A Scandalous Passion

by Kelly Boyce

  The wind hurled itself over the side and buffeted Lady Caelie’s skirts and cloak. The strong gust pushed the material against her lithe form to reveal more curves than Spence would have suspected.

  No, it would not do. She must leave and take her battle axe of a mother with her.

  “Lady Glenmor, I am afraid we cannot accommodate you. I’m sure my grandfather will recompense you for whatever fare you paid him—”

  “I most certainly did not pay him!” She spit the words at him as if the idea of paying for a service left a foul taste in her mouth.

  “My cousin, Lord Blackbourne, arranged the transportation for us,” Lady Caelie said. Her voice, though quiet, had a clear quality to it. Like bells on a still morning.

  “As I have come to understand,” he said. He would be sure to have a long talk with Nick when he returned to London, but that would have to wait. Until his grandfather came to his senses and stopped harping on Spence’s need to marry, he had no intention of coming back.

  “We apologize for the inconvenience. Did Lord Blackbourne not inform you of our plans?” Her crystal voice proved a complete contrast to the strident tones of her mother. Spence questioned her parentage yet again. Granted, her father, the late Lord Glenmor, had been quite the affable type of fellow. At least until he lost his wits.

  “He did not. Unfortunately I cannot allow you passage on the ship. So, if you’ll follow me, I will escort you—”

  “We are not leaving.”

  Spence glanced at Lady Glenmor, though not too closely in case he turned to stone. “Beg your pardon?”

  “We are not leaving.” Lady Glenmor’s tone afforded no room for argument. “As I understand, it is the shipmaster who has discretion on such matters and he has not indicated we are to go anywhere. You may show us to our rooms now, if you please.”

  If he pleased. He did not please at all. Well he did, quite well in fact if his last mistress, the Duchess of Franklyn, was to be believed, but not under these circumstances and certainly not with the likes of Lady Glenmor, who had all the personality of a scorpion ready to strike.

  Lady Caelie’s shoulders slumped and she cast a forlorn glance at the dock. For a moment, Spence wondered if she were contemplating hopping over the side of the ship into the churning waters below, but Lady Caelie did not strike him as the type prone to bold behaviours.

  The first mate’s voice called out over the din for the anchors to be pulled.

  Spence spun on his heel and held up his hands as if he could hold back the wind and stop Captain Moresley from doing exactly what he’d asked him to do in the first place—leave port with all due haste.

  “No!” He waved his arms, but the melee on deck drowned him out. He rushed forward, dodging burly men who reeked of sweat and fish. He sprinted toward Captain Moresley. The old salt hound’s feet were planted firmly on the deck next to the helmsman. When Spence reached him, the captain smiled beneath the neatly trimmed, white beard covering the lower half of his face. “You must stop this instant!”

  “Thought ye wanted to leave—with all due haste, wasn’t that your wish, m’lord?”

  “Yes, but—” He motioned back toward Lady Glenmor and her dull yet delectable daughter. They were no longer where he’d left them. He scanned the deck until he caught sight of the spring green of Lady Caelie’s cloak, a perfect complement to her mesmerizing eyes. “Where are they going?”

  “I asked Garron to show them to Mr. Bowen’s quarters. Best they get settled and get their sea legs under ’em, m’lord.”

  The echo of chains pulling the anchors taunted him.

  He turned back to Captain Moresley. “No. No sea legs are required, I can’t have them here. Lady Caelie is an innocent. This is no place for her.”

  The captain’s whiskers twitched as he smirked. “Don’t recall you ever being concerned about a lady’s virtue before, all due respect, m’lord.”

  Spence glared at Moresley but really had little to say in his own defense. Truth be told, he preferred ladies with a rather lax sense of virtue. Widows or wives, not innocents he could find himself shackled to for life if he made even the slightest misstep. And given his reputation and the close quarters of the ship and the fact that Lady Caelie was a very beautiful woman, albeit not a very lively one—

  No! She was Nick’s cousin. No way in hell could he even entertain such a thought. Nick would march him to the altar faster than—well likely nothing moved as fast as Nick would under those circumstances. And given that marriage—or rather his complete distaste for the institution—was the reason for his escape from London in the first place, he had no other alternative but to set the two ladies off the ship, pronto.

