He regarded the face that appeared with a look of disgust. “Have you managed to discover anything useful?”
The other man touched nervously at his mottled nose as he shook his head. “No, my lord. Still no sign. But they can’t have disappeared into thin air. Someone will spot them soon.” He cleared his throat. “The only thing out of the ordinary is a gig has been reported as missing, but I have word that it was seen heading southwest, in the direction of New Milton or Lymington. Do you wish...”
The point of the walking stick pushed the man back a step. “Drive on to the next inn, you fool,” snarled the gentleman.
As the coach sprang forward, he sunk back against the squabs and considered what to do. Even with the considerable raise in reward, none of his informants had been able to ferret out the whereabouts of the damnable chit. A visit to the rooms of Mr. Leighton had turned up signs that she had been there, but it had proved fruitless in determining where she might have gone.
His hand came up to stroke his smoothly shaven chin. If she didn’t turn up in the next hour or two, he couldn’t afford to chase about any longer. He had an alternative, of course. He always did. The stick began to rise and fall again. He had hoped to avoid it putting it into action—admittedly, the risk was far greater. But at least it would leave nothing to chance.
* * * *
The waves began kicking up into whitecaps as soon as they left the shelter of the cove. Low, scudding clouds darkened the horizon around the Isle of Wight, hinting at a stiffening wind and perhaps some rain.
“Can you take the tiller for a moment?” called Davenport a s he surveyed the spread of canvas. “I think it might be wise to put a reef in the mainsail, just to be safe.”
Caroline moved from where she had just finished belaying the jib sheet to take over the steering. The earl watched her movements with grudging approval. “It’s a good thing you were not exaggerating your experience in a boat. I fear we are in for a bit of a blow.”
She squinted at the craggy shoreline. “Are there any charts below? How shall we navigate to Portsmouth?”
“If we stay within sight of land, it will not be a problem. But if we can’t make it by dusk, it would be best to put up somewhere for the night.”
A frown creased her features. “Why don’t we leave the sail as it is, then? We shall make better time.”
She stood straight up at the stern, head tilted back, chin thrust forward into the teeth of the oncoming weather. The wind was blowing straight in her face, and her hair, which she hadn’t bothered to pin back under the man’s cap as yet, streamed out past her shoulders like the flying colors of naval frigate. Flecks of spray clung to her cheeks, and her eyes had a dogged sparkle to them not due entirely to the beads of water. In response to a sudden gust, her hand instinctively eased up on the tiller so the boat did not lose way. Davenport found himself grinning in spite of himself—she looked every bit as resolute as a post captain at the helm of a ship of the line.
“It may get wet,” he warned, for already the lee rail was nearly buried in the foaming water.
“I’d rather be wet than delayed yet again.”
“Very well.” And he took another turn of the mainsheet.
A few hours later, Caroline was close to regretting her words. Not only was she soaked with spray but the temperature had dropped considerably so she was chilled to the bone as well. Her bare fingers were so stiff they could scarcely manage to work the lines that the earl had sent her scrambling to loosen, and the combination of salt and rough hemp had rubbed them raw. Still, she voiced no complaint. They were fairly flying across the churning sea. Surely Portsmouth could not be far off.
“Are you all right?”
Her jaw wouldn’t seem to obey her command to speak. The words came out as a mere croak.
Davenport motioned for her to return to the shelter of the cockpit. She crawled awkwardly back across the slick deck and took a seat beside him. At the sight of her shivering limbs, his mouth compressed in a tight line, but just as he was beginning to speak, a sudden squall caught them from astern. The force of the wind knocked the mast nearly horizontal with the churning seas, sending Caroline sprawling towards the lee gunwale. Only the earl’s strong grasp saved her from disappearing beneath the foaming waters. As it was, her left side was soaked to the skin, setting her teeth to chattering uncontrollably.
Just as suddenly, the wind died, the sky took on a less ominous hue and the seas became calmer. Davenport threw a leg over the tiller to keep on course then took Caroline’s hands between his and began chafing them. She closed her eyes as the warmth started to seep back into her extremities. Without quite knowing how it happened, when she opened her eyes she found her head was settling on his shoulder.
“Oh!” She straightened and made a show of brushing the hair back from her cheeks. “Sorry.”
He shrugged out of his coat and draped it over her shoulders.
“No, please. You’ll catch a chill yourself, sir.”
“Nay, the wind has dropped.”
He noted that she was still shivering slightly and his arm stole around her and pulled her closer. As he did, there was the muffled clink against the varnished wood. He reached into the pocket of the outer garment and extracted the bottle of brandy.
“Here, a swallow of this will help warm you.”
She looked askance, first at the bottle and then at him. “I’m not sure if that is a good idea, my lord. The last time was not a pleasant experience—for either of us.”
Davenport chuckled. “I shall refrain from pouring half the bottle down your throat in this instance.” He took a swig himself and then held it out to her.
After a moment’s hesitation, she accepted and tentatively let a small taste pass her lips. A sharp cough nearly sent it back from where it came. Her face puckered. “It does set fire to your innards, does it not,” she muttered as she passed the bottle back.
