Virginia Henley (26 page)

Savage opened the door to a small cabin with a porthole but no bunk. “You may have this all to yourself,” he said as if he were bestowing a royal stateroom.

“There’s no bed,” Tony protested indignantly.

Savage gave him a look of contempt and bent to a locker. “Here’s a hammock. Get down on your knees and be thankful I’m not making you string it where the rest of the crew sleeps.”

Tony was grateful for the privacy now that the alternative had been pointed out.

“Everyone on my vessels is expected to earn his keep, but I want you to stay below out of sight today.”

“Thank you,” Tony said with relief.

“We’ll sail on the evening tide. Tomorrow will be soon enough for you to swab the deck.”

Tony glanced at him to see if he was serious. Savage was
deadly serious. “Roz knows nothing of this business. Could you let her know we are going to buy cargo?” Tony asked hopefully, not daring to suggest Savage wait while Mr. Burke packed some bags for her.

Savage nodded. “I’ll be hours. I’ve my own affairs to see to as well as yours.” He made no secret of the fact that he was damned displeased at the inconvenience.

When he departed Tony looked forlornly at the heap of woven hemp he’d called a hammock. Antonia had never actually seen one before. She found iron hooks on the cabin wall and finally managed to stretch it across one corner. She sat down upon it and when it stopped swinging, she gingerly lifted her feet from the floor and stretched out her legs. In the dim cabin she felt alone and isolated. She couldn’t prevent a tear from rolling down her cheek, but determinedly she licked it off with her tongue.

Savage sought out Dr. Keate. He learned with enormous relief that Tony Lamb had not taken his cousin’s life, nor had he wounded him too badly. It amounted to no more than a crease on the shoulder. However, Keate told him that young Anthony Lamb had caused a scandal by turning and firing on the count of nine. It was unheard of and only a coward would stoop to such an act.

Savage said evenly, “I was present. They turned together.”

“That is incidental. The one who did the wounding takes full blame. If Tony had been shot, it would be his opponent who would be ostracized.”

“Gentleman’s bloody code,” Savage derided. “Thank God I’m not one.”
But you’re trying your damndest to obtain a title,
a mocking voice inside his head whispered. I
don’t want the bloody thing
he argued,
it’s for Eve.
The voice again mocked him,
That’s exactly what the other Adam said: The woman tempted me!

Savage’s face was set in grim lines all the way to his bank. One of his jewel chests was brought from the vault
and he took time to carefully select enough diamonds and pale blue sapphires for a necklace. He slipped them into a black velvet bag and asked the bank manager to return the chest to the vault, then went directly to Carlton House.

Savage fully intended to manipulate Prince George. In fact the game had begun yesterday when His Highness had brought up the subject of jewels. He wanted to gift the lovely Maria Fitzherbert with a piece of jewelry that would both dazzle and delight her. He had given jewels to women before of course, expensive baubles to each of the actresses with whom he had indulged in debauchery. But Maria was different. She was a respectable woman and as a consequence he wanted the jewels to be different. It would take something quite fine and rare to make her capitulate.

The problem, however, was money. With the Prince of Wales the problem was always money. He had confided to Savage that he was half a million pounds in debt. Adam knew it was six hundred and fifty thousand pounds. The Prince had heard the rumors that Savage had imported jewels from Ceylon and hoped against hope that he could barter something he owned, as he had done with his stable of racehorses.

Savage half jokingly told George there was really nothing he wanted, except perhaps a title.

His Highness had shaken his head sadly and told him such things were beyond his patrimony. Prince George was bitterly disappointed about the jewels. He had set his mind upon them, just as he had set his mind upon Maria Fitzherbert, and he could not bear to be thwarted.

Savage smiled grimly as he went up the steps of Carlton House. He knew nothing in the entire world was unattainable. Some things merely carried a higher price than others. When George actually saw the gems, touched the diamonds, and pictured how the pale blue sapphires matched Maria’s eyes, he would find a way to acquire them.

Savage hid the amusement in his eyes when His Highness
revealed he’d consulted his friend, Charles Fox, about the tricky business of being elevated to the peerage. Adam finally managed to extract the precious jewels from George’s fingers and place them back in their black velvet bag.

