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‘Mark my words, Mr Anderson, only trouble will come of this. Trouble and nothing else.’ His wide thin lips compressed. ‘We both know the direction the men’s thoughts will take.’
Lieutenant Anderson said nothing, but turned his attention once more to the log he was writing.
The water lapped warm and luxuriant against Georgiana’s naked skin. She sighed and relaxed back within the captain’s personal hip bath, bending her knees until her soapy head submerged beneath the surface. When the worst of the lather had been removed, she reached for the jug and poured its freshwater contents over her cropped hair. The ebony locks squeaked clean, and Georgiana marvelled at Nathaniel Hawke’s generosity. Freshwater was precious; she did not know how long it would be before they would have an opportunity to replenish the supply. And yet he had not expected her hair to suffer the coarse drying effects of seawater. As she stepped dripping from the tub and wrapped the cloth around her, she looked with curiosity at the small room around her, marked so clearly as belonging to Captain Hawke. Besides the furniture she’d already noticed, there were a case of books, a small table and chair, a heavy sea chest, a basin, shaving accoutrements, a mirror fixed upon the wall…and the cot. A shiver ran down her spine and she dried herself briskly, stepping into the clean clothes that Nathaniel had provided for her.
She folded the cloth and could not resist inspecting her reflection in the mirror. A pale face with short dark hair stared back at her. There was a purple bruise to the side of her right eye and a cut upon her lip. Now that the dirt was gone, she felt naked, exposed, as if anyone who looked at her would know who she really was, what she really was. She arranged the straggle of hair as best she could using only her fingers, then stepped away with deliberate care towards the flimsy connecting door, and paused. He believed that she loved Walter Praxton, that her father had forbidden her marriage to the man. As if anything could have been further from the truth! How could he even think that she would let that rogue so much as touch her? Her gorge rose at the memory of Walter Praxton’s roving hands, his greedy mouth. She swallowed it down, pushed the shame and disgust away, determined never to think of it again.
Nathaniel Hawke was a good man, a man that attracted her in a way she’d never felt before. She’d tried to tell him, wanted to shout the truth when he’d misunderstood. But she couldn’t, not if she wanted to stop him challenging Mr Praxton and her papa. She was nothing to Captain Hawke save a problem, a thorn in his side, turning up at the worst of times, like a bad penny. It was bad enough that he’d already risked drowning to save her. And now here she was, on his ship, in the middle of the sea, alone, and in the guise of a boy! Little wonder that he was angry. Best to remember her place, quell such inappropriate feelings for the man and get on with surviving the consequences of her own foolish actions. With this resolution in mind, she knocked softly upon the wooden panels and passed through from Captain Hawke’s night cabin to the one that he used during the day.
The man himself was sitting at his desk, a glass of brandy held loosely in his hand. Grey winter light from the large windows behind the desk contrasted against the stark outline of his broad shoulders. He appeared to be deep in thought, a distant gaze in his eyes. Georgiana’s resolution wavered at the sight of him. The errant curl still dangled temptingly on his forehead and her fingers itched to smooth it back to its rightful place. She suppressed the urge, blushed that she should have thought such a thing, and sat down in the chair across from Captain Hawke.
‘Thank you, sir, I feel so much better now that I’m clean. And I’ll no longer be a cause of offence to Lieutenant Pensenby.’ She smiled and felt suddenly shy.
Nathaniel could have groaned aloud. How could he have ever thought that the girl before him was anything other? The delicate bone structure, straight little nose and full pink lips. Her eyes twinkled blue washed with shades of grey, and her eyelashes were sooty and long. How could any man fail to see what was right in front of his very eyes? The dirt had camouflaged her well and now that it was gone he wondered if the rest of the crew would see what he did. And that wasn’t all the dirt had hidden. He frowned and, reaching forward, gently clasped his fingers to her chin.
‘How did you come by these marks?’ His voice was gruff, belying the careful touch of his fingers as he tilted her face to view the bruising near her eye. He couldn’t help but notice how white her skin was next to the brown of his hand. And soft…so very, very soft.