The earl merely grunted and placed it back in her hands.
The second sip was not nearly so bad. In fact, she decided that, like so many other things, brandy was something rather nice that men had conspired to keep to themselves. A pleasant tingling began to replace the numbing cold in her limbs. She sighed and slumped even more heavily against the solid warmth of the earl’s body. A smile drifted to her face as she listened to the wind in the rigging and the rush of water against the hull. “What a sail—it was quite exhilarating, was it not?”
He chuckled again. “Does nothing dampen your spirits?”
She grinned as drops of spray beaded on her face and shimmered in her hair. “Every other part of me seems to be soaked, but my spirit? I’m afraid I’m a bit like a dog with a bone in his teeth on that regard. I don’t give up very easily.”
His mouth quirked slightly. “So I have seen. But at least you will allow that it was not such a bad idea in consenting to let me come along for the ride. You might have landed in the suds—quite literally— had you attempted this on your own.”
She colored. “ I am not such a slowtop as to think I could have managed as well by myself, sir. I didn’t want you to come not because I would prefer to be alone but rather because I didn’t want to put you in danger any longer—you were nearly killed last night on my account and I cannot...I won’t allow it.”
Davenport shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The idea that she was thinking of his welfare caught him off guard. “I’m being well paid for it, remember?” he said gruffly. “It is in my own best interest to see you reach London—I have desperate need of that money.”
“I see.” Her voice changed imperceptibly. “Well, rest assured that when we land, you may take yourself off and I shall still send you the full amount. You have certainly earned it.”
He cursed inwardly at his own clumsiness. “I didn’t mean—” He cut off his words with an exasperated shake of his head. “You know, you are quite unlike any female I have ever met before.”
Her expression became unreadable. “Yes, I suppose lack the
delicate sensibilities that those of my sex are supposed to exhibit in order to please society and attract a gentleman. I’m afraid I’ve never been very good at falling in a faint or succumbing to a fit of vapors when trouble arises. No doubt that is one of the reasons I shall have little luck in finding a...” She stopped short. “Well, it is one of the reasons my cousin has pronounced me an incorrigible hoyden.”
Davenport mulled over her words while taking another drink. He found his curiosity was piqued for he thought he had finally discerned the root of her troubles. “You speak frequently of this cousin of yours. Were you forced into a marriage you didn’t want? Is it he you are in love with, rather than your husband? Is that who you are fleeing to?”
“I should be well glad if Luc—if my cousin is in London, but I fear he won’t be.” Her expression turned contemplative as she studied her hands for the longest while. The earl had just about decided that no further words would be forthcoming when she spoke again.
“As for being in love with him—of course I love him. He has been like an older brother to me throughout our childhood. But I cannot imagine having anything but sisterly affection for him. Certainly not to the sort of love you are referring to.”
“Who are you running to, then? And who are you running from?”
She didn’t answer time. Instead, her eyes seem to seek out a point way off on the horizon. He remained silent as well, the tight line of his mouth the only indication of his less than sunny mood. His left hand took over the steering again, while the right one set to helping the brandy disappear at a good clip. On nearing the bottom of the bottle he offered her a final shot.
“Well, here’s to both of us making it to London in one piece—with the way things have been going I suppose the outcome is still very much in doubt.”
Caroline roused herself from her reverie and downed a goodly mouthful. “Oh, I don’t doubt it at all,” she said. Then she promptly fell asleep against his shoulder.
His mouth softened into a grudging smile. He had meant what he had said—she was truly unlike any other female of his acquaintance. Such was her spirit and her pluck that he imagined most people would fail to notice an unmistakable vulnerability about her as well, despite her show of bravado. A glance down at her face, unguarded in repose, showed a bewitching mixture of strength and need. One thing was certain. She was utterly wrong about what was all that attracted a gentleman’s attention....
He steered his thoughts away from those dangerous waters. It was best he remember why he was here—as he had said, he needed the money.
The thought of his recent words made him grimace. How the devil had he managed to throw her concern for him back in her face in such a churlish way? With a sigh, he had to acknowledge to himself that it wasn’t the first time he had shown to disadvantage. His behavior had, for the most part, been less than gentlemanly since he had met her. No wonder she thought him an ill-tempered dog. Or was it a bear? In either case, he discovered he didn’t like the notion one bit.
But the fact that she found him disagreeable hadn’t prevented her from having a concern for his person. It puzzled him. Despite the dire threat to her own safety, her thoughts had turned to how she could shield him from further danger. Not to speak of how she had tended to his wound, cradled him through the jolts of the long journey and then cleaned and stitched the jagged flesh before seeing to her own needs. It was almost as if she...cared. But then, in a trice, her tongue could turn from soothing to scathing.
Maybe it was the brandy or the fatigue or the dull ache of the gash in his shoulder, but it all seemed terribly confusing. Rapacious creditors, sullen tenants, fallow fields—they were all problems he could face without a qualm, he thought glumly. But a certain young lady seemed to be oversetting his carefully constructed world. There was nothing for it except to put all questions regarding the maddening little urchin aside until a later time.
Perhaps at some point he could make some sense of it all.
