Surrender To A Scoundrel (23 page)

M
artin squeezed the wheel and looked to his left just as the cannon fired at the finish line. He couldn’t believe it. It was over, and it had been so close.

Spence dropped to his knees on the foredeck and buried his face in his hands. The rest of the crew was silent.

Martin could hear the cheers and whistles from the crowd on the beach, but all of it seemed strangely muffled in his ears beneath the sound of the wind in the sails and the creaking of the ropes and rigging, the hiss of the water past the hull.

It was over. They had lost.

Meanwhile the crew on the
Endeavor II
was dancing around on deck, and Hatfield was popping the cork on a bottle of champagne.

“Bring in the spinnaker and lower the jib,” Martin called out.

His crew quietly obeyed, and Spence made his way aft. “I can’t bloody believe it,” he said, hopping down into the cockpit. “How could they beat us after getting themselves stuck in irons?”

Martin shook his head. “She’s a fast boat, Spence. That’s all there is to it.”

“But Hatfield is such an ass.”

“He had little to do with it in the end. It was Breckinridge who made all the right decisions on the homeward run. He deserves the trophy for winning in
spite
of Hatfield. He raced as a gentleman.”

Martin turned around and saw the young earl standing at the weather rail holding on to a line, watching the
Orpheus
. Martin removed his hat and waved it at his opponent, then bowed deeply to him.

Breckinridge waved his hat and bowed in return, and they smiled at each other over the distance, until the earl hopped back down into the cockpit to accept a glass of champagne.

Martin faced forward again, holding the wheel steady. “He beat us fair and square,” he said to Spence, “and she’s a miracle of a boat.”

Spence squeezed Martin’s shoulder. “I think
the biggest surprise of the day is that you’re not banging your head on the deck. My God, do you even care?”

He looked at his crew, lowering the jib. “I’m disappointed for them. They worked hard for this.”

“And you didn’t?”

“I did, but I don’t really need that trophy anymore, Spence, not like I used to.” He slowed the boat down and turned her toward their mooring. “I’ve got my sights set on a different prize now.”

Spence patted him on the back. “I’m glad to hear it. And I’m glad I won’t have to be a nuisance anymore. I didn’t enjoy being a nag. I’m sorry for that. I’ve not been a good friend.”

“You were everything I needed.
Someone
had to keep kicking me in the right direction.”

Spence smiled in return and strode forward to call out to the crew. “Prepare to drop the main!”

Feeling the wind in his face, Martin closed his eyes briefly and filled his lungs with fresh air. He felt a great sense of relief as he exhaled, for his reign as the famous Cowes champion was over.

Finally.

That evening, Martin and Spence walked down to the beach to watch the fireworks. By the time they arrived, a large crowd had already gathered on the Green—parents with their children, skippers with their crews, and the local residents of the island there to witness the excitement.

Martin spotted Sir Lyndon up on the grass, talking to some of the other yachtsmen. His gaze fell upon Martin, and he waved. He excused himself from the others and came down to meet them.

“You sailed masterfully today,” he said. “I was pleased and proud to know you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And I am equally pleased to inform you that Mr. Sheldon Hatfield has been banned for life from the Royal Yacht Squadron, kicked out onto his flabby behind for illegal sailing tactics and false accusations regarding the facts surrounding Lord Breckinridge’s death. All this was instigated this afternoon by his own first mate, young Lord Breckinridge, who has publicly denounced him as a cheat and a villain.”

Spence glanced at Martin with pride. “You always said he would hang himself with his own rope.”

Sir Lyndon continued. “Lord Breckinridge has also suggested that the
Endeavor II
be disqualified from the race today, and that the trophy be awarded to you.”

Martin raised a hand. “That’s not necessary, Lyndon. I will absolutely decline to accept it, as the earl overcame great obstacles to cross that finish line ahead of us. He deserves it more than anyone.”

Sir Lyndon sighed. “I thought you might say that. But may I at least offer you this. A public,
written apology has been made to you on behalf of the Squadron for any statements made by anyone regarding the former earl’s death, and we will be presenting a medal to you for your courage and heroism.”

