“Nothing so benign. I left the quarterdeck of a vessel I commanded in the middle of a battle.”
She stared at him. “Not from cowardice, I’m certain.”
His tension eased a little. “It was more in the nature of an accident. I was a newly fledged lieutenant on a frigate. We had the bad luck to encounter a much larger French warship and it was pounding us to pieces. One of the midshipmen was wounded so I carried him below to the ship’s surgeon.”
“Surely that’s allowed?”
“Not if one is the captain. All three officers who outranked me were killed at virtually the same time, leaving me in command. I was charged with abandoning my post and would have been court-martialed, but because of my youth and honored family name, I was allowed to resign in disgrace.”
“That’s not fair!”
He shrugged. “The articles of war aren’t about fairness. They’re about duty. I failed in my duty. My grandfather said in as many words that he wished I’d died honorably in action.”
She gasped and instinctively touched his hand, then drew her own back quickly. But the feel of her fingers, and her compassion, lingered.
Gabriel turned his attention to the sea. “My father died honorably in a sea battle when I was five. I barely knew him because he was so often at sea, but I have a few fond memories of him. My mother was already gone, so I was raised by my grandparents. My grandfather had very high standards. I didn’t live up to them.”
“How old were you when he disowned you?”
“Eighteen.”
She frowned. “That’s a very young age to be cast off! Young people often make mistakes. It’s part of growing up.”
“The Royal Navy has a low tolerance for error. My grandfather’s was even lower,” he said flatly.
“Would you have been happier if that hadn’t happened and you’d stayed in the Royal Navy?” she asked unexpectedly.
He hesitated. “I haven’t thought much about what might have been. My life has been more complicated and more interesting than if I’d followed the expected course. I suppose my greatest regret is the estrangement from my family. I’ve occasionally exchanged letters with an aunt who passes them on to my grandmother, but I’ve seen no members of my family since the day I was disowned.”
Her mouth twisted. “You’re making me grateful for my own family. Have you thought of going back to see if enough time has passed to heal the breach?”
“No,” he said flatly. “My grandfather is not the forgiving kind, and he would not approve of the choices I’ve made.”
“That’s his loss then.” She touched her fingers to her lips and blew him a kiss. A wise decision since if they touched each other, it would be very hard to let go. “Sleep well, my captain,” she said softly. Then she turned and moved away, catching handholds for balance.
He watched her leave and wondered if there had been any way they might have met and been able to act on their attraction in an honorable, sensible way. But they wouldn’t have met if she hadn’t been captured.
He supposed there was a chance that Malek would be able to persuade Gürkan to release his wife and children without having to sell his English prisoners. But that was damnably unlikely.
* * *
Instead of howling at the moon about the unfairness of meeting the right man at the catastrophically wrong time, Rory tried to analyze the mysteries of attraction. In her stories, all she had to do was tell her dashing hero to fall madly in love with the beautiful, adventurous heroine—they were her characters and jolly well had to obey her.
Real life was so much more complicated. She’d observed improbable people becoming besotted with each other, but why? Was it a physical reaction, the way cats reacted to catnip?
Gabriel would laugh if she told him he was her catnip. Her innards knotted with the thought. She wanted to spend time with him, to unravel the mysteries of attraction. To act on the mystery of attraction.
Better to spend time considering ways to escape a harem.
When she descended to her cabin, a pale shape appeared from the shadows and brushed her ankles. She bent to scratch his head. Such a sweet Spook to sense when she needed comfort. She whispered, “Has anyone ever mentioned that your face is rather long and horse-like? You’re the oddest-looking cat I’ve ever seen, but such a darling. Will you come sleep on my bunk?”
He continued at her side so perhaps she’d be lucky and have someone to sleep with tonight after all. If she couldn’t have Gabriel, she’d like to have Gabriel’s cat.
Chapter 13
Constance enjoyed sea voyages and would have found more pleasure in this one if she hadn’t been so aware of how it would end. They’d had eight days of sunny, pleasant weather and were probably within a fortnight of Constantinople. She tried not to think of that; she’d learned early to live in the moment rather than waste herself on worry.
After breakfast, she and Rory returned to their cabin and Rory worked on her current story, which was not going well. Casually, Constance said, “I think I’ll go down to the menagerie with my drawing pad. Would you like to join me?”
Rory shook her head. “I expect you’ll be escorted by your handsome first mate?”
Constance blushed. “We don’t plan it, but he seems to be available around this time every morning and he does think we shouldn’t go about alone.”
“A very honorable fellow,” Rory said with a smile. “I’ll see you later.”
Constance lifted her head scarf and wrapped it around her head and lower face. She’d become quite adept at it. Then she collected her bag of drawing materials and climbed up to the main deck.
Since the incident with the animal keeper, she’d kept a wary eye on Malek’s men. There were fifty or so, about double the number of the Zephyr’s crew, and their hammocks and sleeping mats were all over the ship. They carried themselves like soldiers, and she didn’t doubt that they would acquit themselves well in a fight.
But they were well behaved. They prayed, talked together, dozed in the sunshine on the forward part of the deck, and engaged in what looked like gambling games. Though they regarded Constance and Rory with interest, the head scarves prevented them from showing too much interest.
