My Lady, The Spy
Page 30
“I have not given it thought.” She shrugged. “I suppose the opportunity will present itself, and I will out with it.”
“You must joking.” Caroline elbowed her ever so gently. “It is momentous, and such glad tidings require a suitable ceremony.”
“Perhaps I will tell him at dinner.” Rebecca tapped a finger to her chin and considered the possibility. “Cook prepares Dirk’s favorite dish. No doubt he will toast the future addition to our family with his preferred brandy and a cigar.”
“Is that all?” Caroline appeared horrified. “How can you be so calm?”
In truth, Rebecca was anything but calm. Ever since her miscarriage, and her husband rescued her from Varringdale’s death trap, they had been desperately trying to conceive, and it was nice work. But with each passing day, her hopes waned, until the morning malaise set in with a vengeance. “Well, I am not sure Dirk will be surprised.”
“May I impart a secret?”
“Of course.”
“Upon Dr. Handley’s confirmation, I orchestrated a lovely affair, but I could not wait, and I revealed my pregnancy in the carriage, on our way home.” Caroline peered from left to right and then leaned close. “And Trevor wept.”
“No.” Rebecca was positive Dirk would never be so emotional.
Her eyes widened. “Oh, yes.”
“Well, my no-nonsense captain is not given to dramatics.”
“How can you be certain?” Caroline arched a brow.
“Remember, I married Dirk.”
Caroline whistled in monotone. “Yes, you did.”
“Might I ask a question?” She bit her lip.
“Indeed.” Caroline nodded once.
“What was he like as a child?”
Trevor’s wife gurgled. “Shorter.”
Rebecca glanced at Caroline, and together they laughed.
“Men are such silly creatures--”
“There they are!” Caroline pointed to the silhouettes in the distance. “Soon we shall be in the arms of our beloved.”
The Hera sailed into the harbor, and in her wake glided the Gawain. How Rebecca had begged Dirk to take her with him on his mission, but he steadfastly refused, arguing that he could not focus clearly on the task with his bride within reach, thus jeopardizing the safety of everyone aboard his ship. She had shed a river of tears, but he would not be swayed, promising that their reunion, after so many weeks apart, would be all the more sweet.
“By the by, how fares your belly?” Caroline asked with a sympathetic expression.
“Much better, thank you.” Trembling with anticipation, she shuffled her feet. “The chamomile tea worked wonders.”
“I have an extra tin, should you have need of it.” Caroline perched on tiptoes. “And I found the burgundy cloak. It will see you through the birth.”
“Are you sure you would part with it--the cloak, I mean? And I could use the tea, as my order has not yet arrived.”
“My dear sister, I have a wardrobe filled with clothes, and the color will bring out your brown eyes.” Caroline clucked her tongue and patted Rebecca’s arm. “I will send it with the tea, posthaste.”
“Thank you for everything.” She smiled. “I do not know what I would have done without you these past weeks.”
The decks of the Gawain were alive with the activity one would expect of a ship coming into port. At the helm, Dirk bellowed various assignments, and men danced amid the rigging.
“You are always welcome.” Caroline clasped Rebecca’s hand and squeezed. “So you still intend to wait until dinner?”
“Yes.” The Gawain eased to its berth, and Rebecca wanted to prance a merry jig. “We dine alone tonight, so it will be a private affair.”
Sailors tossed lines to dockworkers, and the anchor plunged into the water with a mighty splash. As soon as the gangplank hit the deck, Rebecca bolted. At the waist, she veered left and flew up the companion ladder.
Mr. Scott, the first mate, dipped his chin. “Captain, you have a visitor.”
Dirk turned and caught her, midair. “Hello, beautiful. I was going to--”
Right there, in front of the crew, Rebecca kissed her husband with all she had and for all she was worth.
“Clear the deck, lads,” said Mr. Scott.
When her husband lifted his head and grinned, she was breathless. And though he tried to look stern, he did not fool her for a minute. “My lovely wife, what are you about?”
“I am sorry, but I just had to see you. Ever since Dr. Handley--”
“What is it?” He set her on her feet and gave her a quick inspection. “What is wrong? Are you injured?”
“I am fine.” Rebecca could only giggle. “In fact, I am better than fine. I am pregnant.”
In a move Rebecca would never forget, her no-nonsense captain had done something completely out of character. With mouth agape and tears welling, Dirk dropped to his knees before her and pressed his face to her belly.
“Oh, no.” She speared her fingers through his hair. “Darling Dirk, do not cry. This is joyous news.”
All of a sudden, Dirk stood upright and whisked her into his arms. Whirling in circles, he gazed into her eyes. “My lady wife, this is bloody splendid news.”
Together, they laughed in a remarkably lighthearted exultation hard won. And then he stopped and kissed her--and kept kissing her, until catcalls and hoots brought them up short. Dirk carried her to the railing, rested his forehead to hers, and sighed in an achingly sweet sign of unutterable contentment.
