Adam sat back in his chair, cracking a walnut between his fingers. ‘I shall look forward to it.’
‘Oh, will you be doing the Season, too? How very nice! Will you dance with me at Almack’s? I have so many acquaintances in town that I am sure I will not want for partners, but I must confess it would be reassuring to know my dance card will not be quite empty!’
His lordship, aware that the conversation was slipping from his grasp, reached for his glass to refill it and found that Helena had picked it up and was dipping one finger experimentally in the remaining few drops of sweet wine.
‘Miss Wyatt…Helena…’
‘Oh, I am sorry, you want your glass back.’ She handed it back with an apologetic smile that warmed her lovely violet eyes.
Adam gave himself a mental shake and said firmly, ‘Helena, listen to me. I see no reason why your plans for the Season should be disrupted, and your new gowns will come in very useful and save much time…’
Helena broke in, utterly confused. ‘My lord, what are you talking about?’
‘Brideclothes, of course. Naturally, you may have whatever you wish, but time is of the essence and it would present a very odd impression if you did not have a suitable wardrobe.’
‘Brideclothes? But I am not getting married! Sir, I am not yet out!’ Indeed, I have had too much wine, she thought confusedly.
‘I told you before, I will marry you. Indeed, I must.’
‘What nonsense!’ Helena declared stoutly, bringing one small fist down on the table to underline the point.
Adam took the clenched fist in his and patted it. ‘Face the inescapable fact, my dear—you are ruined. You have no choice but to marry me.’
‘I might be compromised, my lord, in the eyes of Society, but I am not ruined. I will return home with discretion and there the matter rests.’ She snatched her hand away, suddenly very clear-headed. ‘And do not call me your dear!’
‘Lady Wyatt will insist.’
‘Mama will believe what I tell her, and she would never force me to marry against my will.’
His lordship got to his feet and strode to the fireplace where he turned and regarded her coolly. ‘My dear Miss Wyatt, what you want in this matter is neither here nor there. I have compromised you and I will marry you.’
Helena too was on her feet, sweeping around the table to face him with real anger in her eyes. ‘I am not marrying you! There is no reason—I am not ruined!’
‘Not yet,’ Adam said, his voice silky. ‘But there are still two days and nights before you reach home.’
The slap echoed round the room. Adam rubbed his cheek, his eyes never leaving hers. Before Helena could step back, his arms were imprisoning her and his lips were hot and hard against her mouth.
She wrenched herself free and confronted him. ‘I would not marry you, sir, if you were the last man on earth!’
‘In that case, madam,’ he countered, his voice hard, ‘we will remain at sea until you change your mind.’
Chapter Four
The walk back along the quayside was undertaken in icy silence on both their parts. Helena could only surmise that Adam’s male pride was wounded by her refusal to fall gratefully into his arms like—if gossip was to be believed—any other woman who received his attentions.
As for herself, it was outrageous that he should assume she would welcome his offer of marriage, made under duress as it was! How dare he assume she would willingly—thankfully!—comply whether she loved him or not? Mama had not spent eighteen years schooling her to be of an independent cast of mind to see her throw herself at a man simply because that offered the easy way out of a difficulty.
As for being ruined, she was not, and she had no intention of being so, whatever his lordship’s wiles or threats! The cool night air was beginning to clear the fumes of wine from her mind and Helena blushed to recall how easily she had almost capitulated to Adam’s lovemaking on the Moonspinner. Well, never again would she allow him near enough to touch even a fingertip, even if it meant locking herself in her cabin for the entire voyage back!
The skiff was waiting for them, tied to the quayside, but with no crewmen aboard. Adam cast round, his face set and cold and, almost as if summoned by his silent fury, two sailors shot out of a nearby tavern and hurried to their side.
‘Sorry, my lord!’ the more senior apologised, scrubbing the back of his hand across his still-wet mouth. ‘Just having a quick wet. Simeon! Move about, lad, get on those oars.’
