Her Favoured Captain (9 page)

  
“Rosy cheeked, quite pretty for
a boy, but a boy nonetheless,” she said, confident in her judgement of gender.

  
He laughed. “One glance is
sufficient to claim the page a boy?”

  
His mocking tone gave rise to
wariness. Perhaps Lt Herne was more astute than she’d given him credit for.
“If, as you are suggesting, this notorious jewel thief is a woman, are you of
mind she masquerades as a man?”

  
Seeming unwilling to avert his
eyes from the bevy of women gathered about the victim of theft and that of the
host Lady Hamilton, he said, “Quite possible, do you not agree?”

  
She almost laughed. “The very
thought is most amusing, but unlikely.”

  
He swung round again, hands
behind his back as though standing commandingly on the quarterdeck of his ship,
those damn delectable eyes levelling on hers: searching, but for what?

  
“Come dear lady, I can see why
a man might indulge in a little amour to afford the chance of relieving a
salacious lady of her valuables, but where would a man hide his booty and the
lady unsuspecting of any thing untoward thereafter?”

  
“A pocket. Where else?”

  
If only she could read his
thoughts, instead she centred attention upon his animated kissable mouth to
evade eye contact.

  
“True, but if the man had an
accomplice, a lady . . .”

  
“
Accomplice
?” she said,
breath catching in her throat. “Would such not appear rather obvious?”

 
“I think not. The victim and her
young admirer happened to be in a darkened corner, and I passed by unnoticed.”

  
“Yes, but an accomplice would
have to make contact with the thief.”

  
“In passing, admittedly, but I
swear the very devil could have brushed past unnoticed, for the lady was
utterly enamoured by the young man’s attentions.”

  
“You have pockets,” she
charged, determined to throw him into the frame of suspicion. “And men of
military disposition are swift and slick in movement, are they not?”

  
“Indeed, and should you care to
afford a quick glance at gentlemen within this room, save those in military
dress, you will see few have pockets upon their silk coats, their kerchiefs
tucked to sleeve.” He chuckled, that oh so husky chuckle again, which caused a
frisson of pleasure to ripple down her spine. “A lady on the other hand . . .”
His eyes drifted to the cleft of her breasts. “Yes, a lady could slip a
necklace down into her bodice and no one any the wiser.”

  
She sensed a flush to her
cheeks, his eyes boring into hers and it was time to change the subject, but it
was changed for her. Lady Hamilton called to her, and she slipped away from Lt
Herne. “Therese, darling, would you do me a great favour? Would you be so good
as to take Mrs. FitzroyPalmer up to the second floor, along with her page? I’ll
join with you, directly, as soon as I’ve made apology to our most esteemed
guest Horatio Viscount Nelson.”

  
As it happened, the esteemed
gentleman came forth, and said, “Your ladyship, William has instructed the
doors to be closed and is at this very moment in the process of checking the
guest list. No one shall be allowed exit until every guest is accounted for.”

  
Emma smiled her eyes fixated on
Nelson, and oh dear, Lt Herne it seemed had guessed right, for there was
sincere sense of intimacy between Lord Nelson and Lady Hamilton: Emma’s response
quite telling. “Am I to presume it was at your suggestion the doors were to be
closed?”

  
“It seemed eminently sensible
in the circumstance of valuable jewels stolen from under our very noses,’ said
Nelson, his eyes not leaving Emma’s. “It is the practise aboard ship for a
lockdown if theft of Admiralty property occurs.”

  
“I thank you most
affectionately,” said Emma, her face all flushed eyes sparkling. “What would we
do without you?”

  
Therese clutched Mrs.
FitzroyPalmer’s elbow. “Come dear lady, it seems their lordship’s have taken
command, and perchance your jewels will come to light.”

  
The lady continued sobbing
whilst being led away, and Therese glanced around for sight of Lt Herne, but
he’d vanished. As they passed through to the vast outer salon leading to the
staircase she spied Lord William in conversation with Lt Herne and other naval
officers.

