“I believe he has gone to speak with some acquaintances.”
It is because he does not wish to be near you. He is likely reviled. “Actually, there was another matter that I wished to speak with you about. A matter of the utmost urgency, which will require your discretion.”
“Oh?” Lady Imogene sounded worried.
“As you may have seen, in recent weeks, I am due to marry the delightful Lady Jemima.”
Lady Imogene pursed her lips. “Yes, I had read something of that ilk, though I had always expected my dear friend to remain a spinster. She always said she would not settle for anything less than true love, and I must say, she had never mentioned you prior to your engagement being announced.”
Anger burned in Peter’s chest, but he kept up the pretense of politeness. “It was a whirlwind romance, Lady Imogene, but I assure you that I have Lady Jemima’s best interests at heart. I adore her, with all my heart. Have you heard from my darling bride-to-be of late?”
“I have not, Lord Beaurgant, though I wrote to her to discover more of her engagement to you. I have yet to receive a reply.” She smirked, angering Peter further. “Why would you need to ask me if I had heard from her, if you are to be wed? Have you lost her already, Lord Beaurgant?”
Why, you smug, self-satisfied… “Not at all, Lady Imogene. I have been away from Cowden Manor for several days, and I am eager to hear news of her, that is all. It is difficult to be parted from the one you love. Although, I am sure you are all too familiar with that.”
“What do you mean, Lord Beaurgant?” Lady Imogene narrowed her eyes at Peter.
“Nothing, Lady Imogene.” He paused. “I will be residing at Mivart’s Hotel for a short while. If you do happen to hear word from her, might you inform me? I am in the process of arranging a surprise for her, which is why I must have your discretion.”
“A surprise?”
Well, that garnered your attention. “Yes, a romantic surprise. I desire to bring her here to London, but I cannot do it myself, otherwise she would suspect something. Might you implore her to come here, to share in your celebrations? And tell me of it, if you manage it?”
Lady Imogene almost burst with excitement, as Peter had known she would. “How marvelous! I do so wish Lord Harbinson would do something so romantic for me.” She smiled secretively. “I will certainly write to her and attempt to bring her here. You said you were residing at Mivart’s?”
“Yes, Lady Imogene.”
“Well then, as soon as I hear from my darling friend, I will send word to you and tell you if I have managed to persuade her to take a visit to London.” She leaned closer. “Might you tell me what the surprise is?”
Peter smiled. “There is jewelry involved—a bespoke piece, that I have been toiling over, to ensure that it suits her perfectly. And I hope to arrange a soirée such as this, so that we might properly celebrate our upcoming nuptials, with all of her friends and family present. Lady Jemima deserves to be celebrated but, as I have said, it must be kept secret—I wish to surprise her—as my first gift as her future husband.”
“Oh, Lord Beaurgant, how absolutely splendid.” Lady Imogene looked giddy with happiness. It had not taken her long to warm to Peter, just as he had anticipated. When romance came into the equation, ladies could be persuaded into doing just about anything, including giving up valuable secrets. He had persuaded enough ladies to do as he pleased, over the years. It had become something of a skill to him.
If I wanted you, I could have you.
He bowed elegantly to Lady Imogene, smirking at the thought of bedding such an insipid young lady, before making his excuses to leave. He had put the first marker in place, and he was almost certain it would lead him to his absent bride.
The only lady who he deemed truly worthy of his attentions.
Chapter 13
Jemima had stayed far later than she had intended, thrilled by the vibrant culture of Portugal and the friendly nature of the locals. They had made her feel truly welcome, bringing her dish after dish of delicious food, to be washed down with a potent beverage that had made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
“You will have more gambas?” the proprietor asked. She was a slender, beautiful creature with thick, chestnut-brown hair and a mischievous smile.
Jemima waved her hand. “No, thank you. I have eaten far too much already.”
The proprietor laughed heartily. “You are a growing man! There’s no such thing as too much. You’re much too skinny!” Her English was remarkably good, though it was thickly accented. Jemima only wished she could reply in the Portuguese tongue, but it was not one she was familiar with. Even its nearest cousin, Spanish, was not a language she knew very well. Had she been asked to speak in French or Latin or Greek, on the other hand, she would have been well-equipped.
The other revelers chuckled, making Jemima blush. Although, she felt somewhat proud that she had managed to pass as a young man in this new world. She wondered what it might be like to remain here, in this town. It was warm, and the people were pleasant, and the food was beyond anything she had ever tasted, but this did not feel like the right place to begin her new life. She supposed she would know it when she found it.
“I thank you for your kindness, but I must return to the ship,” Jemima said, standing up. Her legs felt a little unsteady, her head swimming slightly from the strong beverages she had imbibed.
“You will come back?” The proprietor smiled.
Jemima smiled woozily. “I will. I certainly will.” She did not know if she would ever have the chance to come here again, but she fervently hoped that fate might bring her back to this exquisite place.
