by Jayne Davis
“I will be if a merchant asks me.”
“What merchant?” He glanced at Alex, who was regarding him patiently. “Oh. Good grief—give me a hurricane or a ship of the line to fight off—it would be far simpler!”
Alex looked at Phoebe, a smile beginning on his face. “Are you sure?”
“Yes—if you are.” She could restrain her own smile no longer.
“We accept this offer, Deane,” Alex said, putting the letter back on the table. “Now what?”
“Thank God for that!” Joe pushed a final packet of papers over. “Does that tell us our destination?”
Alex opened the packet, and handed back a single sheet that was addressed to Joe.
“Ashcombe,” Joe said, shaking his head. “For a few days only, then on to Gibraltar.”
“You’d better go and let Trasker know,” Phoebe suggested. There were things they had to say, but not in front of her brother.
Joe hesitated, then flushed slightly. “Oh, yes. Sorry.” He turned back as he left the cabin, about to say something.
“Let me propose in peace, will you, Deane?” Alex said impatiently.
Joe shrugged and left.
“Why all that rigmarole with the letters?” Phoebe asked, when Joe left. Does Marstone usually complicate things like that?”
Alex shook his head. “Not for operational matters—the more complex something is, the more there is to go wrong.” He read through the letter again, then laid it on the table. “This isn’t a safe option, in spite of what this letter says.”
“You’re not going to tell me it’s too dangerous for me, are you?”
He gave a wry smile. “I’m trying hard not to,” he admitted. “I suspect it was so he could say he hadn’t forced you… us… into this option.”
“He could have given us both options at once.”
“Forget about Marstone.” He stood up and pulled her towards him. “Phoebe, I love you. Will you be my wife and my partner?”
“Yes, please!”
She moved into his arms, tilting her face up, but just holding him close at first. She felt the same warmth flood through her as their lips met, travelling right down to her toes, but this kiss was better than the others, and with the promise of more to come. One of his hands tangled in her hair, the other pressed on the small of her back, pulling them together. She curled her arms around him, pulling him closer still, feeling the play of his muscles as he moved.
Alex finally moved back, taking her shoulders and gently pushing her back a step.
“Phoebe, stop,” he pleaded, his breath coming hard. “We can’t do this now.”
She sighed, her heart gradually slowing. “I suppose not,” she said regretfully, but didn’t let him go. “We might get interrupted.”
“Interruptions or not, I’m not going to risk…”
He looked down at her, drawing in a breath. “I suspect there is a special licence in Marstone’s packet. I know it’s only a few days, but if something were to happen in the meantime… I could fall overboard. I’m not risking leaving you with—”
Phoebe silenced him with a kiss, then stepped back, releasing him with reluctance
“Shall we see what else Marstone sent us then? To help pass the time?”
When Joe came back into the cabin half an hour later, with much clearing of his throat in the corridor, they were sitting side by side at the table, a map of the Mediterranean spread out before them. And if there were not quite enough hands visible above the table, he very sensibly did not say anything.
Epilogue
Northern Mediterranean, September 1793
The dusk air was still pleasantly warm as the Hermès sailed into Ajaccio, on the western coast of Corsica. A tricolour flag flapped lazily in the breeze as men swarmed up the rigging to take in the sails, and it dropped anchor beneath the citadel. The captain appeared to be in no hurry, and it was not until the following morning that boats were sent ashore for water and supplies.
Unusually, most of the crew stayed on board. The owners, a Monsieur and Madame Blanchet, explained to the port authorities that the sailing master was going to take their vessel to a suitable beach so her hull could be scraped.
If the harbour master thought it odd that such a new-looking vessel should need weeds removing already, he was soon distracted by Madame Blanchet’s pretty smile, her wonderful red hair, and her enquiries about accommodation. He managed to pay attention to Monsieur for long enough to give him the requested list of the local wine merchants and vineyards.
Over the following weeks, the Blanchets could be found touring the island. The vineyard owners plied them with their best wines, and Monsieur made some of them happy by buying a lot of their stock and promising to return the following year.
Madame enjoyed tasting the wines too, and was so friendly with the wives, and interested in their lives and their children, that many of them found themselves confiding in her far more than they meant to. Madame and Monsieur were obviously loyal subjects of France, but they did have some sympathy for the Corsicans whose country had been occupied by the Genoese for centuries, before being sold to the ancien régime and conquered by French armies less than thirty years before. When they were less than discreet about their distaste for their French masters, Madame promised to say nothing with such a friendly smile that they believed her—and heeded her warnings that it would be better to say nothing at all about this conversation to anyone, not even their closest friends and neighbours.
The Blanchets returned to Ajaccio in mid-October, and the Hermès sailed out of the harbour, its small cargo hold loaded with wine and cases of local cheeses and cured meats.
