Swept Away

by Marsha Canham

  “And you have been in that chair all that time?”

  “Only an hour or so,” he frowned, “though it surely feels like more.”

  “The bed is perfectly big enough for two,” she pointed out shyly.

  “So it is, but I am not a saint, madam, and it posed enough of a challenge just to see you settled without letting my hands wander too far astray. Besides, you looked so comfortable all curled up and purring like a kitten, I did not want to disturb you. ”

  “You undressed me?”

  “Both Fysh and Seamus offered, like the gallant louts they are, but I pulled rank.”

  “And you... bathed me?”

  “It was not nearly as pleasurable an experience as the last time, I assure you. Not with you waving your hands about, demanding this, demanding that. Rose oil, you claimed I promised, and you would not give me leave to rest until I fetched the damned stuff.”

  She was surprised. “I was awake?”

  “You don’t remember cuffing me on the chin when I told you we were lucky just to have soap?”

  She shook her head slowly. “No.”

  “Or draining half a cauldron of beef broth and three unwatered glasses of wine?”

  Her breath left her throat in a gust. “No, not at all.”

  Something flickered in the dark eyes for a moment--the temptation to invent some dreadful sin to accuse her of committing--but in the end he only smiled. “Then you have some idea of how I felt waking up in your aunt’s house. You even threatened to call the constabulary down upon me if I dared forced you into those breeches again.”

  “I do not recall saying any such thing, sir, but the sentiment is genuine. How you wear the infernal things, day in and day out is completely beyond me. They pinch and itch and are downright uncomfortable where...where the flesh is particularly sensitive.”

  His eyes glinted as they roamed across the bare white slope of her shoulders. “And where might that be?”

  “You know very well where.”

  “In truth, I do not,” he protested innocently.

  Anna stared at his mouth, his smile, and suffered an unexpected tightness in her chest. She was in a smelly tavern in the seedy end of London, hiding from God knew who with a man who, although he was being hunted by every soldier, constable, and magistrate in the country, who had charges of treason, sedition, and piracy hanging over his head, and who had barely escaped death at the hands of a skilled assassin...could sit and watch over her while she slept, could fetch a trifling thing like rosewater, and bathe her, and now tease her as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

  She swallowed hard and steered the conversation to safer ground. “Your friend, Seamus, he seems a very...capable man.”

  “And a hard fellow to forget, you would think, wouldn’t you? He was positively crushed to hear I had done so, however, and spent most of the day reminding me of his many heroic feats. Some I was able to remember after some prodding; some were embellished beyond recognition. But to answer your unasked question, we have been sailing together for eight years, during which time he has taught me everything I know--or so he insists.”

  “Does he know what happened to you in France?”

  Emory shook his head. “All he can tell me is that I was present at a midnight meeting with Bonaparte and his advisors the night before he surrendered to the British authorities. I went back on board the Intrepid that night, but I was followed.”

  “Cipriani?”

  He nodded. “When I went back on shore to speak with him, someone else knocked me on the head and tossed me into a wagon. Seamus took some men and tried to follow, but...” He shrugged and stared a moment at the empty glass before tipping more wine into it.

  “Does he know about the letter?”

  “He thinks I locked some papers away in the strongbox, but he did not see them.”

  “He was not curious enough to look?”

  Emory took a swallow of wine and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “He would not have looked unless he was certain I was dead.”

  “But the papers...they might prove your innocence?”

  “I won’t know that until I retrieve them. In any case, assuming I kept some insurance to prove I was working for the English government, I cannot think of a thing that would prove I was not working both sides of the fence for profit. It was my ship that carried the bastard away from Elba, after all.”

  She watched him take another harsh swallow of wine then lean his head against the chair.

  “There must be an explanation. Did Cipriani not say your messages were intercepted? Surely your Mr. Seamus can testify on your behalf; he must know the truth of what happened.”

  Emory blew out a soft breath, for he and Seamus had had this discussion already. “No, unfortunately he cannot. He dare not step foot near an English court or he would be tried and hung for murder.”

  “Murder!”

  “It happened a few years ago in Portsmouth. He strangled a man. A rather important gentleman, as it turned out; the elder son of an earl.”

  “He admits to strangling him?” she whispered.

  “He does not have to admit it. I was there. I saw it.”

  “You watched him strangle a man,” she said. “Why did you not stop him?”

  “By the time I realized he was not going to stop, it was too late.” Emory saw the shadow that came into her eyes and guessed that she was remembering the seeming ease with which he fired the gun at Cipriani’s hand. “He had come upon the young gentleman and another fine chap while they were in the process of kicking a dog to death. It seems the mongrel had lifted his leg on the gentleman’s carriage wheel and he took offence at the gesture. While expressing his displeasure, he had such good sport kicking the beast halfway across the road, he made it into a game. When Seamus came upon them, every bone in the poor creature’s body was broken, yet the two men were still kicking it back and forth, laughing and making wagers as to how long it would keep whimpering. The second gentlemen had the rare good sense to run when he saw Turnbull’s face, but the earl’s son was arrogant enough to turn and draw his sword. Seamus took him up by the neck and...well...I have often told him he does not know his own strength, especially when he is enraged. I tried to stop him, but for my trouble earned a bullet in my, ah, nether quarters.”