“Mr. Scott, an extra boon for every man.”
“Aye, sir,” replied the first mate. “You hear that lads?”
A cheer erupted on the waist.
“And what would be the occasion, Cap’n?” asked Mr. Scott.
Slowly, Dirk smiled, nipped her nose, and then he addressed his crew.
“I am to be a father!”
Excerpt from The Most Unlikely Lady
Book Three of the Brethren of the Coast Series
Available now on Amazon.com
The Descendants
London
April, 1812
For most young women, attracting a man was as simple as breathing. Inhale. Exhale. A reflex action executed with little or no effort.
Simple.
But Sabrina Douglas considered courting something more akin to having a tooth extracted. Necessary, if she wished to marry, but painful--downright agonizing.
Standing in the entranceway of Hawthorn Hall, she craned her neck and surveyed the crush. Her intended target, Lord Everett Markham, stood amid a crowd of rakes; dark, dangerous, and devastatingly handsome. He glanced up, and she was certain he saw her.
“Sabrina, your wrap,” her father prompted.
As she gave her cloak to the footman, she kept her eyes averted. Everett was fast approaching their group, and she fought the urge to assess his reaction when he saw her--the new Sabrina--for the first time.
Yes, that was the moment for which she had been waiting.
The reason she had allowed herself to be poked and prodded while she was fitted for new gowns. The reason she had passed the morning with a gooey beauty potion slathered over her cheeks. The reason she had bit her tongue while that fussy Frenchman cut her hair. Did the tight curls framing her face seem as ridiculous as she thought they appeared? Cara, her older sister and Miss Perfect, assured Sabrina that she had never looked lovelier.
This singular fragment of time was why she had spent the better part of winter walking up and down the stairs of their country manor, while balancing a book on her head. And with all that practice she still could not descend a flight of stairs without dropping the blasted old tome. As a soldier heading into battle, she had prepared herself for the start of the Season.
Everett shook hands with her father, Admiral Mark Douglas. He bowed before her mother, Lady Amanda, and Cara.
Sabrina was next.
What had Cara said? Stare at your feet, and pretend not to notice him. Just stand ther
e, looking like you don’t care.
That advice was a mistake.
It reminded her of the daring, low-cut bodice of her gown, and telltale warmth flooded her cheeks. The dressmaker assured her the emerald green silk contrasted nicely with her raven hair and cerulean eyes. She hoped the bloody woman was right.
“Miss Douglas.” Everett swept her an elegant bow.
With feigned surprise, Sabrina smiled. “Lord Markham.” Was her voice too high pitched? “How wonderful it is to see you again.” He quirked his brows at her greeting, and she suppressed a shiver as he took her gloved hand and raised it to his lips.
“May I compliment your sense of fashion?” His gaze scrutinized her from head to foot. “I daresay I almost did not recognize you.”
Anticipation licked at her nerves, and she peered into the crowd, attempting to appear disinterested. “Perhaps I am not the woman you thought I was.”
“Perhaps not.” His voice was as thick as the beauty muck she had smeared on her face as he held out his arm. “Would you allow me the honor of escorting you?”
“I suppose you will do.” Her heart beat wildly in her chest when he chuckled at her response, and she reconsidered her plan.
“You know, I expected no less than a saucy reply, and you did not disappoint me.” Everett shot her a boyish grin. “I wondered if your outward transformation had an impact on your charming personality. But to my relief, you seem to be in fine form.”
“I am not sure if you are complimenting or insulting me, Lord Markham.” Sabrina lifted her chin and fixed her stare on the back of her sister’s head. “And I know of no such transformation. I merely made additions to my wardrobe during the summer.”
“And you have restyled your hair. Oh, my, are you wearing rouge?”
“I have done nothing of the sort.” She lied. “And my personal habits are none of your affair. If you do not cease your mindless prattle, I shall trounce your toes.”
“Relax, my dear. I merely took note of the changes in your appearance. I thought all young ladies lived in hope of such praise. And, if memory serves, you’ll trounce my toes regardless of intent.”
“Now you are insulting me.” In that instant, Sabrina quit the field. Her short-lived campaign to catch a husband at an end, she resolved to contract the plague at the first opportunity.
“Stating a fact, my dear. So you deny the renovations to your person?” The insufferable man had the nerve to wink. “If that is your story, Miss Douglas, you stay with it.”
They navigated the throng until they came to an arched opening. Couples whirled on the polished marble floor beneath elegant crystal chandeliers. Vases filled with a wild mix of hyacinths, tulips, and white roses stood on pedestals in every corner, and their subtle bouquet hung in the air. A musical ensemble occupied the center of the back wall of the luxurious mirrored ballroom.
Conscious of the multitude of stares in their direction, Sabrina inhaled deeply. She had not anticipated the attention her unconventional campaign would attract and, given her less than stellar social performances in the past, was unaccustomed to the limelight.