Her skin burned beneath his touch, and a strange lightheaded feeling came over her. For some inexplicable reason she found herself unable to reply, unable even to think of anything other than his strong warm fingers that touched like a feather to her face. The pulse leapt to a frenzy in her neck, so that she was sure that he would see it. But still she could not move, frozen by her own response to the man sitting before her.
Nathaniel looked down into Miss Raithwaite’s shimmering eyes and experienced an urge to pull that slender body into his arms and kiss her. And not in the least chaste or polite manner. The kissing that he had in mind was of an extremely thorough nature. He watched as her lips parted, almost as in invitation. His fingers caressed her chin, moving up to capture the smoothness of her cheek. His heart thumped loudly within his chest, he lowered his mouth towards hers and—’
A short sharp knock sounded at the door.
Brandy splashed on to the captain’s desk. Georgiana jumped so high that Nathaniel’s hand brushed against her breast. Even through the depth of her bindings she felt his warmth. She gasped. Blue eyes held brown in confused horror.
‘Quickly, slip into the night cabin and don’t make a sound,’ Nathaniel whispered in her ear. His large hand covered hers, gave one brief squeeze of reassurance and was gone.
She reacted instinctively, moving quickly and quietly to the connecting door.
When Lieutenant Anderson entered, it was to find the captain engrossed in some charts, and no sign of ship’s boy Robertson.
‘First Lieutenant Anderson.’ Nathaniel’s voice was laconic and mellow, betraying nothing of the turbulent emotions simmering so recently in his breast.
‘Captain Hawke, sir. I beg your pardon for the intrusion, but my hourly report is due.’ The young man’s face appeared a trifle flushed.
Nathaniel leaned back in his chair and surveyed his lieutenant. ‘Indeed, it is, Mr Anderson. Please proceed.’
John Anderson cleared his throat and recited his list. ‘All stations have been checked. The first dog watch passed without event and the first watch proper commenced. All is in order. Ernie Dobson’s tooth has been extracted and he’s been allocated an extra quart of grog. There’s no change in the weather and we are continuing on course as per your instructions. That is all I have to report, sir.’
‘Thank you, Mr Anderson. That will be all.’
But the first lieutenant stayed firmly rooted to the spot, an awkward expression plastered across his face.
‘Was there something else, Mr Anderson?’ Nathaniel had a fairly accurate idea of what was causing John Anderson to linger.
‘No, Captain…Well, perhaps …’ Mr Anderson appeared to be finding a spot upon the cabin floor of immense interest.
Nathaniel decided to put the officer out of his misery. ‘Would you care for a brandy, Mr Anderson?’
The first lieutenant looked up in surprise. ‘Yes, thank you, sir.’
‘There’s been talk of my dealings with ship’s boy Robertson.’ It was a statement, not a question. He passed the glass to Anderson.
‘Yes, sir.’ His cheeks were glowing with all the subtlety of two beacons.
Nathaniel’s jaw clenched grimly. That the captain had ordered a private bath for the boy within his own cabin would be known by every man on the Pallas by now. He was under no illusion as to what the common interpretation of his action would be, and that was something that would have to be dispelled as quickly as possibly. Nathaniel was thinking and thinking very fast. John Anderson’s green eyes had raised to his in quiet anticipation. Whatever Nathaniel told him, it could not be the truth. ‘It’s a delicate matter over which discretion is required. I trust that I have your complete confidence in the matter?’
‘Of course, sir!’ Lieutenant Anderson had drawn himself up to his full height and was regarding his captain with more than a little curiosity. He sipped at the brandy.
‘The boy, Robertson, is not who he seems.’
Anderson’s eyes were positively agog. ‘No?’
‘No.’ Nathaniel’s tone was conspiratorial. ‘Indeed, Robertson is a pseudonym he’s used to his own ends.’
