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‘Precipitous? Extreme? Dire?’ Crispin rattled off the trio of adjectives, amused by his friend’s fractured English.
‘Sudden.’ Ferris smiled, a swift flash of white teeth in the darkness. ‘Severe.’
Crispin leaned against the wooden railing and eyed the waters of the North Sea. He pulled a thin leather strip from his pocket and tied back his too-long hair while he considered his friend’s comment. Ferris was correct in notice, the decision to return to England made with certainty, though it was hardly unforeseen. Crispin had contemplated the when of it every morning since arriving in Venice. ‘I’ve had this trip in mind for weeks.’ He wouldn’t confess the notion lived in his brain always. The time had come to return home and face the problems he’d left behind. ‘It’s more shocking that you’ve decided to accompany me.’
‘I have many acquaintances in London.’ Again, the charming smile appeared in the stillness of early morning. Ferris lived life by his own rules. As a wealthy count, he kept the world in his pocket, a plaything to amuse him. ‘I’m curious of this Underworld establishment and the men who own it. Besides, Venice will be boring without you, amico mio.’
‘Ah, so we discover the truth of the matter.’ Crispin glanced to his friend and then back to the endless blue tides. ‘I worry for you. You’ll find this voyage boring and then England, a pale comparison to the lifestyle to which you’re accustomed. The two cities have very little in common. This trip alone may depress you. How will you survive three weeks without a female in your bed?’
As if the crew conspired to underscore his suggestion, two burly sailors approached the railing and deposited a stack of crates three paces from where they stood. The workers’ scent carried on the breeze, subtle as of the moment, but unmistakably pungent and indicative of men who lived without a home, bound to wherever the sea took them, far removed from polite society.
Ferris noticed too. Crispin followed his gaze, as if the count only realized now to what he’d committed himself. All around them the industrious crew worked to prepare for the voyage. Sailors shimmied up the mainmast to tighten ropes and secure knots, others belayed nets to pins or hurried across the assorted decks to set all to rights before they underwent the sea. Crispin took it in with a satisfactory glance, the sun’s first light limning the bow to reveal the fine vessel in an outline of muted white. Sails were run up their masts to beckon everyone aboard despite the hour remained early, departure set for just after dawn.
‘No women. That’s a horrible truth.’ Ferris scanned the waist and upper decks, then lifted his gaze to the sky overhead as if wishing for an angel to fall from the darkness. ‘And the sky is the colour of sadness. Your miserable company will have to suffice.’
They shared a chuckle before they fell silent. Crispin kept his eyes on the ocean, turbulent in kind to his emotions of late, a reminder the three-week journey would be his last chance to sort through the problems in his life. It wasn’t the debt he’d left behind that troubled him. The gaming opportunities of Italy had assisted in his handsome recovery and skill, honing his ability to that of an elite sharper. With no more than a glance, he could repay the money owed to the Underworld three times over.
He pushed aside his turmoil and sought refuge in the conversation. ‘One minute I’m a friend you cannot live without and now I’m miserable company?’
A nearby crewman cranked rope into coils and readied the rigging. Light glinted off the bobbing waves in welcome. Something about the sunrise guaranteed forgiveness. The promise of a new beginning, perhaps. Whatever the reason, Crispin took strength from its glory as much as possible, although, this morning, strains of light struggled to penetrate the cloud cover. Dawn wasn’t nearly as spectacular in London. A message waited in that observation.
‘I’ve seen only one dowager on the gangway thus far, hunched over and bitter-faced. Indeed, I’ll have an empty bed but I’ll make up for my abstinence once we reach London. You know the finest ladies, I presume.’ Ferris practised optimism as much as possible.
‘I do.’ At one time, Crispin had been a welcomed guest in any societal drawing room. ‘Which is why I won’t introduce you. The English cherish their morals more seriously than your people. Spinsters, elders or the occasional married couple on their wedding trip are all we’re likely to encounter on the ship. No woman of good standing would travel unescorted. But…’ He paused as if delivering a notable bit of news. ‘You’ve a private passenger room. With your snoring, no man dead or alive could find sleep.’ Unfortunately, the haste with which they had booked passage had excluded the better quarters and, with limited cabins for purchase, both men would need to make do with less luxury than accustomed.
‘You wound me.’
