Shirley Kerr (16 page)

“Very well.” He stepped to the side to the table to retrieve her shift.

Charlotte quickly closed the gown around her and tied the belt. There was no dressing screen in the cabin for her to hide behind. Should she ask Alistair to step out?

Oh, what was the point? He’d seen everything already. Had to have.

While she debated, he came back, her shift scrunched up in his hands.

“I’ll slip this over your head, while you slip off the dressing gown.”

Humor and brazenness were the only way to go. “Gaining more experience as a lady’s maid, my lord?”

He winked at her, and raised the shift over her head. Somehow they managed the maneuver with a minimum of awkwardness, and Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief. He also helped her with her dress, and she pulled her snarled hair to one side as he stood behind her to do up the buttons. His touch was light and sure, nothing overtly seductive about it, but she couldn’t suppress a shiver when his fingers brushed her skin, or again when his warm breath tickled the fine hairs at her nape.

Instead of stepping aside when he finished the last button, he bent down. “Nick was right, Tucker did an amazing job. I can’t find either of the tears.”

He was examining her backside? She ought to tease him about making a habit of this, but she couldn’t get the words out. She held perfectly still.

“Think you can manage your stocking by yourself?” He held out the scrap of black silk.

“I’ll have to. You won’t be there to take it off tonight.” Good Lord, had she actually said that out loud?

He grinned, and reached for his waistcoat.

Standing still wasn’t bad, but every movement reminded her of last night’s folly, as muscles and flesh protested the insult. She had to move, though, and hope she could work out some of the soreness before encountering Steven. She carefully perched on the edge of the chair and gained enough leverage to pull on her stocking, feeling the pull of the stitches with every motion.

By the time she’d tied her garter, Alistair stood in front of the mirror above the desk, adjusting the knot in his sadly wrinkled cravat. “It would never pass Brummel’s inspection, but it will have to do until I get home.” He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to give it some order.

“There should be a comb in the top left drawer.” Now, where had she kicked her shoes off to last night?

“That wasn’t a lucky guess.” Alistair gestured with the comb.

Charlotte shrugged. “Nick’s a creature of habit. His shaving gear is in that drawer, too, but we don’t have time for you to borrow his razor.” She spotted her shoes under the table. If she stood beside it and stretched her
right leg, she might be able to reach them with her foot and drag them out without having to bend down.

“You’ve spent a lot of time in here, haven’t you?”

The odd note in Alistair’s voice made her glance up from the battle to retrieve her shoe. His jaw was tight and his blue eyes bore right through her. Jealousy? Maybe it wasn’t her imagination after all.

“Well, any time I’ve sailed on board, he’s insisted I stay in here at night. It took us almost two weeks to make the Channel crossing the first time, when I was fifteen. I remember I was very cross he wouldn’t let me sleep in a hammock like the crew.”

“A girl of fifteen? I should hope not. Did Steven guard the door each night?”

“No, he was still in France. He sent Nick to fetch me after my mother died.” One shoe at hand, but the other remained stubbornly out of her reach.

Alistair got down on one knee in front of her, retrieved the shoe with no difficulty whatsoever, and reached for her ankle. She put a hand on the table to steady herself as he lifted her foot to his bent knee and slipped the shoe on her foot.

“So a friend of the family came to escort you to your new guardian?”

She had trouble following the conversation, with his large, warm hand wrapped around her ankle. Why couldn’t she have been shot down there? He was welcome to touch her leg or ankle anytime he wanted. “Well, he was a friend of Steven’s. I thought my cousin Marianne was going to swoon when she saw Nick at the door. She’d never seen a man with a gold earring and
long black hair in a queue before. Thought for certain he was a pirate, even though Bath is inland.”

“I’m sure Nick did everything possible to foster that impression.” Alistair wound the shoe’s ribbon around her ankle and gently tied it. Such graceful fingers he had. “You weren’t inclined to swoon, too?”

She gave a rueful smile, remembering how silly she had been around Nick at first. “He is handsome and dashing, everything a girl daydreams about, and while he can be quite charming, he can also be a bully and overly protective. Almost as bad as Steven, in fact. Quite ripped the wool from my eyes.”

