Chapter 13 #2
By now, her jaw had assumed its proper place. “What are you doing here?”
“Really now, I’ve come to expect more rational questions from you. I, too, have an engagement in London, if you will recall.”
“You’re foxed!”
He held the bottle up to the light and made a show of gauging its contents. “I must be to contemplate doing what I’m doing. But in all fairness, an extended time spent in your company could drive even a saint to drink.”
“I’m not taking you with me! I thought I made that clear.”
He rose and shoved the bottle in his pocket.
“As for you taking me—well, I suppose we might see who would prevail in a battle for the boat, but I daresay we can’t afford to squabble.
” He began casting off the lines. “If you have any nautical sense whatsoever, you will mark those clouds to the east and take my meaning.” Jumping lightly onto the deck, he turned to her.
“Well, are you coming?”
* * *
The gentleman’s patience was nearing an end.
The ebony walking stick drummed an agitated tattoo against the leather of his immaculately polished boot.
He recrossed his legs, then flicked a speck of dust from the sleeve of his coat.
Finally, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the carriage and drew back the window drapery just enough to peer through one of the panes of glass.
His eyes narrowed. “Have you managed to discover anything useful?”
The coachman touched nervously at his mottled nose as he shook his head.
“No, milord. Still no sign of them. But they can’t have disappeared into thin air.
Someone will spot them soon.” He cleared his throat.
“The only thing out of the ordinary is a gig has been reported as missing, but I have word that it was seen heading southwest, in the direction of New Milton or Lymington. Do you wish…”
The point of the walking stick pushed the man back a step. “Drive on to the next inn, you fool,” snarled the gentleman.
As the coach sprang forward, he sank back against the squabs and considered what to do.
Even with the considerable raise in reward, none of his informants had been able to ferret out the whereabouts of the damnable chit.
A visit to the rooms of Mr. Leighton had turned up signs that she had been there but provided no hint of where she might have gone.
If she didn’t turn up in the next hours, he couldn’t afford to chase around any longer. He had an alternative, of course…
He always did.
The walking stick resumed its drumming. He had hoped to avoid putting it into action, for, admittedly, the risk was far greater. But at least it would leave nothing to chance.
* * *
The waves began kicking up into whitecaps as soon as the boat left the shelter of the cove. Low, scudding clouds darkened the horizon around the Isle of Wight, hinting at a stiffening wind and perhaps some rain.
“Can you take the tiller for a moment?” called Davenport as he surveyed the spread of canvas. “I think it might be wise to put a reef in the mainsail, just to be safe.”
Caroline moved from where she had just finished belaying the jib sheet to take over the steering. The earl watched her with grudging approval. “It’s a good thing you weren’t exaggerating your experience in a boat. I fear we are in for a bit of a blow.”
She squinted at the craggy shoreline. “Are there any charts below? How shall we navigate to Portsmouth?”
“If we stay within sight of land, it won’t be a problem. But if we can’t make it there by dusk, it would be best to put into some smaller harbor for the night.”
A frown creased her features. “Why don’t we leave the sail as it is, then? We shall make better time.”
She stood straight up at the stern, head tilted back, chin thrust forward into the teeth of the oncoming weather.
The wind was blowing straight in her face, and her hair, which she hadn’t yet bothered to pin back under her cap, was streaming out past her shoulders like the flying colors of a naval frigate.
Flecks of spray were clinging to her cheeks, and her eyes had a dogged sparkle to them that was not due entirely to the beads of water.
In response to a sudden gust, she instinctively eased up on the tiller so the boat did not lose way.
Davenport found himself grinning in spite of himself—she looked every bit as resolute as a post captain at the helm of a ship of the line. “It may get wet,” he warned, for already, the lee rail was nearly buried in the foaming water.
“I’d rather be wet than delayed yet again.”
“Very well.” And he took another turn of the mainsheet. “Hold on to your hat!”
* * *
A few hours later, Caroline was close to regretting her words.
Not only was she soaked with spray, but the temperature had dropped considerably, so she was chilled to the bone as well.
Her bare fingers were so stiff they could scarcely manage to work the lines that the earl had sent her scrambling to loosen, and the combination of salt and rough hemp had rubbed them raw.