John Anderson nodded triumphantly. ‘I knew that all wasn’t as it appeared, sir.’
‘Master Robertson—we’ll continue to call him that for reasons that will soon become apparent—should not be aboard the Pallas or any ship. Mr Anderson, the boy is my nephew.’ He paused for effect. ‘My brother, Viscount Farleigh, has strictly forbidden George a career at sea. The boy, naturally, wants nothing else. He has therefore run away from home to pursue his dream. He didn’t, of course, anticipate a brush with Captain Bodmin’s men. I don’t need to impress on you, Mr Anderson, exactly what my brother’s response would be should any harm come to George while he’s in my care. It’s bad enough that I failed to recognise the wretched boy beneath his disguise of filth and rags and halfwit trickery.’ Nathaniel sighed and took a gulp of brandy. ‘I suppose Henry’s overprotectiveness is understandable, given that George is his oldest son and therefore ultimately heir to the earldom of Porchester.’
‘Dear Lord!’ Mr Anderson exclaimed with feeling.
‘Puts me in a bit of a quandary and no mistake. Until I can deliver the boy back to my brother, I’ll have to keep a very close eye on him. If Henry knew that his son had been sleeping in a hammock squashed amongst those of the midshipmen, he’d have a fit!’
The lieutenant saw an opportunity to solve the captain’s problem. ‘The boy may share my cabin, sir, and I’ll see to it that he’s kept safe.’
The thought of Miss Raithwaite sharing a cabin with the most personable First Lieutenant Anderson brought an uncommonly disgruntled feeling to Nathaniel Hawke. If he had not known better, he would have thought it reminiscent of jealousy. ‘An admirable offer, Lieutenant, but quite unnecessary. I mean to have the boy as my personal servant. He shall sleep within my own cabin.’
Georgiana, whose ear was pressed firmly to the wooden connecting door, almost fell against the supporting structure at Captain Hawke’s words. She had to admit that the story Nathaniel had concocted at such short notice was reasonably believable; in fact, she’d been admiring the gentleman’s quick wits and imagination—up until his last utterance.
Nathaniel continued, blissfully unaware of Georgiana’s rising indignation at the other side of the door. ‘This apparent favouritism is bound to lead to supposition by the men. And it will be all the worse if the true nature of our relationship is not known.’
Mr Anderson’s sharp intake of air at Captain Hawke’s remark led to an inhalation of brandy and a subsequent plethora of coughing and spluttering. ‘Quite so, sir.’
‘Perhaps I could rely on you to see that the men are informed, by covert means, of course. A chance remark in Mr Pensenby’s ear should suffice.’
The first lieutenant smiled. ‘I’ll see to it right away, sir.’ He finished the brandy without coughing. ‘It’ll be all round the ship by lunchtime tomorrow.’
Captain Hawke raised his glass in salute. ‘That will do nicely, Mr Anderson, very nicely indeed.’
By the time First Lieutenant Anderson exited Captain Hawke’s day cabin, Georgiana was adamant that there was no way on earth that she would share a cabin with Nathaniel Hawke. She had even rehearsed a polite refusal of his offer, for undoubtedly he thought it the gentlemanly thing to do. Thank you, Captain Hawke. You are most kind in your offer, but I cannot comply. It would be quite unseemly behaviour for a lady. But then, Georgiana reflected, hadn’t the vast majority of her behaviour of late come under that description? She sat down on the bed, touched her left hand to the lobe of her ear and worried at it as she set about thinking what her best course of action should be. In truth, there were not a great many options available. She was still mulling over various scenarios when Captain Hawke entered. Georgiana jumped up from the bed.
‘You didn’t knock,’ she said, and her voice sounded breathless within the small confines of the cabin.
Nathaniel’s eyebrow lifted and a tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you, Miss Raithwaite—or should I say George? Now that I’ve revealed to Mr Anderson that you are in truth my nephew, Lord George Hawke, it’s advisable that we stay in our respective roles at all times. Just think what he would say if I mistakenly referred to Miss Raithwaite!’ Nathaniel pulled such a comical expression that the ponderous burden of anxiety eased itself from Georgiana’s shoulders and she laughed.
