Surrender To A Scoundrel (17 page)

“Well, that’s what I want, too,” she said. “I realize that now.” It was true. All of it. Every last word.

He stood before her saying nothing, doing nothing. He just stared at her, his eyes dark, his brow furrowed with tension.

All the muscles in her body squeezed tight with a yearning she wished she did not feel. All she wanted to do was dash into his arms and hear
him say he was sorry—that he was wrong and loved her and wanted to be with her. She wanted him to forbid her to go sailing with Breckinridge tomorrow, because she belonged to him and no other.

But he said none of those things. His gaze dropped to the floor. He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t do this, Evelyn. I have a race to win, a crew who is depending on me. I’ve been neglecting them all week, and—”

“You don’t have to explain,” she said, locating her dignity even though her heart was breaking. “We had an agreement that it would be temporary, and it was wonderful while it lasted, but now is a good time to end it before we spoil it. If we haven’t already.”

His eyes flashed upward. “Nothing could ever spoil it.”

He continued to stand at her door with an unspoken apology in his eyes, and though she knew he did care for her in his own way, it still crushed her to know that he did not want more. That he could not love her the way she loved him.

“Good night, Evelyn,” he said, and walked out.

“W
hat a glorious day for a sail!” Lord Breckinridge shouted as he stood at the helm of the
Endeavor
wearing his black captain’s hat and crested, navy blue blazer.

“Indeed it is,” Lady Radley replied. “Thank you so much for inviting us out today—the very day before the race. It will make everything so much more exciting tomorrow, to think that we sailed on this famous yacht.”

Evelyn noted that Lady Radley did not say the “winning boat.” She wondered what the others thought about how well Martin would fare against this obvious racing machine. Not that she should care, of course, for it was over between them.

“Would anyone like some champagne?” Breckinridge asked.

“That would be delightful,” Lord Radley said.

“Go below and get our best bottle, will you, Hatfield?”

Mr. Hatfield headed toward the companionway. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

As soon as Mr. Hatfield disappeared below, Breckinridge leaned closer to Lord Radley, and said, “What’s the use of a first mate, I ask you, if he can’t serve you drinks?”

Evelyn recognized immediately what Breckinridge loved most about sailing—and it was not the thrill of the wind through the sails or the sense of “heaven” certain other captains experienced, as she herself did. For Lord Breckinridge and Mr. Hatfield, it was all about the champagne and the power and fame.

She let out a sigh and turned in the opposite direction. Glancing up at the mainsail, she wondered when they planned to raise the jib.

Mr. Hatfield reappeared, looking more than delighted to be getting into the bubbly so early in the day. He handed each of them a glass and poured, then poured his own and made a toast. “To winning the trophy tomorrow and becoming the new Cowes champions!”

“Here’s to that!” Breckinridge said, holding the wheel with one hand while he tipped his glass up with the other.

Martin stood at the helm of the
Orpheus,
steering her toward the crowded waters in front of the Royal Yacht Squadron. They hadn’t had much luck with the winds that morning, for it was almost a dead calm. They eventually gave up waiting for any great rush of speed and decided to call it a day. The best thing they could do was rest up for the race.

Spence, who was standing at the bow holding on to the halyard, turned and called out to Martin. “The
Endeavor
’s approaching.” He raised a hand to shade his eyes from the sun and continued to watch.

Martin stretched to see, too, because he knew Evelyn was on board. They would pass each other—the
Endeavor
heading out to sea, the
Orpheus
on her way back in to her mooring…

Spence made his way aft and came to stand beside Martin at the wheel. “No danger of any collisions today,” he said. “He’s got a crowd with him.”

Then the
Endeavor
passed them by.

Martin’s heart seemed to go still for a second while he stood on the deck, staring at Evelyn, who was standing next to Breckingridge at the wheel of the
Endeavor
with a glass of champagne in her hand. The others on board were waving.

“Ahoy there!” Lady Radley called out across the water.

“Ahoy!” Spence replied with reserve.

Martin said nothing. He couldn’t. He felt numb.

There she goes
, he thought, wondering how it was possible that over the past week, there had been moments when she’d made him forget everything that plagued him—his obsession to win the Cowes trophy, his enduring grief from what he’d lost. He had felt joy—real joy—and all that seemed to matter now was his regret over their argument the night before, and his need to have her at his side, and know that she would never marry Breckinridge or any other.