  “He shot you?”

  “It was an accident; we were scuffling about in the dirt with about five other men from the Intrepid who were trying to help me pull him off the corpse. The gun discharged and I was in the way. He felt terrible afterwards, of course.” He paused and smiled faintly again. “For shooting me, not for throttling the young nobleman. In that he is steadfastly unrepentant. As a result, he has a charge of murder outstanding against him and a reward of several hundred pounds against his capture. Wessex thought it only added to my credibility as a rogue mercenary,” he added quietly, “to have a murderer as my first officer.”

  “Where is he now?” she asked, glancing at the door.

  “Seamus? I have sent him on ahead to Gravesend. I will meet up with him there at the Bull and Horn Friday night after the regent’s ball.”

  “You intend to take back your ship?”

  “If it is at all possible, yes. Before my men are transferred to a gaol somewhere out of reach.”

  “But you still intend to see Wessex?”

  “Cipriani was not in Torquay by accident. He was there for a reason, and if that reason is Bonaparte, then Wessex should be alerted. At the very least he should double, treble the guards around him, and move the Bellerophon out to sea if necessary.”

  “How can you warn him of an escape plan if you do not know what it is?”

  “I can be a pretty persuasive fellow if I put my mind to it,” he said, holding her gaze with his. “Ideally, of course, I can convince him to give me back my ship, or give me enough time to retrieve the letter Cipriani was so anxious to recover. With luck and a fast horse I can be in Gravesend two hours after I speak to Wessex. If he sends me with
an escort, all the better. If not--” he shrugged and left the sentence unfinished.

  Annaleah studied his face. “You keep saying ‘I’.”

  “Do I?”

  “You are not planning to take me with you, are you,” she said softly.

  He stalled for as long as it took him to set his empty glass down, but she did not need to wait for his answer.

  “But...why?”

  “Anna, it just too damned dangerous.”

  “More dangerous than being chased and shot at by soldiers? More dangerous than being hunted and very nearly killed by an assassin? Or fleeing halfway across England through the dead of night and having to hide away in some dreadful little inn that smells of slops and...and other things I choose not to think about?”

  “Anna--” he stood and crossed the two steps to the bed, jostling the mattress as he sat beside her. “You have no idea how sorry I am for having put you through all this. I know the toll it has taken and it is all my fault. All of it. If I had a quarter of the skill I am credited with, I should have just ridden away from Widdicombe House and taken my chances with the patrols and the searches. I should never have turned back, never followed Barrimore’s coach, never approached you on the boardwalk--though you have no idea how long I stood there watching you in the sunlight, and how close I came to murdering that young buck with the spyglass for just speaking to you.”

  She did not lift her head or return his smile and he sighed again. “It was an unconscionable and selfish act, not to mention a wild and stupid scheme to use you as a diversion. I should have walked away. I should have run, dammit, and just kept running. And I never, never should have touched you. Not that first afternoon on the cliffs, not that night in your room, not later at the inn.”

  That did make her tilt her head higher. “Then you regret everything that has happened between us?”

  “No,” he said, and ran a hand up the smoothness of her arm. “No, I do not regret one single moment, not since I wakened and thought you an angel. I just...never should have touched you, dammit, because it only makes it harder to let you go. And I know I must let you go. I must leave you here. It is the only way I can be sure you are safe.”

  This last came out as a whisper--a whisper accompanied by a grinding of his teeth, for he wanted to touch her again, but he dared not. Not when he knew she was bare and soft and warm beneath the layer of quilting and he was already struggling with the urge to just drop a bolt across the door and stay in her arms forever.

  Anna did not make it easier when she raised her hand and rested it gently on the rock hard ridge of his jaw.

  “I feel safe with you. And the blame for this is not all yours to take. If you had not touched me, I surely would have had to touch you or die from the wanting. If you would call yourself selfish and unconscionable, then I must be the same, for I want nothing more than for you to touch me now; to kiss me and hold me and...and make me believe that perhaps you love me even a tenth as much as I love you.”

  The admission, blurted without thought or conscious effort caused her voice to catch in her throat, and her skin to flush under the sudden, tense scrutiny of his eyes.

  “I do,” she said again, her voice stronger, firmer. “I do love you, Emory Althorpe. And when I am with you, I am not afraid of anything.”

  He looked all but dumbfounded. “Anna--”

  “Do you not care for me at all? Not even a little?”

  “How the devil can you even ask that? I should think a lack of caring on my part would be more obvious if I let you go ahead and put your neck on the block.”

  “It is my neck. My choice. Was that not what you told me back on the cliffs? That everyone has the right to make their own choices in life?”