‘Should I then call you Uncle Nathaniel?’ A mischievous light shone in her eyes.
Nathaniel grinned provocatively, as he stepped forward. ‘Only when we’re alone.’
She was so close that he could smell the clean soapy aroma arising from her jagged riot of ebony locks. She was still laughing as she turned her face up to his. Long sooty lashes swept up to reveal those magnificent eyes. Quite suddenly the laughter had gone and an arc of tension leapt between them. Georgiana was not a small woman, but the top of her head only met with Nathaniel’s shoulder. He experienced an urge to pull her into his arms. It was absurd and completely unreasonable. And no matter his father’s thoughts to the contrary, Captain Hawke was too much of a gentleman to take advantage of a lady in any situation. Calmly, deliberately, he moved back and looked away, pretending to examine the books lying open upon his table. ‘But as you are pretending to be my nephew, and my nephew is pretending not to be my nephew …’ he twitched his brow comically ‘…then it should suffice to call me Captain Hawke.’
A flicker of excitement exploded in Georgiana’s belly the minute she looked into those dark smouldering eyes. Eyes that seemed to enchant her will, so that she could not remain unaffected whatever her resolve. No. Sharing a cabin with this man would be positively dangerous. And as the night was drawing in they had best resolve the issue here and now. She moved the chair to the far end of the tiny cabin and sat herself down on it in a ladylike fashion.
Nathaniel tried not to notice her legs that looked to be long and shapely within the culottes.
She pressed her hands demurely together and began. ‘Captain Hawke, I couldn’t help but overhear your words to First Lieutenant Anderson.’
‘You were eavesdropping?’ He looked up with surprise.
Georgiana had the grace to blush. ‘It couldn’t be helped, sir. The wall is so very thin.’
Nathaniel raised a cynical brow in her direction.
‘It’s very clever of you to play a double bluff so that the crew think they have discovered that I’m your nephew.’
The deep dark eyes regarded her, but he did not reply.
‘I’d like to thank you for helping me. I’m aware of the difficulty my presence must present to you.’
He sincerely doubted whether Miss Raithwaite fully understood the precise nature of the difficulties that she presented, and he was not about to enlighten her. ‘It’s nothing that cannot be surmounted.’
‘Nevertheless, would it not be more sensible for me to continue as before? It would certainly be less problematic to you, and is the option that is least likely to attract attention.’
‘You’ve underestimated Mr Pensenby’s preoccupation with naval regulations. You’ve slighted him before the crew. Direct disobedience with no punishment. And all seemingly because you’re my nephew. The matter won’t sit well with my second lieutenant. Indeed, he’s probably worrying himself into a frenzy over the blatant breach in protocol. The man has a nose for subterfuge. Can sniff it out at twenty paces. Why do you think I want you under my command? Reverting to your previous role would be too risky, and I cannot allow it.’
She tossed her head in exasperation, even though she knew that he spoke the truth. Pensenby had the tenacity of an elephant, he would never forget and his curiosity had been roused. The prospect of such a man discovering her real secret was too dangerous, for who knew what Pensenby would do with the knowledge, being such a stickler for conformity and, according to Nathaniel, the nephew of Rear Admiral Stanley. ‘Yes. I believe you’re a good judge of character.’ She looked at Nathaniel shrewdly. ‘Then I’m to act as your servant?’
Nathaniel gave a brief nod of the head. ‘It’s the best I can think of to protect you,’ he said simply. ‘It will keep you close to me.’
A faint blush stole over Georgiana’s cheeks at his words. She cleared her throat and attempted to look nonchalant while not meeting his eye. ‘What of the sleeping arrangements? I know that you don’t wish me to continue in my place down in the midshipmen’s berth, but…’
‘Surely you must have heard my comment to Mr Anderson? You heard everything else.’ His eyes held a twinkle and his lips the glimmer of a wicked smile. ‘You will sleep here, Miss Raithwaite.’ He gestured towards the cot taking up most of the small cabin space.
