Chapter Thirty
WITH THE TRIP TO DRAYbrIDGE being a night terror, Muriel was finding it hard to believe she was living one of her fondest daydreams—atop the castle with dawn’s light bursting over the forest hills, her love at her side. The gentle breeze ruffled through her locks that she had released from its coiffure to flow to her waist in wild curls adorned only with a crown of flowers. With a full heart, she held her true love’s hand. She admired Erik’s strong jawline that was shadowed with a fresh beard and promised faithfulness in sickness and in health. She was so happy that she managed to set aside the ache brought by the absence of her family and friends, along with the fear of Deverell and the Ingrams still roaming free.
Erik had certainly passed the sickness part before any vows had been spoken. He would be a good, true spouse to her and she to him. As the vicar declared them to be husband and wife, she gazed up to her strong husband, confident in his love for her. She was so lost in his presence that the vicar and the servants around her faded, and there was only Erik and the glorious sunrise illuminating his strength and devotion.
She unfastened her gold necklace and slid off her father’s gold wedding band. Tears filled her eyes as she guided it onto Erik’s little finger. Her fathers would be proud of the man she had chosen to be by her side forever.
Erik lifted her hands to his lips, kissing each. He retrieved a stunning gold ring with an emerald surrounded by a halo of diamonds and slipped it on her finger. Before she could properly admire it, he gently tugged her to him. She slid her hands up his arms and behind his neck, drawing him toward her. He needed no encouragement. One hand found the small of her back, his left sliding to her nape as he bent, his lips claiming hers. His kiss deepened as if he had been storing every word left unsaid, every chaste touch, and every passionate gaze for this moment.
Her fingers twined in his hair as she answered his kiss in a fashion that left them both eager for another. At the cough that turned into a hack from the vicar, Erik broke their kiss at last, leaving her flushed and breathless. His roguish grin sent heat speeding through her. He sighed and pressed his forehead to hers as if he wished for the moment to last as much as she. But time was not on their side.
“I fully intend to continue that kiss tonight,” he whispered into her ear. He winked before turning to collect the signed certificate that proclaimed to the world they were legally husband and wife.
He extended his arm to her and led her down the winding stairs to the awaiting coach with his two trunks tied to the back. Even though they had not had much time to discuss it, Erik still hadn’t mentioned where they would be spending their first night together, but she was too dazed from the rapid turn of events to much care where they were going as long as she was with him.
“To the port,” he called to his coachman.
Well, that answers that question.She cleared her throat. “Would you mind if we stop at one of the shops first?” She gestured to his aunt’s gown that his housekeeper and maids had quickly altered for her. There had been precious little they could do to hide the low neckline besides adding a lace shawl to cover her décolletage. “I know time is of the essence with capturing Deverell and Lady Ingram, but I’m hardly presentable in this gown, and if we are to be surrounded by your men—”
He nodded and redirected the coachman to Draybridge’s only dress shop. Unfortunately, the sign to Mrs. Wilson’s Dress Shop was of course flipped to proclaim the shop closed. Erik, not to be deterred, sent the footman to wake the seamstress on behalf of the new countess.
“I’m thrilled you have graced my shop, Miss Beau—I mean Countess Draycott. So much has changed in so little time,” the shop owner prattled as she opened the door. “I can hardly believe we have a new countess at last. What can I do for you?”
“I don’t have much time, but I need a little bit of everything, Mrs. Wilson.” Muriel smiled, gesturing to her gown as she perused the few ready-made items the seamstress had in stock, setting aside anything that caught her fancy.
Mrs. Wilson clicked her tongue and moved about the store, selecting a few ready-made gowns and, after a nod from Muriel to each, setting them on the counter. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting for a couple of hours, we could have the dresses tailored for you and sent to the castle.”
“I’m afraid we do not possess the time. But if you will add thread, needles, and scissors to the order, I can manage.”
The dressmaker eyed her doubtfully. “Truly, Countess, I can have them ready in two hours. There is no need for you to tailor them yourself.”
“Normally I would wait, but my husband and I are departing Draybridge at once.” The dearness of the word husband bathed her heart. She glanced over her shoulder to the window where Erik stood with his back to the shop, speaking to Draybridge’s baker on the opposite side of the street. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation of the baked goods Erik was surely purchasing to break their fast.