She glanced toward the sea and caught her breath when she saw a school of porpoises leaping behind the ship. Unable to resist, she pulled out her drawing tablet and a pencil and started a swift sketch, working to catch the graceful arc of their shining bodies as they propelled themselves into the air, then slid sleekly back into the water.
“They do seem to have a great deal of fun,” Jason Landers said from behind her.
She jumped, and her pencil squiggled in the wrong direction. “A good thing my protector has arrived,” she said with a wry glance at the first mate. “When I’m drawing, I often lose track of what’s going on around me.”
“Which is why I’m here to escort you to the menagerie, if that’s your destination.”
“It is, so I thank you, sir.” The words were formal, but their eyes danced when they looked at each other. She felt safer and happier with him near.
As they headed down the companionway, she said, “I’m going to sketch goats today. Usually Rory is the writer, but I’ve been thinking about writing a story myself.”
“Gothic adventure tales about goats?” he asked doubtfully.
She laughed. “No, just a simple tale for children. I leave the adventure stories to Rory.” Harems always had children, so wherever she ended up, perhaps her stories would find an audience. “Can I persuade you to pose with them?”
“I’m to star in a story about a man and his goats?” he said with a grin.
“Oh, no, the goats are the stars. The lead character is Blackie, the small, mischievous fellow. You’re just furniture,” she said with wide-eyed innocence.
He laughed. “You’ll need to make a second sketch that I can take home to show my family so they can admire my worldly success.”
She laughed with him, sorry that she wouldn’t
be there when he showed his mother the picture. She loved his stories of growing up in America. The Chesapeake Bay was a constant presence in the life of his community, which seemed simple and sane. More relaxed and down to earth than the life she’d known in England.
When they reached the menagerie, he unlatched the goat enclosure and went inside. “Will you be coming in with me?”
“No, the goats would eat my drawing pad and pencils.” Constance pulled the head scarf down around her shoulders and settled cross-legged outside the enclosure. She had a gift for making swift thumbnail sketches that she could expand on later.
He chuckled as he latched the door so the nimble little creatures couldn’t escape. “So it’s all right for them to eat my buttons but you won’t risk your tablet?”
“Exactly,” she said unfeelingly. “You’re bigger than they are and I’m sure you can successfully defend those buttons.”
He grinned. She loved the lighthearted banter between them. With a dozen swift strokes, she drew Jason with goats skipping around and over him. Impossible to capture the sparkle in his eyes, but she enjoyed trying.
She’d learned early that drawing a person or object made her really see them, and after that, she didn’t forget. She liked the way his ears stood out just a little, and this time she noticed a very faint scar on his chin, probably the result of some childhood mishap.
As he knelt and began to play with the goats, he said conversationally, “I’ve been thinking about the house I’ll build when I return to St. Michaels. I have some ideas. Would you be able to sketch a floor plan for me if I tell you what I want? I’m thinking something similar to my parents’ house, but a little larger. More sunshine and more breezes in the summer when it’s blazing hot.”
“I’d be happy to sketch it out.” Her tone was light, but her throat tightened at the knowledge that she’d never see that house. She didn’t doubt that once Jason returned home, it wouldn’t take long for him to find a girl to share his home. She hoped that unknown bride would be good enough for him. “Will you build in the town?”
“No, a bit outside. I already have the land. It’s a nice-sized piece of property near my parents. It has a good view of one of the creeks and there’s room for gardens and an orchard and pasture for animals.”
“Will you like being so close to your family? Many people prefer a bit more distance.”
“They’re some of my favorite people,” he said cheerfully. “Why would I want to settle anywhere else?”
She sketched a goat in midleap. “You’re fortunate.”
Hearing a tight note in her voice, he glanced over, surprised. “You don’t get along so well with your family? You and Lady Aurora seem very close.”
“We are, but she’s the only one of the Lawrences I know. I’m from the black-sheep side of the family.”
He cocked his head. “You seem respectable enough to me.”
She debated with herself, then decided to explain so he wouldn’t ever regret that they wouldn’t have the chance to build a deeper relationship. “My father was the youngest son, and so disgraceful my grandfather disowned him. He favored all the usual excesses. Drinking, gambling.” She concentrated on catching the tilt of a goat’s ear exactly right. “Getting bastards on housemaids.”
His expression sobered. “That was how you came into the world?”
She nodded and flipped to a new page. “My mother was a dairy maid and died when I was born. My father was killed in a hunting accident when I was an infant. Not that he would have been interested in any accidental offspring, particularly a female.”
Voice soft, Jason asked, “Who raised you?”
“His mother was notified of my existence and thought the family should take responsibility for me.”
“I should damned well think so!” Jason said, then apologized. “Sorry for the language. But you are a Lawrence and should have been raised as one.”
Constance shrugged. “The Dowager Lady Lawrence placed me as a foster child with a physician and his wife. They were older and had no children of their own, so they were glad to have me and the stipend to cover my expenses. They found me useful. Cooking, cleaning, helping in the clinic. I was glad to learn some medical skills.”
“They don’t sound very warm,” Jason said cautiously.
