Redeeming the Rogue

by Donna MacMeans

  The carriage rattled to a halt. A footman quickly opened the door and assisted the two women to the pavement. The wide walkway bustled with nursemaids pushing prams, servants and footmen delivering messages, and the occasional young lady on the arm of a gentleman.

  “If she is deep in mourning, she may not see us,” Arianne cautioned before rapping upon the door. “I hope she does, though. I will miss her company the moment we leave England.”

  However, her concerns were needless, as the two were promptly welcomed inside. Lady Cardiff, subdued in her black garments and eyes still reddened by recent tears, greeted her with a quick hug. “Thank you,” she murmured in Arianne’s ear. “Lord Henderson told me of your plans to accompany Mr. Rafferty. I was afraid I wouldn’t see you before you left.” She turned toward Eva. “And who is this?”

  “This will be Mr. Rafferty’s hostess,” Arianne said. “I was hoping you would be able to offer her some advice.”

  “Are you a relative of Mr. Rafferty?” Kitty squinted. “A distant cousin perhaps?”

  “I’m to be his wife,” Eva answered.

  Kitty smiled at Arianne. “I see Cupid’s Mistress has struck again.”

  Arianne almost bit her tongue to keep from admitting that it was playacting. The three women settled into the parlor for tea and a brief chat. Kitty offered suggestions to Eva that Arianne imagined were common sense. But then, all discussion of visits and protocol would be new to Eva. Arianne’s lessons on etiquette supported Kitty’s advice about expectations. After a short while, Eva’s lip began to quiver from all she had to absorb. Afraid Eva might change her mind about accepting the role, Arianne suggested the time had come for them to return to the town house.

  Glad they had stopped, Arianne led Eva toward the waiting carriage, but before they’d crossed the pavement, Arianne heard a familiar voice call her name. She turned and froze.

  The late afternoon sun glinted off Baron Von Dieter’s blond hair. Lips that had kissed her in an intimate fashion lifted in greeting. Heat blossomed on her cheeks. She hadn’t expected to see him or his fiancée here, or anywhere for that matter.

  She wished she could sink into the pavement and let the earth swallow her so she could avoid this embarrassing meeting. She glanced to the Cardiff residence, but no sanctuary waited there. If only they had stayed just a few moments longer, she might have avoided the Baron altogether. She turned to Eva.

  “Would you wait in the carriage?”

  “You don’t want to introduce me?” Eva said, her nose lifting a notch in the air.

  “Please,” Arianne insisted, her chest constricting by the minute. “It’s a personal matter.”

  After one last look at the approaching couple, Eva turned and walked to the waiting carriage. Arianne took a deep breath and pasted a pleasant smile on her face.

  Miss Sharpe tightened her grasp of the Baron’s arm, as if she suspected Arianne would snatch him away. After her humiliation, that was unlikely. However, the possessive gesture made Arianne wonder just how much the woman knew.

  “You left Vienna in such a hurry.” Baron Von Dieter lifted her fingers to his lips. His gaze held hers and begged for attention. “Much was left unsaid.”

  She wanted to yank her hand back. No, that wasn’t true. She wanted to slap his face. However, neither action would be proper, and both would lead to explanations. Perhaps he felt some shame for his actions and hadn’t confided in Miss Sharpe.

  Arianne forced a smile and addressed Miss Sharpe. “I apologize for not expressing my congratulations on your engagement earlier. A family emergency had called me away.”

  “That was not—” the Baron began.

  “I hope all is now well with your family,” Miss Sharpe interrupted, her gaze narrowed like a satisfied cat. She knew. Blast! There would be little hope of avoiding gossip now. “I do hope we shall see you at the Sugdens’ next week.”

  “Yes.” The Baron perused her from head to toe, a wide, salacious grin on his lips. “You must come. We might find a quiet corner to . . . reminisce?”

  Arianne stiffened. “I’m afraid I shall be gone next week. I’m leaving for America shortly.”

  “But I must speak with you!” the Baron insisted. Then, apparently conscious of his fiancée’s surprise, he lowered his tone. “If I may . . . before you depart on your journey.”