“I shall be out of the country for the next three weeks or so.” He shrugged. “Perhaps by the time I return Your Highness will have found the money to purchase the jewels.” He swung the bag between his fingers. “I can get at least a quarter of a million for these gems, but I’ll let Your Highness have them for a hundred thousand.” Savage knew George was in so much debt, he had nowhere to turn for money. A hundred thousand was as impossible as a hundred million, but he was giving him three weeks to find a way to obtain him a title.

When Savage called at Curzon Street he saw for himself that Lady Randolph had no inkling of the duel, so he told her Tony was sailing with him to Europe and they’d be gone about three weeks.

“I’ll pack him a trunk. How careless of Tony to run off without his wardrobe.”

“He won’t need anything fancy. I intend to put him to work to earn his passage. Just have Burke throw a few things into a bag.”

Roz eyed Savage with alarm. “Mr. Savage … Adam … I hope you aren’t serious about making Tony do menial work. He’s never really had a robust constitution. I’m afraid he’s not as strong as he might be.”

Adam smiled. “You pamper the lad too much, ma’am. You also underestimate him. When he was at Edenwood he mucked out the stables for me. Menial work builds character as well as muscle.”

Roz paled. “Ship’s crews are notoriously rough and dangerous. I don’t fancy him mingling with such men.”

Adam replaced his smile with a serious look to ease her mind. “Don’t worry about him, Rosalind. I’ve taken him
under my wing and shall see that no harm comes to him. I think of him as my son, you know.”

Roz thought perhaps she should tell him he should think of Tony as his daughter. Instead she asked Mr. Burke to pack Tony a bag and sighed with the worry of it all.

Adam Savage spent the next two hours with his secretary, Sloane, to clear up the paperwork of his various business deals. He would sail the clipper to Gravesend, anchor at Edenwood, and get John Bull to pack what he would need for the sea voyage.

From Half-Moon Street Savage rode into the city to visit the headquarters of the East India Company, then finally to Lloyd’s to check the maritime loss book.

Tony found she could not relax. The tension was coiled in her stomach and she noticed that even her hands were clenched into fists and she was gritting her teeth. After swinging endlessly for two hours she climbed from the hammock and began to pace.

Hardly any of her tension had been released by the duel; not knowing its outcome and hiding here like a rat in a hole made her feel trapped. Two more hours were taken up with her pacing and still the day had not even reached the hour of noon. She certainly wasn’t hungry, but her mouth was dry and her throat felt parched. Cautiously, she opened the door of the cabin and looked out. Her nose was assailed by the mingling smells of food, tar, and tidewater. There was another smell, too, she couldn’t identify that was faintly cloying, strangely exotic, and insidious.

She made her way along the passage and stepped into one of the cargo holds. The odd smell was stronger here, as if whatever it came from lay in wait, hidden away, yet the hold was empty. Tony jumped as she heard a scuttling noise behind her. A small, wiry man with a ferretlike face asked, “Would ye be lookin’ for summat, sor?”

“Er … just curious. Thought I’d have a look about, if that’s all right, Mr….?”

“McSwine, Paddy McSwine. Sure ’tis none o’ my affair, sor, what ye do. I’m only the sea cook. Would ye like some grub?”

“I could use a drink,” Tony ventured.

McSwine winked. “Couldn’t we all, sor? Couldn’t we all! Come along to the galley.”

Tony tried to make conversation. “We are going to the Continent to buy cargo to ship to the Indies. This ship looks like it has quite a large hold.”

“It has two more, one aft, one for’ard.” McSwine held up his hand. “Don’t be tellin’ me what ye intend to smuggle, sor, I’m deaf and blind.”

Tony followed McSwine into the galley and was about to protest they had no intention of smuggling. Then she held her tongue. She had no idea what Savage would do on the voyage. He was a law unto himself.

McSwine handed her a tot of rum. “Have you no water?” Tony asked hopefully.

McSwine was horrified. “Never touch the stuff. Water’s fer drownin’.” He took a jug and splashed a bit into the mug to dilute it. Tony didn’t dare tell him she meant water
instead of
rum, so she sipped it slowly.

Suddenly about ten men arrived in the galley and she stepped aside quickly before they pushed her out of the way. Their eyes mocked the powdered wig and slim trousers that went under the instep. She was about to take her leave when a motley-looking sailor with a Scots brogue said, “What’s the matter, Fancydrawers? Too good tae eat wi’ the likes o’ us?”

“No, no, of course not.”

“Then sit yer arse down. Paddy, what poison are ye plannin’ tae palm off on us unsuspectin’ innocents the day?”