It seemed that her heart lurched to a halt within her chest before setting off again at full tilt. She stared at him, shocked, horrified at the words he had just spoken, but beneath it all crept a tiny sliver of desire. And it was this that caused Georgiana to exclaim in a tone so frosty that it could have frozen the Thames, ‘I beg your pardon, Captain Hawke. I believe I must have misheard you.’ All thoughts of the polite refusal she had rehearsed were forgotten.
Nathaniel’s eyes glowed even more wickedly. ‘Your hearing cannot be faulted, nephew George. You will sleep in my bed.’ He tried hard not to laugh at the expression of fury that was forming upon Miss Raithwaite’s normally sweet face.
‘Captain Hawke—’ she stood up quite suddenly ‘—no gentleman would suggest such a scandalous arrangement. You cannot honestly expect me to. I assure you that it’s quite out of the question. What kind of woman do you take me for?’ Miss Raithwaite’s eyes flashed with the violence of the stormiest sea. With her head held high and her hands planted firmly on her hips, she presented an admirable sight.
Nathaniel’s fingers touched to his breast, and he feigned a look of total astonishment, which soon turned to one of most convincing wounded insult. ‘Miss Raithwaite,’ he gasped. ‘You cannot think…? You did not…? Heavens above, dear girl, what kind of man do you take me for?’
The hurricane dropped out of Georgiana’s sails. She looked suddenly very unsure of herself.
‘You will sleep in here, Miss Raithwaite, and I—I will sleep next door.’ Nathaniel was modelling his manner on the pompous Mr Pensenby. ‘Anything else would be most unseemly behaviour for a lady, most unseemly indeed.’
Her skin burned the fiery red of embarrassment. ‘Of course…Please accept my apologies, Captain Hawke, I thought—’
‘I know very well what you thought, Miss Raithwaite,’ replied Nathaniel with a grin. Something of Georgiana’s excruciating discomfort showed in her face and it tugged at Nathaniel’s heart. A pang of guilt smote him. ‘I have a confession to make.’
Georgiana’s heart trembled a little. He was in earnest. She looked at the captain with escalating suspicion.
Nathaniel’s grin cracked wider. ‘I’m teasing you.’
Her mouth opened wide. ‘Why, you…That was a most un-gentlemanly thing to do!’ She stepped towards him.
‘I couldn’t resist it. You’re so very charming when you’re angry.’ He laughed aloud.
‘You, sir, are a rogue!’ announced Georgiana with force, but her eyes had calmed to a tranquil blue and her mouth turned up at the corners.
It was Nathaniel’s turn to look sheepish. He held out his hands towards her. ‘You’re right. I shouldn’t have tricked you. I do beg your pardon.’
‘I shall have to think about it, Captain Hawke,’ she said in her sweetest voice.
‘I fear the worst, sir, it’s as we thought. The hank of hair beneath her bed, the kitchen scissors within her bedroom, and the missing clothes belonging to Francis—all evidence points in one direction only. The wretched girl has brought disgrace on us all.’ Edward Raithwaite pinched the skin between his eyes and crumpled back in his chair.
The man seated opposite him rose. ‘If I may be so bold, Mr Raithwaite, as to suggest that some brandy is required.’ When Edward Raithwaite nodded limply, the man set out two balloon glasses and dispensed the tawny liquid. Passing the measure to the older man, he sat back down before resuming the conversation. ‘It’s not too late to discover her direction and halt her progress, but we must not delay our action, for every minute that we wait she travels further from the security of your home, and closer to danger.’