“Your husband!” Mrs. Wilson giggled. “So romantic. Yes, if you were married so quickly and quietly, I can understand your wish for being away.” She followed Muriel’s gaze to the unmentionables and nightgowns. The seamstress selected the frilliest of nightgowns with the loveliest lace and added them to the pile.
Muriel selected an emerald gown with a higher neckline and changed as quickly as possible, for every moment she lingered, Deverell and Lady Ingram got farther away from them. She knew from Erik’s increased pacing on the other side of the shop’s windows that she was taking too long. She settled her bill and hurried out of the store, the seamstress and the footman carrying five boxes between them to the coach. “I’m sorry it took me a quarter of an hour. I had to get a few things.” At the stack piled on the seat, her cheeks heated further. He would think her a glutton, but a lady had needs.
“I should have thought of it and arranged for it while you were freshening up this morning.” He pressed a kiss to her hand and helped her inside, settling beside her. “I know it was not the wedding you wished for. After this is all over, we will host a ball at the castle that will be spoken of for years to come.”
“My lord! Your box.”
Erik leaned out the window, retrieved a box from the baker, who was huffing from his trot across the street, and nodded his thanks to the man. He handed the box to Muriel. “But, to celebrate with my countess, I have purchased some cakes and savory pies for our wedding breakfast to eat on the way.”
“Such a thoughtful husband you are.” She smiled up at him and stole a kiss on his cheek, relishing their first quiet moments alone, despite the urgency.
“None of that now,” he whispered, gently taking her face betwixt his hands, kissing her softly. “From now on, I expect you to kiss me properly. Every time.”
She set aside the box, closed the distance between them, and kissed him until he growled and kissed the base of her neck. Her limbs weakened. With a trembling laugh, she scooted away from him—pleased at his protest and smoldering gaze that he had been as affected as she. But, now was not the time for such kisses. She retrieved the box and popped it open with a sigh of delight.
Baked goods consumed and remains set aside, she rested her head on his shoulder, comforted in his strength that they had done the right thing in wedding quickly. Her letters, in which she confirmed her marriage to her parents and friends, would reach London and Chilham in a few hours by courier. She prayed her parents would be happy for her … even though eloping was hardly the way to silence the society matrons. She closed her eyes against the scathing reports she was certain were already circulating in London’s parlors regarding her disappearance from her own engagement party. That doesn’t matter. What matters is that we are both safe and wed. She studied the emerald with the diamonds surrounding it.
“Do you like it?”
“Like? No. I adore it. What’s the story behind it?” She curled her legs beneath her and leaned into his chest, holding out her ring to admire it.
“It belonged to the first Countess of Draycott.” He traced the gem with his fingertip. “And, as much as I wish to stay this way with you, we are about to reach the port. Are you ready to talk about last night and what you learned about Lady Ingram’s involvement? We need to make our plan.”
“It all started when I snuck into the baron’s bedroom.” Muriel rushed through her scandalous tale, recalling as many details as she could that might benefit him, and all too soon, she heard the gulls as they approached the port of Southend-on-Sea where his ship stood, majestic in the lapping waters. The British flag’s colors warmed her heart as it flapped jauntily above the dock, which bustled with sailors loading and unloading ships. At the stern, she spied the name Twilight Lady. Unlike the rest of the ships in the harbor, it looked as fresh as the day the ship was christened.
“Erik,” she whispered. “What about your beard? Don’t you usually grow it out more?”
“It will have to suffice.” Erik hopped out and lifted his hands to her, keeping his hand at her elbow the moment her feet touched the ground, already vigilant in the open.
The salty wind tore at her skirts, and she had to slap a hand on her bonnet to save it from toppling as they rushed across the plank and boarded the ship.
“Captain Warrick.” The man she guessed was second-in-command bowed to her husband. “Welcome back, sir.”
“Adams.” He returned the bow with a dip of his head and gently pulled Muriel forward, his gaze emphasizing the importance of her not forgetting his name. “Allow me to introduce you to my wife, Mrs. Warrick.”
Mrs. Warrick? Her heart stuttered. She had only been thinking of herself as an earl’s wife up until now with the threat on Erik’s life and all, but the wife of his famed privateer alternate identity? The address left her rather breathless. Will Father forgive me for marrying a privateer? She bit her lip. Well, he did say to marry a man of character, not just title, and Erik is the best sort of man.
