The Hired Hero (17 page)

He steered his thoughts away from those dangerous waters. It was best he remember why he was here—as he had said, he needed the money.

The thought of his recent words made him grimace. How the devil had he managed to throw her concern for him back in her face in such a churlish way?  With a sigh, he had to acknowledge to himself that it wasn’t the first time he had shown to disadvantage. His behavior had, for the most part, been less than gentlemanly since he had met her. No wonder she thought him an ill-tempered dog. Or was it a bear? In either case, he discovered he didn’t like the notion one bit.

But the fact that she found him disagreeable hadn’t prevented her from having a concern for his person. It puzzled him. Despite the dire threat to her own safety, her thoughts had turned to how she could shield him from further danger. Not to speak of how she had tended to his wound, cradled him through the jolts of the long journey and then cleaned and stitched the jagged flesh before seeing to her own needs. It was almost as if she...cared. But then, in a trice, her tongue could turn from soothing to scathing.

Maybe it was the brandy or the fatigue or the dull ache of the gash in his shoulder, but it all seemed terribly confusing. Rapacious creditors, sullen tenants, fallow fields—they were all problems he could face without a qualm, he thought glumly. But a certain young lady seemed to be oversetting his carefully constructed world. There was nothing for it except to put all questions regarding the maddening little urchin aside until a later time.

Perhaps at some point he could make some sense of it all.

The afternoon was fading rapidly. The storm clouds had given way to high, billowing heralds of good weather which were beginning to take on rich pink and orange hues of sunset. In the distance, a massive ship of the line tacked into view, its towering square sails almost blinding in the golden light.

 He hesitated a moment before gently nudging Caroline out of her slumber, somehow loath to let go of the comfortable intimacy between them.

“Where are...” she mumbled , still muzzy with sleep.

 “We are nearly at Portsmouth—look ahead.”

  She sat up, blinking in surprise at the sight of the four-decker hoving a line towards the Lizard.

 “Quite awesome, isn’t it? Let us hope our navy can help put an end to the little Corsican and all the bloodshed and destruction his visions of grandeur have caused.”

“You have no sympathy for the Emperor? Many people on the Continent have welcomed his return with open arms.”

His brow creased. “I cannot imagine any rational person being gulled into believing the man cares for aught but personal glory. And at what cost? The sooner he is stopped, the better—but then, I imagine neither politics nor Napoleon are paramount in your thoughts.”

Caroline made a  sound in her throat that might have been taken for acquiescence.

 As they came nearer the entrance to the harbor the number of vessels increased dramatically. Luggers loaded with supplies plied the waters under the bows of  merchant ships setting out for the Atlantic and several frigates flying the ensign of the Channel Fleet.

“Best fix your hair,” advised Davenport as he kept a sharp watch on the ships around them.

 Caroline found her cap and with a few deft twists quickly arranged her long locks to fit snugly under the thick wool. There was no further conversation as the earl had to navigate a series of rapid tacks to avoid collision with a squadron of two-deckers taking advantage of the ebb tide. Her hands were recovered enough to handle the sheets without mishap, and their craft made its way safely into the midst of the bustling port.

 Davenport chose to put in at a dock where over a score of burly sailors were engaged in wrestling a cargo of barrels loaded with salt pork up the gangplank of a barge. Amid the curses, the grumblings and the harried admonitions of the young lieutenant in charge, no one took note of the small vessel dropping sail on the far side of the pilings or its two nondescript occupants. The earl made sure the canvas was neatly furled and the mooring lines securely fastened to the massive iron cleats before taking Caroline by the elbow and hustling her towards the alleyway between a ship’s chandlery and a sailmaker’s loft. Her first steps were somewhat unsteady, causing his grip to tighten.

  “Steady,” he hissed in her ear. “Walk smartly now. The less attention we attract, the better.” He gave a quick glance around. “And let us hope the press gangs are not out tonight,” he added under his breath. That would entail a good deal of explaining that he would dearly like to avoid.

