Chapter 14
Fourteen
Davenport chose to put in at a dock where a score of burly sailors was engaged in wrestling a cargo of barrels loaded with salt pork up the gangplank of a barge.
Amid the curses, grumblings and harried admonitions of the young lieutenant in charge, nobody took note of the small vessel that was dropping sail on the far side of the pilings or its two nondescript occupants.
The earl made sure the canvas was neatly furled and the mooring lines securely fastened to the massive iron cleats before taking Caroline by the elbow and hustling her toward the alleyway that was cutting between a ship’s chandlery and a sailmaker’s loft.
Her first steps were somewhat unsteady, causing his grip to tighten.
“Steady,” he hissed in her ear. “Walk smartly, now. The less attention we attract, the better.” He gave a quick glance around. “And let us hope the press gangs are not out tonight,” he added under his breath. That would entail a good deal of explaining that he would dearly like to avoid.
“Stop yanking me about. I’m quite capable of making my own way,” she muttered. “In fact, you can—”
He shook her into silence as they emerged from the alley onto a busier cobbled street. A group of men staggered past them, singing an extremely bawdy song and laughing uproariously as they struggled to remember all of the verses. Caroline eyed them until they were out of earshot.
“What is a sodomite?” she whispered to Davenport. “And how does he…”
“Never mind!” snapped the earl as he gave her arm another shake.
“Ouch!”
He let go of her. “Ye gods, keep your head down. And turn the collar of your jacket up.”
He hurried her through the glow of lamplight from a tavern window. The noise that was coming from within its smoky confines gave evidence that the place was not lacking in either clientele or high spirits.
Davenport came to a halt after they passed into the shadows. “I need to go ask from which inn the coaches depart for London.” He hesitated as he looked around, contemplating what to do…only to spot two gentlemen as they emerged from the tavern and turned in their direction.
“Hell and damnation,” swore the earl. “It’s my friend, Lord Hartford. He’s bound to recognize me, and given that our nemesis knows my name, that could put us in danger.”
“Well, then do something,” whispered Caroline. “And quickly!”
* * *
Davenport muttered something under his breath, then suddenly seized her around the waist and pushed her back against the brick wall. His lips came down on hers, hard at first, then softening as if he, too, were as surprised by his actions as she was.
Caroline’s first impulse was to pull away. But for some reason, after the initial shock, she merely tilted her head back in order to voice a protest.
“Hush,” he murmured as his lips left hers for a moment. “Trust me—they will quickly depart.”
His mouth was back against hers in the next instant, and his tongue was brushing her lips in a manner that was most…
intriguing. The sensation sent a jolt of heat through her, as potent as the earlier taste of brandy—and nearly as intoxicating.
It was, she realized, utterly unlike any of the few kisses she had allowed her admirers to steal during a walk in the garden.
Those had been, at heart, rather silly affairs.
There was nothing silly about the earl’s embrace.
As she tried to speak again, his embrace turned even more intimate. A shiver coursed through her. He tasted exotic—a mixture of fiery spirits and the tang of the sea. Feeling a bit dazed, Caroline wound her arms around his neck to steady herself. The earl drew her closer—
Somehow, she was aware that the footsteps that had been coming toward them had stopped.
“What the devil…” sputtered one of the men, disgust evident through the slur of drink.
“Call out the watch,” exclaimed his companion. “The filthy scoundrels should be clapped in irons and thrown in the gaol.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Caroline saw them retreat a few paces, then turn and hurry off in the opposite direction. Freeing her mouth from Davenport’s kiss, she drew in a gulp of air and managed to find her voice.
“I…I think they are gone.”
“Mmmmm.” His lips traced a feathery path along the curve of her jaw. “Are they?”
It was another moment before he slowly released her.
Shaken, Caroline drew back a step and began to fiddle with rearranging her cap, which had fallen sadly askew.
Though her clothes were still uncomfortably damp from the storm and the chill in the night air had deepened, she felt hot all over.
The darkness, she hoped, would cover the fact that her face must have been several shades redder than normal.
That the earl appeared totally unaffected by what had just transpired didn’t help her composure.
“T-That was very clever of you, milord. But how did you guess such an…action would drive them away?”
Davenport took her firmly by the arm. “Perhaps your dear cousin will explain it to you at some later date—I most certainly will not.” He started marching her away from the harbor.
“But…”
“Kindly refrain from any further questions. Your garments may fool most onlookers in this darkness, but your voice will give you away, especially among this sort of crowd,” he growled.
Caroline drew in a sharp breath but did as he asked. In truth, she was having a hard enough time just concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other to think of something scathing.
* * *
The duke grasped the gunwales of the lurching ship to keep from being tossed across the rainswept deck. Next to him, Lucien turned up the collar of his borrowed oilskin and shouted to be heard over the groaning of the rigging and the snap of wet canvas.
