Chapter 4
“Will you just tell me what happened?” Leo pleaded, watching from the chaise longue as Percy paced before the hearth.
Percy rubbed a hand over his drawn features and scrubbed at his dry eyes. After preparing a small satchel of items and paying his future months’ rent for his bachelor’s apartments, he’d spent hours through the night staring at his ceiling and replaying the tryst in his mind.
Guilt hit him square in the gut once more, and he spun in another turn to pace back before the hearth.
He’d only just recently acquired the rooms above a shop, near enough to walk to his new post as an instructor for the women of Bow Street. The women were quick to learn under his tutelage and would do well with his superior—Grace Huntsbury—while he and Heather were away.
“Does it call to you once more?” Leo asked, his voice low and tinged with concern.
Percy shook his head with a sharp jerk, taking Leo’s meaning instantly. “I daresay I will quickly regain my sea legs, but no. It does not call to me.” His lips thinned, and a shiver travelled up his spine. “In fact, the thought of our old life finding me strikes fear in my heart.”
“Then why take on the assignment at all?” he goaded. “I know how ill at ease you were with your station—particularly in those last few years. You once said you would rather—”
“I know what I said,” Percy interjected, cutting his friend a sideways glance.
“And I stand by my statement.” He huffed a breath, shaking his head.
“And ill at ease is indeed too tame for what I felt then, for what I still feel. Down that path lies villainy, and I bloody refuse to become my father.”
Leo lifted a brow. “So I shall ask again: why take on the assignment at all?”
“You know very well why. I’m skilled at combat, and I’m an experienced deck hand. They need me.”
“Is that the only reason?”
Jaw clenched, Percy spun in another turn. But didn’t answer.
Leo, the blighter, nodded his understanding as he stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankle, waiting patiently for Percy to continue.
Hell, but this was not to be borne. Fear, guilt, and trepidation all warred within him, blustering and whirling about like the tempestuous sea.
“The woman I met last night…”
One of Leo’s blond eyebrows lifted. “The tryst in the gazebo.”
Percy nodded. “That was Miss Heather Morgan.”
Leo spluttered and sat bolt upright. “The hell it was!”
“I spotted her—the woman with the black feathered costume and the ribbons in her hair—just before the unmasking. She was dancing with Hanley. Hell’s tits, Leo, I thought she was a widow.
But then I saw her, and when I came home, I saw the streaks of blood…
” He cursed once more, recalling the horror and burning shame he’d felt at seeing the proof that he’d taken her maidenhead smeared on his cock.
“She was so sure of herself, so damned seductive. And I…so sodding desperate.”
“Miss Morgan. You had sex with Miss Morgan?” Leo scratched at his chin and raked his fingers through his blond hair. “Does she know it was you?”
Percy groaned. “I don’t know. I daresay it’s possible, but we agreed to keep our identities concealed and our masks on during the encounter. And she whispered throughout, as did I.
“But in mere hours our assignment together commences, Leo.” His gut churned and his chest clenched.
“Have you a plan?”
Percy had thought about it in depth, and his options, while plentiful, were reduced to one when it came to both his and Miss Morgan’s honour.
After the way he’d been raised, he would never leave a woman to rear a child of his alone.
Please let her not be carrying my child.
Despite his desire to work, he had more than enough wealth to keep himself and a potential family comfortable for the remainder of their lives.
While he’d despised it at large, piracy had indeed provided an adequate fortune. He’d intended to bequeath it to Miss Lizzy Notley and any other children of Leo and Juliana, in addition to a tidy sum allocated to aiding orphaned children on the streets of London. That, now, would have to change.
Another groan rumbled through his chest, and he rubbed his eyes once more. Even should Miss Morgan not be pregnant, he would do the right thing.
“Yes, Leo. I have a plan.”
The carriage trundled over the cobblestones, jostling Heather against the squabs. Conflicting emotions waged battle in her heart: anticipation for the adventure and assignment before her, and sorrow at leaving her home, her friends…her plants.
Horses’ hooves thundered along the road, and the carriage’s wheels rumbled as they carried her to her future.
“Stop with those dreadful, unsightly tears,” her aunt, Lady Budford, snapped. “You’ll make Lord Hanley regret his decision if he sees you crying, your face a horrible mottled red. And we cannot have him leaving you behind.”