  “Not if those choices might get them killed. And this is not the time to be throwing my own words in my face,” he said with a husky warning. “If soldiers broke through the door right now, it could still be argued to excellent effect that you were being held against your will. No one would anyone dare suggest otherwise, not with Barrimore and your brother standing behind you. And they would stand behind you, regardless if they believed you were kidnapped or not.

  “But if you were caught helping me of your own free will, you would be dragged away in iron shackles and tossed into Newgate like a common thief. You would be charged with treason, put on trial, and found to be just as guilty as me, notwithstanding any defence of youthful indiscretion your family could offer. As a mere accomplice, you might avoid the executioner’s axe, but you would surely be condemned to the transport ships. Ten years of planting turnips in Australia would be the best you could hope for, assuming you survived the three month voyage.”

  Anna paled visibly but did not look away. “Is that a round about way of saying you do care for me?”

  He frowned and released an exasperated little sigh. “This is hardly the time or--”

  “This is the very time and the very place, for if you say no, I will have no choice but to believe you. I will have no choice but to dress and walk out the door and you will never have to see me or bathe me or fetch me rose water again.” She paused and tried not to look desperate when she gave a little shrug. “I most definitely could not go home, however, despite your confidence in my brother’s sense of honor. For that matter, the mere thought of seeing Mother’s face each morning at the breakfast table would make the transport ships look like a holiday. On the other hand, Aunt Florence is convinced Barrimore is quite blind in love with me; perhaps if I prostrate myself at his feet and beg his protection he would take me back in some capacity--as his mistress, or...or his doxy, or some such thing.”

  Emory’s frown grew even more ominous, if that was possible. He knew what she was doing and why she was doing it, but jealousy was an effective weapon, for it brought forth an immediate image of her naked body in front of the fire, her skin gleaming wet, her hair spilling over her shoulders like dark gold. Only it was not him standing with her, dying slowly of sweet agony as her lips explored his body. It was Barrimore.

  “Eventually, I am sure I could convince him of my contrition. Perhaps if he put me with child he would lessen the beatings and--”

  Emory made a sound, low in his throat, and raised his hands again, stopping a breath short of touching her. After a minute, when he had gained control of the heat flowing through his veins, he was even able to open his eyes and meet the wide, guileless blue ones waiting for him.

  “--and he would see how docile and obedient I had become,” she concluded softly.

  “Docile and obedient?” He scowled. “Which hour of which day of which week would you set aside for such a momentous event?”

  “I was fully prepared to accept it as my lot before I met you, sir.”

  He snorted. “You would never have married Barrimore. He would have stifled you, smothered you, and you would have spent half your life staring out a window, wondering what lay beyond the next valley.”

  “But now that I know, now that I have been shot at and chased and forced to ride in public conveyances with fat, sour men who reek of garlic and rotten teeth...I should consider myself lucky to be so smothered and stifled. Lucky to have a man like Winston Perry willing to forgive me my sins.”

  “To make you his doxy?”

  “If need be, yes.”

  Seeing the stubborn set to her chin, Emory’s lips parted around another soft oath. “Do you even know what being doxy entails?”

  A hesitation betrayed her, for it was one of Anthony’s words, used liberally but never precisely defined. “I am sure my lord Barrimore would instruct me.”

  “There are a room full of men belowstairs in the tavern who would happily impart all the instructions you need.”

  “Then pick one. Or two,” she countered smartly. “I expect it takes a considerable amount of practice to become a good doxy.”

  His eyes narrowed and Anna’s heart rose slowly to lodge at the base of her throat.

  “You are not going to let this go, are you?”


  She shook her head adamantly.

  “Not even if I tie you hand and foot to the bed?”

  “Only if you tie yourself alongside me.”

  “An appealing prospect, I assure you but...” He stopped and stared as Anna laid slowly back against the pillows. She did not take the cover with her, but left it draped over her knees, and when she moved, it slipped off her breasts, baring them to the glow of the lamplight.

  “But?” she prompted him.

  “But...” The word came out a murmur and was followed by an oath as he bowed his head and drove all ten fingers through his hair in frustration.

  She waited a moment, then ran the merest tip of her tongue across her lips to moisten them. Leaning forward again, she pressed a soft kiss onto the back of his hands where they were still locked in his hair, then angled her head down until their brows touched.

  “I am sorry to be so much trouble,” she whispered.

  “No you’re not. I believe you are thriving on it.”

  “I believe I could thrive, my lord, and become equally as headstrong, obstinate, and willful as you...under your expert tutelage of course.”

  He grunted. “And now you mock me. A foolish and pitiable creature who cannot even muster the strength to chase you out the door.”

  “Only tell me who to thank for this dreadful flaw in your character and I will do so gladly,” she whispered, kissing him again on the temple, the cheek, the ridge of his brow.

  She folded her knees beneath her and rose enough that she was able to cradle his head against her breast. A moment later, she felt the warmth of the sigh he expelled against her skin as his hands surrendered to the soft lure of her flesh.