“Pig’s dick an’ lettuce,” McSwine replied cheekily, and was rewarded by a few snickers.

“Och, I was hopin’ fer crumpet an’ cream.” Everybody guffawed but Tony.

“Yer bleedin’ face willna crack if ye laugh, ye know, Fancydrawers.”

McSwine jumped to Tony’s defense. “The gentry don’t call it that, ye daft bugger.”

“What do ye call a woman’s fidgety-fork?” the hulking Scot demanded.

Tony took a swig of rum. “P-Pussy,” she whispered, hoping her cheeks were not flaming red.

Paddy cut great chunks of crusty bread and ladled mouth-watering stew into pewter bowls with handles. Tony dipped her bread in the stew and took a bite. A smack on the back almost lodged the mouthful in her throat. They were determined to make her the butt of their jokes. “McSwine, have ye told the laddie it’s his turn in the barrel the nicht?”

Mercifully Tony didn’t know what they meant, but she had a damned good idea it was rudely disgusting. She had two choices: she could retreat or she could dig in her heels. This morning she’d looked down the barrel of a gun; she’d be damned if some ignorant sailors would intimidate her. She knew she must join in their vulgarity before they would leave her alone to eat. She recalled one of Luttrell’s limericks. “Heard a limerick about a Scot the other day. Just reminds me of you. Would you care to hear it?”

Paddy McSwine nodded with glee and the others were now ready to make the hulking Scot the butt of their humor.

The sailors lifted their mugs to toast Lord Lamb.

It was late afternoon when Savage arrived back at the docks. Since he intended to captain the
Flying Dragon
himself on this voyage, he had his first mate, Mr. Baines, accompany him while they inspected the ship from stem to stern. When he was satisfied that it was seaworthy, Savage gave the order to weigh anchor and piloted the vessel from its mooring out into the Thames.

From inside her small cabin Tony realized the ship was moving. That meant Savage must be aboard; they wouldn’t sail without him. Wasn’t it just like the annoying devil to let her stew in her own anxieties. She would go and find him. Nothing he could be doing was as important as giving her news of Bernard Lamb.

Savage was not in his cabin, nor the galley. She concluded he must be on deck. As she came up from below-decks, the smells and the sounds changed rapidly. Someone was barking orders above the noise of the canvas being sheeted into place, and the herring gulls screamed as they circled above the mast, gliding on the light breeze that carried the salty tang of the sea.

For one moment she felt panic rise inside her as the clipper headed out toward the ocean. She hadn’t sailed since that fateful day with Anthony. She mastered her fear, knowing it would return with full force if they ran into a storm.

As Tony made her way along the deck she realized Savage was navigating. Was there nothing the man couldn’t do? She saw that he ignored her presence even though he was well aware of it. Damn the man. His expression was inscrutable and told her nothing. As she watched him she
had no idea her own face became transparent with admiration. His black hair was loose and streamed back in the wind. He wore only a light shirt with an open throat that contrasted against his dark face. There was pride and confidence in every line of his bearing. He was in control behind the wheel of a ship, as he was wherever he went or whatever he did. He was one with the wind and the sea.

As Tony’s gaze ran over his lithe muscles, she longed to be one with him. Her throat ached and she turned from him to lean against the rail. She dragged her mind from him to concentrate upon the ship. Though he hadn’t much sail aloft, the tide was taking them at a fair clip. The Thames widened as they passed Woolwich and she realized that she would be able to have a magnificent view of Edenwood from the Thames.

As they neared Gravesend, Savage maneuvered the
Flying Dragon
from midriver toward the right bank and Tony caught her breath as the magnificent Edenwood came into view. Her tall windows were golden from the last rays of the sun, her brick a deep, warm rose. She gazed at it with as much longing as she had for its owner. She knew she had lost her heart irretrievably to Edenwood. The wave of possessiveness was so strong, its intensity shocked her. She knew she had just committed another deadly sin:
Thou shalt not covet.
Her lips parted and a sigh escaped her.

“Lower the anchor, Mr. Baines,” Savage thundered, and she heard the chain clang and clatter through the hawsehole. She swung about to look up at him and he jerked his head in the direction of Edenwood in an unmistakable gesture commanding her to follow him.

Savage disappeared over the side and she thanked God for giving her long legs as she swung them over the rail and climbed down to the bobbing rowboat below. Savage took both oars and pitted his strength against the swift current.

