‘Really, Darvell, I know you like to cultivate a reputation as an eccentric—but a female cook at sea?’ There was a snigger from the group of excisemen at the speaker’s shoulder. ‘If…’ the man’s voice became an insolent drawl ‘…that is what she is.’
Before Adam could respond, Helena brought her chin up angrily and demanded in a shrill voice, ‘’Ere, what do you think you are? Calling me a trull, are you?’
Her eyes locked with those of the naval lieutenant who was obviously in command of the party. She had a fleeting second to think that, under any other circumstance, she would have thought him a handsome and presentable gentleman. The uniform sat easily across his broad shoulders; he was almost as tall as Adam, his dark hair grazing the deck beams overhead. His gaze flicked speculatively round the galley and when the brown eyes rested on her again they were hard and cold.
‘What a very insubordinate crew you have, Darvell.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Two of you, search in here. Every locker—and check the barrels too.’
The men shouldered past Helena and began to search. Tom, assuming an expression of vague stupidity, picked up a pail of potatoes which were soaking and slammed it down near one of the searchers, showering his white stockings with muddy droplets. ‘Any more of that, you’ll be scrubbing spuds on a King’s ship,’ the man snarled, pushing his face close to Tom’s.
Everyone’s eyes were drawn by the exchange and Helena snatched the opportunity to look at Adam. He was standing at the back of the group, apparently unconcerned, his arms crossed over his chest. But, knowing him, she could detect the tension in his tall, erect figure and see the tautness of his mouth. Yet when he saw her watching him, he raised one brow a fraction and his eyes were warm with amused admiration.
Helena felt instinctively that Mrs Charnock would not have stood idly by while this sort of disturbance went on in her kitchen. Grabbing a long-handled ladle by its bowl she poked the hook end into the ribs of the aggressive exciseman. ‘Leave him be, you great lummock! He’s worse than useless at the best of times without you making him all afeard!’
The lieutenant stepped forward and seized Helena by the wrist. ‘Put that down, you harridan, I’ll not have you assaulting one of my men.’
She did not try to resist, letting him take the ladle with his free hand, but she was conscious that his fingers tightened on the slim bones and his eyes dropped to look at her hands. ‘You have very soft skin for a cook,’ he remarked.
Helena almost gasped aloud. She did no physical work and her hands were indeed soft and pliable. She thought swiftly and rubbed her arm insinuatingly against the cloth of his jacket. ‘Hold hands with many cooks do you, ducks?’ she asked with a coy wink. ‘Well, the secret of nice soft hands is lard, me love. That and the kneading…of the dough, that is.’ And she winked again.
There was a hoot of laughter from one of the excise-man, hastily suppressed as the officer stepped abruptly from Helena’s side with a look of disgusted fury on his face.
‘Have you seen enough down here, Brookes?’ Adam asked coolly. Helena could see the muscle at the corner of his mouth twitching and realised that he did not dare meet her eyes.
‘In good time.’ The lieutenant was making a point of not being hurried. He poked with his finger among the objects on the narrow shelf which ran along the bulkhead. He pushed aside packets of herbs, some broken sugar and the sugar tongs and stirred the peppercorns in the mortar with his forefinger.
‘Oy! Get your hands out of there!’ Helena protested. ‘Do you know how much those cost?’ It was enough to bring his attention from the peppercorns to her face and she held his gaze insolently, fearing a betraying glint of silver earring amongst the small black spheres.
‘Enough!’ Lieutenant Brookes raked her with a hard stare, then turned on his heel. ‘Come, men, there is nothing here. Join the others in the hold.’
The boarding party pushed back up the companionway with Adam at the rear. He paused on the bottom step and looked back, a grin of unholy amusement on his face, then he was gone.
Helena’s knees gave way and she sank down on to the flour barrel. ‘Oh, Tom! That was a close call. What horrible men!’
‘They’re always like that, miss. And that Lieutenant Brookes is a mean piece of work. He hates his lordship—and finding nothing only makes his spite worse.’
