Daring Lords and Ladies

by Emily Murdoch

  Eventually, she drew back, and Ford urged her to sit while he put the kettle on and assembled a plate of biscuits and fruit. He plied her with tea and food and then took her hand in his.

  “I hate to cause you distress, but I need you to tell me exactly what happened.“

  “You don’t believe me?” The look on her face was like a knife to his heart. He took her hand, pressed his reassurance into it with his own.

  “Of course I do! I just—if I know exactly what happened, I can better help you defend yourself, should you need to face Lord Robinson.”

  She nodded, her gaze never leaving his. She described everything. There was not that much more to the story beyond what she’d told him at the Lieutenant Governor’s house, but when she described the moment she thought she was back in Kent’s house, at his mercy, Ford moved to crouch in front of her, holding both her hands in his.

  “And then you arrived,” she finished. Ford nodded, relieved to see she was dry-eyed and calm.

  “What do you think will become of me? Will they arrest me?”

  “No!” he said fiercely. And then more gently, “No. I am sure once the truth comes out, you will be found blameless. Only—” he paused.

  “Only what?” she whispered.

  “Only, it would help if Mrs. Livingston would corroborate your account. Do you think she will?”

  Jo’s eyes took on a world-weary cast. “Not if she must continue to live with that man. Nor would I want her to. It would put her in grave danger. When I—that is, I would not have been able to speak against Kent if I then had to remain under his roof. His punishment would have been…” she trailed off and Ford felt the now-familiar burn of fury at someone hurting this woman.

  “And yet you escaped,” he finally said.

  “Only because my friend Amanda Howard risked much to help me. And only because Kent didn’t know where Theo was. I changed the letters—I told you of that.”

  Ford nodded and she continued, “Mrs. Livingston is the sister of the Lieutenant Governor. The entire British government always knows his location. Even were he to leave with her, it would take no effort for her husband to find her.”

  “But if her brother were made aware, surely he would not stand by and allow her to be harmed.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said, pulling a hand out of his clasp to cup his cheek. It was a gesture that was becoming familiar to him, one that he cherished. “To her way of thinking, at least right now, the safest thing she can think to do is to remain quiet, be as unobtrusive as possible.

  Ford hated the idea of not compelling Mrs. Livingston to speak, but he could see that Jo was right.

  “In that case, I suspect the Lieutenant Governor will rule the incident as an accident. It was the man’s own gun, after all. He should have known better than to leave it loaded.”

  “And if Lord Robinson decides I am to blame? Where will they take me?” She appeared outwardly calm, but Ford could see the fear in her eyes, could feel her fingers grow icy.

  “Nowhere,” he vowed. “I’ll not allow them to take you anywhere you don’t wish to go.”

  She nodded, the tension in her face softening.

  He kissed her again then, reassuring her with his mouth and his hands, that he would protect her, keep her safe.

  She melted into him and he could feel her surrendering her worries and fears—at least temporarily—to his embrace.

  A pounding on the door downstairs drew them from their sensuous retreat. At the worry in her gaze, Ford said, “I’m sure it’s only Chester, coming to tell us everything has been sorted.”

  She nodded and he continued, “Wait here while I let him in.” He paused at the door to the landing. “But lock this behind me.”

  He waited until he heard the bolt shoot home, then ran down the stairs, wondering if he should have armed himself first. He opened the door a crack, expecting to see Chester, fearing it would be an armed contingent. He was surprised to discover Monsieur Pallet.

  “Pallet, this isn’t a good time.”

  “Non, mon ami, it is not. Is it true? Did Mademoiselle Barclay try to kill that salaud”?

  Ford opened the door and pulled the Frenchman in.

  “What did you hear? And from whom?”

  “I have come from the Lieutenant Governor’s house. Livingston is saying terrible things about ma chere mademoiselle.”

  “Tell me,” Ford said implacably.

  Pallet grimaced. “Le cochon says that Mademoiselle Barclay tried to seduce him and he refused. He says that she found him kissing his wife and it drove her mad with thwarted passion and so she shot him.”

