She shivered at the prospect and tried to push it from her mind, concentrating instead on the little girl, orphaned and alone in a monastery far away. Once again her heart cried out for someone to love and she felt her resolve stiffen to rescue Nina Ware and bring her home, no matter the odds against her.
“I shall be with you on our trip to chaperone you and give you my consequence,” Lottie said comfortingly, ignoring the fact that she was at best flighty and at worst utterly unreliable. She did not wait for Joanna’s response. Her butterfly mind had already skipped ahead. “I wonder if Merryn would like to accompany us on our journey. It might be good for her. We could bring her out of herself and introduce her to some young officers. She spends far too much time moping about.”
“She is quiet,” Joanna said. “I realize that you do not understand the concept, Lottie, but truly, Merryn is happy as she is.”
“But she cannot stay here!” Lottie said, rather as though Merryn was a waif and stray. “She has no friends and nowhere to live. And we must be gone soon if we are to make the expedition this summer.”
“I will ask Merryn what she wishes to do,” Joanna said. “In the meantime there is the practical problem of chartering the ship.”
“And the question of clothes,” Lottie reminded her.
“Of course. But the ship is probably more important.”
“Darling, how can anything be more important than what to wear?” Lottie lay back on the sofa, raised her feet in the air and admired the scarlet slippers peeping out from beneath the hem of her gown. “I wonder whether Mr. Jackman could design me a fashionable overshoe for use in the snow.”
“You will have to wear boots,” Joanna said.
“Darling, only if they look elegant! I want none of those great clumping creations that the poor people wear!” Lottie reached again for the bonbon dish and smiled, a smile like a contented cat. “Anyway, you need not worry about the ship. Captain Purchase will be thrilled that you wish to charter the Sea Witch and keep him out of jail! And even better, he and Devlin may sail us there, or whatever the correct terminology is! I will send a message to Dev directly.”
Alex Grant, Joanna reflected, was going to be mad as fire that she had not only disregarded his warnings about traveling to Spitsbergen but was actually recruiting both a friend of his and, even worse, his cousin, to convey them there. He could not stop her, she reassured herself. Even so, a traitorous feeling ran through her blood; the wish that Alex was on her side rather than against her.
“DID WE HAVE TO MEET here, Purchase?” Alex looked around the inn with a certain degree of disfavor. The small room was dark, hot and smoky, loud with voices and laughter, and thick with the scent of ale and cheap perfume. They were in the backstreets of Holborn and it was clear that the alehouse offered far more refreshment than mere drink. The exceptionally pretty light skirt who had greeted Alex on arrival had seemed disappointed when he had turned down her offer of companionship and had flounced off to find a more congenial and generous patron, muttering that it was not a coffeehouse, in and out with no deposit made. Alex appreciated the wit and ordered and paid for a pint of ale, but he was still disinclined to accept whatever extras were on offer. He did not want a quick tumble with a whore. That would bring no more than relief of the most fundamental kind and possibly a dose of clap into the bargain. He was too jaded to find the prospect even remotely appealing. He wanted Joanna Ware. Joanna, with her lovely lissome body, which admittedly he had not seen but had imagined in rather too much fevered detail… Joanna, whom he distrusted and yet wanted with a lust so intense he burned with it. Joanna, whom he wanted to shake for her willful insistence on traveling to the Arctic herself to fetch little Nina Ware because could she not see how dangerous it was?
But he would thwart that plan easily enough. That was what he was here for tonight.
“You’re in a bad mood,” Owen Purchase said in his rich southern drawl, tipping his chair back and raising his tankard to his lips. “It’s a permanent state with you at the moment, I hear.”
“I suppose Dev told you that.” Alex eased himself onto a bench behind the rough wooden table. “And I suppose he’s here, too, upstairs with some girl?”
Purchase grinned. “What are you now—his father?”
“I feel like it sometimes.” Alex groaned. “I want to drag him out of there, warn him to be careful to avoid the pox—”
Purchase spluttered into his ale. “He’s young, Grant. The young make their own mistakes. They never listen.” He put down the tankard, leaned his elbows on the table and surveyed his colleague with amusement in his bright green eyes. “Neither do their elders, I hear. David Ware?”