“The captain thinks the weather will break in another hour or two. Then he should be able to set us back on course.”
His uncle merely drummed his palms against the varnished rail and stared out into the roiling blackness. The wind had increased to near gale force, and all around them, men were scurrying up the ratlines to reduce sail.
“Come below, Uncle Thomas,” urged Lucien. “It does no good to stay up here. You must try to get some rest.”
Another wave crashed into the hull, sending a shudder through the oak timbers and rattling the brass six-pounders in their casings.
The duke shook the water from his sodden coat and reluctantly followed his nephew down the narrow hatchway and into the officer’s wardroom.
The two of them hunched forward to keep from knocking their heads in the cramped space as a young midshipman materialized to take their wet outer garments away.
The first lieutenant stumbled in right on their heels.
“Your pardon, Your Grace,” he said. “The captain sends word that he will remain on deck until midnight watch, but he begs you to make use of his cabin for the remainder of the voyage.”
“And how long will that be?”
The man began to scratch at his chin, then remembered in whose presence he was. The speedy sloop and its crew were more used to carrying dispatches than important passengers. He straightened as best he could before replying.
“The barometer is dropping, Your Grace, so the wind should die down soon. Now, with the weather coming from the north and the taffrail showing a speed of…”
The duke fixed him with an impatient glare.
“Ah, I should think we will land around daybreak.”
“Thank you,” replied the duke, in a tone that indicated nothing less than dismissal.
The man slunk off.
Turning to Lucien, his uncle pulled a face and started to make his way aft.
“I suppose you are right. Since the Fates seem to be conspiring against us, let us see if we can at least manage to snatch some sleep in this cursed weather.” Another lurch caused him to grab onto the edge of the table to keep his balance.
“This damned ship is worse than a skittish hunter. May Neptune grant us the speed to touch down on English soil as soon as possible.”
He reached the door of the cabin and yanked it open. Lucien followed him into a space that was barely bigger than a horse stall at Roxbury Manor.
“Thank heavens that I never felt the urge to make the navy my career,” he mumbled as he hauled himself into a hammock that had been hastily strung up in a corner of the cabin while the duke wedged himself into the captain’s berth.
A groan rumbled in his throat—one that was quickly echoed by his uncle.
The sounds grew more pronounced each time the rough sea knocked the ship on its ear.
After a while, the duke gave up even a semblance of trying to sleep. He struggled back up to a sitting position and stared glumly at the small oil lamp that was rolling wildly on its gimbals.
“If only Caroline would learn to temper her penchant for taking risks,” he murmured out loud, though he was speaking more to himself than to his nephew.
“Heaven knows she has more courage and wits than most, but she seems driven at times to foolhardiness.” He shook his head. “Would that I knew why.”
Lucien heard every word, but he hesitated in replying. There were times, it seemed, when his uncle still considered him a child with only a child’s grasp of reality. How would the duke react to hearing a truth that may strike him as rather harsh?
Another wave crashed into the side.
Deciding that perhaps this moment was as good a time as any to test the waters, Lucien summoned the courage to speak up. “Do you really wish to know?”
The duke sat up straighter. “O-Of course I do!”
Lucien took a deep breath, then plunged on. “I think Caro is under the impression that she is, well, a…disappointment to you.”
The duke’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “Why, of all the absurd things! Surely, she cannot think that!”
“She isn’t a male,” said Lucien simply.
“For God’s sake, what difference does that make?” he cried. “She is my child! I love her beyond anything.”
“Have you told her that?”
“I, well, that is… Surely, she must know.” A note of uncertainty had crept into his normally self-assured tone.
“Uncle Thomas,” said Lucien quietly. “I think she needs to hear it. You can be demanding, sir—sometimes it is hard to know whether one has lived up to your high standards. And for her, the task is even more daunting. As a female of keen intelligence and determination, she sometimes finds her role in society very…confusing.”
The duke looked shaken. “I…I hadn’t realized that I was so unfair.”
“No, not unfair. I didn’t mean that at all. You set high standards, and the two of us have both benefited from that, but in Caro’s case, she is harder on herself than you will ever be. For you see, only she can learn to forgive herself for not being the heir.”
The timbers of the ship creaked and groaned, and the beam of light rocked wildly, one moment illuminating a part of the duke’s face, then the next moment leaving it in complete darkness.
Lucien could see only that his uncle’s fingers were steepled under his chin, but he couldn’t make out his expression.
When finally the duke spoke again, it was barely above a whisper. “You have been infinitely more perceptive than I have, Lucien. How could I be so blind?” He released a sigh. “I…thank you for your advice.”
“You are very welcome, sir.”