  “Captain Moresley, I demand you not leave this dock.”

  The captain locked his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. “M’lord, as we established earlier, I am the highest authority on this ship. And as such, I am not inclined to stay. As you said earlier, we must stay on time with the tides. And so we will.”

  “But—”

  “And were you not adamant we leave to prevent Mr. Bowen from coming on board?”

  “Yes of course, but—”

  “Then you might want to take a look.” The captain inclined his head toward the docks. Spence followed his gaze.

  Bowen, always the calmest of men, ran along the cobbled street that lined the dock. His arms gesticulated like a mad man. Spence could see he shouted, but the words were lost to the sounds of the sea, the dock and the ship.

  Just as well. Bowen did not appear pleased. He would have much to atone for when he finally did return.

  “Still want me to drop anchor, m’lord?”

  Spence ignored the hint of humor in the captain’s tone. He cleared his throat and straightened. “Well, it appears we are underway now, so I suppose there is nothing to be done about it.”

  “Suppose you have the right of it. Though I might add, the ladies are under my care, m’lord. I won’t brook any mischiefs where they’re concerned.”

  Spence fixed his jaw. “I will assume you are referring specifically to Lady Caelie.”

  Moresley shrugged and grinned. “I’ve ’eard your tastes run to wives and widows, so I’ll be sure and keep my eye on both the ladies, m’lord.”

  Spence shuddered. As if he would ever entertain the thought of sharing a bed with a cold fish like Lady Glenmor. He’d rather turn celibate. The lovely Lady Caelie was more to his liking, if only she had an ounce of spirit to her and a little more experience. He kept clear of innocents. They were nothing more than a quick trip to the altar and Spence had seen firsthand what wreckage marriage wrought. He wanted no part in it.

  “I will be on my best behavior.”

  “Ye best be, m’lord. I’m not opposed to marryin’ you at sea, if the lady’s virtue is in any way compromised.”

  The captain’s warning sent a slice of icy fear deep into Spence’s belly. He would throw himself into the Channel before he ever let it come to that.

  Chapter Two

  Caelie closed the door to their room and set her satchel on the floor next to her. The neatly appointed room reminded her of Mr. Bowen. Lord Ellesmere’s man of business had struck her as a quiet and capable man on the few occasions she had spoken with him. She’d imagined he would be agreeable company, and as he had traveled to Italy in the past, she’d hoped he could ease her worry over the strange world she was being thrust into. If she could do nothing to change Mother’s mind, then making the best of a bad situation remained her only recourse.

  But alas, Mr. Bowen had not arrived. Lord Huntsleigh had. And rumor had it the only company Lord Huntsleigh kept was that of women who had tired of, or buried, their husbands and found the future marquess’s charms and handsome face irresistible.

  The change did not sit well with Caelie. She had been charmed once before and paid the price for such folly.

  She would have to be on her guard. Not that Lord Huntsleigh had the smallest interest in her. When he’d danced with
her at Lady Blackbourne’s annual party she’d known it had been as a favor to Nicholas. When the set had ended, Lord Huntsleigh made a quick departure. Oh, he did nothing to offend, but neither did he do anything to strike up further conversation. She didn’t blame him. In her first foray back into society since Father’s death, her nerves had gotten the best of her and rendered her tongue-tied. No doubt Lord Huntsleigh thought her intolerably dull.

  She sighed and looked around. A cot had been wedged into a small space adjacent to a three-quarter bed. Their trunks took up residence against the wall next to Mr. Bowen’s desk. Set in a small alcove was a tiny sitting area and off of that another room which housed a table that sat eight.

  With the extra cot in the sleeping area, their quarters were cramped. It left little room to maneuver and even less hope of temporary escape from Mother, save to venture above deck, which Mother had already strictly forbidden. An order reinforced once again when she realized Lord Huntsleigh would be on board.

