Chapter 13
Thirteen
Davenport woke slowly, savoring the crispness of the sheets against his soaped skin, the gentle support of the feathered pillow and the thick horsehair mattress beneath his aching bones.
It was all one could wish for. Yet in the muzzy state between sleep and consciousness, he was oddly aware that he would have rather been lying with his limbs stretched out on a pile of straw, his head cradled in Caroline’s lap…
He suddenly came sharply to his senses.
Where was she? Was she all right?
The thought caused him to sit up and swing his legs out from beneath the warmth of the covers.
His clothes, freshly laundered and free of the scent of sweat and straw, were hanging over a chair.
A new shirt had been found to replace the ruined one.
He dressed quickly, noting that aside from a touch of stiffness, his shoulder was feeling perfectly fine.
When Caroline didn’t reply to the knock on her door, Davenport hesitated for a moment, then let himself into her chamber.
She was asleep. Her hair, still damp from her bath, fanned out over the pillow, the sunlight catching glints of gold and copper.
He had to restrain the urge to brush the stray tendrils from her cheek and the corner of her mouth.
The dressing gown had parted slightly to reveal a deep notch of creamy skin.
At that moment, his feisty companion-in-arms looked almost fragile—and undeniably feminine.
He smiled at the thought of her garbed in her male breeches and boots—and then found himself wondering what she would look like in an elegant ballgown cut low and slim to flatter her willowy form, her hair artfully dressed to highlight her expressive features…
Caroline stirred, her fingers moving restlessly up to the pillow to catch at the ragged jacket folded under its downy bulk. Slender hands, and yet so capable—throwing a credible shot to his nose, handling the reins of his stallion, tending his injured shoulder…
And now guarding that rag of a garment. Lud, she seemed to cling to it like it were some sort of talisman.
But if it brought her some modicum of comfort, he supposed there was no harm in it.
With a harried sigh, he reached down and gently pulled the quilt back up to cover her, then slipped from the room.
Lady Helen and Jeremy were in the drawing room. Though the young man didn’t appear to have slept a wink, he still seemed to crackle with pent-up excitement, and his eyes had a gleam to them that caused the earl to smile inwardly. The adventure seemed to be doing his friend a world of good.
Davenport helped himself to a cup of tea and a piece of toast. There was a long silence as he ate, then he moved to the tall mullioned windows and gazed out over the sea.
Jeremy shifted from foot to foot, impatient with his friend’s reticence, until finally he could bear it no longer.
“Julian,” he exclaimed. “Have you decided what we should do?”
“We?” repeated the earl. “What you are going to do is take the gig and return home.”
Jeremy’s face took on an expression as stubborn as that of their other companion.
The earl sighed. “Have you forgotten that Nero needs looking after? You’ve done more than your share in helping us out of this coil. Rest assured that I shall see Miss Caroline safely to her destination.”
“As to that, sir, I think that I have some sort of say in what comes next, milord,” came a voice from the doorway.
She was dressed as a lad again, save for that her hair was still loose, simply swept back and tied with a single ribbon. The others had turned at the sound of her voice, but Davenport remained facing the window, hands clasped behind his back, watching her reflection in the paned glass.
* * *
“Julian wishes to pack me off back home, like a helpless child,” muttered Jeremy as he cast a dark look at the earl before looking to Caroline for support.
“I’m sorry, but on that point I’m in agreement with him.
” At the sight of his injured expression, Caroline huffed a sympathetic sigh.
“There’s the matter of the gig too. We can’t have the Runners coming after you.
” She refrained from adding that on no account would she risk exposing him to any further physical danger.
“Oh, very well,” conceded Jeremy. “I suppose you have a point. We don’t want Bow Street to become involved.”
“How do you mean to go on?” asked Lady Helen. “Do you wish to take my carriage?”
Caroline considered the question. She glanced at Davenport, but he gave no indication of paying any attention to the conversation. “It appears my nemesis has quite a network of informants along the roads,” she began. Her brow furrowed. “Hmmm.”
It was Lady Helen who thought of it first. “I daresay this is a wild notion, but there is a small sailing boat moored in the cove. One of the tenant farmers uses it on occasion to fetch supplies from Portsmouth. I don’t suppose you know how to…”
“Enough!” exploded Davenport. “Ye gods, don’t be giving her any more harebrained schemes! She manages to come up with enough of them on her own.”