“Nick, a bully?” His twinkling smile said she wasn’t the only person Nick had tried to intimidate.

“My aunt only let me go with him because he’d brought one of the handkerchiefs I’d embroidered for Steven as a birthday gift, along with his letter asking for me. Plus, he knew our secret phrase. But if she’d known Nick was really taking me to the Continent, she would never have allowed me to leave, no matter how difficult her own troubles at the time.”

They finished dressing while she talked. With a last glance around, she grabbed her bonnet and limped out to the passageway. She stopped at the bottom of the ladder leading to the top deck, staring up at the daunting prospect.

“Anything wrong?” Alistair said behind her.

“I’d never before noticed how steep these steps are, or how far apart.”

He settled his hands on her shoulders, a comforting gesture. “I’ll carry you.”

While being carried in his arms again certainly held appeal, she had to decline. “I’ll have to climb the stairs to my bedchamber. Best I get used to it now.”

He rested his hand against the small of her back, and said not a word of complaint at her sluggish progress up the ladder. Though she couldn’t suppress an occasional unladylike grunt, she bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out. She’d made a cake of herself last night while he’d cleaned and stitched—she wouldn’t do it again.

Daylight poured down the hatch as the door was flung open. “There you are,” Nick said, leaning in. “Thought you’d changed your mind about staying on board.”

“We still have at least a minute to spare, Nicky.” She heaved herself up the final few rungs and at last stood on the deck, the welcome breeze cooling her heated cheeks and the sweat trickling down her back. “Where are you off to this time?”

“Dorset, since we’re almost out of cheese, then on to the Isle of Skye.” He tucked her arm in his and led her to the gangway, Alistair right behind them. “But do I need to cut the journey short? I wouldn’t want to miss your wedding.” He beamed at her, though there was an edge to the smile when he shifted his focus to Alistair.

She might be able to bluff her way past other men, but Nick had always been able to see right through her. “We haven’t set a date yet.” Which was true, so there was no reason for him to doubt her. Alistair’s posture stiffened beside her.

It was not her imagination. There was definitely an undercurrent between the two men, which was odd since they were friends, and she was friends with both of them.
Nick was like another big brother, while Alistair…there was nothing brotherly about Alistair. Last night they had been almost as intimate as lovers.

She glanced between the two men again. Could it be? She stretched up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on Nick’s cheek. “I’m so glad you were in port last night. Don’t know what we would have done otherwise.”

Alistair definitely narrowed his eyes at her action. He brought his hand up, not for a friendly pat on her shoulder, but a possessive hold against her neck, right where it sloped down to meet her shoulder. His thumb rubbed slowly against her nape, back and forth, like the swishing tail of a cat preparing to pounce. Not on its prey, but against a rival tomcat.

He
was
jealous! She bit her lip again, this time to keep from smiling. She didn’t want to be the source of discord between two friends, but couldn’t help feeling a tiny thrill of feminine satisfaction.

She should not be thrilled. This would only complicate matters. They were together only so she could complete the assignment and prove to Lord Q she could be a spy in her own right. She did not need the complication of a romantic involvement.

It was probably nothing more than leftover emotions from their forced intimacy last night and this morning. Alistair undoubtedly felt that he’d saved her life, or some such rot.

Her injury hadn’t been all that serious. Uncomfortable, certainly, but being shot in the butt had proved one could not actually die from embarrassment. Nor did she have the ability to faint on command, since she
had certainly
wanted
to pass out, especially when both men had been scrutinizing her posterior.

“You be sure and keep me apprised of your wedding plans.” There Nick went again, as though he was saying something to Alistair beneath the words. “I changed my schedule to be there for Tony and Sylvia—I’ll change it again for you two.” He tipped her chin up and pushed her bonnet back to drop a kiss on her forehead, as he did every time she left his ship.

She smiled at the little ritual, straightened her bonnet, and looked at Alistair. “Your friends in Dorset?”

