Much Ado about a Widow (The Widows' Club Book 4)

by Jenna Jaxon

  She must wait and see who discovered her first: the ogre or the prince.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Closing the door quietly after Georgie’s escape, Rob slipped forward, inwardly smiling at his mother’s performance. He’d told her the moment the marquess had arrived, so she’d been aware of the man’s presence all along. All she’d told him was to put the irate man in the drawing room and that she’d be along shortly. Well, Mamma did love to make an entrance. He just hoped she could distract Blackham long enough for him and Georgie to get onto the Justine and set sail.

  “I am abjectly sorry, Lord Blackham, for my son’s behavior.”

  Now that statement did not bode well. Rob inched up beside his friend.

  Jemmy glanced at him and raised his eyebrows and whispered, “What is she doing?”

  “Presenting a distraction, I profoundly hope.” And nothing else.

  Mamma smiled, her white teeth flashing, and Rob relaxed. That particular expression he’d seen many times before, always when Mamma was using her most dangerous wit. It told him she was indeed attempting to help with their escape. “He should have informed me immediately upon your arrival so I could have greeted you in accordance with all the honor you so richly deserve. I do hope you will forgive him and me.”

  Lord Blackham’s mouth had dropped open slightly while she spoke. Either he wished to interrupt her or stood in awe of the woman so completely dominating the conversation. Rob certainly hoped it was the latter.

  “I beg your pardon, madam, but have we been introduced?” Blackham’s brows had furrowed into a deep V, his full attention on the lady.

  “Why yes, we have, although it was an age ago. I suppose I have changed a little.” She peered squarely down her nose at him. “You, however, are exactly as I remember you.”

  Blackham cocked his head, his eyes widening with recognition. “Were you Miss Stokely of High View in Kent? Viscount Bromley’s daughter?”

  “I was. I am flattered that you remember me, my lord.” His mother’s smile deepened, and Rob had to look away to bite back a laugh. She was relishing this to be sure. “You scarcely seemed to pay me any attention at all when I came out all those years ago.”

  “Oh, I assure you, my lady, I noticed you beyond a doubt.” For once the marquess sounded sincere. “Such a beautiful and witty young lady was noticed by a great many gentlemen, as I recall. And you married extremely well, I see.”

  “I did. The Marquess of St. Just was the perfect gentleman. We had only a brief time together, but his legacy lives on in our son.” She nodded toward Rob, who tried to look soberly at the marquess. “My son has also grown into a fine gentleman, one who would make his father extremely proud.” She patted Rob on the shoulder as she moved toward her seat. “Leave now,” she whispered sotto voce. “I think it interesting that our children have become great friends, do you not, my lord? Rob, ring for tea, please.”

  “Yes, Mamma.” He strode to the bellpull, directly beside the door, Jemmy following after him.

  “What are you doing? Where’s Georgie gone?”

  “She’s waiting for me at the secret tunnel. Mamma is creating a diversion for your father so we can sail to Scotland as planned.”

  “I’m still going with you.” Jemmy’s face took on a wary look, and Rob sighed.

  “You can’t. If you leave now, your father will suspect what is going on, and we will never get away.” Pleading silently for his friend to understand, Rob pulled the bell several times. “If you wish for your sister and me to wed, you must stay here and help create the diversion. Once our ship is away, there won’t be anything your father can do.” Rob pulled the tapestry pull yet again. “I am sorry, Mamma, but it does not seem to be working. Allow me to step into the corridor and summon Myers.”

  “Thank you, my dear.” His mother met his eyes briefly, nodded, then turned back to Lord Blackham. “And I have heard that both your elder daughters married extremely well. How fortunate for your family. Now the elder is a duchess, I understand. . . .”

  Rob opened the door, bent on a quick escape until Jemmy’s hand fell heavily on his shoulder. “Jemmy, for God’s sake,” he hissed.

  “Bon chance, my friend.” The grip on his shoulder tightened. “Bring my sister back your marchioness or it will be between you and me.”

  Rob nodded. “Understood. Thank you.”

