A Scandalous Passion

by Kelly Boyce

  She cleared her throat yet her words lacked the clarity her voice had possessed above deck earlier in the day. “A wedding, my lord.”

  “Ah, a happy occasion then.” Though in his estimation weddings were anything but happy. Rather they were the beginning of the end. But saying so would be impolite. Had the Laythams already found an Italian match for Lady Caelie?

  “And who is the lucky gentleman who has proposed to make you his wife?”

  “Oh no.” She shook her head and her skin turned even paler. At this rate, she would be translucent in no time. “It is not I. It is Mother. She has accepted a proposal from Sir Bernard Beechum, a distant cousin.”

  The news surprised him, though not more so than the strange relief he experienced knowing it was not Lady Caelie being bartered off like unwanted baggage. Not that it improved her situation any. She had still been forced to leave her home and remaining family to follow her mother to parts unknown to her.

  Sympathy settled in his belly. He knew the agony of being subjected to the decisions of others.

  “I see. Well, felicitations on your upcoming nuptials, Lady Glenmor. I wish you happy.” He tried not to choke on the word. He wasn’t sure happy existed within Lady Glenmor’s scope of emotions. In fact, he was quite certain it was not.

  She inclined her head, the only acknowledgement his good wishes received. “You may wish my daughter the same. She will be courted by Ellis Dornam, my cousin’s stepson.”

  “Oh, then two marriages are in the offing?” While he felt sympathy for Lady Caelie, at least with her already spoken for, the chances of him being trapped into a situation he wished to avoid lessened considerably.

  She glanced up at him and the anguish he saw in her bright green eyes stopped him cold. She did not want this. She did not want this at all. But as quickly as she looked at him, she looked away.

  “Lord Huntsleigh, Captain Moresley,” Lady Caelie said, lifting the linen napkin to her lips. “I’m afraid I am feeling quite exhausted by the day’s events. Would you please excuse me? I believe I will retire to my room.”

  Captain Moresley beat Spence to his feet. “By all means, m’lady. Shall I escort you to your rooms?”

  Lady Glenmor stood as Moresley made his way to the door. “That will not be necessary, Captain Moresley. Thank you.”

  “I insist,” he said. “The sway of the ship can sometimes make a body a bit unstable if you’re not used to the motion. Lord Huntsleigh and I shall ensure you both reach your room unharmed.”

  Spence came around the table and held out an arm to Lady Caelie. If forced into escort duty, he would take the lesser of two evils. Not that Lady Caelie had an evil bone in her body. Clearly she took after her father, which made her impending fate all the sadder. So far, he had managed to evade the marital noose. The same could not be said for his companion.

  He smiled down at her in a show of sympathy, but with her head bowed, she did not see.

  Bowen’s rooms were at the far end of the hallway from Captain Moresley’s. The narrow span of the hallway made for tight quarters and Spence had to tuck Lady Caelie close to fit them both through side by side.

  Her quiet voice floated up over the sound of their footfalls. “Forgive me, my lord. I did not mean to cut the meal short.”

  “It is of no matter. Do not trouble yourself.” He could not remember a time in recent history where he had been so happy to see a meal end.

  “I’m afraid I have yet to find my sea legs. Every time the ship moves one way, my stomach goes the other. It’s rather disconcerting. I’m sure a good night’s sleep will put me to rights. I promise I will not be a burden for the duration of the trip.”

  Spence glanced down at her. Her red hair appeared darker in the shadows of the hallway and reminded him of low burning embers. She lifted her chin to meet his gaze. The lantern the captain carried swayed a few feet ahead of them and a beam reached back and lit her eyes. It rendered Spence speechless as he stared down at the brilliant emeralds. They really were quite captivating.

  A jolt of heat cut through his body and he bit down until it passed.

  “Perhaps a little fresh air will help as well. Mr. Bowen claims it does.” Spence had no idea on the veracity of such a claim. He’d been born with sea legs and the currents and waves did not affect him.

  “Does being on the water bother him as well?”

