For several seconds he listened, his medallion in hand. It had grown red hot the moment he neared the captain’s quarters, proof enough she waited on the other side. Still, he was relieved to hear her honeyed tones. When no deeper timbre followed her murmured statement, he concluded she was talking to herself. Yet with no visual indication of what lay behind the door, the odds were against his plan to barge through the captain’s door. He reminded himself she was worth it.
Retrieving the lock pick set Mr. Coachman had gifted him before they parted, he wedged the pick into the lock and heard the latch click into place. With utmost care, he lifted the handle and opened the door. A few candles lit the interior of the wood-slatted room, allowing enough light for him to see she sat in a low-backed chair. Her back faced him, and she sat staring out one of the two windows in the narrow room. His relief at finding her alive had him running to her, heedless of what might be awaiting him in the darkened room.
“Evie,” he called, striding the several paces from the door to her chair by the far wall.
“Alfred?” She whipped her head around to stare at him in amazement. He grasped her hands, reassured they were not bound to the chair. Searching her face, he saw red, puffy eyes but no other signs of violence.
He tugged her out of the chair, urging her to hurry. “Come. We must be away before the captain returns.”
She struggled in his grasp. “What? No, no! All is well. Stop! You don’t understand.”
A slight weight landed on his back and soft hands encircled his throat. His vision blackened at the edges, the image of her pale, distraught face, her golden curls bouncing back and forth as she shook her head, one of the last things he saw before he fell to his knees. The pressure on his neck did not ease. “No, it’s Alfred!”
The choking sensation ceased, and he doubled over, pulling in deep lungfuls of air. When his arms gave out, he fell to the floor and rolled onto his back, blinking at his surroundings. His sprite’s worried face filled his vision, her delicate white teeth nibbling on pink lips. He smiled, happy he had found her. An almost identical face joined hers, but this one had a beard.
“Evie?” he slurred. “Why are there two of you, and why does the other you have a beard?”
“Good job, Beatrice.” Soft fingers caressed his brow, and he calmed under the soothing touch. “I told you to stop. Now you’ve killed him.”
The bearded Evie called Beatrice spoke. “He’s not dead. I’d guess he’s a little winded. He’ll be fine in a couple of minutes.”
He did not like this other Evie. She spoke with a hard edge to her voice and acted like she didn’t care about him at all. Plus he didn’t like how she talked to his Evie. If any strength had remained in his limbs, he would have stood and defended her honor against this new, hairy one, but alas, he had none.
All at once, his blinding headache returned, pounding with a ferocious beat between his ears. Too much had happened this day—awakening from his attack, swimming in icy waters, rowing for hours, stowing away on a ship—and he was done. While the two women stood over him arguing about whether or not he was going to die, he closed his eyes and passed out, grateful he had found her.
Chapter 22
Beatrice pointed in amazement at Mr. Coombes’ supine body. “This is your heroic rescuer? He doesn’t look like he could rescue a cat from a tree, let alone my spoiled, headstrong little sister!”
Evie rushed to his side and knelt, cradling his head in her lap. “Freddie was doing a fine job of it, poor thing. He’s more of a scholar than a fighter.” A lock of sandy hair drooped over his forehead, and she tucked it away, caressing his pale cheek. He must have been searching ever since she was taken, for a thin growth of hair shadowed his jaw and prickled her fingers as they continued their assessment of his person.
“Freddie, is it?” Beatrice strode over to a side table and poured herself a drink. “Aren’t you two the cozy pair.”
“When he’s not so buttoned up and serious acting, I call him Freddie.” She took in his haggard appearance and pale skin, and worry clouded her features. “Come back to me.”
“You never change, do you?” Beatrice relocked the door and returned to stand over the two on the floor.
Evie feigned ignorance. “What do you mean?”
“I mean how after all these years you continue to create different identities for your nearest and dearest. How many names does he have?”
Evie squirmed. “Four.”
“One more than I or Amelia. He must be special. For his sake, let’s hope your naming practices have matured. I never did like Beelzebub.”
