Chapter 9 #2
“Yes, Bannock—sorry, but yes. In this, I must beg your mercy.” James Fernsby clung to the seat of the punting boat, eyes squeezed
shut. “I thought I could manage it, but I cannot.”
“For God’s sake, if there is a calmer, shallower river in all of England, I’ve not heard of it. Buck up, man. The River Len
is so narrow, you could heave yourself to the bank in one thrust. You’re being ridiculous.”
“I am not afraid of the depth or the rapids—”
“Of which there are none, even in this wind . . .”
“—or the width. My anxiety manifests itself in boats of any kind. I warned you of this. I may never recover my easy relationship
with the water. We cannot all be heroes, Bannock. The attack has left you unscathed but I am haunted, and never so much as
when I’m in a boat.”
“Why, then,” Luke gritted out, “did you tell these women we would swan about,” another punt, “in a boat,” he punted again, “on the River Len? I am relying on you and Miss Broom to accompany us. It’s not prudent for me to be alone with Danielle Allard—you know this.”
“Ha!” shot back Fernsby. “And you make light of my anxiety.”
“I am not anxious, James, I am trying very hard not to irrevocably destroy the girl’s goodwill—and therefore her usefulness.
To me. Not to mention her reputation. You must find your courage. Come now, what will Miss Broom think?”
“Amelia will understand. We will stroll along the shoreline. You go ahead with Princess Danielle. We will observe you from
afar.”
“Fernsby,” threatened Luke. He glared at the rapidly approaching dock on which stood the two women, holding their hats in the wind.
“Bannock,” Fernsby growled back.
“What of the favor you owe me?” demanded Luke. “This life debt? Because of me, you’ve lived to feel unsafe on punting boats
and placid rivers. And what thanks do I get? You owe this to me.”
“I owe you nothing of the sort. Smile and wave, Bannock. Endeavor to be civil for five minutes. Hallo ladies!” Fernsby called
to the women ahead.
“Fine,” said Luke. “You flop onto the bank, and I’ll take the two women alone.”
“No,” countered Fernsby, “you will not whisk Miss Broom away. I’ve arranged to spend the morning with Amelia Broom and I intend
to do it. And I will thank you not to mention my anxiety to her. She is, perhaps, the only woman in England who’s encountered
both of us and prefers me to you.”
“Bollocks, Fernsby, your uncle is the king. Women fall over themselves to have a go at being viscountess. What care have I for who fancies me, or you, or this punting pole? The point of today is for me to reveal to Danielle Allard that she is a princess. It is no small detail, and she should have her friend with her.”
“I disagree. I believe the two of you, alone, should navigate this conversation. Think on it Luke. It’s sure to be one of
the most impactful and life-changing discussions of the girl’s life. Do you really want me, sweaty and terrified, on the next
seat? No, you do not. Two things can happen at the same time; you can be sympathetic to the princess and honor your friend.”
“My friend doesn’t need honor, he needs to be recovered. He’s rotting in a dungeon.” Luke brushed his glove over the fossil
in his pocket.
“I know, I know, but he’s a tough old boot, and one more day cannot hurt. Use this outing to engender a greater understanding
between yourself and the princess. The truth of her heritage is only the beginning of what she needs to know. She must learn
of her inheritance in France. She must learn you intend to dangle her before Surcouf to rescue Mr. Welty. There is so much
to be said, and Miss Bloom and I will only be in the way. We’ve told the girls’ parents that they’ll be home by four o’clock.
My advice to you is to begin now with a handful of these difficult truths. They’ll inspire none of the romantic feelings you
so fear, Bannock, I assure you—they’re too serious. When you tell her of your plan to raid a French castle, no chaperone will
be required.”
“Fernsby,” Luke growled, refusing his logic. “ ‘Engender a greater understanding’? This is no goal at all. We already understand
each other far too much. I nearly ravished her in the Eastwell Park library because of our very great understanding.”
“It was always an ill-conceived plan, Bannock,” chided Fernsby.
“You assumed your princess would be pining for France and resigned to her role as pawn. You’ve seen the error of this, and yet your plan persists.
Fine. No one wants revenge on Surcouf more than me—but not at the expense of this young woman.
If you mean to involve her, you must treat her like the living, breathing human woman that she is—with the wherewithal to make up her own mind.
Tell her she’s a pivotal player in your rescue mission.
Include her. In every way. Allow her to collaborate.
If I had to guess, she’ll agree to help you if it means she gets her estate in the
end. Regardless of what you think, I didn’t follow you to Kent because I enjoy your company, Bannock. I came to make certain
you do not abuse or misuse a princess of the blood. Even if she is French.”
“And yet you leave me alone in her company,” Luke groused. He would deal with why Fernsby followed him to Kent another time.
What mattered now is that he had no chaperone. And a picturesque river. A boat shaped like a bed. “You are worthless,” he
muttered.
“Never forget, you fished me from the Atlantic as if I was very valuable indeed.”
“Waste of effort.”
“Now you’re just being cruel. Punt to the dock, will you? I refuse to retch in front of ladies.”
Luke clenched the punting pole with enough force to snap it. On a grunt, he pushed the small craft to the wooden landing.
