21. His Lady
HIS LADY
The sun was beginning to set when The Domus carriage drew up to an almost empty-looking shipyard.
The Phantom Gale was no longer in dry dock, but bobbed idly a short distance out on the river. The mast towered unwavering and skeletons of the sail etched sharply against the fading sky.
Nell had sent word earlier that Rose was bringing an urgent message for the captain. Someone had passed it along to Mr. Dyer, and one of The Gale’s smaller boats now waited at the river stairs. Two sailors sat at the oars. A third held the boat steady against the steps.
“Miss Darling?” the man asked.
Rose nodded.
“Captain Preston approved your visit. Mr. Dyer said we were to bring you straight out.”
Rose drew in a shuddering breath. With three men waiting on her, she forced herself to nod, then placed her trembling hand in the sailor’s and stepped into the small craft.
It dipped beneath her weight, bobbing and shifting on the dark water. Rose caught herself as the hull rocked, while the river lapped softly against its sides.
Moments later, the oars dipped in, and the boat pulled away from the docks—unsteady beneath her, much as she felt herself.
Carrying her toward the ship.
Toward the only man she had ever wanted to be completely honest with.
The man she intended to deceive.
So intent on everything that could go wrong, Rose hardly noticed how far they had traveled until a shadow fell across the small boat. She looked up.
The Phantom Gale towered above them.
And as she tilted her head back farther, she saw Reginald, standing at the rail.
He wore only shirtsleeves and a waistcoat, his dark hair tossed by the river breeze in that careless way she had grown so fond of.
Even from below, Rose felt the full weight of his attention.
He knew she was coming. He’d be waiting for her answer.
The realization sent a sharp flutter through her stomach.
But there was no time for that as the sailors drew the boat alongside the much larger vessel.
A rope dropped from above, and one of the men caught it, pulling them snug against the ship.
A narrow ladder had been lowered over the side as well, two stout ropes strung through at least a dozen wooden slats.
It swayed slightly with the movement of the vessel on the water.
Rose stared up at it, wide eyed. The prospect of boarding had been far less daunting from shore.
“Take your time, miss,” the sailor beside her said. “She’ll move beneath you, but we have you.”
He steadied Rose as she stood, gathering her skirts in one hand and gripping the rope with the other. The boat rocked beneath her feet, and her breath caught.
Then Reginald appeared at the top of the ladder, the loose hair around his face dangling toward her as he looked straight down.
“Just a few steps, Rose.”
More than a few, actually.
The little boat tapped against the side of The Phantom Gale, waves slapping between them. It seemed somewhat silly to worry about now, but she’d never actually climbed a ladder like this before. Nor did she know how to swim.
Something she would have considered if she—
Well, it only mattered for now.
Gripping the ropes, Rose tested the first rung with the toe of her slipper.
It dipped beneath her foot, the ladder shifting against the ship’s side.
“That’s my girl,” Reginald said above her. “One step at a time.”
She tightened her hold and drew herself up. For one breathless moment, she hung there, the river moving below her and the ropes trembling in her hands.
But Reginald was close.
And somehow, with him watching over her, Rose knew she was safe.
She found the next rung. Then the next.
Before she quite realized she had reached the top, Reginald’s hands were under her arms and he’d lifted her over the railing and onto the deck.
The ship shifted beneath her, sending Rose stumbling into him.
But she never came close to falling.
Reginald’s arm came around her, firm and sure, holding her against him.
“Steady, love,” Reginald murmured.
One heartbeat passed. Then another. Neither moved.
Reginald smoothed his hands down her arms, his silver eyes fixed on hers as though he might find the answer to his question there.
Rose saw the hope in them. Fragile. But guarded.
Had she come because she had chosen him?
The question hovered between them.
But he did not ask it.
Rose lowered her gaze before he could see the truth.
Reginald released her, though his hand lingered briefly at her waist.
“Reg,” Dyer called. “What about Sedgewick? Thought you were meeting him for supper to settle things.”
But all of Reginald’s attention seemed fixed on Rose, as though the rest of the ship had ceased to exist.
“Tell him not to wait on me.” He waved one distracted hand. “We’ll settle everything tomorrow.”
Mr. Dyer paused, but only briefly. “Aye, Captain.”
Without further hesitation, the first mate stepped onto the rope ladder and disappeared over the side, climbing down to the small boat below.
“Captain?” another man prompted. “Do you want the last of the water casks brought aboard tonight, or wait till morning?”
Reginald blinked, as though only then remembering that anyone else stood upon the deck.