‘I doubt it. Your conceit is impenetrable and has survived my sharpest jibes.’ Crispin offered his friend half a grin. ‘In regard to the lack of females, might you make your own pleasure for a change?’
‘What other choice do I have?’
The two men shared a private grin. Indeed, Ferris spoke correctly. Crispin had experienced his fill of distraction. The females of Venice had shown him sensual generosity, but it was nothing more than that. He wanted no part of love or affection, determined to return to London with his heart repaired and the wisdom to disallow any woman to find a way in ever again.
Amanda waited at the end of a near-vacant walkway, stalled before a forked entrance which led in opposite directions to the ships in preparation to depart. She hadn’t found her family and, recalling Father’s insistence they hurry, didn’t wish to commit an error with no time to waste. Still, there was no one to ask in the dusky start of morning. Everyone had seemingly boarded and both massive vessels appeared in a flurry of activity. In the distance, people waited to see the ships pull from the shoreline, but if she managed to hurry all the way back to where the strangers stood, she would have no hope of boarding the correct vessel. She frowned, all at once nervous. This wasn’t a time for indecisiveness or misstep.
The ship to her left already had its sails unfurled. Hadn’t Father mentioned they’d barely made it dockside in time? A raindrop struck her cheek and urged her feet forward. She’d never be returned to England if she didn’t get the journey underway. Without doubt, she’d find her father and sister onboard as soon as she gained a sightline to their level. From her position below, she could see little aside from the overwhelming height of the galleon.
Buoyed by these conclusions, Amanda climbed the gangway to the ship on the left, careful to skim the shadows created by the elongated bow. She advanced up the ramp until she stepped on deck, her eyes roving the passengers for any sign of Raelyn and Enid, her father or one of the hired footmen, though she’d barely registered their appearance. Everyone began to look similar and with the fast-paced action on deck her difficulties were multiplied. Father would never leave her behind, but a pulse of fear, stark and sharp, raced up her spine to remind, by her own distraction, she knew little of their plans and should have stayed closer to her family as they moved through the crowd.
All around her swarmed a hive of activity. Several crewmen collected rope to coil tight aside the railings. Barks of command and affirmation volleyed back and forth between the men as cohesively timed and succinct as the gears composing a clock’s inner works. A great noise from behind caught her attention and she spun, the very same gangway she’d accomplished not two exhales prior now disconnected from the dock, unhooked and shoved aside by the hulking strength of a dozen brawny men. She’d boarded without a moment to spare. Her father would be pleased with her sensible ingenuity. What a jolly story it would make this evening in the passenger dining room. She just needed to locate him and their rooms as soon as possible. It would set everyone’s mind at ease, no doubt.
Overhead, a flap of unfurling flaxed linen pulled her eyes skyward as several square sails billowed full of air, the call of a crewman in the mizzen-top castle so high above he appeared as minuscule as a bird against the clouds. His bark of command kicked her heart into a vibrant rhythm. She enjoyed the workings of ship travel and had read several books on the subject, but enough of her gape-mouthed interest. As the galleon pulled away from shore, her pulse began a heroic gallop. She must locate Father and their quarters onboard. A woman alone on a ship presented a terrifying reality. Indeed, what was she doing? Had her brain stopped working? She couldn’t remain frozen in place. Once she spoke to the captain or purser, he would direct her where passengers belonged and assist in finding her family.
Assured there was no reason to panic, she advanced towards the stairs leading below deck as a broad-shouldered crewman brushed by too close for comfort. His leering glance trailed behind him.
Swallowing the fast lump of emotion in her throat, she leaned against the side of a tall stack of bailers in an effort to make herself invisible in wait for reason to return, yet it seemed of no use. As the sun struggled to shine in the drab slate sky, her yellow day gown appeared bright as a candle’s flame in comparison to the weather-beaten wood surrounding her.
Not two breaths later, a lanky crewman who adjusted the rigging of the backstays to the mastheads eyed her with an incisive stare, his head tilted in question. With a stroke of serendipity, a hard jolt brought the man’s attention to his task and the galleon pulled out to sea with a rush of spray and bellow of throaty ayes from the working men. Several passengers crowded the railings to watch the great ship take to open water with lively celebration overriding the ship’s activity. Amanda could only watch and listen, paralysed with indecision as she gathered snippets of conversation from the crowd.