  A final thump on his shoulder, and Jemmy strode back into the room to join the conversation. “Emma was well married also, my lady, although not quite so high as Mary, a sore spot between the two to be sure.”

  Slipping out the door, Rob took off for the nearby servants’ stairs. Running swiftly down them he cursed the timing that had made it necessary for them to wait until this morning to sail. Had they been able to leave yesterday, they’d have gotten away with Blackham none the wiser until he and Georgie had returned, man and wife. Still, if they could reach the Justine without detection, they could sail away and not look back. None of the others would reveal where they had gone, and, by the time Blackham realized they were missing, it would be too late to stop them. Traveling by carriage to Portpatrick would take the marquess weeks. If their luck held, they’d be married in five days. Then Georgie’s father would be helpless.

  He rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs and started down the dim corridor toward the kitchens. The larder door was there on the left—but no Georgie. Skidding to a stop, Rob peered around. Had she made a wrong turn? If he had to go find her, they were never going to make it to the ship.

  “Thank goodness, it’s the prince.”

  Rob whirled around to find Georgie climbing out of a chest used to store pots. “What are you doing in there?” Then he shook his head. “Did you just call me a prince?”

  “A figure of speech only. Here, give me your hand.” She grasped it and carefully stepped out of the box. “I thought it wouldn’t do for me to just stand around here, looking suspicious, so instead I hid and waited to see who appeared first, the prince or the ogre.” Grinning widely at him, she handed him a large black cooking pot from a pile at the end of the chest. “Aren’t you glad I dubbed you the prince? You’re certainly not ogre-like in the least.” She grasped another pot and deposited it in the chest. “Aren’t you going to help me? This will go much quicker if you do.”

  He dropped the pot into the chest and pushed the top down. It crashed with a loud clatter that reverberated along the corridor. The distant chatter from the kitchen paused.

  “Shhh. Rob, you’ll give us away.”

  He grabbed her hand. “Come with me now if you want to marry me.”

  “Well, of course I do, but don’t you think we should put the pots—”

  “I have servants who will do that. We need to go before someone else comes along here.” He pulled the larder door open and was met by complete darkness. “Damn. I forgot a candle. Wait here. Don’t move.” He raced back up the corridor to the staircase. The area was always dim, so they kept a candle burning in a sconce there. He lifted the entire sconce from its holder and raced back toward the larder door.

  When he arrived, Georgie was bent over the open chest, apparently rearranging the pots to make room for more.

  “Georgie!”

  She jumped and straightened up, her hands stuck behind her. “You’re back. That was rather quick of you.”

  “Come on.” God knew he loved her, because he hadn’t strangled her yet. He grabbed her hand again, then led them through the larder door and closed it with a sharp pull. “Watch your step.” The steep wooden staircase led straight down to a large, cool room of rough stone where all the dry goods for the castle were stored. The torch flickered as he hurried along the curved wall toward a smooth patch of stone.

  “It’s getting colder.” Georgie leaned closer, rubbing her arm against him.

  “It’ll get colder still as we go deeper, and the wind will be icy once we get outside.” He raised her hand and kissed it. “I’m sorry you don’t have your pelisse. You’ll ha
ve to make do with whatever is on the ship, perhaps an old jacket of one of the sailors.”

  “I’ll be fine as long as I’m with you.” She smiled up at him, sending his heart racing. “I can always depend on you to find a way to keep me warm.”

  The image of them in bed, her naked beneath him as he covered her, made him pause as his shaft sprang to life, despite the cold.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No. I’ll explain later.” Shaking his head to dispel the image, he ran his hand along the side of the smooth stone. There was a loud click, and the stone panel opened.

  “Lord, it is colder here.” Georgie peered into the dark opening. “What is this place?”

  “Part of the smugglers’ tunnel, but it also leads to the dungeon.” Rob pulled the panel shut behind them and continued forward. The smooth stone beneath their feet sloped downward. Rob held the candle high to give them more light.

  “You have a dungeon too?” The admiration in her voice made him chuckle.

