The Bastard (29 page)

“What?” Percy felt a moment’s confusion. “Where is the rest of her?”

“She may be aboard the
Tempest,
after all. One of my men found this in an alley behind a tavern where the sailors slept—” he paused for what Percy suspected was dramatic effect “—along with your wife’s torn garments.”

“What are you saying? That Jeannette has been ravished by sailors?”

“Let us hope not,” Sir Thomas said, “or any brat she bears will certainly not have the finest blood in all of England.”

Moore continued before Percy could respond to the snide comment. “I believe your wife stole aboard the
Tempest,
milord, just as we originally suspected. Only she did it dressed as a boy. I have spoken to a sailor who claims his clothes were stolen that night.”

“But I sent a letter to the frigate! They searched for her and found nothing.”

“That does not mean she wasn’t there.”

St. Ives fingered the silky tresses of his wife’s hair. “The
Tempest
was bound for London, was it not?”

“It was, yes—until it received orders to join the blockade along the French coast,” Moore explained.

“Which would explain why my wife never showed up to meet her family.”

He gave a decisive nod. “Indeed.”

Percy felt hope rise inside him. “Well, we are not without recourse. There are those at the Admiralty who owe me a favor or two.”

“Yes, sir.” Ralston Moore bowed deeply, and Percy turned to Sir Thomas.

“It is only a matter of time now,” he promised.

Not wanting to explain her bath in Treynor’s quarters, Jeannette skulked in the corridor outside the captain’s cabin until her hair dried. Though the air was so cold she could see her breath, she doubted the weather was entirely to blame for the shivering that beset her. She had no idea how the taciturn old captain would receive the revelation of her identity. But she had to inform him. She dared not spend another night with Treynor.

Gathering her nerve, she knocked, and Captain Cruikshank bellowed for her to come in.

Jeannette’s trepidation grew as she turned the knob and stepped inside.

The windows behind the captain glowed with the orange hue of sunset as he glanced up from where he sat at a wide, wooden table. A journal lay open before him, a pair of spectacles rested low on his nose, and he held a quill pen in his left hand. A look of expectation claimed his features as he recognized her, but he didn’t immediately stand.

“What is it?” His gaze ranged over her short hair before systematically working its way down her body. Then his eyes jerked up to her face.

In her haste, she had left her hat and coat in Treynor’s cabin, and the swell of her breasts was clearly visible beneath the white cotton of her shirt.

“God’s teeth!” He came to his feet. “You are a woman!”

Jeannette cringed at the explosion. “Yes, sir.”

His jaw worked several times before any sound emerged. When he finally spoke, his voice deepened almost to a roar. “Dammit! For once in his life, Cunnington was right. Who are you?”

Outside the drummer was beating to quarters. The rush of feet as all hands reported to their various stations for the officers’ inspections wound Jeannette’s nerves tighter with every thump. She swallowed hard. “I am the Baroness St. Ives. And I am afraid I have made a terrible
erreur
.” She smiled sweetly in hopes of softening his heart. “I thought to escape my unwanted marriage by stealing aboard your vessel and only now do I realize how foolish that decision was.”

“Indeed, madam.” He dropped his pen, then toppled the ink when he tried to keep the quill from marking the page covered by his crooked script. Grumbling another curse, he quickly righted the jar, but had only his hands to dam the black puddle he’d created as he sent another disbelieving glance her way.

Jeannette crossed the room to offer him the use of her shirtsleeve. “Certainly a little ink can do no damage to this.”

He jerked his head toward the cabinets that ran the length of the wall beneath the windows. “Under that bench is a towel.”

Jeannette found it and mopped up the ink. While she worked, the captain watched her, glowering from beneath the ledge of his prominent brow and mumbling a string of expletives while shaking his head.

“Excuse my language, madam. I assure you it is a product of my intense surprise.”

“You have every right to be angry, sir.” Jeannette held the stained cloth away from her body until he took it, wiped his hands, and dropped it onto the ruined pages of the journal. The sorrow in his countenance made her unsure which distressed him more: the loss of his journal or the appearance of a baroness on board his frigate.

“What now?” he asked. “If we turn back it could compromise the blockade. If we stay, your husband will be after my head for endangering your life. I cannot imagine whatever possessed you, but you have placed me in a very difficult position, madam!”

“Indeed, Captain.” Head bowed, Jeannette kept her gaze fastened to the floor. “I can only apologize for my impulsive act—and beg your forbearance.”

With a scowl, he began to pace. “You came aboard with Lieutenant Treynor. Did he assist you in this ruse?”

She shook her head. “Oh, no,
monsieur
. I misled your lieutenant and the others with my charade. I am dreadfully sorry.”

He considered her reply. “It is not often Treynor is fooled by anyone. How long has he known?”

“He does not know even now, sir.” She lied, hoping to protect Treynor as he had protected her. “I thought it best to come directly to you.”

“A wise decision, but one I wish you would have made long ago.” He scratched his head and paced some more. “Why were you so desperate to flee?”