Adam shot both men a look which boded ill for later and turned to offer Helena his hand. She turned her shoulder and reached down to Simeon who leapt to his feet, sending the skiff rocking, and took her hand in his rough grasp. He settled her respectfully in the stern, then swiftly bent to pick up the oars, conscious that he had done even more to incur his master’s wrath. Cor! There’d be some gossip below decks tonight! It didn’t look as if his lordship’s usual luck was in…
‘What are you waiting for men, bend to it!’ Adam snapped as soon as his feet touched the bottom boards. In the starlight the sailors exchanged glances and did as they were bid. Still, one thing you could say for his lordship, he didn’t bear grudges: with a bit of luck he’d be as right as rain in the morning.
During the short crossing, Helena’s imagination ran wildly over what might happen next. By the time she was safely on deck she was prepared for anything from a raging row to his lordship sweeping her off her feet and down to the cabin and into his bed. It was a considerable anticlimax when Adam turned to the bosun and snapped, ‘See Miss Wyatt below to her cabin—and see that she remains there.’
Standing glaring at his back as he stalked over to the wheelhouse, Helena was astounded. He could at least have been civil, have maintained a façade of politeness in front of his crew! She had been dismissed with little more ceremony than a naughty cabin boy.
‘Good evening.’ She smiled pleasantly at the bosun, determined not to show her chagrin. ‘Please do not trouble to escort me. Is there a light in my cabin?’
‘Yes, ma’am, I’ll just help you down the companion-way, ma’am. Steps are very steep…’
Helena shut the door with a quiet ‘goodnight’, turning the large key with a determined twist of her wrist. She waited until she heard the man’s footsteps retreating, then stormed over to the bunk, seized a pillow and pummelled it furiously until feathers began to leak from the seams and tickle her nose. Throwing it from her furiously, Helena sat down on the bed and concentrated on breathing calmly until she regained her composure.
How could she let herself be provoked so? But then, Adam Darvell was a provoking man. And she was honest enough with herself to admit that it was not just anger that he aroused in her. A little shiver ran down her spine at the memory of his touch, of the strength of him against her on this very bed…of that angry kiss in the inn.
She woke to the sound of the sea slapping against the sides of the ship and the pitch and toss of a vessel well out in open seas. Helena swiftly scrambled into her clothes, made a hasty toilette and went up on deck. She had no confidence that they were heading back to English shores: the mystery of the French agent, for he could have been nothing other, still nagged at the back of her mind.
But it was impossible to tell where they were, or where they were headed. Everywhere she looked the sea was grey, flecked with angry foam. Above them the clouds were dark and louring, heavy with unshed rain. Full sail was set despite the wind and the Moonspinner raced through the waters as if pursued.
The deck tilted and Helena grabbed at the side netting and clung on as the wind whipped her hair painfully past her cheeks. The crew were hurrying about their duties, bare feet confident on the damp planking. Adam and the bosun stood together by the wheelhouse, a chart flapping between them, their bodies bending instinctively with the motion of the ship.
Helena made her way nervously across to them, catching at every rope and spar she passed. She could quite see why the men wore no shoes, for her own leather soles were tre
acherous on the spray-drenched deck.
‘Good morning. Where are we?’ she gasped as she reached the wheelhouse, the words almost snatched away by the wind.
Adam thrust the chart into the bosun’s hands and said to the man, ‘I thought I had given orders that Miss Wyatt was to remain confined to her cabin.’
So that was how he wanted to play it! Helena smiled wanly at the petty officer and said, ‘Please tell his lordship that if he wishes me to suffer the full effects of seasickness in what I believe is his cabin, he has only to say so. Otherwise I intend to remain in the fresh air.’
Adam saw the veriest hint of a twitch of amusement touch the seaman’s lips. With an effort he controlled a strong desire to pick Helena Wyatt up, throw her over his shoulder, take her below decks and…Damn it, he did not know how to deal with this provoking female! But then, if she was one of those simpering little ninnies, or one of the sophisticated married ladies he knew so well, he would not find her half so interesting.