Heather frowned. “I’m not crying, Aunt. I—”
“Don’t be impertinent,” she snapped, her grey eyes flashing with irritation.
“Your marriage to the earl will provide us with an auspicious connection that will benefit your cousins. You cannot always be so selfish like your mother.” She sighed happily, a small smile quirking her lips.
“Oh, it shall be lovely to have you out of my home, Calluna.”
A familiar twinge of pain sliced through Heather’s heart.
After her parents’ death, she’d been left upon her aunt and uncle’s doorstep, and while they’d provided her with the necessary items for survival, she’d never once felt welcomed or cared for.
She’d never understood the animosity her aunt carried for her mother, but it was shown in every one of her actions toward Heather.
“All those ghastly plants stinking up the house,” her aunt continued. “We’ve at last satisfied the obligation to my dreadful sister and that boring plant lover she married, and we can be free of you.”
“I’m pleased you’re happy, Aunt,” Heather murmured.
Fury flared in Lady Budford’s eyes. “You’d best be pleased, ungrateful girl!
I might have tossed you to the streets once you’d reached eighteen, and then where would you be?
That’s seven extra years I’ve kept you housed and fed out of the goodness of my own heart—not that you needed any more food, for pity’s sake. Just look at you,” she sneered.
Heather bit back the retort that threatened to escape. It would do little good to make the woman angrier. Heather knew her aunt was wrong, and that was all that mattered.
At least someone found her desirable. Heat flared in her belly at the memory of the mystery man the previous night.
He’d wanted to further their acquaintance, mayhap engage in another tryst…
Her stomach swooped. She’d wanted it as well, but it simply couldn’t work.
It was proof, however, that men were capable of admiring her, regardless of her body’s shape or size or the colour of her hair.
Early summer sun glinted off the surface of the Thames, and ships and smaller boats spotted the water. The earl’s carriage rolled along the uneven road, their possessions having been loaded earlier that morning and their staff—including Cordelia—riding behind.
Their equipage rolled to a halt, rocking as the footmen dismounted from the rear. Shouts, lapping water, and the call of gulls rose up from beyond the carriage’s walls, but Heather scarcely heard it for her pulse pounding in her head.
This is it, her heart whispered. Her adventure was about to begin.
The door swung outward, and a footman’s helping hand reached in.
“Get out, idiot girl!” her aunt groused, shoving at Heather’s arm.
Swallowing back her retort, Heather accepted the footman’s hand and stepped down. The scent of decaying fish hit her instantly, and she discreetly breathed through her mouth. Men stomped to and fro around her, carrying boxes and barrels.
The sun heated her through her pale green petticoats, the gentle breeze providing little relief.
Even through the clouds, and the undoubtedly rough waters between England and the Americas, the sun would be her constant companion through the summer, hovering somewhere above.
The sun and her teammates, Percy and Cordelia.
At that moment, Percy ought to be somewhere on the frigate, working alongside the crew. Cordelia, acting as her maid and chaperone, was disembarking from her carriage even now.
Her moment had arrived.
Perspiration dampened Percy’s skin and stained his uniform. The stale, hot air was nigh unbearable, and he was very much looking forward to the relief of some wind.
He deposited the barrel he carried into the hold and returned to the quarterdeck. Wiping his brow with the sleeve of his coat, he turned his attention to the docks.
Four carriages had arrived carrying the Earl of Hanley, Miss Heather Morgan, their servants, and Cordelia.
Few of the earl’s staff would join him and Heather on their frigate; most would journey upon the frigate that would follow.
Hanley had apparently bemoaned the expense, but not only did his belongings take up far too much room in the hold, the safest way to travel the seas was in pairs.
The second ship would be roughly a half day’s journey behind them, should they encounter any severe inclement weather and require aid.
On the shore, the earl waved his hands about, first blustering at his valet, then turning to shout at Heather. Percy frowned, his gut clenching as he attempted to make sense of the man’s angry gestures.
The earl pointed at Cordelia, then back at his own milling staff and the frigates.
Heather retorted, pointing at her chest, then at Cordelia.
Heather’s aunt stepped in, gripping Heather’s shoulders and gesturing plaintively at the earl.
Fuck. It would appear that he had decided to not permit Cordelia on board.
“Back t’ work!” a man growled behind Percy.