“I can’t help what names come to me, and if my memory is correct, you were an absolute beast to me that entire summer when I gave you the name.”
She burrowed her fingers through the matted tangle of curls and met with a distressing discovery. A large bump graced his crown, courtesy, no doubt, of that duplicitous snake Lord Newgate. He had been behind her abduction, so she reasoned he must have also dealt with his long-time rival before leading her away from Atwood Manor.
“He’s been wounded.” She leaned down to kiss his injured head.
“I didn’t even touch his head,” Beatrice huffed, peering over his inert form.
“No, it wasn’t you. The wound has closed over and is already scabbing. Lord Newgate’s parting gift, I imagine.”
“You are a menace. The poor man has known you a month, and he’s already been drugged, beaten, and now attacked again.”
“To be fair, not all was my fault, Beatrice. You did the aforementioned attacking, not me.”
“Who drugged him and left him alone in the rain because someone was in a fit of temper?” Beatrice arched two delicate brows over those chips of blue and tapped her forefinger on her chin. “Whose fault could it be?”
She loved her sister and considered her to be one of the finest women of her acquaintance, but one of these days she was going to yank out those eyebrows and use them to smack the smirk right off her face.
“I don’t need you flinging my faux pas into my face. Drugging him was an awful mistake, Beatrice, but it happened weeks ago. We have a much better understanding of each other now.”
“Most men aren’t as forgiving as your Mr. Coombes. In fact, they would consider drugging a man a misdemeanor, not a faux pas.”
“You’re the one who gave me the drug in the first place!”
“I gave it to you to use in a dangerous situation, not to drug a man who is already smitten with you!” Beatrice threw up her hands and stalked to the bed, plopping on it in a most unladylike fashion. She scratched her stomach idly and yawned.
Evie stifled a shudder. This ruse of her sister’s, pretending to be a male ship’s captain, was taking its toll on her finer sensibilities. She grimaced and said, “I didn’t know he was smitten with me at the time, Bea.” She rose and joined her sister on the bed.
Bea slugged her arm, and she winced. “He had his head in your bosom, woman! What more did you need to be sure of his affections for you?”
“Beatrice! There is no reason to be crude.”
“I beg to differ, because you’re too blind to see what’s right in front of you.”
Evie recalled how the little gazebo had heated up as soon as his lips touched her own. “I’ll admit we shared some tender moments. However, often what is experienced in a moment of passion is not an honest reflection of a person’s desires.”
Beatrice gestured to the floor. “The man is here, isn’t he? I don’t see any reinforcements, so he has come here by himself to rescue you.”
“He is serious about keeping me safe.”
Her sister snorted. “He is in love with you. Why else would he have tracked you down and stowed away, after getting bashed in the head by Newgate? Imagine what he had to do to get here, too. You told me the rain had made travel all but impossible, and the bridge from Hasselworth had washed away in the storm. How did he get here? Fly?” She grabbed an apple from underneath her pillow, removed a
knife from her boot, and pared the apple before popping a slice into her mouth. “He expended a lot of energy getting to you. Maybe had to swim part of the way, or all of it.”
Worry consumed Evie, and she returned to his side, taking one of his hands in her own. “His poor hands are covered in blisters.”
“What do you want to wager he rowed part of the way? If a man’s not used to manual labor, oars will rip up his hands.”
“Ladies do not wager. It’s crass and serves to demonstrate you have played at this role for too long.”
“I’m not a lady right now, Miss Prim and Proper, or did you forget? Also, I like Captain Allen Brathwaite.”
“Grandpapa would be appalled, seeing you now, dressed in his old uniform.”
“Grandpapa was not the coxcomb everyone made him out to be. He loved a good adventure, and were he alive, he’d give me his blessing.”
“Along with his name?” Evie arched an eyebrow knowing how much it irked her sister.