  “That will be impossible.” All at once, Arianne was perversely pleased that they sailed so soon. “We leave in the morning.”

  He grasped her arm. “I need to explain. I’ll come tonight.”

  His fiancée gasped.

  “No, Karl,” Arianne said quietly. “I will not see you.”

  “May I be of assistance?” Rafferty’s familiar voice eased the tightness in Arianne’s chest.

  The Baron scowled over her shoulder and released her arm.

  “Mr. Rafferty,” Arianne exclaimed, almost giddy by his timely rescue. But as her gaze darted to Rafferty’s face, she questioned if her exhilaration was premature. He looked as if he planned to skewer the Baron on the spot. Surely he couldn’t know of the history between the Baron and herself. She tempered her enthusiasm. “I’m so . . . pleased to see you here.”

  The Baron frowned. “You know this man?”

  “Mr. Rafferty is a newly appointed British minister,” she said with a smile, “and a dear friend.” Rafferty’s threatening glare softened as he turned to her. She saw his wariness and . . . enjoyment. Though she wasn’t certain if the enjoyment resulted from seeing her, or from challenging the Baron. Either way, she rejoiced to see Rafferty.

  A moment passed and then another. Suddenly she realized she had neglected to make introductions.

  “I was about to call upon Lord Cardiff,” he said, ignoring the others. “We’ve been meeting for the last week. Would you care to accompany me to speak with Lady Cardiff?”

  It was the escape she’d hoped for, but she couldn’t return to see Kitty, especially with Eva waiting in the carriage. “I’ve just come from there myself,” she said with a nervous glance to the Baron. “Perhaps you could escort me to my carriage, instead?”

  He nodded, extending his arm toward the brougham.

  “Good day.” She nodded politely to the Baron and Miss Sharpe. As she moved away, Rafferty’s hand settled at the small of her back. She stiffened a moment, then relaxed. A delicious warmth radiated up her spine, inspiring an unanticipated confidence. Rafferty winked at her in response, as if they were co-conspirators and he was not rescuing her from an awkward situation.

  “A dear friend, indeed,” Miss Sharpe snipped behind her. “It just goes to show you can’t make a silk purse from a sow’s ear.”

  “Arianne, it wasn’t my decision,” the Baron called after her.

  Her step faltered, but with the subtle pressure of Rafferty’s hand, she continued to the carriage without looking back. Miss Sharpe’s anguished whispers faded behind her.

  Once they reached the carriage, and the offensive couple had moved safely down the pavement, Rafferty dropped his hand from her back. Mourning the loss of that strangely intimate connection, she faced him, embarrassed that he had witnessed her in that predicament. “Thank you,” she said, her eyes lowered. “I wasn’t prepared to see him so soon.”

  “I take it he’s the reason you are running away?”

  She looked up sharply. “I’m not running away,” she bristled. “Lord Henderson specifically asked that I assist you. You were there. You heard him.”

  Rafferty tilted his head in appraisal. “You could have said no.”

  She didn’t respond. To do so would be to admit certain fears that she preferred to keep to herself. She shifted her gaze toward the carriage, then toward the ground behind Rafferty, then toward her hands—anywhere but toward Rafferty’s face.

  He tipped his hat. “Till tomorrow, then.” Then he crossed the wide pavement to the Cardiffs’ front door.

  Arianne slipped onto the carriage bench, anxious to leave this embarrassing encounter. She hoped Kitt
y had not witnessed the confrontation and prayed Rafferty wouldn’t mention it to Lord Cardiff. Somehow she knew, though, that he wouldn’t.

  “Who was that man?” Eva asked, once the carriage jolted forward.

  “Someone I’d prefer not to remember,” Arianne replied. She turned her face away from the window as they passed Baron Von Dieter and his fiancée. Whatever she had once felt for him was gone. “He was someone I thought I knew, but I was mistaken.”