Caroline heard his words with only half an ear, her attention focused on his face as he turned to look at Lady Helen.
Her stomach gave a strange little lurch. So it was true—Davenport wasn’t in love with the lady.
“But, Julian,” protested Jeremy. “It’s not harebrained at all!
Portsmouth is a main base for the Royal Navy, and with all the fleet activity, there must be hundreds of small craft going in and out of the harbor.
Given the constant movement of sailors, supplies and official dispatches, it would be impossible for anyone to keep a careful watch on all the traffic coming and going.
So slipping onto a coach to London unnoticed shouldn’t be difficult at all. ”
“It hardly matters what His Lordship thinks.” Caroline had regained a measure of control over her thoughts. “He isn’t coming, regardless of what means I choose to use.”
Her chin came up a fraction. “And you needn’t worry about the money, sir. I will see that you receive the full amount for what you have already done.”
Davenport’s eyes took on a distinct shade of slate blue. She knew it meant that a storm was about to unleash its fury. But instead of answering her, he took up a bottle of brandy from the sideboard and stalked from the room without a word.
The door closed behind him with a resounding bang.
The three of them exchanged uncomfortable looks.
“Good heavens, Julian never loses control of himself,” murmured Lady Helen. “Since when has he developed such a temper?”
“Since he met me,” answered Caroline with a sigh.
The widowed countess choked back what sounded like laughter. “How wonderful,” she managed to say.
Caroline’s brows drew together in puzzlement.
“One is indifferent only if one doesn’t care.” Seeing that the import of her words still hadn’t dawned on Caroline, Helen merely smiled.
Jeremy looked thoughtful, then shrugged and changed the subject. “What are you planning on doing?”
“I need to think about it—but not on an empty stomach,” replied Caroline. “Forgive me if I seem rude, but may I ask for a breakfast tray to be sent up to my room? I need some time by myself to sort things out.”
* * *
It was finally quiet throughout the house.
Jeremy had at last been settled in a bedchamber, with the admonition to get some rest. Meanwhile, Davenport was apparently nursing his wounds—physical and otherwise—with the bottle of brandy within the confines of his own chamber.
After delivering the requested tray, Lady Helen had asked whether there was anything else she could do, but Caroline had assured her that all was fine for the moment.
However, a short while later, a small package was delivered to her room by one of the maids.
The leather purse inside the wrappings was reassuringly heavy, noted Caroline, loosening the strings and seeing a glint of gold.
Giving thanks that at least one of her worries was resolved, she slipped the money into her jacket pocket and then moved to her window and watched Lady Helen walk off with the gardener to inspect the bower of overgrown roses.
A cursory check showed that the hallway outside her room was empty.
Caroline wrapped a portion of the remaining food in a large napkin, then debated whether to leave any sort of note for the others.
What possible scribble could adequately convey her feelings?
Better to leave things unsaid rather than express herself badly.
She trusted they would understand. Later, she would make amends for her actions.
If there was a later.
She hesitated only a fraction by the earl’s door before moving resolutely on, down the stairs and out the french doors of the music room.
A gravel path bordered by tall privet hedges led through a formal garden and down toward the cove.
She had to slow her steps as it changed to a dirt trail through rocks and gnarled roots.
But the way was clear enough, and soon, just as Lady Helen had described, she spied a small craft tied up to a narrow wooden jetty.
As she came closer, Caroline surveyed it with mounting satisfaction.
It was obviously tended with care. The rigging was taut and showed no signs of wear, the hull looked well caulked and the sail was neatly furled around the varnished spar.
She had sailed in a boat similar to this one on numerous occasions with her cousin, though never by herself.
Still, she had little doubt as to whether she could handle it on her own—
“Ah, it’s about time. I had expected you a trifle sooner.”
Mouth agape, she spun around at the sound of the familiar baritone.
Davenport was lounging against a stack of wooden crates. He eyed the bulging napkin tucked under her arm. “Stopped for nuncheon, I see. But you should have inquired as to the tide. There is little time to spare.”