He gave a tight nod. “We’ll let you know when there’s anything to report, Nick.” He guided her to the gang board, which Jonesy had lowered while they’d been talking.

She whirled back to Nick and gestured for him to lean close. “I also wanted to thank you for your self-control,” she whispered.

He frowned in puzzlement.

“Not one gibe from you about ‘turning the other cheek,’ or any other puns. Remarkable restraint.”

He grinned. “I’m saving them up for later, when the sting isn’t quite so fresh.”

Just one more thing. She lowered her chin so she could look up at him through her lashes, a trick that often got her whatever she wanted. “Since everything turned out fine, you don’t need to tell Steven about this.”

Nick turned serious. “I’ll be back within a fortnight. I expect you to do the right thing.”

Well, no problem there. She’d need less than one week to retrieve the snuffbox, end her fake engagement, and
be off on her next assignment from Lord Q. It was easy to nod agreement.

Alistair put his hand at the small of her back then and guided her down to the dock.

“Fair winds and following seas,” she called.

Nick waved, and the crew cast off the mooring lines and prepared to get under way.

Alistair tucked her arm in his and they made their way through the crowd of dock workers, fishermen, and costermongers swarming the waterfront in the early morning mist. His possessiveness now was to keep her from being jostled and accosted, rather than marking her as his territory, she was sure.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered.

“Beg pardon?”

“I just realized what was going on between you two back there. Nick thinks you’ve compromised me.”

“Well, of course—”

“No. You did nothing wrong. Nothing happened between us.” Well, that wasn’t entirely correct. He’d seen her in a way that no one ever had, at least not since she was out of leading strings. “True, you, ah, touched me in places that no man ever has before, but it was a medical necessity, and not done for lascivious purposes.”

“But we were alone together all night. Regardless, I’ve decided that we should—”

“There’s no reason for you, or Nick, to think you have to go through with our engagement. The original terms of our agreement still stand. At the end of the Little Season, if not sooner, we’ll simply tell everyone we do not suit, just as we planned, and go our separate ways.”

He patted her hand but did not voice his agreement.

She tugged him to a stop and waited until he was looking directly at her. “Are you listening to me?”

“I heard every word you said, Charlotte.” There was an earnestness to his gaze and a glint of determination that made her take half a step back. “Let’s get you home, shall we?”

They resumed walking toward the busy intersection. He still hadn’t agreed with her, a fact she found quite annoying. She was about to press the issue when he spoke again.

“Is the soreness getting any better?”

“Walking is getting easier, at any rate.” There was still a painful pull in the vicinity of the wound, making it difficult to concentrate on anything but putting one foot in front of the other.

After he hailed a hackney, she considered kneeling on the floor rather than sitting on the bench, but eyed the detritus on the floor with distaste. Kneeling on the bench seemed too precarious as the coach lurched into motion. She gingerly perched sideways on the bench.

“I wish there was some way to make this easier for you,” Alistair said, breaking the silence. “I could procure a bottle of laudanum.”

She shook her head. “Makes me feel like my head’s stuffed with wool. No, I’ll be fine. If it gets too bad, I’ll just do like my aunt does, and have a nip of brandy in my tea.”

They soon neared her home. “Shall I have the driver go ’round the back, so you can sneak in through the mews?”

She returned his smile. “That won’t be necessary. Steven probably got home just a few hours ago and is sound asleep by now, and my aunt rarely rises before ten. No need to skulk about in my own home.” She glanced out the window. “But we don’t need to give the servants any fodder for gossip, so drop me off at the same place where we met last night.”

Within a few minutes Alistair was assisting Charlotte out of the coach. “I will call for you this afternoon and we will…well, not go driving.” He looked around the square. “We will go walking in the park.” He gestured at the tiny park in the center of the square. “After last night, we have much to discuss.”

His expression was far too serious for Charlotte’s comfort. Undoubtedly, he had arguments as to why he felt her virtue was now compromised and he felt obligated to do the so-called honorable thing. Since he’d given her several hours notice, surely she could come up with a convincing argument as to why he was wrong.