Mr Raithwaite’s heavy-lidded eyes had succumbed to the temptation to close. He sipped at the brandy without trying to open them. ‘How dare she do this to me? It’s just reward for the selfish pampering by her mother. Clara was always too soft with the girl. And now look where it’s got us. We shall all bear the brunt of her silly action. To be the subject of such petty gossip and infamy when all I am guilty of is living my life as a decent upstanding man of business. What have I done to deserve such a daughter, when I have struggled to do nothing but my best for her?’ He seemed content to wallow for a little longer in a quagmire of self-pity.
‘You’ve done nothing sir, save to act as a father. All of your actions have been only with Miss Raithwaite’s best interests at heart, even to the point of sending her to Mrs Tillyard’s Academy for Young Ladies. It seems that, despite your aspirations, all that she learned was to follow her own will.’
‘A stubborn and self-gratifying will at that,’ added her father.
The man inclined his golden head. ‘She is perhaps a trifle strong-willed, but, in the hands of the right husband, such a flaw could be remedied.’ He smiled, revealing a row of perfect white teeth to offset the pretty looks of his face.
‘Our plans fade to dust, Praxton. What desire have you for a woman whose reputation is tarnished? She has absconded, dressed as a boy! For all we know she’s run off with a lover!’ He clamped his large loose-skinned hands over his face. ‘Oh, heaven help us, for we’re soon to be a laughing stock throughout the town, and wherever else this story travels.’
Walter Praxton examined his nails before replying. ‘All is not lost, sir, for I have it on good authority that a young boy matching your daughter’s height and build was observed to take the evening mail to Gosport on the night in question. A boy that no one of the town knew, and who didn’t alight from any other coach. He was quite alone amidst the travellers, no sign of any possible lover. I rather think—’ his mouth twisted to a crooked semblance of a smile ‘—that the reason for Miss Raithwaite’s flight was due to her determination not to become my wife.’
Mr Raithwaite’s eyes opened at that. ‘Surely you’re mistaken, for, no matter what she thinks she feels, Georgiana would not disobey me so blatantly.’
‘I doubt that your daughter views the situation in quite the same way.’
The grizzled head shook once more. ‘I’ll put it about that she’s gone to stay with an elderly relative in Scotland. At least that may buy us some time with which to attempt to remedy this damnable mess. When I get my hands on her—’
Mr Praxton swiftly interrupted. ‘The betrothal is still binding. If I can discover her location, then the situation might be resolved if I were to immediately marry Miss Raithwaite. That way she could return here as my wife, with all threat of scandal avoided. Do I have your permission to force her to a speedy exchange of vows by whatever means are required?’
‘You would still wed her, after all she’s done? What if she’s dishonoured? A fallen woman? Would you take her even then?’ Edward Raithwaite’s tired eyes focused with a new clarity.
‘I would take her whatever the circumstance, provided that any threat of ensuing scandal could be extinguished.’
The older man leaned forward and with a deliberate and careful manner said, ‘Well, in that case, Mr Praxton, you must do whatever you deem necessary to resolve this matter satisfactorily. You have my full support.’ One fleshy hand thrust forward and clasped Mr Praxton’s in a firm shake. ‘I wish you Godspeed, Walter, and may you save the situation for us all.’
Mr Praxton glanced back only once at Tythecock Crescent, and as he did anyone close by would have heard him utter softly, ‘I will have you, Georgiana Raithwaite. One way or another, you are mine.’
Chapter Five
Captain Hawke was taking the noon sight with Lieutenants Anderson and Pensenby, and the young midshipmen. The murmuring hush of their voices lapped against his ears as, armed with their sextants, they compared measurements and subsequent calculations of the ship’s latitude. Across the breadth of the forecastle he could see Jenkins, the quartermaster, at the great steering wheel, hands firm upon the burnished wood. Canvas flapped and ropes creaked as the wind moved to catch the sails. He stifled a yawn and, turning to look out across the great expanse of the cold grey water, thought of the previous night spent sitting upright in his captain’s chair. Little wonder that he’d only managed to catnap through the long dark hours, and had been up on deck before the bosun had piped the hands just before dawn. In truth, he had pondered long and hard over the matter of Miss Georgiana Raithwaite.