Still, she voiced no complaint. They were fairly flying across the churning sea.
Surely, Portsmouth could not be far off.
“Are you all right?”
Her tongue was too numb with cold to form words. Her reply came out as a mere croak.
Davenport motioned for her to return to the shelter of the cockpit.
She crawled awkwardly back across the slick deck and took a seat beside him.
At the sight of her shivering limbs, his mouth compressed, but just as he began to speak, a sudden squall caught them from astern.
The force of the wind knocked the mast nearly horizontal with the churning seas, sending Caroline sprawling toward the lee gunwale.
Only the earl’s lightning-quick grasp saved her from disappearing beneath the foaming waters.
As it was, her left side was soaked to the skin, which set her teeth to chattering uncontrollably.
Just as suddenly, the wind died, the sky took on a less ominous hue and the seas became calmer.
Davenport threw a leg over the tiller to keep the boat on course, then took Caroline’s hands between his and began chafing them.
She closed her eyes as the warmth started to seep back into her fingers.
Without quite knowing how it happened, when she opened her eyes, she found her head was settling on his shoulder.
“Oh!” She straightened and made a show of brushing the hair back from her cheeks. “Sorry.”
He shrugged out of his coat and draped it over her shoulders.
“No, please. You’ll catch a chill yourself, sir.”
“Nay, the wind has dropped.”
Davenport must have noted that she was still shivering, for he reached out and pulled her closer. As he settled back against the rail, there was a muffled clink against the varnished wood. He reached into the pocket of his coat and extracted the bottle of brandy.
“Here, a swallow of this will help warm you.”
She looked askance, first at the bottle and then at him. “I’m not sure that is a good idea, my lord. The last time you gave me strong spirits, it wasn’t a pleasant experience for either of us.”
Davenport chuckled. “I shall refrain from pouring half the bottle down your throat in this instance.” He took a swig himself and then held it out to her.
After a moment’s hesitation, she accepted and tentatively let a small taste pass her lips. A sharp cough nearly sent it back from where it had come. Her face puckered. “It does set fire to your innards,” she muttered as she passed the bottle back.
The earl merely grunted and placed it back in her hands. “Give it another try.”
The second sip was not nearly so bad. In fact, she decided that, like so many other things, brandy was something rather nice that men had conspired to keep to themselves.
A pleasant tingling began to replace the numbing cold in her limbs.
She sighed and slumped even more heavily against the solid warmth of the earl’s body.
A smile drifted to her face as she listened to the wind in the rigging and the rush of water against the hull.
“What a sail—it was quite exhilarating!”
He chuckled again. “Does nothing dampen your spirits?”
She grinned as drops of spray beaded on her face and shimmered in her hair. “Every other part of me seems to be soaked, but my spirit? I’m afraid I’m a bit like a dog with a bone in his teeth in that regard. I don’t give up very easily.”
His mouth quirked slightly. “So I have seen. But at least you will allow that it wasn’t such a bad idea in consenting to let me come along for the ride. You might have landed in the suds—quite literally—had you attempted this on your own.”
She colored. “I’m not such a slowtop as to think I could have managed as well by myself, sir.
I didn’t want you to come, not because I would have preferred to be alone but rather because I didn’t want to put you in danger.
You were nearly killed last night on my account, and I cannot—I will not—allow it to happen again. ”
Davenport shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m being well paid for it, remember?” he said gruffly. “It’s in my own best interest to see you reach London—I have a desperate need of that money.”
“I see.” A note of coolness crept into her voice. “Well, rest assured that when we land, you may take yourself off, and I will still send you the full amount. You’ve certainly earned it.”
“I didn’t mean—” He cut off his words with an exasperated shake of his head. “You know, you are quite unlike any female I have ever met before.”
“Yes, I know full well I lack the delicate sensibilities that those of my sex are supposed to exhibit in order to please society and attract a gentleman. I’m afraid I’ve never been very good at falling into a faint or succumbing to a fit of vapors when trouble arises.
No doubt that is one of the reasons I shall have little luck in finding a… ”
She stopped short. “Well, it is one of the reasons my cousin has pronounced me an incorrigible hoyden.”