“Stop yanking me about. I’m quite capable of making my own way,” she muttered back, though in truth she was still feeling a trifle lightheaded from the spirits. “In fact, you can —”

He shook her into silence as they emerged from the alley into a busier cobbled street. A group of men staggered past them, singing an extremely bawdy song and laughing uproariously as they struggled to remember all of the verses. Caroline managed to pay rapt attention until they were out of earshot.

“What is a sodomite,” she whispered to Davenport. “And how does he...”

“Never mind!” snapped the earl as he gave her arm another shake.

 “Ouch!”

  He let go of her. “For the love of God, keep your head down. And turn the collar of your jacket up.”

They were passing under the glow of a gas light outside a tavern. The noise coming from within its smoky confines gave evidence that the place was not lacking in either clientele or high spirits. Davenport paused after they passed into the shadows.

“I shall have to inquire of someone from which inn the coaches departs for London.”

His hand came up to rub along the scar on his cheek as he contemplated what to do. At that moment, two gentlemen emerged from the tavern and turned in their direction.

“Hell and damnation,” swore the earl. “It is Lord Hartford. He’s bound to recognize me, and given that our nemesis knows my name, that is something I would very much like to avoid.”

“Well, do something, then,” whispered Caroline, though even as she said it, she realized she was being unfair. What could he possibly do at a moment’s notice?

Davenport muttered something under his breath, then suddenly grabbed her around the waist and crushed her to his chest. His lips came down on hers, hard at first, then softening as if he, too, were as surprised by his actions as she was.

Her first impulse was to pull away. But for some reason, after the initial shock she merely tilted her head back in order to voice a protest.

 “Hush,” he murmured as his lips left hers for a moment. “Trust me—they will quickly depart.” 

  His mouth was back against hers in the next instant, before she could manage a single syllable, and his tongue was brushing her lips in a manner that was most intriguing. The sensation sent a jolt of heat through her, as potent as the earlier taste of brandy, and nearly as intoxicating. It was utterly unlike any of the few kisses she had allowed an admirer to steal during a walk in the garden . Those had been, at heart, rather silly affairs.

There was nothing silly about the earl’s embrace. As she made to speak again, his tongue slid into her mouth. He tasted rather exotic, a mixture of fiery spirits and the tang of the sea. She found herself nearly overcome by the new sensation, and without thinking, wound her arms around his neck to steady herself. His own hands slipped down to the small of her back, molding her to his own lean form.

Somehow, she was aware that the footsteps coming towards them had stopped.

“What the devil...” sputtered a voice, disgust evident through the slur of drink.

 “Call out the watch,” exclaimed the other man. “The filthy scoundrels should be clapped in irons and thrown in the gaol.” His head wagged back and forth. “Unnatural it is. Unnatural.”

 Out of the corner of her eye, Caroline saw them retreat a few paces, then turn and hurry off in the opposite direction. She let her head fell away from the earl’s. A little gulp of air cleared her thoughts enough for her to speak.

 “I...I think they are gone.”

“Mmmmm.” His lips traced a path along the curve of her jaw. “Are they?”

 It was another moment before he slowly released her. Shaken, she drew back a step or two and began to fiddle with rearranging her cap, which had fallen sadly askew. Though her clothes were still uncomfortably damp and the chill in the night air had deepened, she felt hot all over. The darkness, she hoped, would cover the fact that her face must be several shades redder than normal. That the earl appeared totally unaffected by what had just transpired, did not help her composure in the least. But at last she gathered her wits enough to speak coherently.

“Ah...very clever of you, my lord—but how did you guess such an...action would drive them away?”

 He shrugged. “It was not a guess. Any proper gentleman would have been put to flight by that little display of depravity.”

“Depravity?” she repeated faintly.

 “I am referring to the spectacle of two men engaged in an intimate act.”

 “But—oh, I see.” She looked confused. “Surely two men wouldn’t ever...”

  Davenport took her firmly by the arm. “Perhaps your dear cousin will explain it to you at some later date—I most certainly will not.” He started marching her away from the harbor.

 “But...”