Fernsby, flat on his belly, clutched the sides of the boat with both hands. Luke scooted them forward and Fernsby raised his
chin to beam at Miss Broom and Danielle Allard. When they were near, the viscount released the side of the boat long enough
to issue a fanlike wave.
Luke did not wave. Navigating the boat was not a challenge, but it gave his hands and eyes something to do.
He’d been careful not to look at her, but they were too close now to avoid it.
In his peripheral vision, he saw her posture.
He saw ebony hair beneath a straw hat. He saw the resigned tilt of her head, the brightness of her face.
When the wind blew, lavender cotton billowed in the breeze. His heart began to pound.
“Forgive our delay, ladies,” Fernsby was calling. “We’ve made it at last.”
“Hello, my lord, Captain Bannock,” called Miss Broom, raising her hands. She wore a hat so embellished, the sheer heft of
it threatened to topple her into the water.
“But are you well, my lord?” Miss Broom called to Fernsby.
“I cannot lie, Miss Broom,” said Fernsby, “I find myself unable, at this moment, to carry on with the punting.”
“Oh no,” complained Miss Broom, and Luke held his breath, hoping the girl’s disappointment would supersede Fernsby’s fear.
“It’s true, I’m afraid,” said Fernsby. “I beseech you: Can you indulge my need for dry land?”
And now Fernsby began the shaky work of dragging himself from the boat to the dock in a lizardly crawl. Under the trembling
canopy of Miss Broom’s hat, they watched the viscount’s awkward beaching. The sight was so ungraceful and, frankly, unbelievable,
Luke looked away. Before he could stop himself, he checked Miss Allard for her reaction. But Miss Allard wasn’t looking at
Fernsby, she was looking at Luke.
He absorbed the look—large green eyes locked on his face—and barely managed not to fall into the river himself. Her expression
hid nothing. He saw questions (he’d expected this); but also hope (which he’d not expected). More than that, he saw something
like . . . possessiveness. She looked like she was owed something by him. A bill not paid; a trade undelivered. She was waiting to collect.
Luke swallowed hard and tamped down the answering surge of possession he felt for her. Waiting for him, was she? Well, he’d
been coming. Since the moment he’d left her at her parents’ cottage, he’d thought of little else.
Luke reminded himself that he did not like direct, possessive women. He tried to tell himself that he did not like this woman. And he owed her nothing but the estate she so clearly wanted.
The reminders were futile. His heart was pounding, he’d broken out in a cold sweat, and he could not not look at her. He met her stare, one eyebrow raised, answering the open, expectant look on her face.
She sucked in a little breath and Luke felt it in his loins.
“Take my hand, will you, Miss Broom?” Fernsby, now on his knees, was calling to his sweetheart. The girl had him by the elbow
and was endeavoring to pull him up. She clucked and tutted while Fernsby apologized and implored her. There was a lengthy
promise of repayments and assurances. Luke did not interfere. He went down on a knee to make an unnecessary inspection of
the side of the boat.
“But you should go on without us, Dani,” he heard Miss Broom tell the princess.
“Yes,” begged Fernsby, “pray do not let my imposition interrupt your morning with the captain.”
Luke stood and put his hands on his hips. He looked at Fernsby, slowly shaking his head. The viscount ignored him to praise
Miss Broom’s hat.
“Captain?”
Luke looked up. Miss Allard was staring at him with that expectant, I’ve-been-waiting-all-this-time look. She was so pretty, his breath caught.
“Are we to postpone?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “Come on, then.” He held out his hand.
“You’re certain?”
“I’ve gone to the trouble of hiring the boat.” He put one boot on the landing and planted the other in the belly of the craft.
He made a beckoning gesture with two fingers of his outstretched hand.
She raised her chin.
“Bon voyage, Dani,” called Miss Broom, walking away with Fernsby.
“Goodbye, Amelia,” Miss Allard said, not taking her eyes from his. After a long moment, she took his hand. Warmth lapped up
his arm. He cleared his throat. She stepped into the boat.
“Careful,” he said.
“Thank you.”
She concentrated on her footing, her face turned away. A crackling magnetism bounced back and forth between them, familiar
and heart-pounding. He was disoriented, he was grounded, he was at risk of falling into the river. He wanted to snatch her
to him. He wanted to scramble back. He wanted to—
“What’s happened to the viscount?” she asked. There was no proper seating in a punt, and she lowered herself onto the treads
at the bow and leaned forward, her elbow on the huff.
“The viscount has developed a punishing anxiety in the company of boats.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” she said. “You are not so affected, I hope?”
“No.” He took up the pole and shoved them off the dock. “Boats are one thing that I’m not afraid of.”
“It’s been said you are not afraid of anything.”
I am afraid of you, he thought. He said, “I am afraid of forgetting the memory of the men I lost.”
“Oh. This fear is unjustified. Your loyalty is very plain to me. You’ll not forget them, Captain.”
“No,” he said. She was correct in this; the memory of these men would haunt him forever. Just last night, the nightmares had
returned. He planted the pole into the riverbed and pushed them into open water. “No, I will not.”