He swallowed with difficulty and turned around to watch the
Endeavor
grow distant. Evelyn, too, was standing at the stern, watching the
Orpheus
.

Martin realized suddenly that he wasn’t holding the wheel. He swung back around, but Spence had already taken over. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” he said.

Martin continued to stand there speechless, staring astern.

“You look pale,” Spence said. “Maybe you should sit down, or better yet, turn this boat around and go after her.”

Martin shot him a glance. “Are you referring to the
Endeavor,
or the widow on board?”

Spence merely cocked a brow.

“Bloody hell,” Martin said, taking at least some of his friend’s advice by sitting down on the
bench. He felt like a lead weight. “How much do you know?”

“Mostly everything. I’m not stupid.”

Martin leaned forward. “When did you figure it out?”

Hands on the wheel, his eyes darting up at the trim of the sails, Spence spoke lightly. “About ten years ago. She was the only girl in Windsor you complained about on a daily basis, and the only one who made you wear that face.”

“What face?”

“The one you’re wearing now. The
I-wish-I-could-have-her
face.”

Martin directed his frustrated gaze to his first mate. “And yet you discouraged me. You told me to leave her alone.”

“No,” Spence firmly retorted. “I told you not to toy with her. There’s a difference.”

“But why didn’t you say anything this week? You let me go ahead and do just that. You said nothing while I carried on a casual affair with her.”

Spence adjusted the wheel slightly. “I didn’t want to make you think about it too much, you harebrain, because you spend far too much time thinking about how guilty you feel about the things that could make you happy and debating with yourself over what you should and shouldn’t want instead of just going ahead and taking it.”

Martin rested his elbows on his knees and
clasped his hands together. “Well, I certainly took it this time.”

“Finally,” Spence replied.

“I can’t lose her.”

“No, you can’t. So what are you going to do now? Go back to the club or turn this lady around?”

Martin paused a moment, then stood and reclaimed his position at the wheel. He gripped the spokes tightly in both hands. “We’re going to take her back to the club.”

Spence frowned. “Coward.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Martin replied. “I’m taking you and these sloppy crew members back, then I’m turning around on my own—because as soon as I get that widow back on this boat, I’ll have no need of you people.”

Spence laughed out loud and slapped Martin on the back. “Aye, aye, Captain.” He strode to the front of the cockpit and called out to the crew. “Prepare to bring in the jib, gentlemen, because if we don’t slow this boat down and get the hell off, our skipper will toss us overboard!”

She was indeed a phenomenally fast boat, Evelyn realized as they sailed past The Needles and headed out to open water. Martin would have his work cut out for him in the morning when the starting cannons fired at the Squadron.

“What a splendid sight!” Lady Radley said,
holding on to her hat as they sailed past the lighthouse on the point. “What do you think, Evelyn? Isn’t it the most remarkable thing you’ve ever seen?”

She held on to her hat, too, as the wind gusted harder. “It’s magnificent!” she called out.

But the truth was, it was not nearly as magnificent as it had been a week ago, when she’d sailed here with Martin and seen all of this and so many other things for the first time.

She looked back at Breckinridge, who was speaking to Lord Radley, while Mr. Hatfield stood at the wheel, still drinking champagne.

She could never marry the earl. She knew that now. Nor could she marry for security or respectability, nor wed a man who only wanted her money. She was worth more than that. She wanted and deserved devotion and commitment and passion and love. She had learned that from Martin.

And heaven help her, it was killing her to think that he could never be hers. She wondered wretchedly if she had made a mistake telling him she needed more. Perhaps if she had agreed to continue the affair on a casual basis, he would have fallen in love with her in time. Perhaps she had demanded too much too soon.

Just then, the wind shifted, and her hat blew off her head. It spun through the air and floated lightly down onto the whitecaps below.

“Evelyn, your hat!” Lady Radley cried, pointing as they sailed right past it.

But a silly hat was hardly important to her now, not when the only thing she truly wanted was back in Cowes doing God only knew what. Charming another widow perhaps? Or missing her, could she dare to hope?

Then all at once, her hair was whipping wildly around her head as her loose chignon pulled free. Mr. Hatfield and Lord Breckinridge stared at her in shock while she stood on the sloping deck, not really caring if she shocked them with her flying locks. She liked the way it felt, and, dammit, she was on a sailboat. She would do as she wanted. At least for a little while.

Martin tied off the wheel and moved across the deck to adjust the lines on the mainsail. Damn, but the
Endeavor
was fast. He couldn’t bloody well catch her, which did not bode well for the race in the morning.