Homeward bound.
Italy was lovely.
Not long for England now.
The words reached Amanda’s ears with the subtlety of a slap to the cheek. England? Yes, she yearned to return to England, but today she was bound for France. With Father and Raelyn. It composed the last stop of their journey. Surely, she’d misheard.
With a desperate tether to sensibility and an unwelcomed beat of panic, she approached the rail and eyed a freckled deckhand who gathered a heavy mooring line into a sturdy crate.
‘Pardon my enquiry, but to where is this ship bound?’ A nervous quiver made her words sound queer. A familiar ache of vulnerability settled in her stomach.
‘England.’ The mate narrowed his gaze as if to decipher how she could be aboard a ship without knowledge of its destination, but drawn back to the task at hand, dismissed her just as readily.
It had to be a mistake on his part. Had the crewman heard her enquiry correctly? Was he educated enough to understand? To her horror, an alternative conclusion formed on the heels of her mental confusion.
Good heavens, had she boarded the wrong ship?
No.
Breath seized in her lungs with the growing suspicion the worst was true. What could she do? She should seek out the captain. But would he disrupt the travels of every passenger aboard to deposit her back on Italian soil? She swung her head and viewed the diminishing coastline. How had they ventured so far in such a short time? She’d no money. No clothing. Or protection. A stampede of terror-stricken complications bombarded her brain. How would a woman, alone, survive on a three-week journey if she had none of the barest necessities?
Placing her hand over her heart, she forced herself to breathe and deny the prick of tears which stung her eyes. She was an intelligent woman of twenty-two years. This problem could be solved. She’d need a bit of ingenuity and creative thinking, but she wouldn’t perish. One step at a time. It was generally how she approached all matters in life whenever discombobulation threatened. She’d survived that afternoon when her pelisse snagged the carriage door latch and she was caught in an ungainly trot down Bond Street. She’d persevered the embarrassing incident last season at Gunter’s Ice Shop. Even society’s gossipmongers no longer regaled stories of that upset. And without too much damage to her reputation, she’d survived a laughable quadrille quandary at Almack’s.
The threat of a megrim, or worse, a bout of detestable weeping, forced her to withdraw from the railing and move towards the stairs. It would be wise to keep out of sight until she resolved a plan. A bit of clear thinking would remedy the situation. Thus, she needed to locate a room to sort out her options and decide the best way to approach the captain. Once he knew of her predicament and her father’s influence, he would undoubtedly overlook the fact she’d mistakenly become a stowaway, penniless, without wardrobe or companion. The captain would take pity, wouldn’t he? Otherwise, standing in a bright yellow gown on deck, she would draw notice and that was the very last thing she desired. Currently, the captain oversaw the negotiation of the ship as they embarked on their journey. Now was not the time to attempt an alarming discussion. She needed to think.
With adequate knowledge of ships, she found her way to the private quarters located in the bow. When she’d travelled with Father, Raelyn and Enid, they’d taken three rooms on the portside, and she hoped to find a similar situation. How she would determine whether or not the room was occupied remained unknown.
A frantic rhythm lived in her pulse as she tried the first two handles only to discover the doors locked. She continued down the polished wooden planks, as quietly as possible, but not overly concerned, as above deck remained a cacophony of noise. Loud thuds, hollow scraping and an occasional exchange floated through any available opening and confirmed her boot-heels wouldn’t be detected. With the next attempt, her palm slick with sweat, the cool brass lever twisted to the right. She opened the heavy door and ventured inside before she could contemplate the consequences.
The room stood empty and dark. She hurried to the small chestnut table nailed to the floor and lit the glass lantern to illuminate the space. Disappointment caused her nose to wrinkle. Three large trunks crowded the corner and a broad impression on the mattress, composed of rumpled sheets and an overturned blanket, announced the room as occupied. Aside from the bed, a wide table, stool and working desk with a wooden bowl of implements composed the sparse furnishing. A slender hat rack waited beside the door. There was a standing panel which jutted from the wall and a long oval mirror used for dressing. A narrow closet in the farthest corner stood ajar. She walked to it and measured her height against the doorframe and noted the compartment was empty.