“Shall we dance?” he inquired, with a squeeze of her hand.
“Oh--I mean--yes. That is, it would be my honor, Lord Markham.” It was hell being a lady.
Biting her lip and swallowing an unladylike curse, she followed his lead to the dance floor, sucking in a breath as his arm encircled her waist, pulling her close to his sinewy frame. Her ears pealed with excitement, as the bells in a Wren steeple, and fire coursed her veins, every nerve charged.
What was happening to her?
As casual acquaintances, Sabrina had danced with Everett on many occasions and had often teased him, as would a distant relative. For his part, he always seemed disinterested, so this time could be no different.
But it was different.
Deep down inside, where she was always brutally honest with herself, she had to admit there was something drastically different in the way he held her. How his arm kept her near as they twirled to the soft beat of the music, and the way his thighs brushed her skirts. And whereas before he would stare at the crowd from over her head, searching for a new ladybird, no doubt, his amber eyes now captured hers. Sabrina stumbled and stepped hard on his foot.
“Ouch.” His brow creased.
“So sorry, Lord Markham.” She was supposed to be charming, alluring, and seductive. At least, that was the advice Cara had given. But, true to form, she was a poor excuse for her sex. Sabrina lowered her head in defeat.
“Tell me, my dear Miss Douglas, has anyone ever mistaken you for a lady?”
In an instant, she lifted her chin. “No more than have mistaken you for a gentleman.”
“Well said, my dear.” He laughed, and she realized he had deliberately baited her.
How many times had Everett taunted her with the same insult, and why could she not resist him?
Because she did not want to resist--a fact of which she suspected he was well aware.
“You, sir, are a devil.” She smiled and lost her footing once more.
Everett winced. “Tell me you are not doing that on purpose.”
“Certainly not.” She chucked his shoulder and did her best to focus on their dance. “I am clumsy by nature, as you well know.”
When the music ended, Everett escorted Sabrina to her group of friends.
“What are you so smug about?” Cara whispered in her ear, moments later. “Having some success?”
Sabrina clenched her fists as Everett circled the dance floor with yet another beauty in his embrace. The man must have Herculean vigor, and again she wondered if she could compete in his league. Although she hated to admit it, she wanted to be the one for him--not the one of many.
“Well, we have danced twice.” She frowned. “I suppose it would not be prudent to risk a third.” In silence, she counted the Brethren of the Coast, her lifelong friends, as they made the rotations with various partners. Then she realized she had not seen Everett go by. In a second, she scoured the room.
Near the terrace doors, she spotted her connubial conquest as he reached into his waistcoat pocket and checked his timepiece. With a glance left and then right, he backed through the doors and slipped into the darkness beyond.
What was he about?
“It is dreadfully warm in here.” Sabrina fanned herself with her hand, exaggerating her movements. “I believe I will step outside for a bit of fresh air.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” Cara asked.
“No.” She shook her head. “I will only be a moment.”
With a casual pace, though fighting the urge to charge forth, she strolled to the same exit through which Everett had disappeared. Sabrina stepped quietly onto the tiled floor, so as not to disturb the laconic rendezvous inhabiting the shadows. As she navigated the gardens, a wicked thought crossed her mind. Perhaps tonight she would kiss Everett. Or was the man supposed to initiate such behavior? Gooseflesh covered her from head to foot, and she wrapped her arms around herself.
A graveled path led to the opening of a meticulously groomed labyrinth. The lilting singsong of lovers mingled with the crunch of pebbles beneath her slippers.
Where could Everett have gone?
Was he not supposed to be chasing her? And then Sabrina homed in on his voice, smooth as well-churned butter, coming from the labyrinth. As she stood beneath the entrance to the maze, a pergola covered in pink climbing roses, she focused on his rich baritone, letting it guide her through the manicured hedges. Sabrina veered left, then right, and then left again.
To whom was he talking?
Another turn brought her to a small opening and what appeared to be a dead-end. A flirty feminine laugh brought her up short.
The silvery light of the moon cast the silhouettes of her prince charming and a mystery woman in a clearing. With arms entwined, there was no possibility theirs was a family reunion. And Everett had never hugged Sabrina like that.
“Darlin
g, why so reticent?” The strange lady kissed Everett. “Surely you are not interested in that gawky Douglas girl?” A familiar giggle tickled Sabrina’s ears. “What you need is a real woman.”
She flinched at the inference and at once recognized the voice. The enemy was none other than Lady Moreton, a petite young widow, who was everything Sabrina was not, and she drew his head to her again.
No.
She wanted to cry out, to rush in, to part the lovers and halt their play, but she could not, because Everett was not hers to claim.
He never had been hers.
Her brief but ill-fated campaign had been a lark, because Everett was truly out of her league. With a heavy heart, Sabrina took one last look at the man for which she had set her cap and tiptoed away.
Table of Contents
My Lady, the Spy
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
Excerpt from The Most Unlikely Lady