  “The only thing he kissed his wife with was the back of his hand,” Ford said tightly.

  Monsieur Pallet’s face tightened. “Mon dieu! It is as I suspected. The man is not a man at all.”

  “What of Mrs. Livingston?”

  “She was nowhere to be seen when I was there. Le cochon claimed she was overcome with worry for him and had to be sedated.”

  Ford held up a hand when he heard a furtive knock at the door. Opening it, he discovered a grim-faced Chester.

  “Livingston is saying—”

  “I know,” Ford interrupted. “I heard. Chester, Pallet.”

  The two men nodded at one another.

  “What did the Lieutenant Governor say when he discovered Miss Barclay was not there?”

  “Mister Theo said his sister must have simply taken a walk to clear her mind. He convinced Lord Robinson to let him find her and bring her to the Lieutenant Governor’s manor in the morning. Lord Robinson agreed, of course. ‘It’s an island,’ he said. ‘How far can she go?’”

  “Did you tell Mr. Barclay what really happened?”

  “Yes, but he thinks his sister should turn herself in. He trusts that Lord Robinson will find justice and that Livingston will recant after he cools down. He even thinks Mrs. Livingston will step in and settle the matter.”

  “But you don’t agree?” Ford asked.

  Chester shook his head. “I’ve little faith in justice being served when a wealthy man’s fate is in the balance.”

  Sadly, Ford agreed. He glanced at Pallet.

  “You must take mademoiselle from the island. Keep her safe.

  “I’ll take her,” Chester said immediately.

  The Frenchman shook his head. “Non, mon ami. I need you here to help me.”

  “Help you do what?” Chester demanded, a scowl turning his craggy face fierce.

  “We must seek to sway public opinion. Surely others will have suspected Livingston of being un salaud if not specifically an abuser. Perhaps if Lord Robinson hears it enough, he will believe it. Perhaps it will even give poor Madame Livingston the courage to speak up.”

  Ford could tell Chester was not happy at trusting Jo’s protection to another, but he grudgingly agreed.

  “Let’s tell Miss Barclay your idea,” Ford said. “She has a right to decide what she wants.”

  The three men trudged upstairs. Jo unlocked the door at Ford’s call and listened somberly to Chester and Pallet’s report.

  “Clearly I must leave the island. Were I to stay and be arrested, it would ruin Theo’s business. Everything he’s built here.”

  “I will take you,” Ford said.

  “Capitaine Spooner will show you the wonders of the West Indies, non? It will be a little adventure on his beautiful ship. You shall see other islands, perhaps shop in larger ports than Basseterre. Your man Chester and I will see your name cleared here.” He turned to Ford. “In three weeks, make your way to Havana, oui? I will have word awaiting you at the El Louvre. It is a hotel in the center of town. Perhaps I will even come myself so that we may celebrate all the pleasures Havana has to offer!”

  Ford smiled and shook his head at the irrepressible Frenchman’s suggestion, as if he and Josephine were simply heading out on a pleasure jaunt, planning a holiday in Cuba. But Pallet’s suggestion did make Ford wonder what it would be like to have a holiday with
Josephine with no frowning society matrons or villainous abusers of women to contend with.

  Chapter Ten

  Ford and Monsieur Pallet began talking details of ship provisioning and circuitous routes to take to avoid Livingston being able to track them.

  Jo turned to Chester. “I’m so sorry, Chester.”

  The older man frowned. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, miss. You did what was right. Besides, Lady Howard helped you be free of Kent, you were only passing the favor on to Mrs. Livingston.”

  “Yes but you didn’t ask to be stuck in the middle of either situation.”

  “You’re right,” he said gruffly. “I didn’t ask, I volunteered. Let’s hear no more apologies, aye?”

  Jo smiled at Chester, who was really more of a friend than a servant anymore after all they’d been through.

  “Let Theo know I’m alright? And take care of Molly.”

  At the housekeeper’s name, Chester’s face softened.