“Any word, Adams?” Erik accepted a sheet of paper from the young man.
“After we received your message regarding the identity of Requin’s man, Deverell, and the lady spy, we sent scouts across London and to all of their estates. The pair of them have disappeared, Captain Warrick.” Adams frowned, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
“You mentioned estates. Have you checked his cottage in Dover?” Muriel interjected.
The men looked to her.
“Why would we check there, Mrs. Warrick?” Adams asked, his tone kind but confused. “He doesn’t have any holdings there, and we checked his warehouse.”
“There is a chance he simply kept it not in his name, or under his other identity, but in his maternal grandmother’s name. Perhaps if we find him, we will find Lady Ingram as well.”
“That’s brilliant. Do you remember where it is?” Erik asked.
“Oh yes. It is by the sea and quite the darling little place.” Her cheeks flamed at the shocking admission. It had been another time, another place, when she had been infatuated with him. In Erik’s care, she’d come to know true love. “After our drive to Dover, he mentioned he might wish to keep it, as it reminded him of where they came from as their title is relatively new, but that was the very reason his mother wished for him to sell it.”
Erik nodded, his jaw clenching for half a second, betraying his ire at her knowledge of this and, no doubt, how she had come to that knowledge. “Very well. Set sail for Dover, Adams.”
“Captain, I respectfully disagree.” He nodded to Muriel, pressing his lips in an apologetic smile. “I have a man in Dover. Neither Deverell nor his men have been seen.”
“Yes, but Mrs. Warrick knows the man in question. If there is a chance he is hiding out in his family’s cottage, we need to follow through.”
“Captain, I—”
Erik took a step toward him, narrowing his gaze. “Do not forget who is captain here, Adams.”
Adams swallowed and ducked his head. “Yes, sir. I beg your pardon, sir.” He turned on his heel and relayed the orders.
Erik grasped Muriel’s elbow and guided her to the captain’s cabin.
She paused with him outside the door, whispering, “I must apologize. I didn’t mean to cause any contention between you and Adams, and I know how it must have made you feel to know that I knew—”
He drew her inside and closed the door. He pressed his lips to hers. “It matters not. I won.”
She looked up at him. “But Deverell and Lady Ingram are not behind bars.”
“You are mine and I am yours. Deverell has lost his hold on you forever.”
Her stomach growled, ruining their perfect moment.
He ran his hand over the back of his neck. “In my zeal to keep you safe from Requin and his informants, I’ve neglected to provide more than just our breakfast. You are going to have to allow me to make it up to you once this business is concluded.” He strode to the door. “I’ll find something and bring you a tray. We should be arriving in Dover by this evening.”
She took in the captain’s cabin for the first time. Located at the stern of the ship, there was a bay window with a marvelous view of the dock as the ship sailed away, the workers and passengers milling about growing smaller and smaller as the sea overtook the distance. She imagined what it would be like to awaken to the sea each morning, for with this capture, he would surely be awarded another letter of marque to finish the job. She tsked over the sturdy, serviceable bedclothes in faded navy. Perhaps a shop in Dover would have something she could purchase straightaway while she ordered the fine cloth a man of Erik’s station should have to dress his bed. She ran her fingers over the richly carved, stained paneled walls and burgundy curtains, smiling at the masculinity of it all. She couldn’t, or rather shouldn’t, change too much at once. A spot of color here or there would certainly add a much-needed touch of femininity.
A light tap sounded at the door, and Erik appeared with a heavy-laden tray piled with tea, a loaf of freshly baked bread, cheese, and fruits. He set the repast on the table that she discovered was bolted into the floor. At a quick perusal, it appeared all the furniture was bolted down besides the two chairs. She twisted her hands. She would hate to discover why that was the case. As a captain’s wife, she needed to keep her fears to herself. Such a thing as a fear of storms would not do in convincing Erik that she was a worthy cabinmate. She smiled up at him. “Thank you, my husband.”
He grinned at the name. “Normally we would not have fresh fruit after we leave the port, but unlike most voyages, we will reach our destination within hours. So, if you decide sailing isn’t for you, you will not have to endure it for long, wife.”
“Surely you do not think me so weak as to surrender so quickly?” She laughed and reached for the knife to slice the bread, the sawing of the hardened sourdough crust grating her ears.