Unwilling to reveal the embarrassing truth, Jeannette told him something closer to what he might believe. “It was an arranged marriage. I was in love with another.” She was thinking of an old beau, Lèfevre Campaigne, as she spoke, but she realized that, in reality, she had never felt anything beyond friendship for the kind, serious Lèfevre.

“I see.” He rubbed his chin. “And how do you view your situation now?”

“I suppose you could say I have come to my senses, monsieur.”
Until we reach another port—any port—and I am able to disappear again...

“A taste of the world has taught you much, no doubt.”

“
Oui, monsieur
.”

“Well, then. I have invited my officers to join me in a late supper. We will address this issue more fully then. For now, I will have one of my servants prepare a bath for you and get you some decent clothes. My daughters have come aboard upon occasion. I believe we can find you a gown that fits as well as a private cabin. It might take some shifting around but we’ll manage.”

Trying to appear properly cowed, Jeannette nodded. This man held her future in his hands. If he chose to keep his position in the blockade, days, weeks, even months could pass, possibly giving her the opportunity to disembark at a port far from Plymouth.

But if Cruikshank took her back to St. Ives, she would know no more of freedom.

The wardroom was rather elegantly appointed with a black- and-white checked floor, rich paneling, and a long solid dining table. Seats for ten surrounded the table. Two small chests, providing a flat top for games, waited to the side, along with several more chairs.

Jeannette had plenty of time to study the furnishings as she walked the floor in her newly acquired slippers, waiting for the captain and his officers to arrive.

Already a handful of servants were busy bringing a variety of dishes to the table. Jeannette was hungry, but could take no interest in the food, despite the tantalizing aromas that drifted from the covered plates. She was thinking about Amelia, wondering how the girl fared.

She would find a way to visit her as soon as supper ended....

Self-consciously smoothing the green watered silk of her gown, Jeannette turned toward the silvered mirror that hung on one wall. She was finally dressed as befitted a lady, but she scarcely recognized herself. With a pair of scissors and a much smaller mirror, she’d managed to improve the state of her hair until it curled softly to her head, making her eyes look larger and more violet than ever. But the sun had tanned her face. Fortunately she'd been used to being outdoors already or she would have burnt.

She considered her lips, and for a moment, remembered the velvety feel of Treynor’s mouth against them. Closing her eyes, she experienced again his sinewy arms as they encircled her—

“The captain says ’e’ll be with ye right away, milady.”

Startled out of her thoughts, she found a boy, no older than ten or eleven, standing behind her.
“Merci.”

He hesitated, then bobbed forward in a little bow. His awkward gallantry made her smile, but as soon as he ran off she glanced back toward the mirror, the last vestiges of Treynor’s embrace still hanging on the fringes of her mind. Would the lieutenant find her attractive in her borrowed finery?

Jeannette shrugged and turned away. She normally wasn’t one to worry about her appearance. What Treynor thought didn’t matter anyway, she told herself, and tried hard to believe it. Her family had probably reached London by now. Or they soon would. She had to figure out a way to get there herself—if Cruikshank didn’t take her back to the baron first.

“Lady St. Ives.” The captain had entered the room, freshly shaved and garbed for supper. He bowed to kiss her hand, then the long sword that dangled from his hip swung in its scabbard as he stood to one side and introduced the officers who came behind him. “I believe you know Lieutenant Cunnington.”

Except for the enigmatic smile on his face, Cunnington behaved as though they were being introduced for the first time. He bowed deeply, kissing her hand just as the captain had done.

“A pleasure, my lady,” he said, all traces of harshness replaced by a humble, solicitous manner. “My parents attended your wedding, I believe.”

“Did they?” Jeannette’s skin crawled beneath his touch.

“You might remember them. My father is the Viscount Lounsbury, my mother Lady Eleanor. They are very good friends of your husband’s.”

Jeannette marked his emphasis, but smiled for the sake of propriety. “Then they are friends of mine,” she lied, but pulled her hand away. She had no wish to abuse the captain’s hospitality, but wanted to dispense with Cunnington as soon as possible. Treynor had entered the room, and she couldn't keep her gaze from gliding over the handsome spectacle he made.

Dressed like the other officers, in a blue-and-gold uniform, white waistcoat, and knee-length breeches, Treynor wore his clothes with an ease that most men lacked. His coat tapered in from his broad shoulders to hug his narrow waist and lean hips. His stockings revealed the muscular cut of his calves. His tanned face and honey-colored hair contrasted nicely with the blue of his eyes, making Jeannette wonder if she would ever meet another man who appealed to her half as much.

Following her gaze, the captain drew Treynor to her side, chuckling as he slapped him on the back. “Did you ever dream we would find such a jewel lurking beneath your servant’s rags?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with appreciation. “Come, let me introduce the two of you.”

Jeannette’s breath caught as Treynor took her hand. The warmth of his fingers traveled up her arm with lightning speed, quickening her pulse.

“Treynor, this is Lady St. Ives. My lady, Lieutenant Crawford Treynor.”

Their eyes met and held, then Treynor’s gaze dipped to her low décolletage, which revealed much of the soft, curving flesh of her breasts. Jeannette’s nipples hardened in response, tingling beneath his regard almost as though his hands, and not his gaze, caressed them.