by Meara Platt
She laughed. “It isn’t. Quite nauseating, actually. But I’ll survive.”
“A little air will do you good. I’ll escort you on deck, if you wish.”
She nodded. “Did you recognize any of those names we deciphered?”
“A few, but nothing surprising.”
“Nothing that surprised me, either.” She looked up at him. “Most of those entries seem obvious. Dates recorded. Places of delivery. Names of recipients of the smuggled merchandise. Amounts paid. What if I’ve overlooked something?”
“We’ll have several days to review those pages. Besides, there is a lot more in the book that we haven’t deciphered yet. Longer passages that likely detail his plot to overthrow the monarchy, and the names of the Englishmen who support him. These are clearly not mere ledger entries.”
“But what about Somersby’s plot against my family?”
“I think you’ll know when you come across what you’re looking for. You’ve already figured out the most important part, that he intended to use you to hurt someone in your family. The answers will come in due time.”
“I hope so.”
The next few days passed quietly.
So did the nights. Once in bed, John took her in his arms and held her close, but nothing more. He didn’t kiss her. He didn’t touch her other than to hold her against his warm skin. Did Selena mean more to him than he was letting on? Was he regretting their marriage and preparing her for the day they would part company?
She was his wife. They’d consummated the marriage. Did he want out of it now?
The skies turned gray, as though reflecting the sad shadow cast upon her heart, and stayed that way until they sailed past Norwich and approached Harwich. Nicola was on deck, her shawl tightly wrapped around her shoulders, and the wind whipping her hair into a knotted mess, when John came to stand by her side. “We’re going to be let off at Harwich. Somersby’s men will be waiting for us in London. I think it is safer for us to travel the rest of the way over land.”
“How? We haven’t any funds.”
The sun chose that moment to peek out from behind the clouds and beam down on them. John, of course, had a golden halo around him. He looked magnificently handsome, as always, quite rugged with the beard he’d let grow out. “I have an office in Harwich. I’m known there. We won’t have trouble finding lodgings or a decent meal. We’ll be off this whaler in a matter of hours.”
She nodded. “I’d love a warm bath and a hot meal. Mostly, I want to be home and have this ordeal over. I want to hug Kendra and sweet little Emily. I want to chase fireflies with Robert and Callum,” she said, referring to her younger siblings.
She clasped her hands and rested them on the railing as they began to shake. “I can’t imagine what I was thinking to allow Somersby into my life. A fortnight ago, I was a silly debutante with not a care in the world. Now, I’m on the run for my life, married to a man who never would have offered for me if he weren’t my brother’s best friend, and chased by a deranged marquis who hates someone in my family enough to destroy my life. Oh, and he wishes to depose the king.”
He covered her hands with one of his own. “We’re almost done, Nicola. Another day or two at most and that book will be in Prinny’s hands. We’ll sort the rest of it out afterward.”
She turned to face him. “Getting it to Prinny won’t be easy. Somersby will have reached London by now. He’ll have spies positioned everywhere, including around every royal residence.”
“He won’t stop me from gaining entry to the palace.”
“I suppose not. You’re the Crown’s best agent. You can do anything.”
He shook his head and stared at her. “Do I detect resentment in your tone?”
“No. Just fear.” She emitted a ragged sigh. “What will happen to us once this is over?”
“Whatever you want to have happen. I’ll obtain the special license in Harwich. We can be married by tomorrow… legally married under English law, that is. You’re my wife, Nicola. Adding one more piece of paper to confirm it won’t change how I feel.”
“You’re speaking out of a sense of honor and duty to protect. Those are noble obligations, but they are not the same as love. How do you feel about me, John? You haven’t… you haven’t touched me since we’ve been on this boat.”
He frowned in contemplation. “I’ve held you in my arms each night.”
“Yes, but you haven’t touched me, not in a way that a husband has a right to touch his wife.”
His eyes seemed to bore into her, the hunter-predator grays and greens as bright and clear as crystals. “I slept. Did you not notice?”