A gust hit them broadside and Helena staggered, clutching the bosun’s arm for support.
‘Tell Miss Wyatt that for her own safety she may either be lashed to the mainmast or sit in the wheelhouse and take her breakfast. The choice is, of course, her own.’
‘Er…miss…’
‘I heard his lordship, thank you. Some coffee and bread in the wheelhouse will be perfectly acceptable.’
Fulminating inwardly on the strange ways of the gentry, the bosun went in search of Billy the cabin boy.
Helena turned to look directly at Adam’s expressionless countenance. ‘I see your temper has not been improved by a night’s rest, my lord. If you can bring yourself to address me, might I enquire where we are headed?’
A look of surprise crossed his face. ‘Why, Siddlesham, of course. Where else?’
‘France, perhaps?’ The telltale words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
Adam caught her arm none too gently and pulled her close. ‘France?’ His voice was low, so low no one even a step away could have overheard. ‘And why might you assume such a destination?’
‘I…er…a foolish thought, my lord. After all, we are so close and the weather bad. I wondered if we might be driven for shelter…’ It sounded weak and unconvincing even to her own ears.
Adam pulled her even closer, his eyes narrowed slits as he watched her betraying countenance. ‘This is a stiff blow, no-more—and you know it. No, Helena, I think the truth is that you have been spying upon me. Sneaking up to listen at windows at the inn. Hearing and seeing things you ought not. You should be careful, my dear, in these dangerous times, lest what you meddle in has unfortunate consequences.’
Helena wrested her arm free and flashed back, ‘Such as being forcibly married off?’
‘What a suspicious mind you have, Helena.’ His smile was entirely without humour. ‘Of course, a wife cannot testify against her husband—although I am not certain if that applies in cases of treason. And that is what we are talking of, is it not, Helena?’
She gasped at the effrontery of the man, to seize on her veiled accusation and throw it back in her face so openly. These were deep waters indeed. She did not, could not, believe him a traitor and would never have spoken of France if he had not provoked her so…
Helena was frightened, both by what she saw on Adam’s face and by the enormity of what she had accused him of. He was an English gentleman, every dictate of honour was naturally for his King and country and for his place within that hierarchy. She had uttered the unthinkable: how could it ever be retracted?
‘Sail on the starboard quarter!’ The shout from the crow’s nest rang out raggedly on the wind. It was enough to break their interlocked gaze apart. ‘Coastguard cutter!’ The second shout sent Adam striding to the rail, the danger of the tilting deck ignored, Helena forgotten.
The crew froze in their positions, eyes on the fast approaching cutter. Helena realized with a sudden insight that this was not a chance encounter, that this was something the crew of the Moonspinner both feared and were prepared for. She recalled her first suspicions that Adam was dabbling in a little smuggling—then she saw his face and knew it was much more momentous than that.
There was a puff of smoke on the side of the cutter, then, to Helena’s utter horror, a splash just ahead of the yacht’s bow and the sound of cannonfire. ‘They are attacking us!’ she gasped, unable to believe it.
‘A warning shot only,’ Adam said grimly. ‘Get below. I cannot outrun them: if an officer boards, you must say we are betrothed. Nothing else will save your reputation.’ He turned and shouted at the men in the rigging, ‘Bring in sail, prepare to hove to.’
Helena tugged urgently at his sleeve. ‘Adam! What did that Frenchman give you? If you have papers, I can hide them—they would never dare to search my person.’
‘You would risk being thought a traitor?’
‘Oh, don’t be such an idiot!’ Helena snapped. ‘Just give me the papers!’
For a long moment Adam looked down into her earnest face, searching her eyes with his. Helena realized that it was not just her own instinctive leap of faith that he was not a traitor that was in question. Adam too had to invest all his trust that she would not betray him and his secret.
‘Moonspinner! Hove to and prepare to be boarded by His Majesty’s Excise!’