Her heart lurched as two male voices penetrated the door and, in a squirrelly moment she would reflect on later as pure cowardice and poor decision, she wriggled into the closet space and pulled the panel closed, mortified when she discovered the wood swollen from humidity and unable to seal properly.
‘Just as I told you, little more than a bed, table and desk. Your quarters are the same as mine, Ferris.’
A clipped, cultured, decidedly English voice echoed within the silent room and she sighed in relief. At least she’d be able to converse with the passenger in a reasonable manner. Englishmen were civil, judicious gentlemen. Still, she attempted to pull the door closed further to prevent an unwanted confrontation.
‘Wait, did you hear something?’ the same voice asked his companion.
She waited, her pulse thrumming in her ears.
‘Nothing besides the mice and rats. Ships are notorious for their rodent population,’ a thicker, foreign voice replied.
She recognized the Italian accent immediately, but as the words registered, a high-pitched squeak escaped and she bit her bottom lip for the mistake.
‘Perhaps that was it.’
The men didn’t seem overly concerned and a sound akin to a trunk being dragged across the floor occupied the silence.
‘This is a step down. My grandfather’s yacht would have been more… what’s the word? Decadent. Next time, we’ll sail to Greece. Life is different there. I’ll show you.’
‘England is different as well, although I’m curious what you’ll make of London.’ The scrape of a chair came next. ‘We’ll continue this discussion later. I’m damnably exhausted. I’ll see you at dinner, Ferris. Try not to cause chaos in the meantime. No one needs the devil aboard.’
‘Me? I’m a saint. How is it you say?’
A pause followed and Amanda found herself angled forward with anticipation.
‘It takes a thief to catch a thief? Birds of a feather—’
‘That is the pot and kettle talking, eh?’
Baritone laughter filled the interior and then, with the click and subsequent clack of the door, the room fell silent.
Might both men have departed?
The answer came too quickly. She heard two thuds, a reminder of her father’s boots falling to the boards when he sat before the fireplace in his study. Good heavens, was the gentleman in the process of undressing? The closet door remained open the width of three fingers and, while she had no clear sight anywhere except to the opposite wall, her heart kicked into a panicked rhythm in concern she might see something she shouldn’t. Or miss something interesting instead.
What was she to do? She hadn’t eaten breakfast and if she didn’t melt from the cloying heat of being cramped in a narrow closet, the boisterous growls vibrating from her stomach would eventually reveal her hiding place.
The room fell eerily quiet. Not a rustle of a sheet or creak of a chair. The air thickened, each inhale an effort, and all because she waited, unsure what was to occur. Did the gentleman sleep? He’d stated he was exhausted. Could it be that easy? Were he to fall into a fitful slumber, she might silently slink past him and out, in search of another, more suitable room.
Ideas came to mind, entertained and rejected with lightning efficiency, all in the space of a few heartbeats. Sweat trickled down her spine as she sought to summon patience, one deep inhale after another until she realized she sounded louder than she intended. She stifled mid-breath and it was then she heard it. A matched sigh as frustrated and concerned as her own. With punishing trepidation, she pressed her teeth into the soft flesh of her bottom lip just as the closet door whipped open.
A man stood on the other side, his shirt sleeves rolled and cravat undone, yet his eyes, bright blue and acutely intelligent, held her in a captive gaze that shook her soul. A cataclysm of emotion swept through her, causing her hands to tremble, her heartbeat thrust into an off-kilter spiral, not from fear but something altogether unknown, and as they stood, stare upon stare, words evaporated on her tongue until all she could manage to produce was a startled gasp.
Chapter Three (#u2b54607f-70a3-52ce-b648-a92d62979884)
‘My ears did not deceive me. Indeed, I heard a mouse.’ Crispin eyed the young miss wedged inside the room’s closet with wry amusement. Whoever she was, she was on her way out. Stowaway, lunatic or pleasure seeker – this last idea gave him pause – he wouldn’t be caught in a situation that brought him further anguish or, worse, a wife. Never mind the illegalities and complications this situation promised.
‘I’m not a mouse.’
She squeaked out the words, her face pinched into a bemusing scowl that further confirmed the irony of his statement. With direct insistence, she held his stare. As a matter of fact, she hadn’t blinked since he’d thrown open the door and exposed her hiding place.
