Chapter Twelve
MURIEL FLUFFED HER EMERALD SLEEVES, admiring how the rich color complimented her chocolate eyes and hoping that a certain captain would take notice of them under the starlight in Vauxhall Gardens. Stop this at once, Muriel Beau. You well know the consequences of fantasizing affections where there are none on his part. She straightened her shoulders. She should be thinking of the viscount, a highly eligible match beyond her imaginings. She supposed given Lord Traneford’s line of work, his remaining single was preferred, as surely a gentleman did not wish a wife to join him on his research trips that would undoubtedly bring him in contact with all sorts of danger. She was fortunate enough that Lord Traneford had become available during her season in London. At the sound of the front door shutting, all thoughts of Traneford vanished. Erik was here! She sped to the gilded looking glass to place the finishing touches on her dark locks and tug the curls framing her face and the nape of her neck into place.
“He will fall in love with you before the evening is out, Muriel,” Charlotte encouraged her, adjusting the strand of beads woven into Muriel’s high coiffure. “And by ‘he,’ I mean the man who has truly caught your attention.”
Muriel felt her cheeks warm. “Erik Draycott may have caught my attention, but he is still heavily focused on the sea. He has no desire for a wife as far as I can tell, and as Lady Ingram said, I do not have time to wait for him to notice me.” No matter how much I wish he would.
She made haste down the stairs, her slightly more sensible evening slippers for the gardens sounding her arrival before she appeared in the parlor where Erik stood, hat in hand, looking magnificent in his biscuit-colored knee breeches and navy long-tailed coat that were well tailored, leaving no doubt of the powerful man sporting them. She skidded her gaze to his strong jawline and met his smile with her own. Goodness, it was going to be difficult not to allow herself to fall completely in love with a man who had come to know her so well and still did not judge her harshly, especially an honorable Corinthian that cut such a fine figure.
“Where are Sir Alexander and Lady Ingram?” She glanced to the clock on the mantel. Surely, she had not lingered so long before the looking glass?
“They were departing as I arrived. I believe Lord Traneford sent a note asking for them to pick up him and his mother.” He cleared his throat. “There was not room for me in the coach with the addition, and as they did not wish me to travel alone to our destination, Sir Alexander suggested I attend with you. Lady Ingram was rather put out with the suggestion, but in the end, acquiesced. Do you mind?”
Mind? I daresay I prefer it.She shook her head, proud of herself for keeping such a thought to herself. “They said it was proper?”
“They trust me as a son.”
She followed him to the door, ignoring Charlotte’s wide, knowing smile as she placed Muriel’s wrap about her shoulders. Muriel prayed he did not notice as she rested her hand in his and allowed him to help her inside the awaiting hackney.
“My apologies. I did not plan on having my own coach for tonight.”
“Please, my lord, think nothing of it. So the Ingrams trust you like a son? When did you serve with Sir Alexander?”
“I was actually the cabin boy on his merchant ship.”
“Oh? Being a fellow merchant is how Sir Alexander knows my father so well—though I believe they also were schoolmates.” By his knitting brows, she knew she was rambling again. She rushed to explain, “My stepfather made his fortune in the tea trade.” Steer the conversation back to Erik! “So tell me, what sort of man of war do you captain?”
He cleared his throat. “You don’t really wish to know all that, do you?”
“I do. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”
“Most women tend to avoid the topic.”
“I am not most women.” He certainly did not seem like a patronizing sort of man. Why is he being so guarded over such a simple question? The coach jolted her against the walls, and she reached for the leather strap hanging from the roof to steady herself, scowling at his evasiveness. The drive was far too short for her to inquire further at the moment. She would learn more about the man. She only needed the right baked good to break down his defenses.
The coach halted and he unlatched the door and hopped out, extending his gloved hand to her. She placed her hand in his, her heart beating wildly within her breast at his touch. He threaded her hand through his arm, and she nearly sighed from the comfort of being near him—her only true friend in London besides Charlotte. She lifted her gaze and blinked, finding herself not in gardens of any sort. They were at the edge of the Thames, where a row of gondolas bobbed in the current. If she were with any other gentleman, she would be alarmed. “Why aren’t we taking the bridge?”
“It was my understanding that you’ve never been to Vauxhall before. Is that correct?”
“Yes, but—”
“There is no better way to see it for the first time than the famed water entrance of old.” He nodded to the vessels at the dock, leading her to the first available gondola.
Her pulse hummed. She had dreamed of a gondola ride alongside her dearest one ever since she read about it in Vivienne’s debut novel three years ago. She bit her lip. This was going to be difficult. It was as if he were trying to make her fall in love with him.
He leapt into the gondola, landing with such ease it barely swayed under his weight. “Are you coming, my lady baker?”
She grinned. Gripping her silk shawl tight against her, she leapt as well. The little boat careened to the side and his arm slid around her waist as she flung her arms about his neck, praying she did not fall into the river and ruin the night. Anchored to him in a forbidden embrace, she lifted her face to his and her breath left her at the closeness of his full lips to hers.