“I did… but, I…” Her eyes widened in surprise. “You slept. I’m so dense. But in my own defense, I’ve been distracted.”
He cupped her cheek in his palm and gently ran his thumb across it. “I was at peace while your body rested against mine. How do I feel about you? Ask me the right question, Nicola. Ask me how it is that I’ve slept through these past nights without waking in terror, my sheets and body no longer soaking wet, and my heart no longer pounding a hole in my chest? Ask me how it feels to finally experience that sense of calm.”
He traced his thumb lightly across her lips and smiled at her. “Ask me how it feels to hold your soft body against me.”
She swallowed the lump of sweet agony lodged in her throat. “I was so caught up in my own fears and doubts, I never once thought…” She shook her head and swallowed hard again. “I wish I could blame it on my nausea from the odious scent of whale blubber.”
“We’ve both been on edge.” He grinned and lowered his head to kiss her on the lips. “I’ll attend to my husbandly duties this evening. It will be my pleasure.”
She laughed. “It’s my pleasure I’m concerned about.”
His eyes had a sparkle to them, like sunlight gleaming on the water. “I’ll make that a priority.”
CHAPTER 15
NICOLA’S LEGS WERE wobbling as she and John quickly made their way off the vessel to one of the dockside inns at Harwich. It was shortly after sundown, and after all these days at sea, Nicola’s balance was off kilter. She felt the sway and tip of waves upon the water, her body seeming to rise and fall with each swell, even though they were now on firm ground.
She had expected John to take her to one of the run-down, noisy establishments frequented by seamen and ladies of ill repute that lined the harbor. But Nicola was delightfully surprised when John led her around the block to a modest structure with a weathered but genteel charm. The sign swaying above the door displayed three cups to designate its name, the Three Cups Inn.
It was not an elegant inn, but respectable.
As they walked in, Nicola noted that the furniture and carpets were of good quality. The sturdy, oak tables in the common room were wiped clean and set with serviceable bowls and dining utensils. The private dining room was a notch above the common room. The tables were also of oak, but of finer quality and highly polished, and set with crystal glassware, fine china, and silver utensils. The inn’s library provided comfortable seating for guests wishing to spend a rainy afternoon reading.
Were she not worn down from the strain of running for her life, Nicola would have enjoyed these offered comforts. Since John had stayed at the Three Cups Inn before, no doubt on his way to fight on the Continent, or do whatever it was that he’d been assigned to do as an agent of the Crown, he was familiar to the innkeeper and able to secure them the inn’s finest suite of rooms. More important, they were permitted to use the servant’s entrance and back stairs, which allowed them to move about unseen by other guests.
The innkeeper was a burly woman by the name of Mrs. Finch who wore a perpetually indignant expression on her face, but appeared to adore John. Of course, who could resist him when he turned on the charm? He did just that as soon as they were settled in their guest chamber. The woman was fawning and giggling over him by the time he’d dropped his pouch over the bed’s footboard. “Mrs. Finch, you are a treasur
e. Please have food and a warm bath sent up for my wife.”
One of her graying eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Yer wife, is it?”
“Yes,” John replied, choosing to act the besotted beau rather than use a tone of commanding authority that would have had the innkeeper quaking. Nicola’s own knees would have been shaking had he chosen to use the cold air of authority that came so easily to him. Of course, being impertinent by nature, she would have shot back a smart retort to hide the fact that she was terrified.
“Yes, I have married,” he said and turned to Nicola, gracing her with a devastatingly tender smile. “I was lost the moment I set eyes on her.”
The soft way he spoke made Nicola’s legs turn to butter, even though she knew he was spouting nonsense. He’d known her forever. He’d ignored her for years. But she couldn’t help blushing at his remark. “It was a whirlwind courtship, but how was I to resist him, Mrs. Finch? He is such a merry soul. A tender romantic. Reciting poetry, lavishing me with chocolates and flowers. Insisting on walking my pet ferret.”
John burst out laughing.