  The man did have a reputation, after all.

  As much as she preferred fresh air and open space, the sight of churning water left her stomach in a state of flux. Perhaps if she hid below deck she could convince herself she was on dry land, though the sway of the ship beneath her feet did little to encourage this.

  “You may take the cot.” Mother waved a hand in the direction of the narrow bed without looking her way. Hardly surprising. She often spoke to her in much the same manner she did the servants. Caelie could not remember a time when Mother went out of her way to be friendly to anyone. She treated everyone she met as if they were beneath her contempt, though she saved the worst of it for Caelie and her father. Was it any surprise that Father had taken a mistress? She could not blame Papa for seeking out warmth and affection elsewhere, not when she had done the same thing after his death.

  She shook the memory from her mind and sat down on the cot to take in her surroundings. Two small porthole windows let in a modest amount of light and overhead a small barred window offered a view of the gray sky. It provided enough light to chase the shadows into the corners. The warm, honeyed wood kept the room from appearing too dark and dismal, but not enough to invite a sense of hominess. Though, perhaps that had more to do with the company than the décor.

  “Are you certain marrying Mr. Beechum is the right thing, Mother?” Even if Mother was determined to leave London, marriage to a man she had not seen for nearly four decades was a drastic step.

  Mother pinned her with a harsh look. “Did you leave us any choice?”

  “Me?” But of course, her. Was she not to blame for every folly that befell their family since she’d survived her birth and her brother had not?

  “Had you managed to keep Lord Billingsworth’s attention, perhaps it would not have come to this, but you failed in that respect, and you failed to capture the attention of a husband after he jilted you. What other recourse did you leave me?”

  Caelie dropped her gaze. What choice did she have? Should she have begged Billingsworth not to break off their betrothal? Pleaded with him for mercy? The man had not even had the decency to give her the news personally.

  And even if he had, Caelie had not sunk so low as to prostate herself for the likes of Billingsworth. The man had no honor. If only she’d known that sooner, she would have saved herself a world of hurt.

  Caelie didn’t bother lodging any further protest with her mother. The ship had set sail and begun its journey through the Channel. Not even Lord Huntsleigh’s attempt to set them on shore had proven successful.

  “I’m sorry I have been a disappointment to you, Mother.”

  Mother huffed and walked to the porthole. Her uncommon height allowed her to see out of it and she stared toward the horizon in silence for a moment before addressing Caelie once more.

  “You still have a small purpose.”

  Something in Caelie’s stomach twisted, though whether that was from the dip of the ship or Mother’s words, it was difficult to say. “Purpose?”

  “Mr. Beechum has a stepson, Ellis, of whom he is quite fond.”

  The twist became a knot.

  “I see.”

  “He has indicated there is a dearth of proper English ladies he deems suitable for Ellis to marry. I have indicated I would be amenable to having him court you, seeing as no one else finds you remotely palatable as a potential wife.”

  The words cut Caelie to the quick. “You mean to marry me off to him?”

  Mother turned away from the window. “Mr. Beechum made it a condition of his proposal that I consider it. I see no fault in his reasoning. It is high time you stopped being my burden. I have done all I can by you. It is time you begin to do for yourself. It is not as if you have any other prospects.”

  Caelie had no argument to give. Mother’s words were true. She didn’t have any other prospects. But that did not mean she wanted to be bartered off as part and parcel of a betrothal agreement made without her consent.

  “What if we are not suited?” What if he was horrid or dull or lacked even the smallest amount of wit or imagination? What if he despised her and treated her with contempt? What if they were ill-suited as friends and had nothing tenable to even begin to build a relationship on?

  “You will do as you are told. This is the best you can hope for and you will be happy for the opportunity.”

  Caelie sat on the cot, stunned. Any hope of making the best out of a bad situation flew from her mind, chased out by unpleasant images of her newly decreed future.