 “Kindly refrain from any further questions. Your garments may fool most eyes at night, but your voice will not fadge, especially among this sort of crowd,” he growled.

 It was only through a concerted effort that she forced herself to swallow a retort and did as she was bade, or so she told herself. In truth, she was having a hard enough time just concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other to think of something scathing.

* * * *

The Duke grasped the gunwales of the lurching ship to keep from being tossed across the rain-swept deck. Next to him, the young viscount turned up the collar of his borrowed oilskin and shouted to be heard over the groaning of the rigging and the snap of wet canvas.

“The captain thinks the weather should break in another hour or two. Then he should be able to set us back on course.”

 His uncle merely drummed his palms against the varnished rail and stared out into the roiling blackness. The wind had increased to near gale force, and all around them, men were scurrying up the ratlines to reduce sail.

 “Come below, Uncle Thomas,” urged Lucien. “It does no good to stay up here. You must try to get some rest.”

 Another wave crashed into the hull, sending a shudder through the oak timbers and rattling the brass six-pounders in their casings. The Duke shook the water from his sodden coat and reluctantly followed his nephew down the narrow hatchway and into the officer’s wardroom. The two of them hunched forward to keep from knocking their heads in the cramped space as a young midshipman materialized to take their wet outer garments away. The first lieutenant stumbled in right on their heels.

 “Your pardon, Your Grace,” he said. “The captain sends word that he will remain on deck until midnight watch, but he begs you to make use of his cabin for the remainder of the voyage.”

“And how long will that be?”

 The man began to scratch at his chin, then remembered in whose presence he was. The speedy sloop and its crew was more used to carrying dispatches than important passengers. He straightened as best he could before replying.

 “The barometer is dropping, Your Grace, so the wind should die down soon. Now, with the weather coming from the north, and the taffrail showing a speed of...”

 The Duke fixed him with an impatient glare.”

 “Ah, I should think we will land around daybreak.”

 “Thank you,” replied the Duke, in a tone that indicated nothing less than dismissal.

  The man slunk off.

  Turning to Lucien, his uncle pulled a face and started to make his way aft. “I suppose you are right. Since the Fates seem to be conspiring against us, let us see if we can at least manage to snatch some sleep in this cursed weather.” Another lurch caused him to grab onto the edge of the table to keep his balance. “Damned ship is worse than a skittish hunter. God grant us speed to touch down on English soil as soon as possible.”

He reached the door of the cabin and yanked it open. Lucien followed him into the a space barely bigger than  a stall at Roxbury Manor, thankful once again that he had felt no urge to make the navy his career. He hauled himself into a hammock that had been hastily strung up in a corner of the cabin while the duke wedged himself into the  captain’s berth. Both of them wore a pained expression, which only worsened each time the rough sea sent the ship on its ear.

 After a while, the duke gave up even a semblance of trying to sleep. He struggled back up to a sitting position and stared glumly at the small oil lamp rolling wildly on its gimbals.

“If only Caroline would learn to temper her penchant for taking risk,” he murmured out loud, though he was speaking more to himself than to his nephew. “Heaven knows she has more courage and wits than most, but she seems driven at times to foolhardiness.”

He shook his head. “Would that I knew why.”

Lucien heard every word, but he hesitated in replying. There were times, it seemed, when his uncle still considered him a child, with only a child’s grasp of  reality. How would the duke react to hearing a truth that may strike him as rather hard? Another wave  crashed into the side. Well, perhaps now was as good a time as any to test the waters, thought the viscount with a grim smile.

 “I believe I could tell you.”

  The duke sat up straighter. “You can?”

  Lucien took a deep breath, then plunged on. “I think Caro is under the impression that she is, well, a...disappointment to you.”

  The duke’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “Why, of all the absurd things! Surely she cannot think...”

  “She isn’t a male,” said Lucien simply.

“For God’s sake, what difference does that make?” he cried. “She is my child! I love her beyond anything.”

“Have you told her that?”

  “I, well, that is...she must know.” A note of uncertainty had crept into his normally self assured tone.