by Merry Farmer
Barbara blinked her eyes several times before Blake’s face came into view. “Going?” she repeated. She sat up, surprised to find him dressed in the clothes of a gentleman—doeskin breeches, a white shirt and silk cravat, conservative waistcoat and topcoat. Although his black boots probably hadn’t been made by Hoby, they were shined to a high gloss. “You’re dressed. And not like a pirate.”
The captain grinned. “You needn’t sound so disappointed,” he teased. Then he sobered. “Unless you are. In which case—”
“I’m only disappointed you did not spend the night with me,” Barbara replied, pushing out her lower lip in a pout. Then she rolled her eyes. “I cannot believe how... how wanton I sounded just then.”
Chuckling, Blake leaned over and kissed her. “If it helps, I do not mind. I do apologize for having left you alone. Duty and all,” he said.
“Do you think me fast?” she asked in a whisper.
He frowned. “No. I...” He paused, wondering if she had changed her mind about their plans for the future. “I hadn’t given it any thought, in fact. Other than I hope you’re only fast with me,” he added then. “If there’s another pirate in line for your heart, then I need to know now so I can challenge him to a duel.”
Barbara giggled. “There is not.”
Blake angled his head, happy to see her humored. “We docked a few minutes ago. I’ve sent a caddy to secure a hackney for us, and I’ve brought breakfast for you.” He didn’t add that another courier had been sent with a brief summary of what had happened to the Foreign Office. Blake knew Lord Chamberlain would be chafed if he wasn’t kept apprised of the situation, and besides, an aristocrat would have to oversee the arrest of a baron.
Immune from regular prosecution, Lord Dorchester would have to be found guilty by his fellow lords in Parliament in order to suffer any punishment for his crime.
Blinking again, Barbara slowly sat up and allowed her legs to dangle from the edge of the bed. “Oh, bless you,” she murmured, her stomach growling so it was almost audible. She winced when she remembered her hair probably looked worse than a rat’s nest. “I don’t suppose you could do anything with my hair?” she half-asked as she stood and moved to shake out her gown and petticoats. “I’m helpless without a looking glass and comb.” Blake had hung her garments over the back of a chair, so they weren’t as wrinkled as when they had come out of the valise the day before.
He grinned. “Let’s get you dressed first, and while you have something to eat, I’ll see what I can do.”
Given his somewhat impatient manner, Barbara wondered if he was insisting she get dressed because he was now seeing her by the light of day and had decided he didn’t like what he saw. She was about to ask when Blake said, “Truth be told, I’d really rather you not get dressed, because I admit to enjoying this version of you in the daylight.”
“Oh,” she managed, feeling immense relief. She stood on tip-toes and kissed him full on the mouth.
Blake hugged her hard and then pushed her away from his body. “Now you really must stop tempting me,” he murmured. “Or I shall ruin you and tell your father I couldn’t help myself.” He could just imagine having to meet the man on a foggy morning in Wimbledon Common, holding a dueling pistol while Nelson stood nearby and watched his captain succumb to a bullet.
Barbara paused before she pulled on her petticoats without his assistance, thinking she rather liked tempting him. Who would have ever thought her a temptress? But when it was time to pull on the coral gown, she allowed him to hold it open as she stepped into it. She felt his deft fingers close the buttons up her back, and she grinned when he placed a kiss at the nape of her neck.
“’Tis a beautiful color on you,” he whispered.
A shiver raced down her spine, and it was everything Barbara could do to keep quiet. She wanted to beg him to undress her. Return her to the bed. Ravish her.
Perhaps she could do that on their wedding day.
He led her to his small desk, where a covered tray lay atop pages of maps and charts. When she was seated, she removed the cover to find a plate of coddled eggs, toast, and a rasher of bacon. A cup of tea completed the breakfast. “This looks good,” she murmured as she helped herself to a fork and tucked into the meal.
Blake pulled a comb from his kit, and starting at the bottom of her hair, began to work out the brown snarls. “Unlike most pirate ships, we have an actual cook on board,” he replied.
“I thought you said this wasn’t a pirate ship.”