Gibraltar, October 1793
Alex walked up the street, the wooded slopes of the rock towering above him on the right, finally reaching the old monastery that was now the governor’s residence.
Merchants were not often granted direct access to the governor’s home, but the butler recognised him from earlier in the year and showed him into Sir Robert’s office. The men following with a cartload of wine were helped to unload their burden, and provided with refreshment before returning to their ship.
Sir Robert asked Alex to sit, and a footman brought over a tray with decanter and glasses before bowing himself out of the room.
“Success, Westbrook?” Sir Robert asked, pouring a glass for each of them.
“I think so, sir,” Alex said, taking a sealed report out of his pocket and laying it on the table. “There is a general feeling that a change would be welcome amongst the merchants and minor landowners. Paoli’s assertions to Admiral Hood that the populace support him do not appear to be exaggerated.” Taking a sip of brandy, he rolled the fiery liquid around his mouth in appreciation. “We don’t mix in the highest levels, you understand?”
“At least, not in your current role,” Sir Robert gave a short laugh. “Details in that, I suppose?” he went on, indicating the letter.
“Yes—some useful contacts, too. Marstone hasn’t authorised me to tell you any more than the gist.”
The governor nodded. Alex guessed from his demeanour that such confidentiality was usual.
“And the Hermès? No problems with her?”
“No. The crew is settling in well. Some aren’t too happy with not being allowed their normal runs ashore, but if we supply enough casks of ale and rum they don’t seem to mind too much.”
“Good, good.” Sir Robert settled back in his chair. “Denning’s made a list for you,” he went on. “General stuff, shipping, privateers about, and all that. Make sure you pick it up before you go. And let him know anything else you’ve spotted.”
“Thank you, I will.”
Sir Robert handed Alex a letter. “Orders.”
Turning it over, Alex noted Marstone’s crest in the seal before putting it into his pocket.
“There’s a soirée tomorrow evening,” Sir Robert went on. “Bring Mrs Westbrook. In fact, why don’t you both stay here while you’re in Gibraltar? It must b
e more comfortable than a ship’s cabin.”
Alex glanced around the room, taking in the luxurious furniture and thick carpets. It would make a nice change from the Hermès. On the other hand, they could take a room in a hotel for a few days, which would allow them have time to themselves without having to be sociable and spend time with their host.
“The soirée, yes, with thanks. We’ll still be resupplying tomorrow, even if my orders send us on our way again soon.” He rose to his feet. “As for staying here, it would attract too much attention—you don’t invite other merchants to stay. I do thank you for the offer, though.”
The governor poured himself another drink. “Yes, well. Good luck with whatever… I suppose I should say ‘good trading’—ha!”
They shook hands and Alex left, heading back to the harbour via several hotels.
The Hermès looked like a laundry when Alex returned. Clearly, Sal Robins had managed to acquire enough fresh water to wash clothing properly; everything from undergarments to dresses hung from lines strung across the waist of the vessel. He pushed his way through the wet fabric and down into the stern cabin, where he was rewarded with the sight of his wife’s bottom in the air as she knelt over a bucket, a towel on the floor beside her.
“Phoebe?” he asked in sudden anxiety. Was she ill?
The worry vanished as she lifted her head, dripping water onto the floor. Of course, fresh water also meant a proper hair wash after weeks at sea.
He turned and locked the door, removing his coat and waistcoat and hanging them on the back of a chair. Phoebe sat back on her heels and watched him approach, a knowing smile curving her lips. His pulse accelerated as he took the rinsing cup from her hand. Running his fingers through her hair, he finished pouring the clean water through her curls until all the soap was out. Then he sat on the floor behind her and pulled her into his lap, drips of water soaking cold into his shirt. He picked up the towel and worked it through her hair, rubbing until it was only damp.
“New orders?” Phoebe asked, leaning back against him.
“Hmm.” Reaching around her, his fingers toyed with the fastenings down the front of her gown. “You seem to have got your dress wet—can’t have you sitting around in wet clothing.”
He began to unfasten the buttons, his cheek close to hers as he leaned over her shoulder to see what he was doing, his breath warm on her skin.
“Where are we going next, then?” she asked.
She shifted slightly, making it easier for him to reach the tapes beneath the buttons, that familiar ache starting deep inside her before he’d even got down to skin. She could feel his interest through all the layers of her skirts.
“Marstone seems to think the Knights may be in need of Corsican wine, and Miss Fletcher could use some Maltese lace,” he said. “But we’ve plenty of time to restock and give the crew some time ashore.”
Moving his hands up to her shoulders, he began to push the tops of her sleeves down. “I’ve taken rooms for us in the Hotel George for a few nights,” he added.
Her breath came faster as the gown slid off her shoulders and he started to unlace her stays.
