Chapter 13 #3
Davenport mulled over her words while taking another drink.
He found his curiosity was piqued, for he wondered whether he had finally discovered the root of her troubles.
“You speak frequently of this cousin of yours. Were you forced into a marriage you didn’t want?
Is it he you are in love with rather than your husband? Is that who you are fleeing to?”
“I should be well glad if Luc—if my cousin is in London, but I fear he won’t be.” Her expression turned contemplative as she studied her hands for several long moments. The earl had just about decided that no further words would be forthcoming when she spoke again.
“As for being in love with him—of course I love him. He’s been like an older brother to me throughout our childhood. But I can’t imagine having anything but sisterly affection for him. Certainly not to the sort of love you are referring to.”
“Then who are you running to?” A pause. “And who are you running from?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, her eyes seemed to seek out a point way off on the horizon.
He remained silent as well, the tight line of his mouth the only indication of his disappointment in her lack of trust. Taking the tiller in one hand, Davenport lifted the brandy bottle to his lips and took another few gulps.
On nearing the dregs, he offered her a final shot.
“Well, here’s to both of us making it to London in one piece. With the way things have been going, the outcome is still very much in doubt.”
Caroline roused herself from her reverie and downed a goodly mouthful. “Oh, I don’t doubt it at all,” she said. Then she promptly fell asleep against his shoulder.
Davenport’s expression softened into a grudging smile.
He had meant what he had said—she was truly unlike any other female of his acquaintance.
Most people likely missed the vulnerability hidden beneath her pluck and courage.
A glance down at her face, unguarded in repose, showed a bewitching mixture of strength and need.
One thing was certain: she was utterly wrong about what qualities were all that attracted a gentleman’s attention.
The earl steered his thoughts away from those dangerous waters. It would be best to remember why he was here.
As he had said, he needed the money.
Recalling the rest of his recent words made him grimace.
How the devil had he managed to throw her concern for him back in her face in such a churlish way?
With a sigh, he had to acknowledge to himself that it wasn’t the first time he had shown to disadvantage.
His behavior had, for the most part, been less than gentlemanly since he had met her.
No wonder she thought him an ill-tempered dog… Or was it a bear?
In either case, he didn’t like the notion one bit.
But the fact that she found him disagreeable hadn’t prevented her from having a concern for his safety.
It puzzled him. Despite the dire threat to her own life, her thoughts had turned to how she could shield him from further danger.
Not to speak of how she had tended to his wound, cradled him through the jolts of the long journey and then cleaned and stitched the jagged flesh before seeing to her own needs.
It was almost as if she…cared for him. But then, in a trice, her tongue could turn from soothing to scathing.
Maybe it was the brandy, or the fatigue, or the dull ache of the gash in his shoulder, but it all seemed terribly confusing.
Rapacious creditors, sullen tenants, fallow fields—they were all problems he could face without a qualm, he thought glumly.
But a certain young lady seemed to be oversetting his carefully constructed world.
For now, however, he had better put aside all questions regarding the maddening little urchin.
Perhaps at some point, he could make some sense of it all.
The afternoon was fading rapidly. The storm clouds had given way to high, billowing heralds of good weather, which were beginning to take on the luminous pink and orange hues of sunset.
In the distance, a massive ship of the line tacked into view, its towering square sails almost blinding in the golden light.
He hesitated a moment before gently nudging Caroline out of her slumber, somehow loath to let go of the comfortable intimacy between them.
“Where are we?” she mumbled, still muzzy with sleep.
“We’re nearly at Portsmouth—look ahead.”
She sat up, blinking in surprise at the sight of the four-decker flying under full sail toward the Lizard.
“It’s quite awesome, isn’t it? Let us hope our navy can help put an end to Napoleon and all the bloodshed and destruction his visions of grandeur have caused.”
“You have no sympathy for the emperor? Many people on the Continent have welcomed his return with open arms.”
His brow creased. “I can’t imagine any rational person being gulled into believing the man cares for aught but personal glory. And at what cost? The sooner he is stopped, the better—but then, I imagine neither politics nor Napoleon are paramount in your thoughts.”
A small sound rumbled in her throat, but she said nothing in reply.
As they approached the entrance to the harbor, the waters bubbled with activity. Luggers loaded with supplies darted under the bows of merchant ships that were setting out for the Atlantic, and coastal schooners gave way to several frigates that were flying the ensign of the Channel Fleet.
“Best fix your hair,” advised Davenport as he kept a sharp watch on the ships around them.
Caroline found her cap and, with a few deft twists, quickly arranged her locks to fit snugly under the thick wool. There was no further conversation as the earl had to navigate a series of rapid tacks to avoid colliding with a squadron of two-deckers that was taking advantage of the ebb tide.
At last, they rounded the stone breakwater and ghosted into Portsmouth.