“We are not one on this day, it’s true,” he acknowledged. “Maybe tomorrow, though.”
Barbara gave a start. “Why tomorrow?”
Blake paused in his task, trying to decide how much he could tell her. “We... have a mission. One that was supposed to have started yesterday,” he explained. “There’s something else you should know.”
“Oh?”
“The Tuscan followed us into port.” Although the other ship could have overtaken them somewhere near Walmer Castle, the smaller vessel had instead kept abreast of the Molly. Shortly after sunrise and above the sound of the sluicing water around their hulls, Captain Bimmington had shouted the information that had him ordering the Tuscan to turn around and return to London. Althea Woodcock was standing next to him as he did so, fear etched on her tear-stained face.
Her eyes widening in surprise, Barbara turned to look up at him. “Woodcock?” she questioned.
Blake nodded. “Seems there’s more to your kidnapping than we thought,” he replied, slowly drawing the comb through her long hair. During the ball, her hair had been pinned up into a mass of curls atop her head. Now it fell in golden waves to just past her shoulders. He drew a hand over the soft silk, smoothing it down as he drew the comb through it with his other hand. “Your hair is like liquid gold,” he murmured. He pressed his nose onto the crown of her head and inhaled. “And it smells like lemon.”
Barbara set down her fork, reveling in the quiet moment. “You’re making an excellent lady’s maid. I don’t miss Woodcock one bit.”
Thinking he might share what he had learned from the woman earlier that morning, Blake dipped his head. “I fear Woodcock may have been misunderstood in all of this.”
Turning to look up at him, Barbara’s brows furrowed. “Whatever do you mean? She tried to steal...”
A pounding at the door had Blake hurrying to open it.
“Hackney’s here, as is the Runner you sent for,” Nelson said in a quiet voice. “What do we do with the baron? He’s howlin’ mad, complainin’ to whoever goes near the brig and wonderin’ as to the whereabouts of the lady’s maid.”
“Then don’t let anyone go near him. Leave him in the brig for now. I’ll let Chamberlain decide his fate,” Blake said. “Is Miss Woodcock secure?”
“Indeed. She’s done nothin’ but weep the whole time she’s been aboard. But she’s scare’t of him. Says he’ll kill her if he can get his hands on her.”
Blake sighed. “We’ll take her with us in the hackney. Let Chamberlain decide what’s next.” He turned to Barbara, who had joined him at the door. “Are you ready to go?”
She glanced between Nelson and Blake. “I just have to pack a few things.” Hurrying to her valise, she shoved the costume and petticoats into it and took a quick look around. Spotting a small looking glass over the pitcher and ewer, she paused to look at herself.
She was prepared for worse than the reflection she saw. Sure she would have suffered a sunburn from her time on deck the day before, she was surprised to find her skin appeared only lightly golden, and it seemed to glow from within. Although she would have preferred to pull her hair up into a bun, she had no pins to secure it. Seeing how the waves curled at her collarbones had a slight grin touching her lips. Even though she still didn’t think she was especially fetching, she wasn’t ugly. And perhaps her wide-set eyes gave her an exotic air.
A thought of what Blake had done to her the night before had her grin lifting her cheeks, and her eyes brightened with the memory. �
��I’m ready,” she announced, grabbing the valise as she passed the bed.
Blake took the valise from her and led her to the ramp. Several crewmen paused to bow in her direction as she passed by, and she dipped a curtsy in return. “Thank you all for rescuing me,” she called out as Blake offered his arm.
Barbara placed a hand on it, a sense of melancholy settling over her. Although she hadn’t enjoyed a single moment aboard the Tuscan, she had felt comfortable on the Molly. Safe.
Shouts and whistles brought her out of her reverie. She marveled at the bustle of activity that surrounded the ship and the one moored further down the dock. Porters pulled carts filled with cargo while the unmistakeable odors of seawater and wet wood and sweat filled her nostrils. She couldn’t possibly see everything, but she did recognize Captain Bimmington. He was making his way in their direction.
