The creased and partly shrunken gown refused to yield to her attentions. Nothing she did to make it appear more presentable made the slightest of difference. White sea salt lines had begun to appear on the few dry patches of the bodice.
Finally, with a sad huff, she gave up. Her hands hung limply by her sides.
The crowd, which was rapidly increasing in size coalesced into a single angry beast, and growled. The ringing in Will's ear rose to a deafening clang. It was like a bell being tolled inside his head.
Realization of the crowd's mood finally dawned on Hattie's face. She turned to the crowd and pleaded.
“No, no it's not his fault. He is trying to help me. He rescued...”
“Come darling,” Will interjected.
While it was all well and good for her to attempt to paint him to be a savior, it did not further their cause if those gathered in the town square got the wrong idea. Her Spanish was likely non-existent and he for one did not think the townsfolk were in any mood to listen to his explanation, no matter how eloquently or fluently it was given.
There was also the matter of exactly what he would say to the townsfolk if he was given any kind of hearing. He would be a dead man if they thought he was trying to accost an innocent stranger.
She, in turn would fare little better. The well-meaning people of the town would likely make every effort to have her back on board the Blade of Orion before it reached the next port.
“If you ever wish to see England again, you had better come with me now. If your new friends discover the truth of your situation, they will involve the local authorities. You do not want that to happen. Your fiancé has legal rights over you in this part of the world. They will hand you over to him,” he said.
He knew whatever lies she had told him so far would not stand up to any serious scrutiny. She looked once more at the assembled throng and to Will's utter relief accurately read exactly what the situation needed.
She took several stuttering steps forward and threw herself headlong into Will's arms.
The crowd cheered and applauded this delightful development. Love had triumphed all obstacles. Several of the women wiped tears away as they tucked their rocks back into their aprons. One even ventured a kiss on the cheek of a nearby man. Several bystanders laughed at the sight of the kiss, while Will prayed it was the woman's husband.
Watching this byplay unfold, Will took his cue. He bent down and placed a chaste kiss on Hattie's cheek. Her melodramatic gesture of forgiveness demanded the fullness of his acknowledgement.
The act of creating an impromptu facade was second nature to him. Spies were always having to think on their feet. Lives usually depended on it.
The townsfolk mumbled their disapproval. This was not the submission their hearts and minds craved from the wicked husband who had hurt his beautiful young wife. Truth was sitting quietly in the gutter at this point nursing a sore head. The crowd was making the love story up in its collective mind as it went along.
Will saw the pleading looks on the faces of several old senoras and knew a kiss on the cheek was never going to pass muster.
He looked down at Hattie and whispered.
“Forgive me.”
He bent his head and set his lips to hers.
Chapter Four
As Will's lips met hers, Hattie's heart leapt. This was an unexpected development and one which she quickly decided was not unwelcome.
His kiss at first tentative, soon deepened much to both hers and the crowd's delight. As he speared his fingers through her hair pulling her close to him, she found herself praying that the locals had plenty of time on their hands. She for once in her life was in no hurry to be anywhere else.
Warm, tender lips touched hers, inviting her response. Opening her lips, she welcomed Will's attentions. As his tongue swept into her mouth she felt her knees begin to buckle.
Oh, this is heaven.
He was skilled in the art of kissing, but not in the calculating way she had heard was the hallmark of men of his class. And most certainly not like the horrid, hard kisses Peter Brown had forced upon her. His cold and often harsh attempts to kiss her were a world’s difference to this delightful encounter.
The tenderness within Will Saunders was natural and freely given.
The noise from the crowd and the market disappeared, leaving only them and the heady delight of their kiss. She tasted the sharp citrus tang of orange on his tongue. Her mind whispered thoughts of sunny climes and long nights under starry skies. A life, if given half the chance, she would take hold of with both hands and never let go.
A sigh escaped her lips as she imagined what it would be like to call this man her very own for all time. She indulged herself in the pleasant fantasy that she was indeed his wife.
That he would take her home to a place they shared that was full of love. And once there he would lay her on their bed and make passionate love to her. He would be hers and hers alone.
“Miss Wilson?”
She opened her eyes. Will was still holding her close, studying her.
How long had she been standing there, eyes closed, lost in the kiss? And when had he released her from his lips?
“Oh. I am so sorry. I got caught up in the moment,” she stammered.
Her fingers instinctively touched her lips. They were still warm from his kiss. Disappointment stirred in her heart as they rapidly cooled. Her disappointment was compounded by the fact that he had called her by someone else’s name.
The boisterous swell from the crowd filled her ears once more, returning her to reality. She turned.
A smiling and thoroughly appreciative market crowd stood behind her. There were few dry eyes among the women. Even the old, craggy men sitting on the stone steps of the nearby church wore grins.
The young lovers had won over the hearts and minds of the locals.