With her arms about his neck, arms that possessed a silkiness to them despite years of working in her bakery, it was all Erik could do not to shift forward those few inches and kiss her. He cleared his throat and slowly released her. He grasped her hand instead as he assisted her to the velvet-covered seat at the end of the gondola before sitting across from her on the seat reserved for companions.
“Sir? Why would you sit there with such a lovely lady present?” The gondolier motioned with his hand. “Please join the lady. The view is much better when you enter the gardens.”
He gritted his teeth. He did not have time to indulge in this passing fancy of love and marriage. He was a privateer. His calling was to the seas … was it not? He had just enough time to take one last voyage against Requin once he was well enough to leave. It was necessary that he stay focused—nevertheless, he found himself saying, “Is that agreeable with you, Muriel?”
“I’m certain it has been years since you’ve seen the gardens yourself. I’d be loath for you to miss the view.” She scooted to the far end of the seat, leaving ample room for him to join her.
He settled beside her, knowing that anyone in passing would assume they were either married or courting. It wasn’t fair to her. And yet the proximity was enough to make his blood hum. Distract yourself. “So the Ingrams have told me you have brothers.”
She smiled up at him. “I have three. Frederick is five, Charles is three, and little Declan hasn’t even reached half a year.” Her eyes grew misty, and she pressed her hand to her lips. “Pardon me. It’s rather difficult to be apart from them.”
“I have no experience with siblings. I imagine it is painful to be away, especially with the wee one so young.”
Muriel blinked the tears from her eyes. “Indeed. Do you have anyone you miss while at sea?”
He shook his head, gazing out on the Thames as the murky brown river lapped at the small vessel, sounds of merrymaking flowing from the gardens to the river. “I know I told you that my parents died when I was quite young, and I was sent to live with my uncle and aunt. However, I did not disclose the catalyst for my taking to the sea. After the same illness that took my mother and father seized hold of my aunt, my uncle spent a significant amount of his fortune on trips to the seaside and various treatments in hopes of her recovering. He eventually purchased an estate by the sea to accommodate her needs, which put the castle in dire straits. I volunteered to become a ship’s boy to keep from further burdening my relatives.”
“How old?”
“Eight years. I was rather old for beginning the position, but my uncle’s childhood friend, Alexander Ingram, awarded me the opportunity. I took to the sea with a joy I had never known. Certainly, I had a happy childhood at Draycott Castle whenever Captain Ingram spent the winter season ashore, but the sea spoke to a side of me that I had not known existed. I worked as a cabin boy until my sixteenth year when my aunt died and my uncle requested I return to Draycott Castle to study to take over the earldom.”
“And when the war began a decade ago? What happened then?”
He forced his limbs to relax. He disliked veiling the truth. It is for her own safety. She cannot know this side of me. “After two years of diligent study, I returned to sea under the command of Captain Ingram in the winter of 1803 at the age of eighteen.”
While privateering was far from illegal if one followed the charter, it wasn’t exactly a position the Ingrams or he wished to disclose to anyone. It was too gray of an area for the nobility to think acceptable in their polite society. When the war began, Ingram had turned from simple merchant shipping and reassumed his privateering identity for the Crown. For five years Erik sailed under his command—five hard years in which he struggled to balance obedience and his own conscience. He had never taken a life or drawn a drop of blood at the time. While some of the crew mocked him, Ingram protected him. Then Ingram was injured and passed the name of Warrick on to him. Under his control, Erik swore to himself to change the way the Twilight Treader was commanded. Thus far, he had never had to fire upon a single ship. Even without violence, Warrick struck terror into any sailor’s heart—along with the flag the original privateer had created declaring it was he, black with crossbones over a sinking ship. Either was enough to inspire surrender.
“I stayed under Ingram’s command for five years until his leg was injured. Then he was knighted for his services to the Crown and retired. At three and twenty, I was granted the position of captain and continue his legacy to this day.” There. That was not a lie.
They arrived at the Water Gate entrance and, tossing two shillings to the proprietor, Erik helped her from the swaying gondola. “Close your eyes, Miss Beau.”
Instead of viewing the entrance to the gardens, he kept his eyes on her as they stepped through the archways. “Open your eyes.” He laughed in delight as her eyes widened and full lips parted in wonder. She clasped her hands at her slender throat at the sight of the lanterns hanging from the trees and minstrels playing their merry tunes as servants on their night off danced beneath the stars.
“Oh. Erik. It’s splendid.”
Did she know what she did to him when she called him by name? No one addressed him as Erik anymore. It was always Captain or my lord or Draycott. The tenderness she injected into his Christian name was enough to soften the hardest of privateers’ hearts. What if Ingram’s refusal to bestow a new contract was in reality a blessing from the Lord? What if God really was calling him to return home to care for the village of Draybridge? Or is it simply the vivacity of Miss Beau that is muddling my brain?