Even the hail did not make Adam look away. Helena saw something in his eyes change as though he had reached a decision. Abruptly he thrust his hand into the breast of his coat, pulled out a small parchment package with heavy red seals and pushed it into her shaking hands. Without another word he turned and faced the approaching vessel, shielding her from sight with his body.
Helena almost ran below, the package, still holding the warmth of Adam’s body, clutched to her breast. Once in the cabin her first thought was to pin it securely into her undergarments, but then she paused, her fingers on the fastening of her gown.
Adam was right; if an officer—by definition a gentleman, with connections in Society—came on board, she would have no option but to admit to being betrothed to Adam. And even that would hardly do her reputation much good! It would save a scandal, but she would still be known as a flighty girl who would travel unchaperoned with a man. She would have no choice but to marry him. An idea half formed in her mind, then clarified. If she were not a lady, then no one would think twice either about her presence or her morals.
Urgently she began to put away all traces of her presence in the cabin, folding up the elegant gown and tucking the slippers into a trunk. Her old gown, the one she had been wearing when she drifted out to sea, had been returned to her and she tugged it over her head. It had been washed out but not pressed and the seawater had removed all lingering traces of respectability from it. A linen towel from the closet served to wrap her hair into a turban and her bare feet would soon become dirty on the decking.
Helena put her head cautiously out of the hatch at the top of the companionway. Everyone’s attention was on the starboard side where, from the sound of voices, she guessed a rowing boat had just pulled to. She whisked out of the hatch and, half crouching, ran to the galley entrance, nearly tumbling down the steps in her haste.
The cook almost dropped the pan he was carrying as she literally fell into his tiny galley. ‘Miss Wyatt! What’s amiss?’
‘I have no time to tell you now, but as you served my father, will you help me? I am sorry, I do not know your name.’
‘It’s Tom, miss, and of course I’ll help you, only tell me how.’
‘The excisemen are boarding us and I cannot be found—or I will be ruined.’ The man nodded in ready understanding. ‘I must pretend to be the cook—it will seem just another of his lordship’s eccentricities. Will you fall in with my plan?’
The man grinned, obviously ready for any adventure. ‘I will, ma’am, I will. I’ll pretend to be cook’s mate.’ He cast around the tiny galley for inspiration before snatching up a piece of sacking and limping over to her ‘
Here, ma’am, wrap this round yourself for an apron.’
Helena did as she was bid, her fingers moving swiftly to tie the rough hessian around her waist. As she did so, her fingers encountered the bulge of the package pinned in her petticoat and she bunched the cloth over to conceal any sign of it.
‘Your earrings!’ the cook exclaimed as voices rang out above them. Helena snatched off the filigree loops and stood with them in her hand for a frozen moment. Tom thrust the pestle and mortar along the bench towards her and she dropped them in, pushing them under the peppercorns he had been grinding.
Feet were clattering on the companionway steps and the light from above was cut off by the press of bodies coming below decks. Even so, Tom realised, very few people would be fooled into thinking Miss Wyatt was a cook. A few days at sea had lightly coloured her skin, but her complexion still had a perfection that spoke of her status. With sudden inspiration he thrust his hand into the flour barrel and tossed a handful of flour into Helena’s face.
She sneezed vigorously, batting at the cloud in a way which spread it even more effectively over her clothes and face. ‘Tom!’ But the minute the protest escaped her lips she knew what he had been about and added to the effect with a handful of soot from the range.
Tom had been gutting mackerel and Helena snatched up a fish and the knife and began to chop off its head and tail, her shoulder half turned to the entrance.
They were only just in time: the tiny space was suddenly filled with men in navy blue uniforms.
‘Oh, get out of the light, do! Lummocking around in my galley!’ Helena, calling on a childhood spent playing with the village children, fell into a broad Sussex accent. She stuck the gutting knife into the chopping board with some force and confronted the men, fists on hips, in a very good imitation of Mrs Charnock, the cook at home.
The Admiral's Daughter Page 6