“Begging your pardon, Miss Wycliff, but I wanted to apologize for what happened,” he said as he removed his tricorn and gave her a deep bow. “Had I known who you really were and that you had been kidnapped, I assure you, I would have sent word to the authorities when Mr. Smith brought you on board.”
Barbara acknowledged his apology with a nod. “Thank you, Captain. I’m sure my father will take that into consideration.”
Bimmington blinked, and Blake turned to stare down at her. “Consideration?” the two men repeated.
She allowed a slight shrug. “Sir Peter is looking to buy some merchant ships, and I believe the Tuscan is one of them. Good day, sir.” She curtsied and made her way in the direction of the hackney.
Blake hurried to catch up. “You didn’t tell me your father was going to buy the Tuscan,” he said, as he opened the door to the hackney.
“Nor did I say that he was,” she replied, her comment followed by a shrug.
“You minx,” he accused in a whisper filled with humor. Poor Bimmington probably thought he would be out of a position soon.
Homecoming
A few minutes later
Blake helped Barbara into the equipage knowing Miss Woodcock was already in it. Pressed into one corner, her hands tied behind her back and a valise on the bench next to her, Althea looked as if she had lost her best friend.
Perhaps she had.
“Woodcock,” Barbara said as she took the seat opposite the lady’s maid. She pretended indifference towards the servant, not yet sure what to believe about the woman.
Althea nodded in her direction, sniffling before she said, “My lady.”
Outside, Barbara could hear Blake giving the driver instructions, and then he joined them, settling onto the bench next to her. “We’ve a ways to go to get to Parkenhurst House,” he murmured. “If you’d like to sleep, I’m happy to provide a shoulder.”
Barbara knew she would have accepted his offer if they had been the only ones in the hackney, but with Woodcock’s presence, she decided she’d best behave. She still had no idea what to believe when it came to the lady’s maid’s involvement in what had happened. “I rather doubt I’ll be able to sleep.” She sighed. “Has word been sent to my father?”
“The courier I sent to Horseguards was to make his way to Parkenhurst House next. Depending on the morning’s traffic, your father may learn you are on your way home before we even arrive.”
“Thank you,” she replied.
The hackney clattered along the streets of London, and Barbara watched as familiar landmarks appeared beyond the windows. The Tower. St. Paul’s. Lincolns Inn Fields. Covent Gardens. Odd that she had barely given them a glance the last time she had seen them.
When the hackney finally came to a halt in front of Parkenhurst House, she jerked awake, her head having settled against Blake’s arm sometime before they reached Mayfair.
Blake stepped down and offered his hand. Once Barbara was out, he waved for Althea to follow. Reluctantly, she slid across the bench. With her hands behind her back, she had no choice but to allow him to help her down. Then he lifted her valise from the bench, hefting it to determine if the items Nelson had packed into it were still in there.
But it felt empty.
He was about to ask her when she had discovered the substitution, but the front door to the Palladian mansion opened even before they made it to the wrought iron fence that lined the front of the property.
Four stories tall and landscaped with topiary trees, perfectly manicured boxwoods, and rows of flowers, it was apparent Parkenhurst belonged to a wealthy man. “Welcome home, Miss Wycliff,” the butler said with a toothy grin as he stepped aside.
“Thank you, Broadus. Is my father at home?”
“Of course. He hasn’t left here since word of your kidnapping,” the butler replied, his attention shifting to the lady’s maid. He frowned when he saw that her hands were tied behind her back. “He’s in the study.”
But he wasn’t. Sir Peter was already making his way in their direction. “Barbara? Barbara!” He doubled his steps as his daughter hurried to meet him halfway. “Are you all right?” he asked as he pulled her into a brief hug. “We’ve been worried sick.”
“I am, Father. Thanks to Captain Russell,” she said, as she turned to wave in Blake’s direction. “His ship caught up to the Tuscan before it made it to Calais, and he carried me over wooden planks onto his ship, and his men captured Lord Dorchester—”
“Dorchester?” Sir Peter repeated in alarm. He turned to Blake just as the captain joined them. “Captain Russell, I presume?”