‘You sound as though this were a common occurrence.’ Helena got up and pushed a floury lock of hair back under her makeshift turban. ‘We had better keep working in case they come back and try and catch us out.’ She picked another fish out of the tub and slit it open.
‘Every voyage, almost.’ Tom stirred the pot on the stove. ‘At least, ever since the Admiralty started putting naval officers with the excise vessels to give them a bit of backbone. That Lieutenant Brookes thinks he’s too good for chasing a few smugglers around. Wants to have his own frigate, I’ll be bound. And,’ he added musingly, ‘I reckon its more than that. From the way he and his lordship talk to each other, they know each other ashore. Went to school together, the bosun says. One thing I do know—there’s no love lost on either side. How are you doing with those mackerel?’
There was the sound of many feet on the deck overhead. Helena glanced upwards and the cook commented, ‘Sounds like they’re done. They won’t have found anything—they never do.’
‘Is that because there is nothing to find?’ Helena asked tartly.
Tom winked at her. ‘That’d be saying, ma’am.’
Helena was certain he was talking about smuggling; nothing more sinister. A private yacht like this would be an obvious target for the Excise for, even with England at war with France, the demand for French silks, lace and brandy was as keen as ever. And the Scillies were a known entrepôt.
But whoever Adam had been head to head with in the Godolphin Arms in St Mary’s had not had the look of a wine merchant about him! She was suddenly very frightened for Adam: Lieutenant Brookes’s cold eyes and hard mouth were those of a calculating hunter who would not easily give up until he had caught his prey.
The edge of the parchment bundle caught against her shift. What was it Adam was up to? And why should she trust him rather than a King’s officer? And yet…and yet, she did. Whatever he was about, however illegal, she could not believe he meant harm to his country. She touched her lips, unaware that her eyes had a soft expression which did not go unnoticed by Tom.
She paced up and down the narrow galley. ‘Why are they so long leaving?’ she fretted. ‘I must find out what is happening.’ Ignoring the cook’s protest that it would be better to stay below, Helena tiptoed up the companionway and gingerly peered over the edge of the hatch.
Most of the excisemen had climbed back over the side to their skiff, leaving Adam confronting their officer at the rail. Adam’s voice was hard, and strong enough to carry both to the men in the boat and to Helena. ‘I warn you, Brookes, if this harassment continues I will take the matter up with the Admiralty. I am not without influence.’
The two men were standing close together, eye to eye, the animosity crackling between them. ‘I am aware that you have influence, my lord,’ Brookes sneered back. ‘It is the only way I can account for your charmed life. But I am watching you—sooner or later I will have the proof I need of your trafficking in these waters. Then see how much good your influence does you.’
With that final threat he clapped his hat back on his head, swung over the rail and disappeared.
Helena ran to Adam’s side. ‘Have they gone for good?’
‘I hope so, for we must make more speed and for that I must take a risk.’ He strode over to the wheelhouse where the bosun was picking up the sea charts which had been scattered in the search. ‘Wait until they are hull down, then pull in the cargo.’
‘But if they double back, my lord?’
‘Then we throw it overboard. We can stand the loss, but I want to get Miss Wyatt home quickly now and with the drogues out we are losing speed.’
Helena watched in
amazement as, half an hour later, two seamen began to fish over the stern with long boat-hooks. After a few minutes the men were pulling in chains, dripping with water and seaweed, then a heavy bundle bumped up on deck, water streaming from its tarpaulin cover.
‘And what might that be, my lord?’ Helena asked with dangerous calm. Had she been taken for a fool, throwing herself into danger simply to cover up smuggling?
‘Silk and tobacco. A small quantity this time—I am sure His Majesty’s exchequer will not notice the loss.’
Helena, with a glance at the bosun, asked in frozen tones, ‘May I speak with you alone, my lord?’
Once in the cabin she turned on him furiously. ‘How could you? How could you drag me off to Scilly, put me in danger of disgrace and discovery—all for a few guineas’ worth of smuggled goods? Did you find it amusing that I was in dread that Lieutenant Brookes might discover your correspondence with your French supplier, or whatever it is I have tied up in my shift?’
‘So that is where you put it.’ Adam’s eyes were teasing. ‘I think you should hand it back now.’ He moved towards her with obvious intent in his eyes.