  “Very much, though he will never say so.” He likely shouldn’t rat Bowen out in such a way, but part of him wanted to keep her talking, to gaze upon those pretty green eyes of hers and listen to her sweet voice. Such a stark contrast to her mother’s unkind utterances. How had Lady Caelie survived an entire life under that type of tyrannical rule and yet still maintained a sweet nature? For she did, which surprised him. He’d thought her dull and timid, and though he remained on the fence about her timidity, he was no longer certain he would call her dull. Quiet, perhaps. And sweet. The voice alone—

  “Do you worry about him then?”

  Her question surprised him. She had cut to the quick of the matter. “I suppose I do. Mr. Bowen is far too stoic to complain or let my grandfather down. That is why I thought I would save him from his stubbornness this one time and make the trip in his stead.”

  “How very kind of you, my lord. You are a good friend.”

  His kept his smile in place, though the statement made him a bit of a fraud. He had wanted to save Bowen the torment of another sea voyage, yes, but he’d also come aboard for selfish reasons, to avoid being forced into marrying some tepid miss and making her miserable.

  Spence let out a sigh of relief when they reached the door to Bowen’s quarters. These newfound revelations of Lady Caelie’s true nature left him unsettled. The image he’d had of her had begun to crumble and beneath its thin layer a picture, far lovelier than he had originally anticipated, evolved. The dichotomy intrigued him. And it was never good for him to be intrigued. He would do well to remember his purpose here—to avoid marriage.

  Lady Caelie was an innocent and bound for a new life with the promise of a husband at the end of it, not a treasure waiting for his discovery. He had no right to rob her of her future or to saddle himself with something he did not want.

  He must avoid Lady Caelie as if she carried the plague, otherwise he may find Captain Moresley making good on his promise to marry him at sea.

  * * *

  Caelie sat atop a crate half covered with a coiled rope thicker than her arm. She could not imagine the strength it would take to lift such a thing. Thankfully, a small corner of the crate remained uncovered and she did not have to find out.

  Though several men milled about, tending to duties or standing watch, the deck remained quiet. At the far end of the ship a man stood at the wheel, and above, higher up, men sat in what appeared to be a large bucket built around the mast.

  The murmur of their voices, however, could not rival Mother’s snoring as it echoed off the walls. Between the snoring, and her roiling stomach, sleep had evaded her. Resting had done her no good as far as acclimating to the sway of the ship. What little she had eaten at dinner swam around until she feared it would reappear if she did not act. With no other recourse, she had pulled her wool pelisse over her night dress and crept above stairs in the hope Lord Huntsleigh’s suggestion of fresh air would find her some relief.

  Caelie’s shoulders hunched against the cold air. Dampness clung to her skin and hair until one refused to warm and the other began to frizz. Still, she favored it over her confinement to the tiny room and Mother’s snoring.

  She pulled in a lungful of salty sea air. Water and blackness stretched out before her as far as the eye could see. Even the moon and stars had trouble lighting much beyond the ship’s prow, giving her the sense they were traveling into nothingness. The image left her disconcerted and a little frightened. Everything familiar had been stripped away and she was left adrift with nothing recognizable to cling to.

  Save for Lord Huntsleigh, she supposed. Though his demeanor made
it obvious he was not happy about their being aboard. She did not blame him. If anything, she shared his unhappiness. In fact, when he had yelled at Captain Moresley to keep the ship from leaving port, hope had surged within her. But, like every other hope and dream she’d secretly harbored over the past two years, this one too came to naught.

  She pressed her hand against her stomach through the thick wool of her coat. A chill had settled deep into her bones. Would she ever be warm again?

  It was horribly inappropriate for her to be up on deck alone and dressed in such a way, but she hadn’t dared try to dress herself before she slipped out of the room. Mother had insisted they did not require a ladies’ maid and could do for themselves for the duration of the voyage. In truth, none of the maids in Benedict’s employ had wanted anything to do with a long voyage tending to Lady Glenmor. Caelie wished she’d been given the option to stay or to go.