  Eight

  ON ANY GIVEN DAY, THE VITAL ENGLISH PORTS bustled beneath the concerns of commerce and transportation, perhaps even more so at the Royal Victoria Dock, which had been constructed specifically for steamships. Hydraulics powered an elaborate system of winches and pulleys lifting massive weights of cargo and lowering them slowly into the deep, cavernous holds of the ocean-bound ships. Or, conversely, relieved the holds of inbound vessels of their precious agricultural goods so necessary for England’s growing population. A railway spur added the hiss of steam and squeal of metal to the cacophony of industry. The scent of water, rot, and sweat weighed heavy in the air, reminding all in the vicinity that England was an island dependent on this very activity. Stevedores and dockmen scurried on the earthen banks like ants, servicing the patient metal giants secured to the docks with ropes the thickness of Arianne’s arm.

  No stranger to traveling by ship, Arianne scanned the hulls of the vessels attached to the dock, searching for one with the name Irish Rose. She found it, and her heart sank.

  This was not a four-stack liner used to transport large quantities of wide-eyed dreamers in luxurious, and not so luxurious, accommodations. That much was obvious. The Irish Rose hadn’t even the grace and elegance of the three-mast sailing vessels that still plied the trade to more local shores. The Irish Rose appeared more of a plodding draft horse in need of a bucket of oats and a good night’s rest before hauling the next day’s laden cart.

  “Is she safe?” Arianne asked no one in particular. They had debarked from the carriage that carried them to the far east side of London, to the Royal Victoria Dock. While her brother’s footmen and porters unloaded the sizeable quantity of luggage needed for a venture of this undertaking, she had wandered down the length of the railway spur in search of their ship.

  “She’ll get us to our destination in one piece,” Rafferty answered. As he and Mr. Connor had not joined them on the trip across London, she wasn’t aware they had already arrived. She spun around, surprised to discover he was a few steps behind her.

  A proud glint graced his eye, perhaps because they were all about to embark on a mission to track his nemesis. He’d made no secret of his eagerness. His chin pointed to the waiting steamship. “No need to worry on that score.”

  But she was worried. Whenever she’d traveled over water before, the vessel at least looked seaworthy. This one-funnel monstrosity had passed its prime decades earlier. That is if it had a prime.

  “What are those orange brown spots? It looks as if the rose is starting to decay.”

  He was not amused. “Rust. However, it’s only cosmetic. All the important mechanisms function.”

  That was not especially reassuring. “Isn’t there another more substantial vessel we can take?”

  “Not that leaves in our time parameters.”

  She bit her lip. “I can’t swim,” she confessed.

  “What?” he yelled as the train whistle signaled its intent to depart. He took her arm and guided her toward the metal bridge that connected the dock to the deck of their ship. “I can’t hear you.”

  “I can’t swim,” she repeated, surprised that the admission was easier the second time around.

  “That’s the whole point of the boat, isn’t it?” His eyes crinkled. “Lord Henderson did not ask you to swim across the ocean.”

  His levity didn’t lighten her apprehension, nor did his mention of Lord Henderson. She was well aware that this was not another excursion to avoid going home.

  “What if there’s a problem and the boat sinks?” she asked, hurrying to keep up with Rafferty’s stride. “It’s been known to happen.”

  He laughed. Laughed! “At this latitude, the ocean is so cold that if you were tossed into the waves, it wouldn’t matter if you could swim or not.” Almost to support his words, a chill wind whipped at her face, tugging the straw brim of her hat. She clasped her shawl tighter with her free hand. They dodged a stack of laden crates. “Your breath would freeze and your arms would be numb before you could move them enough to churn water.” He directed her up a flight of metal steps that led to the connecting bridge. Aware of his heavy step behind her, she hastened her climb. “All that fabric would tangle your legs and drag you down to the sandy bottom.” She stepped aside at the top of the stairs, and he rose alongside her, a wide grin on his face. “So you see, it doesn’t matter if you can swim or not.”

  The prospect of drowning froze her forward progress. Her feet refused to carry her even the short distance across the bridge.

  Rafferty smiled down at her, then tugged her forward. “Don’t worry. The Rose won’t sink. If it will ease your anxieties, I swim like a selkie. I won’t let you drown.”

  She reluctantly set a foot on the bridge. “What’s a selkie?” she asked.