“Here’s a surprising fact about the dead. They don’t give two figs what the living do, so stop changing the subject. We were talking about your stalwart rescuer. Most men would have given up on you, but not him. He knows what a handful you are and has nevertheless come back for more.” Silence followed Beatrice’s statement, and Evie turned to see what had stemmed her sister’s tide of disapproval. An inscrutable mask cloaked her face. “What other names do you have for him?”
“Who is changing the subject now?”
“Answer the question.”
“Fine. There’s Alfred, Freddie, and Alfie.”
“You said there were four.”
She blushed. “Be quiet, Bea. It’s none of your business.”
“Tell me.” Evie refused, and Bea advanced. “Tell me, or I will be forced to take drastic measures.”
Bea wasn’t lying. Evie hated being tickled, and Bea was a master, having spent years honing her skills on her two sisters. Amelia had always been bigger and able to wrestle her off, but Evie was too small and too young to evade capture. Bea had mapped out her weak spots and was ready to exploit them to her advantage. Once, after she had borrowed a plain, nondescript piece of jewelry, one her sister would never have missed, Bea hunted her down, pinned her to the floor, and tickled her until she returned the ugly piece of metal and cloth. However, it was not before she had wet herself in the process. That was the infamous summer of Beelzebub.
There was no use dissuading Bea when she wanted something, so Evie sighed and admitted, “It’s Federico.”
“My, my, Sister. What a spicy name.” She flopped onto her stomach on the bed and propped up her chin with her hands. “Let me guess. You named him whilst his head was buried in yon tender bosom?”
Sniffing, Evie thrust her nose in the air. “It was during a rendezvous in the gazebo. He was so powerful and his muscles… He slid me down his body, and I couldn’t help myself…” She fanned herself. “Don’t bother asking for more details. I won’t tell you. What business is it of yours anyway?”
“None.” Bea smiled an awful, cheeky grin and pointed to the floor. “I saw he had woken up, so I gave him something worth listening to, seeing as how he almost died coming to your rescue.”
“You’re awake?” Taking his hands in her own, Evie held them to her chest, all the while gazing into his triumphant, bloodshot eyes.
“Federico, hmm? I was sure I had misheard, because you prattled on about the weather and the heat in the gazebo.”
“Thank heavens you’re awake.” Bea knelt next to him. She pulled back his eyelids to check his eyes and poked the lump on his head. “You’ll be fine, and what’s better, now you can take her off my hands.”
“Beatrice, do be quiet.” She pushed her away and leaned over him to see for herself he was all right. Her sister resumed her perch on the bed and yawned. “I don’t know whether to be thankful you’re willing to care for her or to worry you’re not right in the head, but my money’s on my sister killing you before you get off this ship.”
“I’ll take your bet.”
“What? A bet she’ll kill you? Easy money, but if you’re dead, it’ll be no fun collecting from you.”
He chuckled and caressed Evie’s cheek. “No, I’ll bet on our happiness,” he countered, but his attention was all for Evie.
“I’ve found you, my sprite.”
Embarrassment colored her cheeks, though she refused to look away. His injury had preoccupied her, and the implications of his arrival had yet to dawn. He was awake, now, and she wasn’t going to allow awkwardness to mar their reunion. “How much did you hear?”
He rose and leaned on his elbow, the fabric of his rough sailor’s shirt stretching across his wide, taut chest. Several laces had come untied during his skirmish with Beatrice, and sandy-colored hair peeked out between the edges of the fabric. A silver chain hung around his neck, and a small medallion lay nestled in the springy hair. She longed to touch his body and glide her fingers across his smooth velvety skin. Allowing her eyes to roam lower, she gave an appreciative sigh upon spying his long legs encased in tight breeches and high leather boots.
“Enough,” he replied.
Snaking one hand behind her head, he tugged her closer until she toppled into his arms. Their breath mingled, and she closed her eyes, savoring the warm lips hovering over hers. “Enough to know I’d be a fool not to do this again.” He closed the distance between them and touched his mouth to hers. It was the lightest of touches, a gentle caress of renewal and hope, but it was enough to send her already fluttering pulses soaring.