Nicola grinned impishly at Mrs. Finch. “He is none of those things, of course. He’s aloof and often dour. But he’s brave and honorable and divinely handsome. I love him with all my heart.”
The woman cast her a nod of approval. “Aye, Lady Bainbridge. Ye’ve got the best man in England. We’ve seen many pass through here, most of them knaves and some like yer husband who are men of honor. The Earl of Hearts is what we call ’im, for we knew it would only be a love match for ’im.”
“The Earl of Hearts,” Nicola repeated in a whisper, quite liking the expression. John’s heart was like Excalibur, the sword of Arthurian legend. People throughout England tried to draw it out of the stone, the rich and the poor, the young and the old. The strong and the weak. But only one could ever claim the sword, just as only one woman would ever claim John’s heart.
She liked to think she was the one.
She knew he cared for her. But he’d also cared for Selena. And how many others before her? It was in his nature to protect those weaker than himself, to do the right thing no matter what he had to sacrifice.
But he’d married her in Scotland and was going to marry her again in England. Twice. Two marriages. And the Earl of Hearts, as Mrs. Finch had called him, would only marry for love. Please, let it be so.
John cleared his throat. “Are we done with the social niceties? I’ve much to accomplish this evening. Take care of my wife, Mrs. Finch. As you can see, we’ve come with nothing. The shops along High Street will be closing soon and Lady Bainbridge is in need of the basic necessities.”
He turned to Nicola. “Sweetheart,” he said with a casual intimacy that thoroughly surprised her, for the most loving term he’d used until this very moment was “brat.” “Make a list of whatever you need and Mrs. Finch will take care of it.”
She nodded.
He kissed her on the cheek. “I won’t be gone long.”
She nodded again. “Be careful.”
He left without bothering to respond, for he was no longer the tender, doting husband, but the hunter-predator on the prowl, determined to destroy Somersby and whatever treasonous plot he and his fellow conspirators had conceived.
Nicola hastily made a list of what she needed and handed it to Mrs. Finch. “There’s one more thing I need,” she said as the woman tucked the list into her ample waistband. “A book with a cover similar to this.” She withdrew Somersby’s book from the pouch John had left dangling over the footboard and held it out for her to inspect.
Mrs. Finch scratched her head. “Any book?”
Nicola nodded. “As long as its binding is similar to this one. I know it is an odd request, but my husband will understand. Feel free to tell him, but it is vitally important that no one else knows.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I can tell yer husband?”
“Yes, I have no secrets from him. Please, Mrs. Finch. We are obviously in dire straits and your discretion is of vital importance. If you must know, we are running from a spurned suitor of mine who is intent on killing us.” It wasn’t a lie. That Somersby cared not a whit for her and only wanted the book was not necessary to mention.
“Are ye truly married to Lord Bainbridge?”
She nodded. “In Scotland. He’s gone off to obtain a special license so that we can be legally married in England. Not that our marriage isn’t already legal. It is,” she rushed to add, realizing the innkeeper might toss them out if she believed otherwise. “But he is an important man in England and holds a much coveted title. He wishes to remove all doubt that we are well and truly married.”
A small smile escaped the woman’s lips. “So he’s marryin’ ye twice?”
Nicola sighed, realizing she’d said too much and would never make a good spy. “Yes.”
“Good heavens, he must really love ye.”
AFTER MAKING CERTAIN no suspicious characters were lurking around the inn, John concentrated on where he was going and what he meant to accomplish in these next few hours. He tried not to think of Nicola, for she was safe and he needed to remain alert, his instincts honed to detect anyone following him or any attempted ambush.
His first stop was to secure the special license and make arrangements for a quiet wedding ceremony early in the morning. He then headed to the Bainbridge office, knowing it would be locked up for the evening by the time he arrived. Only Harry, their reliable night watchman, was on the premises. Harry’s terriers were with him, two small dogs who served mostly as ratters but had also been trained to hold off attackers. Since John had helped to train them, he expected they would recognize him.