“You think the hotel might be a bit more comfortable than here?” she asked, twisting round to face him.
He leaned down, his face very close to hers. “Possibly, but we are here now,” he whispered against her lips, and she laughed.
“I think you’re a bit over-dressed for that…” she said, pulling his shirt out of his breeches.
Historical note
The French Revolution is familiar to many romance readers due to the Scarlet Pimpernel and other tales involving the rescue of aristocrats from what is called the Reign of Terror.
Although some historians consider the Reign of Terror as beginning in late 1792 with the September Massacres, the victims then were almost all common criminals. The wholesale arrest and execution of those who opposed the interests of the poor—including the nobility—did not start until the autumn of 1793, which is months later than the setting of this story.
Readers may also have heard of the Committee of Public Safety. This body was formed in April 1793, and became the effective government for some years. The Committee of General Surveillance, which Alex claims to be working for when he first confronts Perrault, was a similar body that later worked alongside the Committee of Public Safety.
Thank you for reading Playing with Fire I hope you enjoyed it. If you can spare a few minutes, could you leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads? You only need to write a few words.
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Read on for more details of the Marstone Series, and my other books.
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The Marstone Series
Sauce for the Gander
Book 1 in the Marstone Series
A duel. An ultimatum. An arranged marriage.
England, 1777
Will, Viscount Wingrave, whiles away his time gambling and bedding married women, thwarted in his wish to serve his country by his controlling father.
News that his errant son has fought a duel with a jealous husband is the last straw for the Earl of Marstone. He decrees that Will must marry. The earl’s eye lights upon Connie Charters, unpaid housekeeper and drudge for a poor but socially ambitious father who cares only for the advantage her marriage could bring him.
Will and Connie meet for the first time at the altar. But Connie wants a husband who will love and respect her, not a womaniser and a gambler.
Their new home, on the wild coast of Devonshire, conceals dangerous secrets that threaten them and the nation. Can Will and Connie overcome the forces against them and forge a happy life together?
Available from Amazon on Kindle and in paperback. Read free in Kindle Unlimited. Listen via Audible, audiobooks.com, or other retailers.
* * *
A Winning Trick
A Winning Trick is a short novella, an extended epilogue for Sauce for the Gander.
What happens three years later when Will has to confront his father again?
It is available FREE (on Kindle only), exclusively for members of my mailing list. Sign up HERE, or visit my website:
www.jaynedavisromance.co.uk.
If you don’t want to sign up, a paperback is available on Amazon.
* * *
A Suitable Match
Book 2 in the Marstone Series
England 1782
Lady Isabella has been kept on a tight rein by Lord Marstone, her overbearing father. She’s excited when he packs her off to London to make an advantageous match, confident her brother will preserve her from an unsuitable alliance. But when her brother is called away on vital business, he asks Nick Carterton to stand in for him.
Nick, a scholar who relishes the quiet life, has avoided marriage for years but is finally giving in to his father’s request that he seek out a bride. Looking out for a young miss new to society is the last thing he’d choose to do.
Will Nick’s attempts to help merely reinforce Isabella’s resentment at having her life arranged for her? Can Nick keep the headstrong Isabella out of trouble, put off unsuitable suitors, and still find himself a wife?
Available from Amazon on Kindle and in paperback. Read free in Kindle Unlimited.
* * *
Playing with Fire
Book 3 in the Marstone Series.
France 1793
Phoebe's future holds little more than the prospect of a tedious season of balls and routs, forever in the shadow of her glamorous cousin and under the critical eye of her shrewish aunt. She yearns for a useful life, and a love match like her parents', if such a thing could ever be possible for an unwanted, poor relation.
But first she has to endure the hazards of a return home through revolutionary France. Her aunt's imperious insensitivity arouses a suspicion that quickly develops into mortal danger. Can a stranger encountered on the road prove to be their unlikely salvation?
Alex uses many names, and is used to working alone. A small act of kindness leads him to assist Phoebe and her party, even though it might come at the expense of his own, vital mission in France. Ignoring his own peril, he is willing to risk all in the hope of getting them safely back to England. Unexpectedly, as he and Phoebe face many dangers together, he finds his affections growing towards the resourceful and quick-witted red-head, despite their hopeless social differences.
Even if they escape France alive, many troubles may still lie ahead.
Available on Kindle and in paperback.
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The Fourth Marchioness
Book 4 in the Marstone Series - publishing 2021.
Also by Jayne Davis
The Mrs MacKinnons
England, 1799
Major Matthew Southam returns from India, hoping to put the trauma of war behind him and forget his past. Instead, he finds a derelict estate and a family who wish he'd died abroad.
Charlotte MacKinnon married without love to avoid her father’s unpleasant choice of husband. Now a widow with a young son, she lives in a small Cotswold village with only the money she earns by her writing.