  
Indeed, Lt Herne was correct,
she did feel a little sorry for William Lord Hamilton. It was all very well for
a man of great age to be in possession of a beautiful young wife, but one young
enough to be his daughter was a risqué proposition. As British Envoy to Naples
and state business to conduct, Lord William had many responsibilities, but
surely not so blind as to be unaware of simmering attraction between Emma and
Horatio? Yet, his lordship seemed to bestow great affections upon Nelson, a
strange relationship having developed.

  
She cast another fleeting
glance at Lt Herne, the man astute beyond words.
Best avoided, Therese, best
avoided
.

  
Whilst ascending the staircase
opportunity to catch his every movement became too tempting and she glanced
down at him. She instantly wished she had not, for he glanced upward. Their
eyes collided, and despite the distance between them it felt akin to a silent
caress. She could not, must not let such happen again. She must avoid Lt Herne,
at all costs.

  
Mrs. FitzroyPalmer ceased
blubbering, and said, “What a foolish, foolish thing to do. What ever possessed
me to think such a delectable creature as that young man could be any thing
other than a rogue?”

  
“It happens to all of us,” said
Therese, concern hopefully etched upon her face and sufficiently convincing.
“Such a beautiful necklace, too.”

  
“Genuine, Therese, real rubies
and diamonds, not a glass stone amongst ‘em.”

  
“I had not thought otherwise.”

  
Mrs FitzroyPalmer cast a
tear-laden glance her way. “That’s a pretty pendant you’re wearing, too, and
modest with it.”

  
“Of sentimental value, and
thank heaven unlikely to attract the eye of a jewel thief.”

 
“Sentimental value is sometimes
greater than monetary worth, and if I am not mistaken a tiger eye. Very rare
amber, indeed.”

  
“I confess I am not in the
least given to diamonds and precious coloured stones, I fear I might lose them
or have them stolen.”

  
Mrs. FitzroyPalmer laughed:
tears ebbed. “Ah well, I liked the necklace well enough, but I feel sure Mr.
FitzroyPalmer, dear Wesley, will replace it with one equally as beautiful. What
else does he have to squander his money on but I?”

  
“Oh, then there’s a Mr . . .”

 
“Yes, I know what you’re
thinking,” said Mrs. FitzroyPalmer, as both stepped onto the gallery above
stairs. “Why then would a woman of my years be playing footsy with a young
man?”

  
“Well, I wouldn’t presume to
pass
 
. . .”

 
 
“Perhaps not judge me, but think it utter madness of older woman
besotted by youth and vigour. And, and by jove that young man was well
endowed.”

  
“You mean he . . .?”

  
Mrs. FitzroyPalmer giggled. “Oh
dear girl, I am always wont to know what I have to look forward to.” The lady
giggled, actually giggled. “Don’t look so surprised, I am a woman of the world,
and not beyond a little pleasure of the vigorous variety.” Therese drew breath,
a band as though tightening across her breasts whilst Mrs. FitzroyPalmer
giggled again. “I do believe I’ve shocked you.”

  
“No, not at all, but I think I
may have eaten something that hasn’t agreed with me. I feel quite sick.”

  
“To the closet girl, to the
closet,” urged Mrs FitzroyPalmer, pushing her along from behind. “There, there
now,” she said, snatching the screen aside, “head over the pot.”

  
She had not been sick in a long
while, and to wretch was mortifying, more so as Mrs FitzroyPalmer’s page held
forth a glass of wine. “T’will take the taste away, Countess, t’will that.”

  
To say thank you was an effort,
and worse, the pair hovered in expectation of further eruptions. Thankfully
such did not occur, and her stomach levelled out, her thoughts too. Though Mrs.
FitzroyPalmer’s expression implied sense of knowing, though quite wrong in her
thinking.

  
“No, no, I am not with child.”

  
“Ah, so food the cause then, or
that dreadful wine at the supper table.”

  
She dared not reveal what had
caused the sudden repulsive eruption. “Perhaps the latter.”

  
“How long is it now since . .
.well, your husband’s death?”

  
“Five, five years.”