  “Aye. That I will.”

  Dusk had settled by the time they left Ford’s building. Monsieur Pallet and Chester went ahead to make sure there were no men waiting at the docks. Ford had sent word earlier to his men to ready his ship, the Nightingale. As Ford explained, it was not an arduous task as they were preparing for his departure to Antigua in a few days anyway.

  Lord Robinson must have had faith in Theo’s promise to bring her in the next morning for they encountered no one but a few sailors as they made their way to where the Nightingale was tied off.

  “Tell Theo he must say I escaped in the middle of the night, that he had no idea I would run. I can’t think what might happen to him if Lord Robinson thinks he aided my escape,” she instructed Chester.

  “Mr. Theo will be fine,” Chester said. “He’s more wily than that to let any Lieutenant Governor cause him problems.”

  Jo hugged Chester impulsively, startling the normally taciturn older man. He patted her awkwardly on the back and said, “Take care of yourself, Miss Jo. Have ye need of me, just send word and I’ll be right there.”

  Though tears blurred her vision, Jo smiled at her loyal friend. Taking Ford’s hand, she climbed the gangway to the deck and turned to see Monsieur Pallet and Chester melt into the encroaching darkness as if they’d never been there.

  All around her, sailors quietly made ready to depart and within a few minutes, the Nightingale was easing out into the bay, her sails snapping crisply as they filled with wind.

  Ford came to stand beside her as she watched the dock recede.

  “I thought we had to wait for the tide to go out,” she said, trying to avoid even thinking of the reason for their departure.

  “That is true in some harbors, but here the tide doesn’t create that strong of a current. We are fortunate that the evening breeze is strong, however.”

  Jo nodded, watching his profile against the peacock blue of the evening sky. The light was fading and she could not make out his features, but they were ingrained in her mind: his strong cheekbones, bold brows, sensuous lips framed by that roguish goatee, fathomless hazel eyes.

  “She touched his arm. “Thank you,” she said again, her voice husky. There was so much more she wanted to say, but her throat choked off the words.

  He placed a large, warm hand over hers. “I will always protect you.”

  Her breath caught and suddenly it was all too much: Mrs. Livingston, reliving the terror of life with Kent, shooting Mr. Livingston, and now Ford’s statement, spoken with the solemnity of a vow. It was an echo of what he’d told her earlier, and yet now, heading out to sea, it felt like a momentous declaration. She burst into tears, great gasping sobs escaping from her throat. In an instant she was in his embrace, his great strong arms holding her tightly, her tears soaking the linen of his shirt.

  She cried as she had not cried since the first time Kent beat her. Then it had been the destruction of her dreams of a loving family. Now she cried for—well she didn’t actually know why. It just seemed like there was so much emotion built up inside her and it had to release somehow. The immediate pressure vented, her tears trailed off. She remained in Ford’s arms, holding him tightly, growing relaxed and drowsy beneath his gentle caress up and down her back.

  After several minutes, she lifted her head and his caressing hand moved to her face where he stroked her brows, the line of her nose, the curve of her cheek.

  There was so much she wanted to say to him but she had no idea where to begin, or even if she had the courage to lay bare her soul. The very thought made her shiver with trepidation.

  “Are you cold?” he asked, and before she could answer, he’d whisked his coat off, draping it around her shoulders. The coat smelled of him and she clutched the folds of it to her, inhaling deeply. He had turned away to call out orders to his crew and when he turned back, he said, “You must be exhausted. I’ll take you below to your cabin. Are you hungry?”

  For you, she thought, and the outrageous notion rendered her mute. She shook her head no.

  He smoothed an errant strand of hair off her face. “You should eat a little something. I’ll bring you some soup in a bit.”

  He led her below deck and down a cramped passage to a closed door. Pushing it open, he guided her inside where she discovered a low-ceilinged but large and lushly appointed cabin. A particularly long bed lined one wall and a large table and chairs were centered in front of a thick-paned window. Built into the wall, a shelf unit held half a dozen books and a few bottles and cups.