“You’ve heard the news, then,” Alex said.
“I’ve heard Ware made you joint guardian to his bastard child along with his widow,” Purchase said. He tilted his head to one side. “And that you’re trying to stop her traveling to Spitsbergen to fetch the girl home.”
“The word is that you were in Queer Street because Cummings and his fellow bankers had refused to sponsor your wild-goose chase to Mexico,” Alex said, “so you plan to allow Lady Joanna to charter your ship for her foolish voyage to Spitsbergen.”
Purchase laughed, his teeth a white flash in his tanned face. “Bad news travels fast. I’ll make that Mexican fortune and prove you wrong yet, Grant.”
“Maybe,” Alex said. “In the meantime can I persuade you not to agree to a charter with Lady Joanna?”
Purchase was silent for a moment and then he shook his head slowly. “I am already committed. I signed the papers this afternoon.”
Alex felt a sharp flash of surprise followed by an equally sharp stab of anger. Joanna, it seemed, had wasted no time.
“Damn her,” he said through his teeth. “Ignorance combined with money is a fatal combination.”
Purchase raised his brows. “You are mighty vehement, Grant. Why?”
Alex could feel his temper tightening intolerably as it had done in Lincoln’s Inn Fields when Joanna had made it so plain that she intended to ignore his advice and travel to Spitsbergen.
“The Arctic is no place for a woman,” he said abruptly, trying to control his anger. “You know that, Purchase.”
Purchase shrugged elegantly. “I’ll allow that it is a harsh climate.”
“Harsh!” Alex exploded. “It’s lethal! And this is a woman who cannot live without luxuries! She has no concept of privation or hunger or even of pitiless cold—”
“She’ll soon learn,” Purchase said dispassionately.
“She will soon die.” Alex stopped, shocked by the violence of his feelings, struggling to wrench them back under control.
Owen Purchase was looking at him with an arrested expression on his face. “I didn’t think you liked her, Grant.”
“I don’t,” Alex snapped.
Purchase shrugged again. “If it is not concern for Lady Joanna that prompts your feelings, then what is it? Guilt about your wife?”
Alex felt his stomach drop.
Guilt.
Not to his closest friends had he ever expressed his sense of blame over Amelia’s death, yet the shame stalked him every day. He had been the one who had forced Amelia to travel with him. His was the responsibility for her death.
In the early days his guilt had been all-consuming; it had been a ravenous beast that had almost swallowed him whole, almost destroyed him. Somehow over time he had found a way to live with it, to pacify it, almost to soothe it to sleep. And then Joanna Ware, in her naiveté, had expressed her determination to go to the Arctic and the beast had awoken and its claws were as sharp or sharper than before. All his memories had flooded back to haunt him. Amelia had traveled—and she had died as a result. And somehow, he did not know why or how, did not want to know why, that made him angrier than ever with Joanna.
“You read too much poetry, Purchase,” he said shortly, turning away from confidences, turning away even from his thoughts and the implication of what they meant. “
Your imagination gets the better of you.”
Purchase laughed. “If you say so.” He leaned forward. “Lady Joanna paid in full, in cash, in advance.” He made an eloquent gesture. “What can I say? I am an adventurer these days, Grant, and I don’t turn down offers like that. You’ll know that Dev and I are crewing for her. We sail in a week.”
“A week?” Alex exclaimed. “You’ll never be ready in time. Provisioning alone would take you longer than that.”
“Money talks,” Purchase said, “and Lady Joanna’s money is mighty persuasive.”
“It’s madness.” Alex slumped back in his seat, aware of a mixture of exasperation, frustration and a certain very reluctant admiration that Lady Joanna Ware had proved that obstinacy was one of her finest qualities.
“I don’t suppose,” he added, “that your ship is reinforced to withstand the ice either.”
“Sea Witch is no bomb ship,” Purchase allowed. “Her decks aren’t reinforced, but she’s a tough little vessel for all that.”