  “I promise you, it was here long before I was born. The castle dates back to the Middle Ages, when prisoners were held for ransom on a regular basis.” They had reached another doorway, and Rob switched the candle to his left hand. With a mighty push, he thrust down the huge lever on the door, and it swung inward into the pitch black. “Hold my hand. Don’t be afraid.”

  “Be afraid of what?” The alarm in Georgie’s voice tugged at his heart.

  “The smugglers had a rather crude sense of humor, it seems. And one a young boy could also appreciate.” He stepped into the dungeon, and led her past cells with iron bars, now well rusted, running from the rock ceiling into the rock floor below. In the middle cell, a skeleton in the ragged remains of clothing gleamed white in the flickering light, its bony fingers wrapped around the iron bars.

  “Oh, dear Lord.” Her grip tightening on his arm, Georgie drew back against him.

  “It’s all right, my love. That’s Gentleman John. Hello, John.”

  “John?” The horror in her eyes was pitiful to see. “You knew him?”

  “Oh, no. He was here long before I was born.” Lord, that didn’t seem to help. “The story goes that the smugglers in my grandfather’s day found the skeleton washed up out of the sand of the cove one day. They dug him out, put those clothes on him, then arranged him thus. Every time they brought the smuggled goods up from the ship, they’d talk to John. Say hello, ask him how his accommodations were, if his last meal was good.”

  “Rob, really.” The frown on her face was better than the fear, but not by much. “You should have put a stop to that and had the poor man buried in a decent grave.”

  “And I will do so as soon as we return from Scotland. My word of honor.” He held the torch high, throwing the skull into high relief. “We’ll see you on the return journey, John.” Rob bit his lip. He would probably go to hell for this. “Won’t you speak a word to him, Georgie? This could be your only chance.”

  “I most certainly will not.” She glared at Rob. “How disrespectful.”

  “Disrespectful to speak to a man? How is that?”

  “He’s dead, Rob.”

  “Then you should pay your respects.”

  That argument seemed to give her pause. She looked up at Rob, then back at John, and took a tentative step toward the skeleton. “I am very sorry about your demise, John. I hope you rest in peace.”

  “Why thank ’e, milady.”

  Georgie screamed and stumbled back into Rob, making the candle waver dangerously.

  “I does appreciate your concern for me time in the afterlife.” Rob could scarcely finish the sentence for laughing.

  “Rob!” She punched his chest, and he laughed all the harder. “I should kill you here and now and leave you to be company for John. Serve you right. My heart is beating like a drummer pounding out quick time.”

  Smothering his laughter, Rob put his arm around her. “I’m sorry but it’s the smuggler’s initiation, love. You are truly one of the family, even if we’re not yet married.” He kissed the top of her head and got an elbow in his side for his pains. “Come, it’s not much farther. See you later, John.” They continued down the passageway, past another two empty cells, Georgie unusually quiet. “If it will make you feel any better, love, I will confess that when they introduced me to Gentleman John, I wet my breeches.”

  “You did?” She glanced up at him, her delectable mouth puckering in a smile.

  “Yes, well, I was eight years old at the time, so you really shouldn’t think the less of me.” He guided her around an outcropping of rock. They’d passed out of the castle and were now descending toward the cove actually inside the cliff. “I remember my mother was not at all pleased with the escapade, and I was sent to bed without my supper for a week.”

  “Perhaps a bit severe for a young boy only seeking adventure.” Georgie had taken his hand and laced their fingers together.

  “Please remember that sentiment when you dole out my punishment this evening.”

  “You are no longer an eight-year-old boy, Rob.”

  “But I am still bent on adventure.” He gazed into her lovely green eyes, longing to lower his mouth to hers. “The greatest one of my life.”

  “Wretch.” The whispered word sounded more like a caress than an admonition. “I will take everything into consideration.”

  The tunnel had grown colder as it lightened until the candle was no longer necessary. Rob extinguished it and laid the sconce to the side of the tunnel, then doffed his jacket and pushed her arms through it. “It’s going to be very cold, and the wind will try to blow you away.”