“I am,” Blake said as he offered a nod. Valises dangled from both of his hands. “From your reaction, I suppose you’ve not yet heard word from Lord Chamberlain.”
The baronet shook his head. “I haven’t. Spent most of the night before last over at Chamberlain House, though, once Woodcock told us what had happened.” He gave Blake a thorough inspection, apparently liking what he saw when he gave an assessing nod. “From what my daughter just told me, I take it you captained the ship that was sent to chase down the Tuscan?”
“Indeed. It was my pleasure, though,” Blake replied. “I actually met your daughter at Lord Weatherstone’s masked ball the night of the kidnapping.”
Sir Peter seemed to think on this bit of information before he led them to his study, calling out instructions to his butler as he did so. At the last moment, he turned and directed his attention on Althea Woodcock. “Why is she bound like that?”
“She’s a suspect, sir,” Blake replied. “Seems she was working for Dorchester.”
The baronet gave a shake of his head. He glanced down at the valises and then back up to Blake. “And what are these?
“The ransom money,” Blake replied as he lifted the heavy one.
Sir Peter gave a start and then shook his head. “But, I didn’t send any ransom money. Chamberlain told me not to.”
Blake blinked.
Barbara blinked.
And all three of them turned to regard Althea with expectant expressions. She stood just beyond the vestibule, her head lifting when she realized she was the subject of their attention.
Behind her, the butler moved to open the door, and a breathless Matthew Fitzsimmons, Viscount Chamberlain, entered just as Woodcock said, “I had to take the money, or he would have killed her. He told me so during the ball,” she wailed.
“Who?” Lord Chamberlain demanded.
Althea gave a start and whirled around to find the head of the Foreign Office regarding her with suspicion.
“Lord Dorchester,” she replied. “He kidnapped my mistress. Told me he was going to take her to France. Demand a ransom. And that if he didn’t get twenty-thousand pounds for her, he was going to kill her.” The words tumbled out as tears once again fell onto her cheeks. “So I stuffed the money into my mistress’ valise and took it with me when I delivered the note to Captain Russell. I wasn’t stealin’ it. I promise.”
“I asked you point blank if you had the ransom money, and you said you didn’t,” Blake reminded her.
She rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t about to
admit I had twenty-thousand pounds with me.”
“Why ever not?”
“You’re a pirate,” she replied. “I saw the skull and crossbones flying over your ship.”
Blake rolled his eyes, deciding she had a point.
“Why did you board the Tuscan after I was rescued?” Barbara countered, her hands going to her hips.
Blake’s attention was captured by her bosom, thrust out such as it was as Barbara conveyed her mistrust of the lady’s maid’s comment. He was about to say something based on what Nelson had told him, but Althea did instead.
“I had to get away from Dorchester,” she cried. “He would have killed me to get to the money.”
“Russell, why are her hands tied?” Chamberlain queried.
“Because we think she was working with Dorchester to fleece Sir Peter out of twenty-thousand pounds,” Blake explained. “She used to be a maid in the baron’s household. Then she was hired here as Miss Wycliff’s lady’s maid under suspicious circumstances.”
“But, I provided a character,” Althea argued. “I had to get out of his house. He’s a repugnant—”
“You were smiling at him during your dance with him at the ball,” Barbara claimed, her hands still on her hips, almost as if she knew she had Blake’s full attention. She directed a grin in his direction, and he winked at her.
“I was acting,” Althea countered. “I had to pretend I was going to help him.”
“Or what?” Chamberlain challenged.
Althea grimaced. “He would have spread lies about me. About my family. Made sure I couldn’t get hired anywhere.”
Chamberlain turned to the butler, who had just joined them in the hall carrying a tea tray. “Were you involved with Miss Woodcock’s hiring?”
Broadus’s brows lifted in surprise. “Yes,” he answered, although reluctantly.
“Was there a particular reason you hired her?”
The butler’s head seemed to shrink into his shoulders. “No one else applied.”
Chamberlain seemed about to ask another question of the butler, but instead turned his attention onto Althea. “Where did you get the twenty-thousand pounds?”