“Sea Witch,” Alex said. “Are you trying to curse her?”
“I thought it was appropriate,” Purchase said, grinning. “She handles like a woman in a temper.” He laughed. “And she’s all the more challenge for it.”
Alex moved his tankard in slow circles on the tabletop. “You’ll not reconsider the commission?” he asked.
Purchase shook his head. “Sorry, Grant.”
“Then give me passage, too,” Alex said.
“As crew?” Purchase smiled.
“As a guest,” Alex said. “I’ll pay my way.”
“Why?”
“Because I am Nina Ware’s guardian, too, and I feel an obligation to see her safe.”
Purchase’s clear gaze considered him thoughtfully. “Seems Ware chose well when he named you joint guardian, Grant. You may hate him for shackling you, but you will always do your duty.”
“Quite,” Alex said tightly. In the previous day, he thought bitterly, he had fought more battles between honor and inclination than ever before. “So?” he asked.
“You’ll have to ask Lady Joanna if you can come,” Purchase said, grinning hugely and clearly enjoying the moment. “She has the final word.”
Alex swore. “Purchase—”
“Don’t worry, you can always work your passage as cabin boy if she turns you down,” Purchase said, his grin widening still more until Alex’s face relaxed into a reluctant smile. “That’s better. What the hell has happened to you to turn you into a bear with such a sore head?”
“Lady Joanna tries my patience,” Alex said succinctly. He thought of Joanna stating defiantly that she would take fruit to Spitsbergen with her to ward off the scurvy and maintaining that her clothes would be warm enough to keep out the Arctic cold, and was gripped by acute irritation. He had not known whether to shake her or kiss her and the fact that he wanted to kiss her at all was precisely the problem.
“Ah.” Owen Purchase straightened in his seat. “Lady Joanna is a fine woman…”
Alex glared. “That’s your lust talking, Purchase.”
Purchase laughed. “I could call you out for that, Grant, but I like you too much to kill you. I’ll admit to a certain partiality for Lady Joanna.” He shifted on the bench, crossing his long legs at the ankle.
“You want her for yourself,” Alex said sharply.
Purchase did not deny it. “She was too good for Ware,” he said.
“I am surprised to hear you say that,” Alex said stiffly. “You admired Ware as much as I did.”
He was surprised. No one criticized David Ware. Ware had been a hero. Everyone knew it.
“Ah, come on, Grant,” Purchase said, his drawl even more pronounced than normal. “Ware was a damned good captain but a damned poor husband.” His mouth thinned. “You know that—you were the one forever dragging him out of whorehouses so that he didn’t miss the boat.”
“And in return,” Alex said sharply, “he saved my life, Purchase. Not a bad bargain.”
“Ah, well…” Purchase’s cool gaze was thoughtful on him. “I understand your sense of obligation.”
“I doubt that you do,” Alex said. He rubbed the ache in his leg, the constant reminder of his debt. “Ware could have left me to die in that crevasse, Purchase. He should have done, because he risked his life for mine instead of ensuring one of us survived to lead our men back to safety. So don’t speak to me about his weaknesses.”
“I’ve never denied that Ware had physical courage,” Purchase said. “But don’t you see he did it for his own glory? You’re right—he should have left you. That would have been the responsible thing to do, but instead he had to play the hero.”
“Enough,” Alex said through shut teeth. He could see that Purchase’s desire for Joanna was skewing his judgment. Perhaps they had been lovers and she had poisoned Purchase’s mind against her husband. Perhaps they were still lovers. His bad temper tightened like a ratchet.
Purchase drained his tankard. “One more thing and then I’ll stop pushing my luck. Did you never think Ware’s discipline a little on the harsh side?” Over the rim of the beaker Alex saw that Purchase’s eyes were bright and hard with contempt. “Sure, his men obeyed him, but they didn’t love him like yours love you—if I can be so inappropriate as to speak of love to an Englishman.”
“A Scotsman,” Alex corrected, but with a faint smile.