‘Would you like to come out of your hole, little mouse?’ He stepped aside, his stockinged feet silent on the floorboards, amused at her quick objection to his tease.
Her eyes widened, a flash of brown or was it green? He couldn’t tell within the dim confines of the cupboard. With a fair amount of grace, she wriggled her way out of the closet and made a show of shaking out her skirts. She was slim with a high, pert bosom that caught his attention until he noticed her round bottom. Her gown, absent of the layers most women suffered, outlined her figure and explained further how she fit into the narrow space.
Indeed, he amended, the lady was no mouse at all. Flushed cheeks and long mahogany lashes accentuated a pretty face, where striking cheekbones and pink lips finished the portrait of beauty. Who was she and why had she chosen to hide in a closet? What she was doing in his quarters was another matter altogether.
‘Thank you.’
Her voice sounded tight, nervous, or had he imagined he’d had that effect? Too many nights spent with too many actresses, opera singers and widows cluttered his memory to render him clumsy with the manners required of a highborn lady. Somehow, despite her less than refined dress and awkward appearance in his quarters, he knew before him stood a proper miss.
‘You’re welcome.’ He defaulted to manners. ‘Should I ask why you’re hiding in my closet or would you prefer I march you to the top deck and speak to the captain directly? I believe we’re not so far from the coast that we couldn’t turn around.’ The captain of The Haven would hardly inconvenience the passengers and crew for the appearance of a stowaway, but she didn’t have to know that, and indeed, his tactic worked. The colour drained from her face and he mourned the loss of the fetching blush she’d worn so prettily.
‘No. I mean… yes.’ Amidst her flummox she gave her head a little shake as if she wished to jar the answer loose. ‘I can explain.’
She didn’t begin readily, but he waited, a captive audience to the fiction she would concoct at his expense. The pause offered time for him to further assess her appearance. Long wavy hair, the colour of fine brandy, evoked the same spirited effect and was pinned back to reveal the gentle curve of her neck, the skin creamy and pale. He’d spent so much time in the arms of Italian lovers of late, the stark contrast of fair skin and delicate beauty proved arresting. Against conscious thought, his fingers twitched as if urging him to touch and discover if his assumptions rang true, to place a kiss there, or better, feel her satiny smoothness against his tongue. He silently cursed himself for the ridiculous idea. He’d indulged in debauchery overlong if he could no longer speak to a lady without wondering of the texture of her skin. Alas, he was that much a bastard. The worst kind.
‘I wandered into your quarters mistakenly. When I heard you enter, I panicked and chose the closet when the better choice would have been to tell you at once and exit. I’ll leave you now as to not cause further trouble.’ She looked at him directly, her eyes as guileless as they were crystalline. And yes, they were green. A fine mossy colour which reminded of England and all he’d left behind.
She made to move around him, but he stepped in to block her path.
‘Where will you go? Do you have passage on this ship?’ He had no reason to care other than a distant and buried sense of protective chivalry ingrained in him from birth and long ago tarnished. He couldn’t help but reflect on his sister Sophie’s tomfoolery. She was always working her way into one problem or another, much to his amusement. He wondered idly if she had accomplished her goal of entering the Underworld, a gaming hell that served as his greatest foe and biggest embarrassment, but he wouldn’t take his thoughts there this moment. He shot his eyes to the lady before him, willing to offer a bit of help if needed.
‘I may have acted a bit impetuously.’ She dared a tight smile at this admittance and he noticed she was really quite lovely when she wasn’t startled. ‘I may have boarded the wrong ship altogether, actually.’
‘Well, you can’t stay here.’ He walked to the front of the room, anxious to create distance and reason a solution, where he paced a line and worked through the predicament. As was habit, he spoke aloud, listing his thoughts and contemplating his options. ‘Nor can I put you out. A ship is a dangerous place for women, and while I can offer my protection, I wouldn’t be with you at all times. The risk is too great otherwise. I know for a fact the ship’s quarters are all reserved. Ferris complained about his accommodations and the captain explained there are none to spare. Furthermore, I doubt the captain would look too kindly on a stowaway, no matter how fetching.’ He finished ruminating and lifted his eyes to catch her expression, confused and slightly bewildered at best. Had he spoken out of turn? What had he said as he cogitated?