As they reached the bank Tony jumped out and tied a line to a small tree. They strode together to the house and
Adam told her what she had waited almost ten hours to hear.

“Your bullet only scratched your cousin, but you managed to cause a scandal by firing on the count of nine and branding yourself a coward.”

She knew the bitter taste of failure on her tongue. “I’m no coward,” she stated emphatically.

“I know that,” Savage said quietly. “How did you know he would turn and fire on the count of nine?”

She shot him a glance while her mind searched for a plausible answer. There was none. “A recurring dream.” Tony didn’t give a damn if he believed her or not.

“Animal instinct.” He nodded his approval. “It always pays to listen to your gut.”

His approval warmed her and suddenly she was relieved she hadn’t committed murder. Bernard Lamb simply wasn’t worth it!

Savage fixed her with a pale blue stare. “Don’t you care if your friends blacken the name of Anthony Lamb?”

“Not much.” She shrugged. “I know the truth and that’s all that really matters.”

Savage was well pleased with the lad’s attitude.

John Bull materialized from nowhere the moment they entered Edenwood.

“Find Tony some of those white pantaloons you wear. We are on our way to the Mediterranean. I’ll pack my own bags. We must hurry before the tide turns.”

“Why are you always so self-serving, Excellency?”

Tony hid a smile. “I’m going along so I can choose a cargo for the Indies. What do you suggest, John Bull?”

“Ah, young lord, Excellency will advise you. He knows what is best for you.” He took Tony to the servants’ wing and handed him a pile of snowy garments. “Try these on.”

Tony went into a small, mirrored bathing room in the servants’ wing. John Bull was a small man and so his cotton pants were not overly large. She would make them do. Her eye was caught by an array of exotic cosmetics that
obviously belonged to Kirinda. There were dozens of little pots, vials, and bottles containing all manner of seductive creams, oils, and fragrant pastes. Her fingers itched to paint her face. Respectable young English ladies were not allowed makeup and she had never had a chance to use it, but London was full of women who did paint their faces to attract men, and it certainly seemed to work.

The allure of the kohl, powder, lip rouge, and silvery-hued eye-paint was too great for Tony to resist. She had just decided to put some on, then wash it off quickly, when she heard Savage’s deep voice. “Where the hell is the young devil?”

She swept an armful of the tiny pots into the cotton pants and tucked the bundle under her arm. She’d have to wait until she was in the privacy of her cabin aboard the
Flying Dragon.
Suddenly the great adventure she was about to embark upon hit her. Young men toured the Continent; young women did not. There were definite advantages to masquerading as a man.

Savage carried a small chest and John Bull followed with a valise. Tony was immediately suspicious. Savage was smuggling something and her curiosity was devouring her. Her glance stole again and again to the mysterious chest as he rowed back to the ship.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Savage mocked as he watched Tony’s eyes.

She put up her chin, vexed that he could always read her thoughts so easily. Savage rowed close to the
Flying Dragon,
then stood up to gain a handhold. “Pass me the chest,” he ordered.

Tony bent to lift it, but found it impossible.

“You can’t lift it because it’s filled with my hard-earned gold to pay for your damned cargo.”

Tony’s mouth fell open as she watched him easily haul it to one shoulder before he climbed aboard. She watched him stride to the helm. “Anchors aweigh, Mr. Baines. Hoist the mains’l!” His deep voice seemed to go right
inside of her as she took her own smuggled goods below-decks.

The bag that Mr. Burke had packed sat in her cabin, so she hid the cosmetics under Anthony’s clothes. She was extremely grateful to have this cabin to herself. She knew she would never have been able to endure the disgusting company of the rough, coarse seamen.

Tony didn’t much fancy going among them for the evening meal, but realized she wouldn’t be waited on hand and foot. In fact Savage had told her she’d have to work while aboard. In her bones she feared he’d set her some degrading task, damn his eyes.

When a knock came upon her cabin door she expected to find Savage, but was surprised to see McSwine with a tray.

“Capn’s orders. Yer to keep outa the way tonight, sor.”

“Thanks Paddy. It smells good.” He really resembled a ferret when he grinned.

“Cap’n have me cut in collops an’ toss’d overboard if I cooked lousy. I’ve sailed with him before.”