Erik grimaced and acquired the knife from her. “You might, as our cook is less than proficient with the oven.” He tore off the corner of the loaf and handed it to her before taking a piece for himself and snagging a slice of cheese. “I must see to my duties. Enjoy your luncheon, wife. I would suggest dunking your bread into the hot tea first. More than one sailor has chipped his tooth on Cook’s fine bread.”
She popped the fruit into her mouth, sweetening her lips before pressing a kiss to his cheek.
He crossed his arms, shaking his head. “My dear Mrs. Warrick, what did we just discuss about kissing?”
“How about you remind me, Captain Warrick?” She looked up at him through her lashes.
He reminded her. Thoroughly.
Goodness.Breathless, she smoothed back her hair. She would never grow used to kissing him whenever she pleased. “Have a good morning, husband.”
She returned to the table, knocking the bread on the wooden surface. It could be the cornerstone of a house. She dusted off her hands. Well, she may not be of any use to anyone aboard the vessel, but she could certainly bake. Perhaps that would be the key for allowing her to set sail with Erik wherever his mission took him. After eating what she was able, she donned her most modest spencer and slipped out of the room. She nodded to any sailors in passing and searched until she found the ship’s kitchen. The room was so cramped she wondered how a chef might produce a meal for a small family, much less a crew. A rotund man in a disgusting mottled apron perched atop an overturned barrel at the corner of the room. He was peeling a mound of potatoes as a young man beside him, in an equally revolting apron, washed them in filthy water before chopping them and plunking them into a pot of boiling water one by one. She inwardly grimaced at the sludge such a technique would produce.
The cook, spying her at last, scrambled to his feet and nodded to her. “You must be the captain’s bride.” He inclined his head. “Can I be of help to you, Mrs. Warrick?”
“Actually …” She examined the kitchen. It was in sore need of a good deep cleaning. Her focus landed on the stove, which was old and smaller than she had hoped. She had made do with less in a pinch. “I was hoping to help you.”
He blinked. “Pardon?”
She nodded to the stove. “Would you mind if I tried baking something for the captain’s table and crew?”
He grimaced, gesturing to his pile of potatoes he’d yet to peel. “I don’t really have the time to teach you, Mrs. Warrick. I cannot be late with the crew’s meal. They get mighty crabbed if I am.”
She folded her hands before her skirts. “Allow me to give it a go this once, and if you abhor my baking, I promise I will never set foot in your kitchen again. I thought to start off with some simple rolls.”
He sighed. “Seeing that you are my captain’s wife, I can’t rightly say no, as I have the ingredients.”
Grinning, she rolled up the sleeves of her spencer and set to work, praying they would rise in time. After successfully baking enough rolls for the crew, the captain’s table, and some for the cook to sample, she set to work on a simple cake. Every bride needed a wedding cake, but as she lacked enough time for icing and decorating, she decided upon the simplest of chocolate cakes dusted in powdered sugar.
As she carefully carried the finished cake to the cabin to await Erik’s return from his duties, she caught her reflection in a small looking glass hanging above his desk and gritted her teeth at her unsightly hair. From the heat of the kitchen and a few hours of ocean air, her curls had turned positively feral. She reached for her brush to make herself presentable, longing not for the first time for her pretty pink muslin, or at least something more formfitting than the gown from the shop in Draybridge. She withdrew the delicate silk shawl and wrapped it about her shoulders for a bit of color. At the sound of boots outside the door, she assumed her seat at the table, arranging her hair just so as Erik stepped inside, looking dashing in his captain’s coat.
His chocolate eyes widened at the sight of her hair down, flicking to the cake atop the table and back to her hair.
She twisted the lock hanging to her waist before her. “I know it is quite tempestuous. If you give me a moment, I can pin it up.”
“I like it down.” He reached out and twined a lock in his fingers. “It reminds me of the first time we met … when your braid flowed past your waist.”
“I made you something.”
His gaze lingered on her before he sat at the table as she sliced him a piece and waited for him to sample it before having her own.
“Divine. You are a wonder.” He finished off the slice in an impressive five bites. “I’d love to linger, but I thought you’d like to see the coast. We are approaching, and I remember you saying how you wished to see the cliffs of Dover from the sea—”
She squealed and shoved back the chair, grasping his hand as she ran for the door.
“What about the cake?”
“I’ll make another!”