“Even worse,” Purchase drawled. “No wonder you’re so dour. It’s the iron in your soul.”
“Dev says it is my Calvinistic upbringing,” Alex said. He stopped, shook his head. “Let’s not talk about this, Purchase. We’ll only argue and I don’t want to quarrel with you.”
For a moment the tension hung on the air, but then the other man’s face relaxed and he nodded.
“Another one?” Purchase asked, holding up his tankard inquiringly.
Alex shook his head. “I need to find Lady Joanna and persuade her to allow me to accompany her on this voyage of hers. For the child’s sake.”
“Try some charm, if you have it in you, Grant,” Purchase advised. He cocked his head. “Anyway, you’re in luck. Lady Joanna is currently around the corner at the Castle Tavern.”
Alex peered out of the grimy window. The evening was well advanced and the spring light was fading now, leaving the sky streaked with pink and gold. Torches flared in the street outside and the lights of the inns and coffee shops and gaming hells dappled the cobbles. The evening crowd, raucous and rowdy, already three sheets to the wind on ale and gin, thronged the narrow alleyway. Holborn at night was the last place Alex would have expected to find Lady Joanna Ware.
“What the deuce is she doing there?” he asked.
Purchase gestured to one of the extremely pretty tavern girls to refill his tankard. “She’s a Lady of the Fancy,” he said.
“A what?”
“She supports the pugilistic club,” Purchase said. “She is their mascot. I believe there is a match tonight.”
“A mascot? Lady Joanna attends boxing matches?” Alex could hear the incredulity making his voice rise.
“It’s a fashionable sport with the ton,” Purchase said. “The Duke of York is one of the patrons attending tonight.”
“I don’t care if the King attends,” Alex expostulated. “It simply isn’t appropriate for a lady.”
“By all means tell Lady Joanna that when you see her,” Purchase said amiably, winking at the tavern girl as she slid into the seat Alex had vacated. “It should help your cause tremendously in persuading her to permit you to accompany us to Spitsbergen.” He paused, then sighed and reached for his beer again. “Good luck, Grant,” he added. “You’re going to need it.”
Chapter 6
“THERE IS A GENTLEMAN to see you, ma’am.” Daniel Brooke, the extremely deferential ex-prizefighter who now worked as manager of Tom Belcher’s inn, the Castle Tavern in Holborn, came into the small private parlor and bowed to Joanna. It looked extremely comical, for Brooke was a short, broad, ba
ld and muscular man, who looked almost as wide as he was tall. He was the younger cousin of Jem Brooke, a man to whom Joanna had cause to be very grateful. Jem, also a prizefighter in his time, had for a short while protected her from David’s wrath after their terrible quarrel over her failure to provide her husband with an heir. The morning after David’s assault on her, Jem had mysteriously arrived on Joanna’s doorstep saying only that a gentleman had sent him to help her. Joanna had had no inkling as to the identity of her knight errant or how he had known of her situation, but Jem was a tower of strength, his size, bulk and skill supremely reassuring when David had attempted to barge back into the house later that day, asserting his marital rights. Jem had thrown him out into the street with one hand.
Once David had returned to sea and she no longer needed a bodyguard, Joanna had helped set Jem up in a tavern of his own out at Wapping where he now served particularly tasty whitebait suppers. But somehow along the way she had become the toast of the prizefighters, patron and mascot, a Lady of the Fancy—and she did not have the heart to tell them that she abhorred fighting, abhorred violence of any kind, unsurprisingly enough.
That was why she was sitting here alone, nursing a glass of stout, whilst in the adjoining room an impromptu ring had been set up and a fight was in progress between the champion, Hen Pearce, and a young hopeful. It was her second glass and the rich malt taste of the beer was both warming and strong. Joanna seldom drank and then usually wine or champagne. This was earthier, but it relaxed her. It had been a week of shocking disclosures in which the worst elements of the past had been raked up and her feelings exposed mercilessly. Her emotions felt frayed and raw, but for a little while in this tavern with fifty men outside who would raucously defend her to the death, she felt obscurely safe.
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