The afternoon was fading rapidly. The storm clouds had given way to high, billowing heralds of good weather which were beginning to take on rich pink and orange hues of sunset. In the distance, a massive ship of the line tacked into view, its towering square sails almost blinding in the golden light.
He hesitated a moment before gently nudging Caroline out of her slumber, somehow loath to let go of the comfortable intimacy between them.
“Where are...” she mumbled , still muzzy with sleep.
“We are nearly at Portsmouth—look ahead.”
She sat up, blinking in surprise at the sight of the four-decker hoving a line towards the Lizard.
“Quite awesome, isn’t it? Let us hope our navy can help put an end to the little Corsican and all the bloodshed and destruction his visions of grandeur have caused.”
“You have no sympathy for the Emperor? Many people on the Continent have welcomed his return with open arms.”
His brow creased. “I cannot imagine any rational person being gulled into believing the man cares for aught but personal glory. And at what cost? The sooner he is stopped, the better—but then, I imagine neither politics nor Napoleon are paramount in your thoughts.”
Caroline made a sound in her throat that might have been taken for acquiescence.
As they came nearer the entrance to the harbor the number of vessels increased dramatically. Luggers loaded with supplies plied the waters under the bows of merchant ships setting out for the Atlantic and several frigates flying the ensign of the Channel Fleet.
“Best fix your hair,” advised Davenport as he kept a sharp watch on the ships around them.
Caroline found her cap and with a few deft twists quickly arranged her long locks to fit snugly under the thick wool. There was no further conversation as the earl had to navigate a series of rapid tacks to avoid collision with a squadron of two-deckers taking advantage of the ebb tide. Her hands were recovered enough to handle the sheets without mishap, and their craft made its way safely into the midst of the bustling port.
Davenport chose to put in at a dock where over a score of burly sailors were engaged in wrestling a cargo of barrels loaded with salt pork up the gangplank of a barge. Amid the curses, the grumblings and the harried admonitions of the young lieutenant in charge, no one took note of the small vessel dropping sail on the far side of the pilings or its two nondescript occupants. The earl made sure the canvas was neatly furled and the mooring lines securely fastened to the massive iron cleats before taking Caroline by the elbow and hustling her towards the alleyway between a ship’s chandlery and a sailmaker’s loft. Her first steps were somewhat unsteady, causing his grip to tighten.
“Steady,” he hissed in her ear. “Walk smartly now. The less attention we attract, the better.” He gave a quick glance around. “And let us hope the press gangs are not out tonight,” he added under his breath. That would entail a good deal of explaining that he would dearly like to avoid.
“Stop yanking me about. I’m quite capable of making my own way,” she muttered back, though in truth she was still feeling a trifle lightheaded from the spirits. “In fact, you can —”
He shook her into silence as they emerged from the alley into a busier cobbled street. A group of men staggered past them, singing an extremely bawdy song and laughing uproariously as they struggled to remember all of the verses. Caroline managed to pay rapt attention until they were out of earshot.
“What is a sodomite,” she whispered to Davenport. “And how does he...”
“Never mind!” snapped the earl as he gave her arm another shake.
“Ouch!”
He let go of her. “For the love of God, keep your head down. And turn the collar of your jacket up.”
They were passing under the glow of a gas light outside a tavern. The noise coming from within its smoky confines gave evidence that the place was not lacking in either clientele or high spirits. Davenport paused after they passed into the shadows.
“I shall have to inquire of someone from which in
n the coaches departs for London.”
His hand came up to rub along the scar on his cheek as he contemplated what to do. At that moment, two gentlemen emerged from the tavern and turned in their direction.
“Hell and damnation,” swore the earl. “It is Lord Hartford. He’s bound to recognize me, and given that our nemesis knows my name, that is something I would very much like to avoid.”
“Well, do something, then,” whispered Caroline, though even as she said it, she realized she was being unfair. What could he possibly do at a moment’s notice?
Davenport muttered something under his breath, then suddenly grabbed her around the waist and crushed her to his chest. His lips came down on hers, hard at first, then softening as if he, too, were as surprised by his actions as she was.
Her first impulse was to pull away. But for some reason, after the initial shock she merely tilted her head back in order to voice a protest.
“Hush,” he murmured as his lips left hers for a moment. “Trust me—they will quickly depart.”
His mouth was back against hers in the next instant, before she could manage a single syllable, and his tongue was brushing her lips in a manner that was most intriguing. The sensation sent a jolt of heat through her, as potent as the earlier taste of brandy, and nearly as intoxicating. It was utterly unlike any of the few kisses she had allowed an admirer to steal during a walk in the garden . Those had been, at heart, rather silly affairs.
There was nothing silly about the earl’s embrace. As she made to speak again, his tongue slid into her mouth. He tasted rather exotic, a mixture of fiery spirits and the tang of the sea. She found herself nearly overcome by the new sensation, and without thinking, wound her arms around his neck to steady herself. His own hands slipped down to the small of her back, molding her to his own lean form.
Somehow, she was aware that the footsteps coming towards them had stopped.
The Hired Hero Page 13