Helena backed away, but found herself once more cornered in the tiny room. Adam reached up and untied the towel she had wrapped round her hair. The curls fell loose around her shoulders and he dabbed the flour from the end of her nose with one corner of the towel.
She batted irritably at his hand. ‘Why do you do it, Adam? You cannot need the money, for you are well known to be a wealthy man. Is it the excitement? Why not join the navy if that is what you seek and fight like an honest man?’
‘As you observe, I am in no need of money,’ he remarked, reaching around her waist to unfasten the sacking apron. ‘And I am certainly in no need of any additional excitement in my life.’ His voice was husky and his breath warm on her neck as he freed the coarse hessian. ‘You cannot really have believed I wished to place you in danger, but you must know that smuggling brings the country much useful intelligence. Now, where did you put my notes?’ His fingers caressed through the worn cotton covering her back.
Helena knew her breathing was ragged. The anger had changed into something else entirely, and she knew she desired nothing more than to melt into Adam’s arms, which now encircled her completely. His fingers, with practised expertise, had freed the bodice of her gown which slipped from her shoulders.
With a gasp of shock Helena stepped back and Adam let her go, allowing the gown to fall unhindered to her feet. Left standing in her shift, Helena crossed her hands over her breasts instinctively and the parchment package crackled under the pressure.
‘The classic hiding place.’ The words were soft and teasing, but Adam’s face was very intent as he watched her flushed face and his fingers were very gentle as he delicately eased the folded papers from the warmth of her bosom. Without a second glance he tossed them onto the chest and gathered Helena back into his arms. One palm spread firmly across the small of her back, while the other hand journeyed over the soft curve of her hips. Adam’s mouth came down on hers with gentle certainty and Helena, all caution and common sense gone, kissed him back.
She found herself lifted and placed, with infinite care, on the narrow bed. Her eyes were closed, her heart beat wildly in her ears and she sensed rather than felt Adam smoothing the shift from her shoulders. The little voice of common sense tried to reassert itself, then died, lost in a wave of sensation as Adam’s lips grazed their way down one breast to the taut nipple.
Helena whimpered complainingly as the sensation stopped, feeling the bed move as Adam shifted his weight, then there was the sudden shock of his hot, smooth flesh against her sensitive breast.
Adam groaned deep in his throat as his hands moved down over the plane of her stomach. Helena instinctively arched against him, her untutored body desperate for his touch. Her voice whispered against him, inciting him, ‘Yes Adam, please, Adam…’
His hands stopped moving, his lips broke free and he lay still against her, holding her close.
‘Adam?’ she whispered again. ‘What is wrong? Have I done something to displease you?’
He spoke into her hair softly, ‘No, Helena, you have done nothing wrong. But I can wait…must wait, until we are married. I may have compromised you, but I cannot take advantage of your innocence.’
Helena lay next to him cradled in his arms, a growing sense of dismay spreading through her, driving out the wild, sensual excitement that had filled her. What had she been thinking of? How could she have allowed this to happen? Only Adam’s scruples—the very scruples which were driving him to marry her—had saved her from absolute ruin. She would have had no option but to marry him. And exciting, attractive, dangerously mysterious as Lord Darvell was, he did not love her.
She struggled up into a sitting position, averting her eyes from him as she gathered the ruins of her chemise modestly around her. And she had only known him a few days, knew nothing of him except by reputation and what she had observed—and none of that suggested a suitable husband! Perhaps all girls, kissed for the first time as expertly as she had been, felt stirrings of love. But it was nonsense, of course, and he must be brought to realise it.
‘Helena…’ He was sitting up too, shrugging into his shirt. ‘The next time…after we are married…’
‘Married?’ Helena laughed brittlely. ‘I commend you for your restraint just now, my lord, I fear the fright of the last few hours quite overturned my judgment. But I say again, I cannot marry you—indeed, I will not marry you. I would be obliged if you would leave me now so I can get dressed.’
Adam stared at her, and for a long moment she feared he might forget his restraint and push her back amongst the pillows. Then he swung his legs to the floor and stood up, towering above her.