Thanking everyone, and feeling remarkably giddy, Jemima exited the lovely taverna and made her way along the narrow streets, heading back towards the wharf where the Evening Star was docked. Ensconced in her own happy world, she cast her gaze towards the water, watching the moon dance across the gentle waves. The sky overhead was clear, showing every constellation as though someone had lit millions of tiny lamps across the velvet black of night.
As she wandered with a peaceful heart, she happened upon a couple in the shadows of an alleyway. The moonlight shone upon bare breasts, the shrouded man devouring them as though he intended to feast until satisfied. Jemima could not help but stop, feeling a tightening in her abdomen as she watched them from the safety of the main pathway. They did not see her, nor did she believe they would care if she did.
The woman threw her head back with abandon, her hands in the man’s hair, gripping with a violent strength that Jemima imagined must have brought the fellow great pain. And yet, he seemed to be enjoying the sensation immensely. He groaned against her breasts, his hand sliding up her thigh and disappearing beneath her skirts.
Jemima gasped, as though she were the woman herself, as the fellow sank to his knees and buried his face in her hidden bloom. She could not imagine what he was doing there, but it seemed to bring the young woman an immense amount of pleasure. She bucked and thrashed like a wild beast, urging his face deeper into her secret heat.
Flushed with heat, Jemima scurried away, her imagination overwhelmed with intoxicating thoughts. She did not know if it was the rich liquor she had imbibed, or the balmy warmth of the evening, but she felt delirious with sudden liberty. One day, upon some foreign shore, might she bring a gentleman to her bed and have him do to her what she had just witnessed? She did not know, but the idea intrigued her.
To know such pleasure…my goodness. That would be a rare thing, indeed. And yet, a few steps further down the wharf, she found her delicious thoughts turning rotten as Lord Beaurgant burst into her mind. He was a wretch, and no mistake. Would he have tried to do such things to her? The very idea made her feel nauseous.
Heading down the steps to the main part of the docks, to cross the wooden slats that led up to the Evening Star, Jemima paused. A strange silence had settled across the harbor, peppered only by the gentle rush of the waves against the stone walls and the s
ides of the waiting ships. They bobbed like weary sentinels nearing the point of slumber, standing guard over the port town.
Shrugging away the odd quiet, she pressed on down the wharf, and up the gangway onto the vessel. The rest of the sailors would still be ashore, as Ben had alluded to, no doubt indulging in the same furtive activities she had witnessed several minutes ago. That comforted her, for she longed for the sanctuary of the galley, and the peace of the blade in her hand, to protect herself.
She glanced across the abandoned upper deck, only to find it empty. Satisfied, she raced towards the steps that descended into the underbelly of the ship. She was halfway along the main corridor, when a figure stepped out of one of the branching cabins. Jemima froze, her heart lurching into her throat.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Harry’s voice hissed in the darkness. “A little dove, returned from her trip to shore.”
“You will stand aside.” Jemima held her ground, swallowing the fear in her voice.
“You’ll have to make me, pet.” Harry took a step towards her, and she almost fell backwards in terror.
“I do not know what suspicions you may have, but I must assure you that they are entirely wrong. You must allow me to pass.”
He chuckled darkly. “Is that so? And what if I’m not wantin’ to let you pass, huh?”
“You must.” She lost her nerve, her body shaking violently. She cast a glance back at the staircase leading to the upper deck, but she did not know if she had the strength to run for them before Harry could catch her. Even if she screamed, she did not know if there would be anyone left aboard the ship to come to her aid. And if he were to choke those screams from her throat, she would have no hope but to endure, and pray his actions did not destroy her.
“You think I don’t see what others are blind to, don’t you?” Harry moved closer. With each step he took, Jemima took one step back.
“I do not know what you speak of, Harry.” She softened her tone, in the hopes of making him sympathetic to her cause.
Harry leered, his eyes glinting. “Then let’s tear away them clothes of yours and see if I’m right. I’m bettin’ there’s a shapely figure under there. A pair of plump, ripe breasts, if I’m not mistaken. A shame to have ‘em bound, when I could have ‘em in me hands.”
She almost tripped on a broken floorboard, her heart racing in her chest. “I am a boy, Harry, as you see me. My name is Andrew Barton. I am a steward’s son.” Now, there was no mistaking the tremble in her words; she could not have dispensed with it, even if she had tried.
“Now, you see, I don’t think that’s true.” Harry smirked. “You’re a lass, through and through. I know you are. Ye might have tricked the others, but I’m no fool. I know a woman when I see one.”
“Harry, please.” Her voice cracked.
“That’s what I like to hear,” he murmured, grinning. “I like me women to beg before I take ‘em. Makes it all the more pleasurable when they don’t rightly want it. There’s no fun in a willing participant. I like a fight first.”
“Harry, I am not what you think I am. You are mistaken.” She struggled to gain the upper hand, but she knew it was futile. Her ruse had been discovered, and by the worst possible investigator.
“Then you’ll not mind me takin’ a look.”
She continued backwards, whilst he approached. “Harry, you must stop this, or I will report you. You would not wish the Captain to think you were a deviant, would you? I do not think you would like it if the other sailors were to think that of you, either, would you?”
