Chapter 15
Fifteen
Tempest was delightful in her uncertain, blushing state. It was the opposite of the woman he had encountered when he had first arrived, and he liked them both.
She hid herself and he wasn’t certain why, except she had taken on the role of mother and mistress of the house far too young, robbed of what other misses should have enjoyed, even in Dominica, if she could not be in London.
Her father was a diplomat and she should have been standing at the edge of a ballroom nervous and hoping to be asked to dance, not worried that they would run out of wine.
That was the very reason he was going to court her in the manner she deserved. He would call on her, bring her flowers, walk with her in gardens and then, when he was certain and secure that she also deeply cared for him, then he would kiss her, but not before.
He would not rush what he had determined was fate.
“How does one join the Home Office?” she asked out of curiosity.
“Why? Do you now want to become a spy.” He tried not to chuckle because no doubt Tempest would take offense.
Then again, there were some women who were better at their job than he was.
It takes more to be an effective spy than brute strength and the ability to kill and women can navigate nuances and get someone to lower their guard far easier than a man.
“I am curious.”
“I was recruited before I left Oxford. Me and a few friends. We came together and formed a group that became known as The Devils of Dalston. We had a house in a not very reputable part of London and allowed the worst of the rumors to be spread around, most of them being that we were rakes, rogues, derelicts, and sometimes in league with the devil and practiced witchcraft.”
Her blue eyes grew wide with fear as she scooted away.
“It was all a ruse, Tempest. Do I strike you as a witch?”
She pursed her lips and studied him. “I am not so certain. What exactly does a witch look like?”
“I have no idea.”
“That is what you did? You were rakes in London? For what purpose?”
“Intelligence gathering. But I also spent a good deal of time in France gathering information.”
“It all sounds very exciting, so why did you retire?”
“You may resent me when you find out.”
“If you do not judge me for what I told you last night, then I will not judge you. I promise.”
“I turned my back on the one thing that you never had. I was reduced to eavesdropping on French conversations at various balls and entertainments in London and at house parties. I grew bored and wanted to come home. I had wanted to put London and London Society behind me. I rejected the very thing that you had wanted to experience.”
“I am not certain I would want to attend a London Season. I think I simply wanted to be… Not be the one with responsibility. To have someone else concerned with the care for my sisters. Someone else tasked with being a mother. In my uncle’s house, I knew I would have no responsibilities.”
“You do not have servants in your father's home?”
“We do have a governess but they still defer to me as if I am their mother when I am not.”
“I understand,” he offered. “I was tired of Society and the pretense and people pretending that they were more than they were. Those with titles looking down on those who had none. Those without one trying to marry a title. The Devils of Dalston had provided friendship, but I rarely saw my friends any longer. They had taken different paths—some still with the Home Office and others had married. So, I was set to return to Antigua, where I was born, to remain the rest of my life, when the war with France got in the way.”
“The very same war that landed us both here,” she said as she got up and inspected the hole in the boat. “How are you going to make the pieces of wood stay, seal them and not leak.”
He pointed to a bucket. “Tar.”
She peered inside and frowned. “You brought that back?”
“Yes, and it wasn’t easy. I had to steal a bucket then uncork a hogshead of tar and fill the bucket to bring back here along with everything else without spilling.”
“Do you think it will be enough?”
“I hope so.” The hole in the boat may be awkward but it wasn’t huge.
“Will you begin patching it today?”
“Tomorrow morning, first thing,” he answered. He didn’t want to go to sleep with the stench of tar in the air. “I will have to melt it down and get it hot, but I will do that over a fire out here, then I will patch the boat.”
“How long will it take to dry and before you know if it will float?”
“A day.” He shrugged. “If I have the boat in the sun, and open to ocean breezes, it should dry within a day, if we do not get rain.”
“It will be good to know that we have a way to leave if we need to.”
“In that we are in agreement.” The more options to escape the French the better.
* * *
By the time dinner was placed on the table, Tempest’s headache was gone and she was more relaxed and not at all concerned about what had happened the night before. She also had no intention of drinking rum again for a very long time.
Rhys had caught more fish so she and Nicoll prepared those for dinner, not that she was of much help because of her hand, but she was happy with what they had created, and even more so when Rhys appeared at the door and asked if he might join them.
He usually took his food and left, but he instead took a seat at the table, at the far end opposite her, as if he was the head of the table and she the foot, and family between.
It was a pleasant thought. Their eyes met several times during the meal, and a few times she blushed when caught watching him.
He was incredibly handsome with his green eyes and dimpled chin, and straight sun-streaked hair.
Many times, her focus was on his lips and what he had promised. Could a kiss be so wonderful that a person would never forget?
Oh, she wished to know for certain and experience such.
He had also repaired his appearance. His hair was wet as if he’d either bathed or had been swimming and his clothing was clean, which made her all the more aware of her appearance and how awful she must look.
She and the girls tried to wash in the stream, but the soap was harsh, not at all like the herbal pieces that she purchased at the local market at home.
“How is your hand?” he asked into the silence.
She had not spoken, nor had he, or her sisters. They had been eating in silence all looking at each other. Well, Rhys was looking at her. She was looking at him and her sisters had taken turns looking at them.
“It does not pain me, unless I forget and try to pick something up.”
“Then do not forget.” He grinned.
“I will try not to,” she smiled.
“Would you like some coconut milk?” she asked after she realized that he was the only one without something to drink.
“I am thirsty but not for that.”
“You do not like coconut milk?”
“Only when I am terribly thirsty and there is nothing else.”
“I am afraid that is all we have, besides water.”
“Water will do,” he answered, just as Margaret reached under the table and retrieved a bottle of rum.
“Where did you get that?” Tempest demanded.
“You left it out last night.”
She couldn’t remember what he had done with the bottle and she had not much cared.
“I thank you for the offer, but I will drink water tonight.” His eyes held Tempest’s. He conceded to her to exhibit proper behavior in front of the children.
Except, where had he been last night when she had drunk too much?
It did not matter, she decided. Those were extenuating circumstances not to be repeated.
The rest of the evening passed pleasantly with her younger sisters pestering him with questions about the boat and if they could venture into the forest if they promised not to be seen by the French, or was there anywhere that they could wade into the sea where they would not be seen.
He had promised to find them such a place.
They then told stories, and he shared some of his adventures from when he was a boy living in Antigua, and how he would own his own boat one day and ferry people from island to island.
“You will come visit us will you not?” Ruth asked.
His eyes met Tempest’s. “Yes. I plan on doing so.”
When dinner was complete, she walked him to the door and onto the terrasse.
“Thank you for dinner.”
“You are welcome at any time. You always have been, especially since this is your home.”
“It is yours and I should have given it up immediately but I was a bit out of sorts.”
“A bit?” she laughed. “I likely would have been too.”
“Well, then, goodnight, Tempest.”
“Goodnight, Rhys.”
As he walked away, she shut the door and turned to find her sisters staring at her, arms crossed in front of them ready to demand answers. She just wasn’t certain what she should tell them or how much she should confess.