“Tonight,” he said. “We’ll want everything secured before the tide turns.”
Then, almost as an afterthought, he gestured toward the men.
“Rose, this is Mr. Bell, our boatswain. And this is Mr. Finch. Gentlemen, this is Miss Rose Darling.”
Both men greeted her politely, though something flickered in Mr. Bell’s eyes before he looked away.
Likely, he recognized her from The Domus.
Rose’s cheeks warmed.
Reginald turned back to her. “Would you like a tour of her?”
Of her?
The Phantom Gale.
Rose had come to finish this quickly. She had spent the entire journey telling herself there was no kindness in delaying it. And yet, now that she stood beside him, she wanted more time. More moments in which he still looked at her this way.
“Yes,” she said. “I’d like that very much.”
Reginald led her across the main deck, pointing out the new rigging and the repairs to the mast. For a few moments, he was wholly the captain again—certain, at ease, speaking of tides and canvas as though they were things he understood down to the bone.
But his attention kept returning to her.
“How have you been?” he asked. “Did you manage to save the blue gown?”
Rose blinked. She had mentioned the torn hem only once.
“I did.”
“Good.” His hand settled at the small of her back as he guided her around a coil of rope, lingering…
“And the perfume? Did it come out the way you wanted it?”
“Nearly.”
He smiled, but his eyes searched her face again, as though he was hungry for every small thing he had missed.
Rose answered him quietly, memorizing the warmth of his hand, the sound of his voice, the way he kept looking at her as though he could not quite believe she had come.
Soon enough, she would have to say goodbye.
And as he proudly took her around, she tried to listen.
But mostly, she watched him.
She watched the easy way he moved. The way the sailors stepped aside without fear but with unmistakable respect. The way his hand brushed the rail as though the ship were something alive beneath his palm.
This was his Domus.
The place that had taken him in when England no longer felt like home.
Once they’d finished touring the open deck, Reginald led her into the cabin at the back end of the ship—the stern, he said it was called.
His quarters were larger than Rose had expected, though still plain compared to the rooms at The Domus. A narrow bed stood against one wall. Maps and charts covered another. The back wall was composed almost entirely of a series of wide windows that looked out over the Thames. Below it, a desk.
And in the center of the room, two chairs had been placed at a table, where silver covers—and the savory aromas—promised an elegant meal beneath them.
Candles burned in polished holders. A bottle of wine had been opened.
Rose stopped in the doorway.
“You arranged all this?”
“When I got word you were coming…” A faint uncertainty crossed his face. “I had hoped you’d stay long enough to enjoy it.”
Hope again.
Sharp enough to wound.
Mr. Bell said something from just outside, and Reginald answered before closing the door.
For the first time in weeks, they had the privacy they’d not dared allow themselves for nearly a month.
The quiet was charged. Thick. Much like the air right before a violent thunderstorm.
Rose could hear the soft creak of timber around them. The muted lap of water against the hull. Her own heart beating far too quickly.
His eyes met hers. “There is no urgent message from The Domus,” he said.
It was not a question.
Rose clasped her hands before her. “No.”
But before she could begin, his expression changed. As though something broke open inside of him.
“You came.”
There was… happiness in his voice.
“Reginald—”
“You came to me.”
He believed she had chosen him.
Rose saw it in his eyes. In the sudden ease of his shoulders. In the wonder of his smile.
Tell him. Tell him now.
She opened her mouth.
But then he was before her, his hand rising to cradle her face.
“Rose.”
He kissed her softly at first, and Rose, God help her, could only resist for a few seconds before she melted.
The deck seemed to dip beneath her feet and she had no idea if it was the river or having his mouth on hers.
It didn’t matter.
There was nothing cautious in this kiss. None of the careful restraint he’d shown ever since that first night at The Domus.
Reginald gathered her against him, and Rose clutched at his waistcoat, kissing him with every desperate thing she couldn’t say.
Her fingers found the buttons of his waistcoat, tugging.
He wanted her.
Rose wanted him.
Her mouth opened beneath his, and he kissed her with a hunger that felt almost desperate, as though stopping might somehow make her disappear.
Rose pushed his coat from his shoulders. Then she freed his shirt from his breeches.
She had done much the same in the garden that first night.
But then, he had been a stranger.
He wasn’t now.
Now she knew the sound of his laughter. The gentleness of his hands. The passionate heart he kept hidden beneath all that control.
Now, when she heard his breath break against her lips, Rose knew the truth she had fought too long to name.
She loved him.
She loved the man she had come aboard to deceive.