  Except that wasn’t true either. She had been given the option. Abigail had all but begged her not to go, as had Benedict and Aunt Lorena. But Abigail was newly married and expecting her own child in the summer, and Benedict would not be far behind. If she stayed, she would only be a burden, a reminder of the scandal that had tainted the Laytham name. Better she leave. Perhaps then things would go easier for Abigail and Benedict.

  Either way, Mother claimed her cousin, Mr. Beechum, would provide them with what they needed. Whether Mr. Beechum’s claims of fortune were true or exaggerated, Caelie could not say. Nor could Mother for that matter, though she insisted the older gentleman, the third son of a respectable viscount, could be trusted. How his family connections translated to a stellar character, Caelie did not know. She’d met plenty of gentlemen born to high rank who lacked both character and depth. She’d almost married one of them.

  The spray from a wave as it hit the side of the ship interrupted her thoughts before she could travel again down that particular path. Just as well. She had no desire to relive the end of her relationship with Lord Billingsworth, nor the fateful day he broke off their engagement only a fortnight after Father’s death.

  “Oh, Papa. I do miss you.” Despite the final year of his life when his obsession for the famed courtesan, Madame St. Augustine, had caused him to lose his mind and take his life, he had been a good man. A kind one with a gentle heart. It had been Papa who had fostered her love for books when Mother insisted she did not need to fill her head with such nonsense and learning to be a proper lady. And it had been Papa who had insisted they give Abigail’s family shelter after his estranged brother’s death, despite Mother’s strict objections. For that, she would be forever grateful. Abigail and her family, their love for each other and her, showed her what a true family could be. Papa had tried his best to soften Mother’s dislike toward her. He had made a point of reminding her she was loved, that she was beautiful and that she deserved a happy life. She had believed him. The alternative had been too ugly to contemplate.

  Until the ugliness came home to roost and she’d had no alternative.

  Losing Papa in such a public and scandalous way had been hard to bear. Caelie had crawled inside herself for the better part of the year. Easier to hide than to face the censure in Society’s gazes and the whispers behind their fans. And as it turned out, the ton appeared just as happy to have her gone. Abigail, Benedict and Aunt Lorena had done their best to shield her from the gossip, but it did not change the truth.

  And the truth was, she had been all but exiled.

  Tears sprouted in the corner of her eyes. She had not allowed herself to cry once since they’d buried her father. Mother would not countenance such messy emotions. She considered it undignified and, in her estimation, Papa didn’t deserve it.

  But now, alone for the most part, Caelie let them come. She did not have the energy to hold them in any longer. She closed her eyes and let the salt and spray from the Channel brush against her skin and mingle with the tears until another wave of nausea rolled through her. Her fingers dug into the edge of the crate as she waited it out. When she opened her eyes again, it took a moment for her vision to adjust to the blackness the meager light of her lantern could not penetrate.

  “Lady Caelie?”

  Caelie jumped at the unexpected voice and turned in her seat. The motion sent her stomach into a tailspin and she pressed her hand over it as she watched the dark figure approach. She had recognized the voice instantly and was not surprised when the bobbing light drew close enough to reveal Lord Huntsleigh’s lean, athletic figure.

  She closed her eyes again. Dear Lord. She swiped at the tears on her cheeks then fisted her hand around the neck of her pelisse. What a sight she must present—boots, coat and a nightdress, her hair in a long, thick braid with frizzy pieces poking out and wafting about her head in the stiff breeze. Not to mention a swollen nose and tear stained cheeks.

  This would not do. She could not be caught on deck alone with him. And certainly not in such a state. There might not be much left of her reputation after Papa’s scandal, but she’d like to retain what little did remain.

  She swallowed. “Lord Huntsleigh.”

  He drew closer and stopped a few feet away. The golden light from the lanterns bathed him in an angelic aura, though in truth, he looked much more like a fallen angel than one that might be found plucking the harpsichord and singing a godly tune. His coat, despite the cold night air, hung open, as did his waistcoat, to reveal the stark white of his shirt. The cravat he’d worn at dinner had been removed. Concern lit his pale eyes as he held the lantern aloft.