  “A selkie?” He raised his brow and heightened that delightful brogue in his voice. “They’re legendary creatures from Irish folktales. My mother once told me she thought I might be one. Selkies appear mortal on land but revert to seals in the ocean. They can be either a man or a woman, but a man selkie is said to be both very handsome and have great seductive powers over women.”

  Arianne laughed. “And you believe you might be one of these legendary characters?”

  “I suppose that remains to be seen.” He offered the support of his arm while she stepped onto the ship’s deck. “But I have managed to seduce you across that bridge and into the care of Captain Briggs.”

  She looked back, surprised that she had crossed the bridge without anxiety. Rafferty introduced her to a man with wide gray burnsides who waited near the bridge opening. “I’m sure the captain can direct you to your quarters. I want to check with Phineas to make sure all the luggage was loaded correctly and that the other members of our party know the way.” He tipped his hat, then began to cross the planking.

  “Mr. Rafferty?”

  He turned toward her.

  “Are we taking this vessel just because it’s named the Irish Rose?” she teased.

  “No, my lady, we are not,” he replied, that proud glint returning. “We are taking this vessel because she belongs to me and sails upon my command.” He raised his gaze to the captain. “And I command this steamer will get under way as soon as possible.”

  “As you wish, sir.” The captain saluted him, and Rafferty headed back ashore.

  Arianne turned to the captain. “Is that true?”

  “Yes.” The captain held out his arm, indicating their direction. “The Raffertys have been in the shipping business for many years. When his father died, Rafferty’s uncle kept the business afloat until the lad could take over. Those were difficult years for all concerned, but we managed. The reputation of the Raffertys keeps us afloat. There’s some that ask specifically for the Irish Rose to ship their goods.” The captain beamed with pride. Arianne had her doubts. Only someone who had not seen the Irish Rose would trust their cargo to its keeping.

  “Even though he owns the Irish Rose, we haven’t seen much of Mr. Rafferty these past years. He must be in a hurry to arrive in America, as we’ll be traveling light.”

  “Light?”

  “Our cargo holds aren’t filled to capacity. We’ve got some textiles from Ireland and India, some wine and whiskey from Spain and Ireland, and of course, English mercantile, but not as much as we can hold.”

  “I would think forgoing a full cargo would be expensive.” She glanced about as they progressed down a flight of steps and through narrow hallways. Though the Irish Rose was small by contemporary standards, with so few
passengers, there should be adequate space and privacy to continue their lessons.

  “It is.” The captain inserted a key into the lock on the door and twisted. “He’s in a hurry, that one.”

  And Rafferty owned this? She had suspected that he was not the commoner that he claimed, but she had no idea that he was involved in anything outside of the Home Office. She remembered Mrs. Summers’s remark that several of the matrons would be interested in Mr. Rafferty for their young charges. At the time, Arianne had scoffed at the idea, but now she had to concede that Mrs. Summers was correct. Rafferty was proving to be a man of many surprises . . . pleasant surprises, she amended, remembering the spreading warmth of his touch on her back yesterday.

  Opening the cabin door, she surveyed what would be her home for the next eleven days. She and Mrs. Summers would share what would be considered a second-class room on the big liners. At least the cabin’s porthole presented a view of the docklands. Given the sinking feeling in her stomach, she needed that reminder that she wasn’t beneath water.

  The room was clearly meant for sleeping, as the space wasn’t sufficient for more. With that in mind, she made her way back to the top deck for the open air. Spying Eva and Mrs. Summers intently watching the dock below, Arianne glanced over the rail to see what captured their interest.

  Rafferty. She smiled. She should have known. Down on one knee, he was crowded on all sides by the filthiest ragtag group of children she’d ever seen. Keeping him in her sight, Arianne made her way to join the others at the rail.

  “Where did they come from?” she asked Mrs. Summers.

  “I’m not sure. They just appeared,” she replied. “I don’t think I noticed children on the docks when we arrived.”

  “He’s paying them,” Eva said, a combination of awe and annoyance tinging her voice. “See? He’s pressing something into their palms.” She opened her parasol to shade her face from the sun. “Word spreads quick when there’s money to be had. If he’s not careful, they’ll trample him over to get to his pockets.”