  “Rob—”

  “Don’t argue. I’ll be fine. We have a fair amount of rough beach to cover. Can you make it?”

  “I will.”

  “Good. Come on.”

  He seized her hand and pulled her out into the hazy sunshine, squinting in the light much brighter than that of the tunnel. The rocky terrain of the beach made even walking difficult, with great boulders jutting up out of the sand here and there, and scruffy sea grass poking up out of the crevices. Carefully, they picked their way across the short expanse to the dock that extended out into the cove. The chill wind whipping his shirt to and fro spurred Rob to run once they were on solid footing, their feet thumping loudly on the weathered boards until they reached the small boat. Briskly, Rob rowed them the short distance to the Justine.

  “Welcome aboard, Captain. My lady.” Ayers stood behind the ship’s wheel, apparently awaiting their arrival. Rob had sent word to the crew yesterday to be ready to sail this morning. Now he hoped to God the tide was still with them.

  “Is the crew assembled?”

  “Aye, Captain. They’re below, awaiting orders.”

  “Very good. Get ready to make way.”

  “Aye, Captain.” The sailor ran to the gangway, calling, “Look alive, men. Captain’s ready to make way.”

  Georgie huddled against him. “I suppose I should return your jacket and go below. That way neither of us will freeze.” She struggled out of his blue superfine coat and immediately began to shiver.

  “Come below. While the crew is making ready to sail, we’ll find you something to keep you warm until I can be of service to you.” He snagged her arm and pulled her to the gangway, just as the crew erupted out of it.

  “Morning, Captain, my lady.” Cartwright bobbed his head and headed toward the stern.

  Right behind him came Chapman. “Morning, Captain, milady.” He continued to the lines and began to pull them taut.

  The last sailor to emerge, a lad of maybe twelve, looked at both of them, eyes wide. He mumbled, “Morning, Captain, Mrs. Captain,” and fled to the rigging, pulling on ropes and releasing the sails.

  “Mrs. Captain, is it?” Georgie smiled as she hurried below. “Somehow I like that better than ‘milady.’”

  “Then onboard the Justine you shall be ‘Mrs. Captain,’ as soon as I make an honest woman out of you.” Rob led her to his cabin and began
rummaging around in his chest, then in a drawer under his bunk. “Here we are.” He pulled a dark blue coat from under his bunk. “I thought I remembered stowing this under here for emergencies. My old pea coat.” He held the garment up proudly. Well used, the wool coat had faded spots and looked generally scruffy, but was also terribly warm. “Let’s try this on you.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather I stayed down here? I don’t want to be under foot.” Face pinched and drawn, Georgie had dropped into a chair.

  “I know you must be tired, but you may have a better time of it up top, at least until we’re well under way.” He drew the coat around her shoulders. “This may not make you all the crack, however, it will keep you warm.”

  Georgie sighed and stood, putting her arms through the sleeves. She looked down at the sleeves, hanging well below her fingertips, and the jacket itself that almost came to her knees. “No crack at all to be sure.” She set about rolling up the sleeves. “But if it must suffice until you are available, it must. How do I look?”

  Altogether too fetching by half. “Exactly as Mrs. Captain should look.”

  She beamed at him. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  Her bright eyes, sweet smile, and that oversized coat that somehow accentuated her lovely curves combined to turn his thoughts from getting under way to other more intimate pursuits. In one step he had her in his arms, his mouth pressed hard against hers, backing toward the bunk. This journey could turn out to be more pleasant than any other he’d taken aboard the Justine.

  “Captain, we’re about to raise the main staysail.” Ayers’s voice came from the corridor.

  “I think you’d better go see to the raising of that sail.” Pulling away from him, Georgie laughed as he frowned. “The raising of your mast must wait for later.”

  “Too late. It’s already flying.” Hopefully the cold would calm his shaft until he could resume this little interlude later. They had five whole days to themselves as they headed for Scotland.

  “Come on up deck with me?”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.” Grinning, she sashayed by him, rubbing against his already aroused body in the tight quarters.