But that was the least of his worries. Breckinridge could have the title and trophy if he wanted them, just as long as he forfeited the other race—the one for Evelyn’s heart.

Martin didn’t care what it took, but he was going to win her back. He was going to catch them, sail up alongside the
Endeavor
, and tell Evelyn he was sorry. He was going to shout out loud that he couldn’t live without her, and demand that
Breckinridge give her up. He didn’t know if she would forgive him, or even what the future would hold for them, but he at least had to try—because he wanted to be a better man. For
her
. He had to get her back on this boat where she belonged.

Feeling the cold, salty spray sting his face, he braced a foot on a winch and pulled hard on a line, then wrapped it around a cleat. He hurried aft, swinging deftly around the shrouds. The wind was stronger now, which should help him gain some speed.

He hopped down into the cockpit and took hold of the wheel again, then reached for his binoculars. Peering through them, he could see the
Endeavor
in the distance, miles ahead. They’d already sailed past The Needles and were heading out to open water.

God almighty, but she was fast
.

The waves roared past the hull, the spray continued to sting his face, but he held tight to the wheel.

E
ventually, Evelyn went below to pin up her hair again. She was just sticking the last few pins into a sounder knot when a shadow moved into the companionway. She turned to discover Lord Breckinridge coming down to join her.

“I am so sorry about your hat,” he said, stepping into the cabin. “You must allow me to replace it.”

“Thank you, Lord Breckinridge,” she replied, “but that’s not necessary. It was an accident—my own fault entirely. I should have kept a better hold on it.”

He stood looking at her for a moment—creating that awkward silence that had become so predictable between them and for which she had lost all
patience. It was another way in which she had changed, she supposed, for there was a time she would have considered this normal. That was no longer the case. She now knew that she and Lord Breckinridge had nothing in common, nor did they have that essential ease that existed between two people who understood each other. It was yet another lesson she had learned from Martin.

The earl strode toward her, reached into his pocket and handed her a crisply folded handkerchief. “Permit me to inform you that your spectacles need attending.”

She stared at him for a moment. Ah yes, they were indeed coated in a salty film, so she accepted the handkerchief he offered and removed them. But while she was wiping them clean, the boat dipped below their feet and tossed them both to the side. Evelyn knocked her elbow against the table and a sharp pain shot to her shoulder. Lord Breckinridge quickly reached to help her regain her balance.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Wheaton?”

“Yes, thank you,” she replied, putting her spectacles back on and steadying herself. “That was quite a swell.”

But as soon as she managed to focus through her newly polished lenses, the man’s mouth came down hard upon hers, and his hands gripped her shoulders.

Her eyes flew open in shock. Another swell tossed the boat, and together they went falling against the bulkhead. The force of the impact squeezed the air from her lungs, and she shoved Lord Breckinridge away.
“My lord!”

Breathing hard, he took a few lumbering steps back into the galley.

She was breathing hard herself. It had all happened so quickly. What did he think he was doing? Had he no shame? She wiped the distasteful kiss from her lips.

“Mrs. Wheaton, surely the time has come for us to discuss what has been weighing upon both our minds this week.”

“And what, may I ask, is that?”

He grabbed hold of the table to steady himself. “A marital union between us, of course. You must acknowledge that we have much to offer each other. You have a great fortune. I have a title and respectability.”

Her mouth dropped opened in dismay. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but I don’t require either of those things. I want only love.” There it was, spoken most daringly.

His expression darkened with intolerance. “That is very romantic, Mrs. Wheaton, but I feel it is my duty to inform you that you are quite wrong in one respect at least. You
do
require something from me—and that is respectability. You’re an
intelligent woman. Surely you know what I am referring to.”

She narrowed her gaze at him as anger flared hotly in her veins. “No, sir, I do not know. Speak plainly, if you will.”

The boat dipped beneath them again.

“I wish to protect your reputation, Mrs. Wheaton, and I mean to rescue you from a very lonely, desolate future.”

She glared at him with reproach. “My future will not be desolate.”

“I am of the opinion that it will be,” he replied, “once the gossip begins. Society is already chattering, you see, about your very decadent activities over the past week here in Cowes.”

She was thrust off-balance by another swell and had to grab hold of the bulkhead. “Are you threatening me?” she demanded to know. “Are you trying to blackmail me into marrying you? Because I assure you I will not have it.”