The dogs yipped with glee as he approached and furiously wagged their tails. He knelt down to pat them. “Horace. Mortimer. Have you lads behaved yourselves while I’ve been gone?”
“Lord Bainbridge, is that you?” Harry asked, lowering his pistol and setting it back in its holster. “Lud, it is you. No one told me you were comin’ here. Forgive me, m’lord. I would never have aimed—”
“Quite all right, Harry. Glad to see that you’re as diligent as ever.” He strode inside and went to his office, opening the safe and removing sufficient funds to pay off the captain of the northern whaler and get that ship out of port before one of Somersby’s cohorts made the connection and began searching for him and Nicola in Harwich. He took additional funds to purchase some niceties for Nicola for their travel to London, preferring to pay his way instead of leaving his name wherever they stopped. “Have you noticed anyone lurking around here recently?”
“No, m’lord. But I’ll keep my eyes and ears open. The dogs would have barked wildly if any strangers had come near.”
“If anyone does come around asking questions, you haven’t seen me.”
The guard quirked his head, but nodded. “Whatever you say, m’lord.”
“It’s important, Harry. The life of a very special young lady is at stake.”
“And yers too, I expect.” He ran a hand across his thick neck. “Ye have my word, of course.”
John returned to the Three Cups Inn fairly late in the evening and used the servant’s staircase to enter the room he’d obtained for him and Nicola. Nicola was still awake, curled up in a big chair beside the hearth, reading Somersby’s accounts and sipping a cup of what appeared to be hot cocoa. By the look of the plate beside her on the side table, she’d eaten all of her supper. Her hair was washed and almost dry, tumbling in curly waves over her shoulders and down her back. She wore only her thin camisole, but the fire blazing in the hearth provided enough warmth to chase the October chill from the room. She looked soft and rosy and quite delectable.
He cleared his throat and made a little noise as he entered. “I’m back.”
She gasped and stared at the latched door first, then realized he’d come in through the hidden door beside their bed. “Thank goodness.” She jumped to her feet. “Did everything go as planned? Do you think anyone followed you?”
He removed his jacket and tossed it on the bed. “No, it seems this is the one town Somersby’s men haven’t thought to search yet. I expect he’s concentrating his efforts on London now. He knows we can’t be far away.”
She sighed. “I can’t wait until this adventure is over. I shall never complain about Lady Stafford’s agonizingly dull musicales or those stiff Ladies Horticultural Society teas with all those bombastic matrons peering at me through their lorgnettes. I think I shall even hug that wretched snoop Lady Phoebe Withnall when I next see her.”
John laughed as he sank down in a chair by the table, preparing to tug off his boots. “One gets used to being chased when you’ve done this as long as I have. But even I get weary of it at times.”
Nicola set down her cup and came over to help him. “Oh, John. How thoughtless of me. You must be hungry and tired.” She pointed to the platter on the table. “There’s food for you and a bottle of wine. But I can ring for Mrs. Finch to bring up some ale if you prefer.”
She glanced at the tub that was standing by the fireplace. “The water’s cooled down by now, but it’s clean and should be comfortable enough for you.”
“Is that your polite way of telling me that I’d better wash up if I’m to touch you tonight?”
Nicola’s eyes rounded in horror.
He’d meant it as a jest, but she’d taken the comment to heart. When he opened his arms to her, she came to him eagerly, offering no resistance when he drew her down onto his lap. “I’m teasing you, brat. I fully intend to wash. I must smell like the rankest back alleyways.” He kissed her soundly on the lips, glad that she did not seem to mind the dust and grime that clung to his clothes.
“After all those days on the whaling ship and the permeating scent of blubber, I think you smell as sweet as a summer rose,” she said, chuckling as she eased off his lap to allow him to finish removing his clothing. He quickly bathed, and once finished, put his pants back on for the sake of propriety. He wasted no time in devouring the leek soup and mince pie that had been brought up for him, for he was famished. He finished the ginger biscuits that Mrs. Finch had also left for them, and washed them down with a glass of wine.