shoulder and bit. Hard.

  “Witch!” Noah yelled, throwing her onto the bed.

  Emily hit the firm surface with such force her teeth rattled and her stomach flipped like a bouncing ball. She eased onto her side, moving slowly in an effort to settle the queasy feeling and taste of bile and biscuit.

  It wouldn’t do to disgrace herself. Not now, in front of this odious man. She closed her eyes, concentrated on her breathing and tried to ignore the ominous figure standing over her.

  Go away. Please go away and don’t come back.

  A door closed and she relaxed, sinking her head deeper into the pillow. It smelled of Noah’s cologne. She shoved it away and looked toward the door. She gasped, surprised to see him standing there, the frown on his face more threatening than before. The shivers that ran through her had nothing to do with her damp clothes. He looked like he wanted to throttle her. Should she be afraid? He pushed away from the door and closed the distance between them.

  She looked at him again, noting the flaring nostrils and twitching jaw. Maybe.

  But he was a gentleman, wasn’t he? John, the older crewman with the white beard, had even said so. And after all, Noah was her brother’s best friend. Certainly, that counted for something, didn’t it? Of course it did.

  But he was not an Englishman.

  No, he was an American. Would he revert to some primitive behavior and scalp her, like she’d read the savages did when they went on a warpath? They liked blonde hair.

  She fingered her curls. Curly, long, blonde hair. She scooted further back toward the wall of the berth.

  “Get back here.”

  Emily crept forward a few inches, taking deep breaths to calm herself and her stomach.

  “Now tell me what in the devil you’re doing here.”

  She opened her mouth to speak. Her stomach lurched with the ship. She wasn’t going to make it.

  “Talk, damn you,” he said through clenched teeth. “Now.”

  Her stomach rolled again. Sweat broke out on her upper lip. “I’m going to be sick.”

  “Don’t think I’ll fall for another one of your tricks,” Noah bar
ked. “Now talk.”

  Emily didn’t hear his words, didn’t hear anything but the sound of her own rapid breathing as she willed herself not to be sick all over Noah Sandleton’s bed. But it was too late. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she jumped from the bed, frantic and wild-eyed, searching for a chamber pot.

  She must have looked as dreadful as she felt, because Noah’s demands ceased as he clasped her arm and guided her to the far end of the cabin where, within seconds, she proceeded to relieve herself of her breakfast. When she was certain there was nothing left in her stomach, she rinsed her mouth with the glass of water Noah handed her and allowed him to help her back to bed.

  Too weak to protest, Emily allowed him to remove her shoes and pull a warm blanket over her chilled body. He remained silent as he placed a cool cloth on her forehead and smoothed back her hair.

  “We’ll talk in the morning.” His voice was gruff. His fingers touched her cheek gently before he drew his hand away. Emily closed her eyes, comforted by his touch, and let sleep take her.

  ****

  Emily yawned, stretched her arms over her head, and luxuriated in the early morning quiet. All was silent save for a gentle swishing of water and the distant cry of a bird. She extended her arms the full length of the berth and hit upon a hard, unmoving object.

  Her eyes flew open to find Noah Sandleton’s large frame settled at the end of the bed. He appeared relaxed, his broad shoulders resting against the wall with one booted leg crossed over his knee, his muscular arms folded across his chest. But there was no calmness in the brooding eyes that followed her every move. “Talk.”

  Emily scooted to the top of the berth placing what little distance between them she could. What to tell him? She supposed it was time to come clean and own up to the truth, at least some of it.

  “And a good morning to you too, sir,” she replied, stalling as she decided what and exactly how much to tell. Drat but that dark look said he knew her ruse and it wasn’t going to work. “Well,” she began, toying with the blanket, “I suppose I owe you an explanation.” She tried a feeble attempt at a laugh which flopped miserably. “I must have given you a bit of a start when you found me in your armoire.” She glanced at him.