“I am not trying to blackmail you,” he said, sounding surprised at the suggestion. “I am trying to save you. And I advise you to think carefully about my offer before you refuse, Mrs. Wheaton, as it would give me great pleasure to be your champion.” He studied her face for a moment. “Promise me you will at least think about it during our return.”

Think about it? Indeed she would. She would think about all the different ways she could tell
him how to chew and swallow that pompous captain’s hat he wore on his head.

He stood up straighter and adjusted the hat. “There’s foul weather upon us,” he said in a commanding voice. “We’ll be turning around now and heading back to Cowes. Perhaps tomorrow, when I accept the trophy after the race, you will do me the honor of allowing me to announce some happy news?”

Stunned, Evelyn stared at him. The boat rose high on the crest of another wave and dropped into a cavernous trough, and she held tight to the bulkhead. “I will not change my mind, Lord Breckinridge, nor will I be forced into a future which I—”

Just then, there was a loud crack on the deck like a gunshot.

Breckinridge turned. “What the blazes…”

He scrambled up the ladder. Evelyn followed and popped her head out of the cabin hatch. She looked up and saw the tall mast above her bending like a snake. Cleats were being torn from the deck, and lines were snapping in all directions. Then the mast broke, and the boat began to tip as the great post went over the side in a tangled mass of ropes and canvas.

“Hatfield, you bloody fool!” Breckinridge shouted as he ran to the wheel and shoved his first mate up against the transom. “You wrecked my boat!”

He punched Hatfield twice in the face, while Lord and Lady Radley clung to each other near the cabin hatch.

Evelyn ran to the side and looked over at the mast and sails floating in the water, the lines still pulling while no one was at the wheel. The wind had picked up considerably, and ahead, black clouds whirled across the sky. She felt the sting of rain on her face.

“Lady Radley!” she shouted. “Go below!”

By this time, Breckinridge was leaning over the rail, looking down at the mast and sails floating in the angry sea, while Mr. Hatfield was doubled over, nursing a bloody nose, crouched in the corner behind the wheel, which was turning on its own, back and forth. Evelyn ran to it and took hold.

“What should I do?” she called out to Breckinridge, waiting for instructions.

“How the hell should I know!” he yelled, whipping around to face her with water dripping from his nose and chin. “Dammit, we’re out of the race now!”

“Forget about that!” she shouted. “We’re still connected to the wreckage!”

A savage gust of wind tossed them to the side, and more cleats snapped from the deck. “We need to cut the lines before we’re pulled over!”

A flash of understanding reached his eyes, and
he stopped to think. He turned and looked at the ropes still attached to the sinking mast.

“Yes, we need to cut the lines!”

Mr. Hatfield hurried to his feet and held out a knife. “Use this!”

Enraged, Breckinridge slapped it out of his hands. It skittered across the slippery deck. “I’ll take no help from you! And I need an axe!”

Hatfield went looking for one while Breckinridge nevertheless dug into his own pocket for a knife, wasting precious seconds while Evelyn squinted into the driving rain.

“Hurry!” she shouted, hearing the creaking and moaning of the boat as it swiveled on the foaming waves. The wheel trembled and shook in her hands. She could barely hold it steady.

Finally, Breckinridge leaned over the side and frantically cut at the ropes, while Hatfield returned swinging an axe.

Just then a rogue wave came surging up from the sea, pouring across the deck and sweeping Breckinridge overboard. The boat began to tip and roll.

Evelyn held tight to the wheel, struggling to keep her footing on the slippery deck. Before she could comprehend what was happening, the
Endeavor
was tipping over onto her side and Evelyn was plummeting into the sea. She hit the frigid water and went under, her whole head engulfed
by the muffled sound of the ocean in her ears. Her skirts wrapped around her legs and weighed her down as she sank into the cold, dark depths. Dizziness overwhelmed her as she struggled, but she seemed only to be going down.

But she could not die here. She could not!
Kick! She had to kick!

Suddenly, she was pushing to the surface, fighting against panic as she rose through a tangled web of sheets and lines. A wave struck her in the face, stinging her skin, and she gasped for air, choking on salt water, her arms flailing in all directions. Everything was a blur as she tried to focus on the overturned boat, searching the water for the others—Lord and Lady Radley, Mr. Hatfield, Breckinridge…She could see none of them, only the foamy, churning waters and the
Endeavor
’s shiny black hull sinking downward into the sea.