  “Are you crying?”

  Humiliation set her face aflame and she swiped at her face once again. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  He made a face. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

  She tried to look indignant but the ship chose that moment to dip and it was all she could do to contain her supper.

  Lord Huntsleigh motioned toward her. “Push over, then. I’ll keep you company.”

  She shook her head which only made her dizzy. Oh heavens, would this ship never stay still? “No, really. That would be wholly inappropriate.”

  A smirk lit his handsome face and the light from the lantern made his blue eyes dance. “Lady Caelie, you are sitting on the deck of a ship well after midnight dressed only in your nightclothes and coat. I believe you passed inappropriate several leagues ago.”

  Had her legs not felt so wobbly and useless, she would have jumped off the crate and run below deck, taking her humiliation with her. As it was, her legs refused to cooperate and the notion of moving at anything beyond a snail’s pace sent her belly into turmoil.

  She acquiesced to his earlier request and moved over. He sat and gazed down at her.

  “Pray tell, what brings you up here to cry your eyes out at such a late hour?”

  Caelie lifted her chin. “I was hardly crying my eyes out. I feel ill, that is all. I thought your advice about taking in the fresh air might help calm my stomach.”

  “And has it?”

  “No. I’m afraid it hasn’t.” Her stomach, as if to verify the veracity of her claim, chose that moment to lurch. She clasped her belly with both hands as if she could hold everything in place.

  “And that is why you were crying? I thought perhaps it had something to do with not wanting to leave London. Or what awaited you in Italy with your intended courtship.”

  “I did not intend a courtship at all,” she bit out. Her anger flared but she quickly tamped it down as she always did, though this time it went with more reluctance and left behind a bitter taste.

  “I see. I suspected as much.”

  “How?”

  He tilted his head and gave her a long look before he spoke. “You did not seem happy with the news.”

  Happy. She did not recall the last time she had been truly happy.

  “I should go,” she said. His presence made her far too aware of her state of dishabille and his estimation of her feelings came far too close to the mark to make her comfortable. “It is not proper f
or us to be alone together.”

  Lord Huntsleigh’s mouth quirked to one side and a strange tingle overrode the churning in her belly if only for a few seconds. “Have you never done anything improper?”

  Caelie did not know how to answer that. She lacked the quick wit of a practiced liar, but she could hardly confess her sins to a rake such as Lord Huntsleigh. With his reputation, he might take it as an invitation, or worse, think less of her.

  He chuckled. “I guess we all have our secrets, do we not?”

  “And what are yours?” She had not meant to say the words aloud, but they popped out before she could think better.

  Darkness invaded his eyes. Or was that only the way the shadow dipped and swayed? “I do not wish to marry. At all.”

  Caelie twisted her lips to one side. “I do not believe that is any secret, my lord.” Even she, who had been in exile for the better part of two years, knew the future Marquess of Ellesmere was a consummate bachelor who avoided the altar with the same fervor a fox did the hound.

  He shrugged and laughed. “True enough.”

  She studied his sharp profile as he stared out into the darkness. He truly was a remarkable specimen. Both rugged and yet refined, he maintained a devil-may-care aura about him that made you wonder if he took anything seriously. His charm was legendary amongst the ladies of the ton, nevertheless Caelie detected a warmth lurking beneath the smooth exterior he presented. In fact, once he had sat next to her on the crate, the cold in her bones had disappeared and been replaced with a—

  She cleared her throat. She really must go back to her cabin. “Lord Huntsleigh, as I said, we really must not be up here together. I should—”

  He waved her off. “I promise I will tell no one of this rendezvous if you don’t. Besides, what if I left and you were swept overboard by a rogue wave?”

  “I am not sure that is the rogue I need to worry about,” she muttered.

  “I am wounded.” He placed a hand to his chest but the grin he wore told her otherwise.

  His smiled left her tongue-tied. If he had a mind to seducing the ladies of the ton, that was the smile he should use, not the practiced smirk of a charmer he produced at the drop of a hat.