He laughed. “They’ll be gaggin’ for a go themselves, once I tell ‘em what you really are. You think it’s easy for ‘em, only gettin’ a taste of a woman whenever we see hide or hair of land? If they find out they’ve got one here, whenever they want, they’ll brand me a hero.”
“You would not.” Blind panic consumed her, turning her legs to quivering stalks that would not do as they were told.
“I mightn’t, if you and I were to come to a special arrangement.” He was so close now that she could see the dark plaque upon his teeth and smell the sour scent of alcohol upon his breath. “I’m not one who likes to share, but I do like to take what I want.”
Jemima shook her head rapidly. “You are mistaken, Harry!”
“No, I don’t think I am. Methinks the lady doth protest too much.” He lunged at her through the shadows, like a rabid dog, foaming at the mouth. His hands seized her by the throat as he knocked her to the ground, the weight of his body pressing her down onto the grimy floorboards beneath.
She fought back with all she had, her arms flailing wildly as she tried to get out from under him. Meanwhile, his rough hands tore at the buttons of her shirt, ripping them right off to reveal her bandaged torso underneath. His hot, sour breath stained her skin as he buried his face in her flattened bosom. Crying now, she pummeled at his head as hard as she could, her body tense in desperation.
“I knew it,” he purred, laughing coldly. His vicious fingertips clawed at the bandages, trying to snatch them away, but the knots held fast. With anger written across his cruel face, he slammed his palm down onto her chest, pinning her to the ground, whilst his other hand tugged at the buttons of her trousers.
“No!” she screamed, trying to bring her legs up to knee him in the groin. She had heard that young ladies were to do that, if ever they were in trouble. However, she could not muster enough force, with his body and his weight crushing her.
“Virgins are always the sweetest.” He grinned down at her, his eyes glittering from imbibing too much. “You’ll scream and scream as I take you by force, and nobody will be here to stop you. And I’ll do it again, and again, even if I have to break down that door of yours. Soon enough, you’ll stop screaming. Maybe you’ll even enjoy it, one of these days.”
Sobbing wretchedly, she thrashed and kicked, trying to scratch at his face as he fumbled with her buttons. She refused to let a man such as this despoil her. She would rather have returned home to Lord Beaurgant than let Harry have his wicked way. And yet, he was too strong. No matter how she punched and clawed and kicked, it did not seem to affect him in the slightest.
He was about to thrust his hand below the waistline of her trousers, Jemima squeezing her eyes shut in panic and despair, when she suddenly felt the weight lifted from her. Her eyes widened in surprise, in time to see another shadowed figure hauling Harry away and throwing him against the nearest wall. In a frenzy, she grasped the edges of her shirt and pulled it back around herself, though the buttons were all gone.
“You despicable cretin!” a low, deep voice growled. It was not one she recognized, though it sounded well-bred. “You would threaten another sailor aboard my vessel in such a foul and underhanded manner? You would seek to assault and ravage this poor boy, who cannot fight back? You disgust me!”
Harry cowered against the wall, blood trickling from his lip. “We were only brawlin’, Sir. There were no assault, nor no ravagin’ neither. It were just play. Ask the boy yourself.”
“Oh, I plan to speak with him presently, but I am no fool, Harry. I know what I witnessed. Or, rather, what I may have witnessed, had I not come to this young man’s aid in time.” The figure stooped low to Harry’s face. “You have caused quite enough trouble. I showed you leniency the last time, after those young ladies claimed you had brutalized them, but I will not do so again.”
“I didn’t do nothing wrong, Sir!” Harry pleaded.
“Enough!” the gentleman grabbed Harry by the scruff of his jacket and lifted him to his feet. “You will spend the rest of this voyage in the brig, until we reach Cape Verde. There, I will leave you in the capable hands of the British Navy, where they will see you put to trial.”
Harry looked genuinely frightened, which brought Jemima a sliver of satisfaction, despite the terror that still coursed through her veins. “No, Sir. I’m sorry for what I did. I’m sorry for what you saw, but it ain’t my fault. Please, Sir. You can’t leave me ther
e. I got family to think of. I beg you, Sir, show mercy.”
“As you showed this poor boy mercy?” the gentleman spat. “You should have thought of your family before you attempted to brutalize him, too. Your punishment is long overdue.” With that, he dragged Harry, kicking and screaming along the corridor. However, he paused before he reached the staircase which led to the deepest depths of the ship. “You must wait for me here, boy. Do you understand? I will return for you, and speak with you, once I have thrown this ingrate in the brig.”
Jemima nodded. “Yes… Sir.” She did not know this gentleman, nor where he had appeared from, though his face seemed vaguely familiar. Indeed, after a moment or two, she realized he was the gentleman that she had seen, walking with Captain McMorrow, on the day she had first boarded this vessel. Although, that did not answer her question as to whom he was, or what part he had to play in the running of the Evening Star.
A Ravishing Night With The Mysterious Earl (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 9