  Oh, why hadn’t Lord Huntsleigh tried harder to toss them back onto the dock!

  A short knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Mother had turned her back once again to stare out the porthole, leaving Caelie to sidle between the two beds to answer the door. The roughhewn sailor they’d first met on deck stood on the other side. He pulled his cap off and revealed a mop of black curls peppered with strands of white. His arms were the width of tree trunks and his chest the size of a barrel. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a man quite so large or thickly built.

  “Cap’n and Lord Huntsleigh wished to convey their invitation to join ’em for sup’ this evenin’, m’lady. Someone can come and fetch ye when the time comes, if it suits you?”

  “That is most kind, Mr.—”

  “Garron, ma’am. Just Garron.”

  “Garron, then. It would be most appreciated. Thank you.” Any reprieve from her mother was a welcomed one at this point.

  The seaman nodded and slapped his hat back on to his thick mop of hair then headed back up the narrow staircase. Each step echoed his departure.

  She glanced over her shoulder at her mother. “Captain Moresley and Lord Huntsleigh have invited us to dine with them this evening.”

  Mother’s shoulders stiffened. “I suppose we have no choice in the matter. It would be impolite to decline.” She turned. “But do not think for a moment of prostituting yourself to Lord Huntsleigh thinking he will offer a proposal.”

  “I…prostituting myself?” Fear rippled up her spine.

  Mother glared. “You are nothing like me and therefore I can only assume you have more of your father in you. His reckless, hedonistic ways were his downfall, and by proxy, ours. I will not lose the one opportunity we have left by allowing you to squander it on misplaced passion you lack the ability to control.”

  “I would never!” She swallowed. What did Mother know?

  “See that you don’t. If I have to sell you spoiled to Ellis Dornam, I will. And do not for a moment believe Lord Huntsleigh will object. His reprobate behavior is well known. He will think nothing of foisting you off on another unsuspecting gentleman if it means he does not have to take you for himself.”

  Caelie sat back down on the bed and stared at the wall in front of her. Her insides rolled and her head buzzed. Her skin had turned cold and clammy.

  Mother directed her not to prostitute herself to Lord Huntsleigh, yet she thought nothing of selling her like a whore to the highest bidder when it suited he
r own purposes.

  She closed her eyes to keep the tears from spilling over.

  It was going to be a very long voyage. Though nowhere near long enough when she thought of what waited at the other end.

  * * *

  Dinner proved a dismal affair. Spence had to stop himself from repeatedly checking his timepiece every few minutes, not because it was rude—which it was—but because he could not bear the disappointment when he realized only three minutes had passed since the last time he looked, and not three hours like it felt.

  He had done his best to engage his guests in polite conversation, but Lady Glenmor appeared disinclined to utter more than one word answers in a tone that clearly indicated she did not care to converse further, and Lady Caelie did little more than stare down at her plate and push her food around.

  Granted, they were likely unaccustomed to such rudimentary fare as salt pork and root vegetables, but the ship was not equipped for fancy dining, nor should it be given its purpose as a cargo vessel, not a vehicle for passenger transport. Still, the hearty meal did not deserve the tepid response it received from the ladies present.

  Spence decided to make one more stab at polite conversation before he gave up, submitted to rudeness, and abandoned the ladies to Moresley’s capable hands. Penance, he decided, for the man agreeing to Bowen and Nick’s decision to transport the two of them to Italy in the first place.

  “And what is it that takes you to Italy? A grand tour?” He wouldn’t blame them for trying to escape the scandal that still hung about the Laytham name. Perhaps Lady Caelie could find herself a nice Count to marry. Heavens knew she’d had no luck in London after her father’s death. Still, banishing the poor girl from the only home she’d ever known seemed a rather harsh punishment for a scandal she had no part in.

  “Indeed, no,” Lady Glenmor said. Her words came out clipped and cold.

  “I see.” He glanced at Lady Caelie in the hope she would add to the conversation. He noted she looked rather drawn, paler than when she’d first arrived on deck.