Martin patted the commodore on the arm. “Thank you.”

“I wish you the best,” Sir Lyndon said.

“The same to you, sir.”

They shook hands, then Lyndon bid them adieu and returned to his group.

“He’s a good man,” Spence said.

Martin watched him join the others. “Indeed he is.”

They started off again, strolling along the Esplanade, continuing toward the pavilion at the far end of the Green, where they stopped on the walk, under a gas lamp. Just ahead, the new champion, young Lord Breckinridge, was surrounded by a crowd of pretty young ladies.

“I think we’ve been replaced,” Spence said.

Martin watched the earl kiss a young woman’s hand. She giggled and bounced up and down.

“Are you sorry?” Martin asked.

Spence considered it. “Maybe just a little.”

Breckinridge spotted them on the walk, then turned to the ladies, bowed politely, and came to meet them. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said.

Martin nodded amiably.

The earl cleared his throat and held out a hand to him. “Let me just say, sir, that it was an honor sailing against you today, and I will never forget it as long as I live.”

Martin accepted his proffered hand and shook it. “The honor was all mine, Breckinridge. She’s a marvel of a boat, and you handled her like a true champion—and a gentleman as well. Congratulations.”

The earl understood his meaning. “Thank you. And may I also express my gratitude for your great courage the day my brother was lost? My family is indebted to you for saving everyone on board his boat.”

“Not quite everyone,” Martin said with a somber tone. “I’m very sorry about your brother.”

Breckinridge was quiet, then he raised his chin. “I know you are, sir. But you did more than anyone else could have done. You’re a great hero.” He bowed his head, and when he finally looked up, there was a playful glimmer in his eyes. “It has been a pleasure, but I’m afraid I must return to the ladies.”

Martin chuckled. “It’s a great responsibility, you know—being a champion. Are you sure you’re up to it, Breckinridge?”

“I believe I am.”

Martin smiled. “Then do the title proud.”

The earl turned and sauntered over to the large
crowd of admirers. Penelope Richardson was waiting in front and was the first to welcome him back.

Martin watched them for a moment. Yes, he was more than happy to be handing over the various honors of championship to another, and he would be even happier if he knew the earl intended to enjoy bachelorhood for a little while longer…

“Lord Martin.”

The voice came to him from behind. He felt a great jolt in his senses.

He turned and saw her—Evelyn—looking ravishing in a dark red silk gown and matching mantle. Her hair was swept up into a braided knot on top of her head, and she wore a fashionable black hat tilted forward at a daring angle.

He knew then that he really had made a difference in her life, for she was not the aloof young woman she had been in his younger days, nor was she the cool, dignified widow she used to be. She was proud and confident and dazzling in her beauty.

He suddenly wished he could sit down, because she was so lovely, he feared his legs might give out beneath him.

“Mrs. Wheaton,” he replied in a polite, steady voice, nevertheless.

Spence greeted her as well, which startled
Martin, because he had all but forgotten his friend was still standing beside him.

“You both did very well in the race today,” she said.

“Not quite well enough,” Spence replied, “but we’re surviving, aren’t we, Captain?”

“Barely,” Martin said.

They all smiled, but an awkward moment of silence ensued.

Spence turned around. “Oh, look at that. I see an old friend. If you will excuse me?”

“Of course,” they replied in unison, gazing intently at one another, both fully aware there was no friend.

“Would you like to take a walk?” Martin asked, clasping his hands together behind his back.

Something flashed through her eyes—doubt, hesitation, a faint look of determination perhaps? He wasn’t sure.

“That would be very nice,” she said.

They started off past the pavilion and went up onto the road, where there were fewer people. They walked in silence for a moment or two, until Evelyn slipped her arm through his.

“You don’t mind, do you?” she asked. “I’m feeling the chill of the night air.”

He covered her gloved hands with his own, cupping them, trying to warm them. “Of course I don’t mind.”

They continued on.

“I was very proud of you today,” she finally said, “even if you didn’t win the trophy. You sailed like the honorable, principled champion you are and always will be.”