“They weren’t, but they treated me well enough. I was fed and clothed and educated and almost never beaten. But the stipend ended when I was eighteen, so they married me off to an old farmer down the road.”
“I hope he treated you better than your foster parents did!”
“He wanted a nurse more than a wife, but he was kind in his way. When he died, the farm went to a married nephew who said I could stay on as his mistress.” She did a very quick sketch of the nephew and showed it to Jason. “You can see why I wasn’t willing to accept.”
He frowned. “The nephew looks like an overfed hog.”
“I’m very good at caricature,” Constance said dryly. “But then my fortunes changed. I’d met Rory a year or two earlier and she’d guessed that I must be a Lawrence even though her grandmother never told the rest of the family about me. Rory thought that was outrageous.”
“It was! Your grandfather was an earl. You deserved more.”
“That’s what Rory thought. After my husband died, I wrote her and asked if the Lawrence household might need a maid because I had to find some kind of position. That’s when she asked me to become her traveling companion. Of course I said yes.”
Jason carefully removed a goat that had jumped on his shoulder. “It seems to be a relationship that has benefited both of you.”
Constance smiled. “Indeed it has. Her sisters are all older than Rory, nice but much more traditional. She said she needed a sister who enjoyed being as eccentric as she was. It’s worked very well for us both. At least until now.”
He rose and brushed straw from his knees, then regarded her gravely through the cross bars of the enclosure. “I’m beginning to understand why I’ve liked you so much from the beginning. Because you’re strong as well as pretty. Resilient and wise beyond your years.”
She looked up at him, startled. “I suppose I’m resilient, but I’m nothing special.”
“Yes, you are.” He gazed at her, his heart in his eyes. “I would like so much to take you home to St. Michaels so you could meet my family and help me build my house and stay with me in it until death do us part.”
She bit her lip, near tears. She’d received her share of dishonorable offers, but never anything resembling a real proposal. “I’d like that, too, but it’s not to be.”
His gaze didn’t waver. “Maybe, maybe not. We Americans aren’t as willing to accept inevitability as you English are. We’ll see.”
Another goat tried to leap on his shoulder and failed, scrabbling its tiny hooves as it slid down him. He grinned and scooped the lively creature up into his arms. “What other poses do you need me to take with these little fellows?”
Glad to change the topic, she asked, “Is the straw clean enough to lie down in?”
“The straw is fine—it’s my dignity that’s in tatters.” But he smiled as he lay down and the goats clustered around him.
She began to sketch. She might never join him in that house in a far land, but she’d always have these vivid memories of him, and her, and playful little goats.
Chapter 14
Rory avoided conversations with Gabriel and he’d been doing the same, though it was impossible to avoid each other entirely when they shared meals in the officers’ mess. Sometimes their gazes met and she felt a small jolt of electricity, as if she’d scuffed a carpet in winter. She did her best to control her expression as well as he did, for letting her feelings show would benefit no one.
Nonetheless, when she and Constance went up for breakfast in the officers’ mess after ten days at sea, she saw Gabriel at the railing and couldn’t resist the temptation to join him. Surely exchanging a few words when they were in plain sight was safe enough.
Since the first mate was ambling across the deck to wish Constance good morning, Rory moved to the railing, keeping a careful yard of space between them. “Does the morning mist suggest ill weather?” she asked. “Or are you watching the sea for other ships?”
There was a smile in his eyes as he greeted her, though his face was carefully neutral. “I suspect there will be fog tonight, but my survey is more general. These are not the safest seas.” He gestured at the lookout nest high above. “Which is why the sharpest-eyed men in my crew keep watch.”
She shaded her eyes with one hand and looked toward the horizon. “I see small sails in several places. Fishermen, perhaps?”
His gaze followed hers. “Yes, those are fishing vessels.”
Her gaze moved further out, and she squinted to get a clearer view of a distant object. Then she gasped with icy shock. “There are corsair galleys heading toward us!”
She felt him come to full alert, though he gave no outward sign of concern. After a long moment, he said, “What you’re seeing is a rare kind of mirage called a fata morgana. When weather conditions are just right, images can be reflected over vast distances so we’re seeing something far beyond the horizon. They say the myth of the Flying Dutchman was inspired by a fata morgana.”
She stared at the image and her grip on the railing relaxed. “It’s shimmering. Changing shape. Now it looks like a pair of upside-down ships.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “But you’re still somewhat concerned.”
His steady gaze on the horizon, he said, “Always. We’re north of Tripoli, one of the great pirate nests. Corsair attacks have been increasing over the last couple of years all along the Barbary Coast, as you know. If we were to be attacked, this is the most likely place.”
Putting some pieces together, she said, “Several days ago I saw your chief officers and also Malek’s heading down to your day room. Did you call a meeting to put everyone on alert?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, and also to plan for whatever might happen. My crewmen are sailors, not soldiers, but they fight well when necessary and they’re very good with the ship’s cannons. Malek’s men are true soldiers, rather like the marine troops carried on Royal Navy ships. Anyone attacking us will regret it.”
Once a Scoundrel (Rogues Redeemed #3) Page 11