Will leaned in. “While the situation is still in our favor, I suggest we head back to the hotel. I should like to discuss matters further with you, but somewhere a little more private,” he said.
He offered her his hand and without hesitation Hattie took it. Why she felt so safe with this stranger was something she could not understand. But she knew that a man capable of kissing a woman in such a passionate way, a man who could make her soul stir to life would never seek to cause her harm.
And so, it was that within an hour of having leapt from the side of the ship, Miss Hattie Wright, in the guise of Sarah Wilson, was under the protection of Mr. William Saunders Esq.
She had also been thoroughly kissed by him in public.
After making enquiries, Will managed to engage the services of a local dressmaker who quickly put together a small selection of ready-made clothes for Hattie. The hotel arranged a maid.
Will silently congratulated himself for having so skillfully attended to the needs of a young lady of his class. His mother would be proud. Whether the wardrobe Hattie now had at her disposal was the latest of London fashion he was not certain. Anything however was better than her ruined dress which was beyond salvation.
While Hattie was upstairs changing in the room he had arranged for her, Will sat downstairs in the small alcove which served as the hotel's lobby.
He attempted to read a copy of The Times which had arrived that morning by ship from London, but his mind refused to give it any real attention. He folded the paper in half and put it down.
Thoughts of Hattie refused to leave his mind. Her long flaxen hair, though tangled and stuck to her head, was an enthralling color. He had once owned a Palomino horse with a similar luxurious mane. He suspected once it was dry and thoroughly combed, his new companion’s hair would shine in the sunlight in much the same way.
“Who are you?” he murmured.
When he had called out her name in the market earlier that morning, she had not reacted. Only when he reached out and took hold of her arm had she registered his presence. Her real name was clearly not Sarah Wilson. What or whom she was hiding from was bad enough
for her to have taken on a false name.
She was an enticing conundrum. Well-bred by the sound of her accent and manner of behavior, but with an undertone of the common touch. The way she had addressed the villagers and even the hotel staff stamped her as someone who did not look down upon those of a lower social class.
As for her fiancé, Will wondered exactly what sort of a man would lure a girl away from her family and drag her half way across the world to Africa. That aspect of her story still did not ring true to his mind. Therein lay the heart of the lie.
Just who had she been with on board the Blade of Orion?
He licked his lips, surprised at how dry his mouth had suddenly become. His heartbeat increased as the familiar rush of the game began to course through his veins.
The thrill of the chase had been part of why he had volunteered as an undercover operative for the British government. He knew that his motives had not been entirely patriotic or noble. The lust for danger ran strong in his family’s blood.
Right from childhood delving into the deepest, most secret places of others minds had been his special skill. Slowly extracting the truth was a long game of which he was the master.
By the time he was done with her, he would know all her secrets. He would take his time. After he had gained her confidence and trust, she would willingly tell him everything he wished to know. She would reveal all.
He absentmindedly rubbed his fingers across the stubble on his chin. He did not quite fit the image of the well-bred London gentleman, something he would need to address if he was to gain her trust.
Recalling that moment outside in the marketplace, when he had held her in his arms and kissed her senseless, Will's wish list began to take form.
Names and places were one thing; they could be so easily checked and verified. It was what lived within her soul he desired to know. Kissing her had been more than just a diversionary tactic. He had thoroughly enjoyed it.
And from her groans of delight, so had she.
He wanted to know all he could about her. A woman possessed of the courage to leap over the side of a ship into a dangerous and unknown future, was a woman he needed to understand.
Control, don't you mean?
The sudden thought pulled him up short. He had tried to stop Yvette from putting herself in danger more times than he could recall. Resourceful and stubborn, she had extracted herself from peril countless times.
All, except the last time.
He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. He had promised himself he would only think of Yvette twice a day as he tried to rebuild his life. Once on rising and once when he went to bed. He had held her memory tight within his mind.
Yet today he had thought of another woman. Lustful thoughts which had led him to kiss her without holding anything of himself back.
Forgive me.
They had both known the danger. A pact made early on in their marriage still held. If anything was to befall the other, the survivor was not permitted to spend the rest of their life wallowing in grief. It was only this binding promise which had kept Will from the edge of insanity during the dark days following Yvette's death.
He could imagine the conversation he would have had with his wife regarding his new charge. Yvette would be intrigued by this young woman and already have made several lists of pertinent questions.
Why had she jumped from the ship?
“I don't believe the story about a sudden trip to Africa. Her tale has more holes than the Paris catacombs,” he muttered.
If she is telling the truth, then why should she feel compelled to give you a false name?
He opened his eyes and sat upright, a sly, knowing grin threatened at the corner of his mouth.
Getting to the matter of Sarah's real identity was the key to the entire mystery. Solve that piece of the puzzle and the rest of the pieces would soon tumble into place.
A shiny coin slipped into the hand of her maid at an opportune moment was in order. At some point her mistress would make a slip and unwittingly reveal more than she realized. A lady's maid looking to supplement her income would be the perfect agent.