Martin wet his lips, and all at once, his stomach was turning over with regret for everything he had not said and done when he had had the chance. And he was dreading the possibility that she might refuse him now when he was more than ready to give her everything she had wanted from him that last day in the hotel.

He hoped she still wanted it. From him and no one else.

“Are you very disappointed you didn’t win?” she asked in that sweet voice that almost made him forget there was anything bad or unfair in the world.

He gazed down at her, still covering her tiny gloved hands with his own. “No. I’m glad Breckinridge won. He deserves the title, not only for his impressive sailing skills but for his integrity as a gentleman at the halfway mark. Did you hear what happened?”

“Yes, everyone did. Sheldon left earlier. Did you know that? He walked away in disgrace to a round of hissing on the back lawn after Lyndon expelled him from the yacht club permanently, but he has no one to blame but himself.”

Martin nodded and breathed deeply. “So he
got what he deserved. I always knew he would one day, and while we’re on that subject, I must thank you for standing up for me when he made those accusations. I will always be grateful to you.”

“I was happy to, Martin. Truly.”

He returned to more agreeable topics. “Young Breckinridge, on the other hand, is a man of high moral fiber. He’ll be a worthy champion.”

“Like you.”

He smiled down at her. “I understand you danced with him last night. I suppose he has tossed his hat into the ring where you are concerned. You could certainly do worse, Evelyn. He’s a good man.”

“Are you making assumptions?” she asked. “Or trying to give me advice?”

He swallowed over the lump that was becoming quite a nuisance in his throat. None of this was coming out right. “Of course not. You are more than capable of making your own decisions.”

The rhythmic sound of their footfalls on the gravel did nothing to ease the chaos in his mind, or relax the tension in his body. He had to fight to keep his voice steady.

He stopped suddenly. She did not expect it, and he almost pulled her off her feet. She stared back at him curiously. “What’s wrong?”

He was breathing hard now. She tilted her head
to the side, watching him, waiting. Finally, he managed to speak.

“I must confess to you, Evelyn—I started off in that race this morning wanting very much to cross the finish line first,” he said.

“Of course you did.”

“No, Evelyn, you do not understand. I did not care so much about the trophy or the applause or the title that I would hold until next year. I only wanted to hurry back, so I could win
you
.”

Her lips parted slightly, and she dropped her hands to her sides.

“I know I was a brick wall before, when we ended our affair,” he quickly continued, “and that you are in a position to marry any man you choose. The very best of men. Breckinridge is certainly worthy of you in every way, and—”

“Will you stop referring to Lord Breckinridge?” she said. “We danced. That is all.”

He paused to take a breath. “All right then. I will say what I have been wanting to say since I set foot back in this country—what I wanted to say ever since we parted, in fact. I
love
you, Evelyn. You saved my life. You made me want to breathe again and laugh again, and every minute I was away from you, all I wanted to do was come home. I thought of nothing the entire time but your smile and your eyes and your beautiful body in my bed, and I want you back. I want to
marry you, Evelyn, if you will do me the honor.”

She said nothing for a moment. She just stared up at him in the moonlight, then took a deep breath and wet her lips. “I’ve had more than a few proposals over the past six weeks,” she said. “Did you know that?”

“I assumed you would have.”

“Because of my fortune?”

“No, because of your beauty and your intelligent spirit.”

She digested his reply. “Didn’t you worry, while you were gone, that I might accept one of them?”

He bowed his head and looked at his boots. “Yes, I worried.”

“You could have written to me.”

“No, I couldn’t. I wasn’t ready. I had to take care of certain things first.”

She laid a gloved hand on his chest, and he felt her touch like a flame. “I am worth fighting for, you know.”

He met her gaze again. “I do know that.”

Then she smiled and began to back away from him. “That’s good to hear. But I’m afraid you are going to have to fight just a little bit harder.”

A ripple of excitement danced up his spine as he watched her take a few more steps back.

“I’m not quite ready to accept a proposal,” she
said. “I’m having too good a time. I’ll need to think about it. I need to be sure.”