  
“I so remember Valentine . . .
Such a vibrant young man, excellent horseman and good dancer. Yes, yes, indeed,
Valentine Roscoff, the man many young women sought to ensnare.” Mrs. FitzroyPalmer
snorted. “Strong thighs on him, too, and excellent lover in the buff I
shouldn’t wonder.”

  
“Killed by the very thing he
loved above all else . . . his damn horses.”

  
“Oh deary me,” said Mrs
FitzroyPalmer, seating her ample proportions to a chaise. “Not the loving
husband you’d hoped for, then?”

  
Not unaware of Mrs.
FitzroyPalmer’s coarseness and pleasure seeking ways, it was a little
disconcerting to have someone talk of Valetin in that way, and annoying when
people pronounced his name wrongly. She glanced away, her eyes centred on the
door praying Emma would appear.

  
“Valetin was extremely loving
in his own way, but his heart lay with his horses.” She turned to face her
charge, which was a little ironic in that Mrs. FitzroyPalmer had taken charge
of her instead. “I think he thought of me as a mere trophy to his manliness.”

  
“Yes, makes sense. He was a man
of great beauty and plagued by young ladies, and because of it no doubt eager
to wed and save himself the embarrassment of being hunted by ambitious mothers
and unsuitable daughters thrust under his nose.” Mrs FitzroyPalmer’s overly
powdered plump face had begun to craze due to spilt tears, her expression
warmer, tender even, in a motherly way. “Sit down.” She furthered, patting the
chaise. “You miss him, I can tell.”

  
“I do and I don’t.” She sat
down, the splendour of the ornate red sitting room having passed them by as
topic of conversation. “I did love him. In fact thought I could never fall out
of love with him, until we went to St Petersburg. Once there I barely set eyes
upon him. He was up and gone before I awakened and rarely returned until I had
fallen asleep.”

  
“Where did he go?”

  
“To pay court to Catherine. He
was her master of the horse, and court duties prevailed.”

  
“And the lady herself an eye
for a fine stallion, if we are to believe many things essayed of the woman.

  
“I did wonder myself at first,
if Valetin and the Empress were lovers, but on hearing from others of her
exploits, it seemed he was far from her chosen one. She was after all old
enough to be his mother at that time, and died herself a year later.”

  
“Then why long absences from
the marital bed?” Mrs FitzroyPalmer shifted awkward, less about posture than
perhaps discomfort at inner thoughts. “If I am still able at seventy years and
a young stud is willing I’ll not turn him away.”

  
“Oh Valetin came to my bed, but
always so late and he was up and away by dawn.”

  
“And you feigned sleep, because
you mistrusted him.”

  
“Perhaps, a little, and then it
became habitual. I felt I no longer knew him.”

  
“But the marriage was
consummated, was it not?”

  
“Oh yes, initially.”

 
“
Initially
,” exclaimed
Mrs. FitzroyPalmer. “Fool,
utter
fool. What kind of man leaves his wife
wanton and wonting in the affections stakes? Good God, girl, did you not
consider taking a lover?”

 
“I loved Valetin then, but later
I thought his abandoning me was perhaps because I had not fallen with child as
quickly as hoped for.”

  
“Lordy lordy, my husband and I
indulged ourselves for three years of bliss before the first bairn made itself
known to us. And damn the little hides that followed, for I swear a mere look
of desire passing between us became our downfall and another on the way before
the year was out. Five of the devils on the trot and all boys at that.” Mrs.
FitzroyPalmer, laughed, winked. “And two going spare if you fancy your
chances.”

  
Therese could not help but
smile, a burning question on the tip of her tongue, and Mrs. FitzroyPalmer
obliged without question, and not a bashful glow to cheeks or hint of
discomfort. “Alas, Mr. FitzroyPalmer has developed a little problem on the
lower deck, and not as able in keeping me satisfied. He’s quite sweet about my
fancies, for he knows I love him most dear.”

  
“How sad.” What else could she
say?

  
“It is not uncommon, you know,
and although Emma loves William most dear and he adoring of her, she does have
a sparkle in eye not seen in a long while. And mark my words, young Nelson has
Emma within his sights, if not his grasp as yet.”