A short time later Hattie, descended the stairs. Will rose from his chair with a sense of satisfaction. His money with the dressmaker and hotel staff had been well spent.
Gone was the drowned rat with straggly hair and ruined clothes, in her place was perfection. An emerald gown with white lace trimming the bodice and skirt clung to her well- proportioned body. The hint of cleavage which the gown afforded was a refreshing change from the stiff, high necked grey creation she had been wearing when he had fished her out of the harbor.
He had been at a loss for words to describe her attire when first he stood beside her at the dock. Dull had been the first one which sprang to mind. Dowdy had been the second.
Her new attire revealed her to be younger and prettier than he had at first thought her.
His gaze took in the soft curls which kissed the sides of her cheeks. Light brown curls showed golden highlights as the sunlight caught them. He was grateful that the local fashion did not include the bonnet. He disliked the new fashion that many English girls had adopted of wearing their bonnets tightly over their heads, so hiding their natural charms.
He dipped into a bow.
“Miss Wilson, I am at your service,” he said, as an easy smile came to his lips.
The sheepish grin he got in return would have melted the heart of any man. He corrected his first thought. She was not perfection; no, she was something else. More alluring than perfection could ever offer.
“Mr. Saunders. I cannot begin to express my gratitude for all that you have done for me. How can I ever repay you?” she replied.
His heart sank. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel a sense of obligation toward him.
“Your safe return to England will be all the reward I shall ever need,” he replied.
Inwardly he cursed himself for being too self-assured and smooth with her. He feared she would only now see him as someone who felt a sense of duty to help her, nothing more.
It was a school boy mistake; one he knew he should never have made. With the war against Napoleon now over, it was clear his unused skills were becoming rusty.
As Hattie took a seat in a shady spot near the window, Will caught the attention of a hotel servant and headed over to speak to the man.
“Two glasses of Malaga wine and whatever hot dish the chef can rustle up in a short time por favor,” he said.
Returning to her side, he took the seat opposite.
“Considering your early morning swim, I expect you might be more than a little hungry. I have taken the liberty of ordering us some food and drink.”
Hattie looked down and gently spread the skirts of her new gown. He heard her uncertain intake of breath as she did.
“Why are you helping me? You don't know me and yet you have purchased new clothes for me, and put me up in a hotel room. You could have easily, as you say, handed me over to the local authorities and let them handle the matter. You owe me nothing Mr. Saunders.”
She lifted her head and met his gaze.
“Why?”
The voice of his mother whispered in his mind.
Because you have always imagined yourself as a knight in shining armor, Will. Seeking out the next damsel to rescue and protect. It is one of your most noble traits, and of those you have many.
No matter how uncomfortable he felt about it, Adelaide Saunders could read her eldest son better than anyone. Wherever she was right now in England, he suspected a secret smile was already on her lips.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Because at some point in their life, everyone desperately needs a friend. Someone to protect them from the harshness of the world. I would suggest that you have reached that particular point,” he replied.
The hotel servant brought over two glasses and poured a generous amount of wine in each before making himself scarce.
“To your good health Miss
Wilson, and your safe return to your family” said Will. He handed Hattie a glass, then raised his own in toast to her.
She looked down at the glass and for a moment hesitated.
“When we get back to England you must allow me to reimburse you for all your expenses. I insist,” she said.
She raised the glass to her lips and took a sip. At the first swallow she began to cough. Hattie hurriedly put the glass down.
Will frowned.
“I take it you are not a regular imbiber of wine?”
“No, my father considers it liquid evil and to be avoided at all costs. We have not partaken of wine in our house for quite some time. My father turned the lock on his wine cellar a number of years ago and threw away the key,” she replied.
Will took a sip of his wine, mentally filing away that small revelation. It added nicely to the picture he was beginning to build of her.
Religious parents, who had not always been puritans. That part of her story he was inclined to believe. Her story could be as simple as having run away with her fiancé only to have changed her mind. Will suspected it was not.
He watched as she picked up her glass once more and took a second hesitate sip of the wine. Bravery was not in short supply when it came to this young woman; and she clearly did not hold the same views as her father when it came to alcohol.
“I promise not to tell your parents that you have sat and drank wine in a hotel with me,” he reassured her.
A scowl appeared across her brow and she shifted in her seat. It was only the slightest of moves, but it was enough. Will pushed his toes hard against the inner sole of his boots. She had just given him one of the classic tell-tale signs of a lie.
“What do you mean?” she replied.
“I mean when I return you to their protection. I will of course be accompanying you back to London and making certain of your safe return to the loving bosom of your family.”
At that moment he caught the sound of wine catching in her throat. She stifled a cough. The noose created by her lies was slowly tightening around her neck.
My Gentleman Spy (The Duke of Strathmore Book 5) Page 3