“Ahem.”
Reluctant, she pulled back, ending their too-brief kiss, and lowered her gaze. Embarrassment had won.
“The captain is my sister.”
“So I gathered, though the beard was a bit off-putting at first.”
“As you see, she is not playing as herself, but she will take offense if we continue much longer in this manner.”
He tilted her chin so their gazes collided. She was exposed and had nowhere to hide, but the sweet tenderness she saw looking back at her loosened the panic constricting her chest. Her heart was safe with this man, yet her newfound peace was short lived because he leaned over to whisper in her ear, “This time we will finish what we started in the gazebo.”
Pleasurable jolts skittered across her skin, and she leaned in. “Now?”
Placing a finger on her mouth, he shook his head. Confusion replaced desire, and she pulled back. He tugged her hand to prevent her escape, and holding it close to his chest, he pointed behind her. Her irreverent sister had been replaced by the stern, scowling captain.
Beatrice! I completely forgot she was here. Cheeks flaming, she buried her head in his chest, and he chuckled, pressing a soft kiss on her crown.
“That’s enough, you two.”
Rising, he helped her rise also, and bowed, refusing to unlink their intertwined hands. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Beatrice. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Whereas my garrulous sister has been tightlipped about you, only stating you have taken on the role of her protector, she has given you four names, and now you are here.”
“Yes, now I am here.”
“Why are you here, Alfred? Have you a way for us to be off this ship?” Evie nibbled on her lips, helpless to prevent worry from consuming her. Escape would be much more difficult for two people. Even though his presence lifted her spirits, she’d rather he’d stayed away than be stuck here with thieves and brigands. She didn’t wish this uncertain fate on anyone.
“No, well, yes. What I mean to say is, I’ve come to marry you.”
Chapter 23
Hell and damnation. He hadn’t planned to propose. He was going to say, “I’ve come to rescue you,” but his brain forgot to tell his mouth, and he’d blurted out something different. He was going to propose, but he didn’t want to do it in front of her sister.
“What?” She staggered to a chair and sank into it. “You want to marry me?”
“I didn’t want to ask you now,” he muttered, a dull flush staining his neck and cheeks.
“So you don’t want to marry my sister?” A hint of a smile played about Bea’s mouth. It was damned disconcerting, seeing as how she still wore a full beard.
Damn it, but he was flustered. “No, I didn’t mean—”
“You do want to marry her?” Now the arrogant woman cocked her eyebrows at him, goading him into saying something stupid.
Sadly, that ship has already sailed. However, I can try to avoid further embarrassment by not sounding like a complete imbecile. A difficult feat considering Lady Beatrice was laughing at him. Was he doomed to be the laughingstock of all the Westby women? This one was as infuriating as her younger sister, Lady Stanton, but at least she’d had the grace to disguise her amusement with a delicate cough or two. Lady Beatrice offered no similar consolation.
“I do, but I was going to say—”
“Are you proposing to me, Alfred?” Evie touched his forearm, and her caress did much to ease his humiliation.
“It seems I am, and doing a poor job of it, too.” He sighed. “I’m sorry. You don’t need to say yes out of embarrassment or some kind of misplaced obligation. I would never force you—”
“Yes.”
“What?” He wasn’t expecting an answer, nor did he expect it to be affirmative, given how they had parted.
“I said yes, I will marry you.”
“I have no employment, no title, no land. The truth is you could do much better.”
“Stop trying to convince her of what makes you a good catch, Brother.” Beatrice clapped him on the back. “She already said yes.”
Evie embraced him. “I disagree with you. There is no one better, no one kinder, or braver, or a truer friend. I’d be honored to be your wife.”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “Thank you. We will be happy together, and I promise to give you the life you deserve.”
“All I want is you. If you can promise me you’ll never leave, I’ll be content.”
“You’re all I’ve ever wanted. I won’t be going anywhere.”
Silence Is Golden Page 18