  “Is this your cabin?”

  “It is.”

  “But—where will you—” she stopped, abruptly wondering if he assumed they would share a bed since they had engaged in no end of kissing. The thought excited and terrified her all at once. Marital intimacy with Kent had simply been another exercise in his mastery over her.

  “I’ve a pallet in the other cabin. You’ll be safe, and I hope, comfortable here.”

  “I—” she had no idea what she’d been about to say, so she simply finished, “Thank you, Ford.”

  He smiled at his name and touched her cheek lightly before turning to leave. He paused at the door. “Do you need any assistance, ah, unlacing, er, anything.”

  She found herself grinning at his obvious awkwardness. He was always so confident, so assured. “I can manage. Thank you.”

  He nodded and closed the door behind him.

  Jo awoke to the rumble of her empty stomach and rolled over to see bright sunlight streaming through the mullioned window.

  Glancing around, she spotted her clothes in a heap on the floor and a tray with a bowl of soup and a slab of bread resting on the table. She stumbled out of bed, her legs tangling in the sheets, and made her awkward way to the table; she’d forgotten how the swell of the ocean rolled the deck under one’s feet.

  She snatched up the bread and tore off a large bite with her teeth. A glance in the crockery pitcher revealed wine, and Jo poured herself a cup to wash the bread down. The soup was less appealing than it must have been last night when it was delivered, but she hated to waste it and choked down a few spoonfuls with more bread.

  She wondered who had delivered the tray, if Ford had done so. She shivered with a feeling akin to delight at the idea of him being here while she slept. Had he lingered? Had he wanted to stay? And where was he now?

  Suddenly overcome with the urge to see him, she sorted through her jumble of clothes. She pulled on her stockings, then laced her corset over the chemise she’d used as a nightrail and stepped into the mound of her crinoline, tying the tapes securely at her waist before tugging the six yards worth of green-sprigged muslin over her head.

  In the time it took her to dress, the cabin had heated considerably and with the struggle of lacing and buttoning and smoothing, Jo was damp with perspiration by the time she was done.

  Lacking a comb or mirror, Jo ran her fingers through her hair, plaited it, and wrapped it in a low bun at the base of her head, securing it with those pins she found scattered in the sheets.


  Another roll of the deck had her bracing herself against the walls, but she finally made it out of the cabin. The air in the passageway was no cooler, however, and considerably darker. She felt the bit of soup in her stomach roiling uncomfortably beneath her corset. She swallowed hard and pressed a hand to her clammy forehead.

  “Jo? Are you alright?” Ford was climbing down the steep stairs into the passageway.

  “I just—” she began, but paused to take a deep breath, willing her stomach to settle. It did not listen.

  “Come up on deck” he said. “You need some fresh air.” He took her hand and guided her up the stairs.

  Once above deck, she turned her face into the wind and took deep breaths of the warm, salty air. Ford lightly touched her back.

  “Better?”

  She smiled at him. “Much.”

  “I hate to be indelicate, but I can’t imagine a corset and all those layers of skirt could be either comfortable or cool to wear.”

  She glanced down at her full skirts, which only yesterday morning had seemed so practical for a day at the market and visiting friends.

  “I can’t say that it is,” she admitted. “But the gown won’t button properly without the corset and my skirts would drag the floor without a crinoline.”

  He chuckled. “That’s quite a conundrum. Perhaps I could find you something a little less constricting to wear when we reach Antigua.”

  Jo bit her lower lip. In England, men were not supposed to give gifts as intimate as clothing. Even in the more relaxed social atmosphere of St. Kitts, something so personal would only be acceptable from a husband or perhaps a brother.

  Still, she reflected, she’d shot a man and escaped the law on a ship bound for the open ocean. Throwing off a few more social norms seemed not only necessary but expected. The notion was incredibly freeing. What else might she dare if she were not following the rules?

  She smiled at Ford, a wide, carefree grin. “Red.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I would like something red.”