‘Then it seems I must be more frank with Lady Wyatt than I had intended. For believe me, Helena, marry me you must and will. However much you dislike the prospect.’
Chapter Five
Lady Wyatt set her after-dinner teacup down as the front doorbell sounded, shattering the silence of the house. Only the slightest rattle of china against china betrayed her strained nerves, although under the discreet trace of rouge her cheeks went white. As Scott’s footsteps crossed the hall she stood up, smoothing the skirts of her heavy silk evening gown, her heart beating uncomfortably in her chest. She prayed that whoever was at the door had news—good news—about her darling girl.
The most rigid self-discipline, learned during years as a serving officer’s wife, had enabled her to show a façade of calm self-control in front of the servants and to explain Helena’s absence in Chichester plausibly to those neighbours who paid morning visits. And for John’s sake she had made light of the matter, for the little boy was distraught with the knowledge that he had put his sister in danger.
But at night her hard-won composure gave way and her mind filled with dreadful possibilities. Even before the arrival of Lord Darvell’s message she had not been able to bring herself to believe Helena had drowned; for a rational woman, she had the wholly irrational belief that if her daughter were to die she would immediately know it. But there were other possibilities which were almost as bad…and which had haunted her nights: what if she had been washed up on the coast of France?
Then the message had come, delivered by a man Scott had described as ‘a shady cove, my lady’. Relief at knowing her daughter was alive was slowly eroded by nagging anxiety as day followed day and no further word came. They could have been boarded by the French, they might have been shipwrecked. But even if those disasters did not befall, Helena was alone on a ship crewed by rough sailors under the command of a man who was a local byword as a rake.
When she heard Helena’s voice greeting the butler Anne Wyatt sat down suddenly, her knees giving way in reaction.
Her eyes were blurred with emotion and the next thing she knew Helena was kneeling beside her, her head buried in her lap, hot tears staining the elegant garnet silk of her gown.
Anne stroked her daughter’s hair as she had done when she had been a little child and murmured, ‘There, there, my love. You are home, you are safe now.’ Helena hugged her convulsively back and it was some minutes before the affecting reunion was interrupted by the butler.
Scott cleared his throat discreetly and announced, ‘Lord Darvell, my lady.’
The double doors closed behind Adam with some emphasis: below stairs the loyal staff were well aware of both Miss Helena’s disappearance and this man’s role in it and had come to the conclusion that, if such a rake was involved, no good would come of it.
Lady Wyatt gently extricated herself from her daughter’s embrace and got to her feet, regarding his lordship with the calm hauteur natural to a granddaughter of the Earl of Portchester. Helena moved to the back of her mother’s chair and stood holding the back, her fingers kneading the upholstery nervously.
‘Lord Darvell, I understand I have you to thank for rescuing my daughter from the sea, and for that you have my eternal gratitude.’ Adam met the cool, unsmiling gaze with equal calm, reflecting that Lady Wyatt was indeed an impressive woman. She was neither the vague bluestocking her reputation might suggest, nor a nervous widow thrown into disarray by the alarming circumstances of their meeting. ‘I am grateful also that you sent word to me so promptly that my daughter was not drowned. As you may imagine, both her brother and I had feared that she was dead.’
Adam was acutely aware that he was being kept standing when the dictates of good manners should have meant that he would be seated and offered refreshment by now. The unspoken ‘but’ hovered heavy in the air as Lady Wyatt continued to regard him across the candlelit room. The French clock on the mantle chimed ten, and still the tall, striking woman watched him from under level brows.
‘No doubt you are wondering, ma’am, why I did not restore Miss Wyatt to you immediately after plucking her from the sea.’ Adam kept his temper, well aware that her ladyship had good cause for anger.
‘I confess, my lord, that that question was uppermost in my mind, from the time I received your letter—and remains so now.’ Lady Wyatt turned to Helena and patted her cheek with a smile. ‘You must be exhausted, my dear. Go to your room and ring for Lucy to bring you some supper—she will be overjoyed to see you. I will come up presently.’
The Admiral's Daughter Page 7