‘I don’t know what I can do otherwise.’ She stepped closer, her forehead wrinkled with worry. ‘I must return to England. My happiness depends upon it. I won’t burden you with the story, but I would never have acted in a rash manner if this journey wasn’t of calamitous importance.’
Interesting, indeed. His mind spun with sympathetic suggestions. Perhaps her mother or father suffered on their deathbed, or worse, a child struggled to survive. Could she possibly have borne a child? She appeared too young, but then what did he know about maidens? The one woman to whom he’d offered his heart had rejected him. Several levels of embarrassment and humble wound-licking ensued until he’d hied out of London with a vow never to fall prey to the vicious affliction others labelled love. Still, he couldn’t ignore the utter turmoil detailed plainly on the lady’s face.
‘What’s your name, mouse?’ He heaved a breath of disgust. Somehow, he knew he was journeying down a road aimed for mental derangement and he had no room in his life for irrationality, his predicament already crowded with too many knots to untangle.
‘Lady Beasley.’ Her voice was barely a whisper. ‘You may call me Amanda, if you’d like.’
It was more information than he’d expected and he would have preferred she hadn’t offered her Christian name. Their alliance would be brief and inconsequential. At the most three weeks in length, though he doubted even that time span would pass before discovery and subsequent consequence took Amanda down a different path.
‘Well then, Amanda. I’m Crispin Daventry, Lord Hastings. Crispin, if you prefer.’ Her expression eased and he eyed the door, wondering if he should fasten the latch. If Ferris interrupted, all hell would break loose. Hadn’t his friend protested of no winsome companionship only an hour earlier? This young woman would catch a blind man’s eye.
‘Thank you.’ A cheerful note filled her words.
He waited, his mind still mulling the matter of her urgent return to England. ‘What will you do?’
‘I’ll find a way to stay out of sight. I’ll be fine, Crispin.’ She sounded much more like a mouse now, her voice high and thready, most likely due to the impossibility of her suggestion.
And was that a glimmer of tears?
His eyes rose to hers at the sound of his name in her voice. Peculiar that, for some reason, he wished to hear her say it again.
Discarding the inanity, he pushed on to more important matters. ‘You won’t be fine. A woman alone on a ship full of randy sailors and lonely crew is far from safe. Until you determine otherwise, you may stay here.’ The suggestion, outrageous in its nature, surprised him as it tumbled from his mouth. What was he doing? How would he endure three hours, never mind three weeks, at sea with a young woman in his quarters?
He couldn’t. And the surreptitious show of chivalry left him baffled, though the next conclusion was a punch in the face. Bloody hell, he would have to bunk with Ferris. The man’s snoring rivalled a roomful of tormented animals, the heavy breathing, droning snorts and unexpected gasps identical to the sounds he remembered from his childhood visit to the National Zoology Museum during mating season.
‘I’ll find other accommodations.’ Resigned to his magnanimous gesture, he sunk into the only chair in the room, refusing to surrender his seat despite she remained standing. Let her sit on his bed. He’d already sacrificed enough. ‘You can’t leave these quarters. Not only are you aboard without a purchased fare, but I didn’t exaggerate the concern for your safety.’
‘I understand.’ She nodded, a question already tumbling from her lips. ‘How will I eat?’
He threw his head back and laughed, the situation ripe with irony. Perhaps this was his punishment for shirking due responsibility overlong. Again, images of Sophie’s harebrained plots and escapades rose to mind. ‘I’ll bring you food.’
‘And a bath occasionally?’
‘Amanda.’ Her eyes shot to his in much the same way he’d received her bid for attention, but now a flicker of annoyance challenged his patience. ‘Why should I be inconvenienced, whether by sleeping on the floor or finding somewhere else to lay my head? Keep in mind that I’ll become an accomplice to your deceit and the captain could very well malign my name and report my actions if I’m discovered, having us both hauled to a magistrate as soon as we’re docked. Why would anyone take that risk for a stranger?’
‘Because you’re a good man,’ she replied with sincere importance.
‘Incredible notion, capital mistake. You’ve wandered into the wrong quarters if you’re expecting goodness. I’m the worst rogue: selfish, arrogant and obscenely indulgent.’ He stood, straightened his shoulders and approached her with what he hoped was a menacing expression.