Tony pulled off her tiewig and boots and stretched out in the hammock, balancing the tray. There were a dozen delicious great prawns and some new potatoes boiled in their jackets and dripping with melted lemon butter. Scallions, watercress, and spinach leaves were tossed with herbed oil and vinegar. It was plain fare, but quite delicious. To look at McSwine you would have thought he’d produce pig swill.

As Tony enjoyed her supper she wondered how in the world she would be able to spend the entire night slung in a hammock. As it happened, she fell asleep before she had finished eating. Her dreams were anything but restful. She moved about the ship doing one tiring chore after another, while the sailors mocked her “Fancydrawers,” which were long lace pantaloons. She had to scrub the entire deck with a small nailbrush, then she had to empty
all the chamber pots. She called Indian Savage every foul name she could curl her tongue about.

When morning arrived she staggered from the hammock dreading the menial tasks that lay in wait for her. She brushed her own dark hair back and tied it with a thong. She slipped on her boots and went up on deck.

She was amazed to find they were in a seaport. Savage was just returning to the ship. Her eyes widened as she saw he was dressed in very rough clothes and was unshaven.

“We can’t be in France.”

“Of course we are. This is a clipper ship. That’s Boulogne.” He nodded toward the town.

She braced herself, waiting for his orders, but they weren’t what she expected.

“Get yourself spruced up, we’ll be in Le Havre before noon. If you’re still determined to buy Paris fashions, the warehouses of Havre are stocked to the rafters with female geegaws. I suppose I’d better come along to help you select the underpinnings. You’ve no more notion of what females prefer beneath their skirts than what they prefer beneath the sheets.”

“You’d be surprised,” Tony said dryly, hating him for his sexual experience. “Where have you been?” Tony demanded.

“Who the hell wants to know?” Savage replied with an icy stare.

“Just curious,” Tony muttered.

“I’ve been reconnoitering. Actually France isn’t a healthy place to be these days. The thunder of the storm has begun to roll over the heads of the aristocracy with their extravagant vices. Havre should still be safe, but in Paris the nobility is actually beginning to fear for its life.”

“Surely their excesses can’t be any worse than those of the London ton?”

“The English are amateurs; careful, dreary, penny-pinching pikers when it comes to indulgence. The French
are insatiate, decadent, and debauched with a surfeit of food, fashion, sex, and deviation. Their follies are so numerous, there are fortunes to be made by shrewd opportunists such as myself.”

“What about me?”

Savage shook his head. The scar on his mouth stood out, giving him that sinister, bestial look that made her shudder.

“Your soul isn’t black enough to take advantage of the weak and helpless, Lord Lamb.”

Tony did not wish to pursue the subject further, it was too disturbing.

That afternoon at the warehouses was one of the most pleasurable Tony had ever experienced. If only she could have chosen clothes for herself, she would have been in paradise. She was careful not to let Savage see her looks of longing as she viewed and selected her purchases. Her eyes sparkled at the delicately exquisite materials of the gowns and undergarments spread before her in such colorful array. Silks, gauzes, muslins, satins, laces, pongees, poult-de-soies, tulles, and taffetas in every imaginable hue and design took her fancy and she ordered one of each. When Savage told her to order two dozen of each, Tony shook her head and explained to him that women liked to be exclusive in the way they dressed. It was all a simple matter of supply and demand. A unique design would fetch ten times the price of one copied in every size and color.

Before the afternoon was over, Adam Savage admitted Tony had a helluva lot more patience than himself as he paced about waiting for him to buy millinery, parasols, slippers, hosiery, and gloves. When young Lamb moved on to a wholesale shop piled high with wigs, Savage protested that it was too hot in India and Ceylon for wigs and that ladies simply powdered their own locks.

“Oh, these aren’t for the Indies, they are for London. You should know silly slaves to fashion like Georgiana and
the Countess of Oxford will scratch each other’s eyes out for these ridiculous French coiffeurs.” She purposely named two of the women with whom he’d had liaisons.

Savage taught Tony how to barter, haggle, and bid down the price. Then he guaranteed they would be put aboard within the hour by refusing to part with the gold until the goods were in the hold.

Tony’s purchases filled one entire hold before dusk fell and she asked Savage where they would next make port. He told her that it was never pleasant crossing the Bay of Biscay from France to Spain and it made for a more pleasant voyage to sail along the coast to Bordeaux, where he would buy some fine wines and champagne for his own use at Edenwood.