by Jane Ashford
Reaching the house, Laura went in and sat in the chair before the fire. Low spirits threatened to overwhelm her. She had battled such feelings many times during her years at Leith House, but they seemed even worse now. Back then, she had had so little to lose.
Impatient with herself, she rose and began to pace the uneven wooden floor. Was she just going to give up? Was she going to trot meekly back to a life she didn’t want and wasn’t sure she could bear any longer? Was she going to accept others’ definitions of what she could, or could not, do?
She wanted to say no. But she knew it wasn’t so simple. She had made it clear to Gavin that she wasn’t a whimpering miss ruled by convention. When they returned to civilized land, however, she would be bound by certain constraints. If she wasn’t to earn her living as a governess, what would she be? There were few other choices, and none of them appealed.
She paced some more. If Gavin loved her, she thought; then stopped herself. He didn’t. On the contrary, he saw her as a potential entanglement and a threat to his happiness. She mustn’t include him in her calculations. He wished only to leave her.
Catching her breath on a twinge of pain, Laura turned and paced in the opposite direction. She was facing reality here, she insisted to that part of herself that wanted to weep. There was no time for mourning. And regrets were useless. There must be something she could do.
An idea struck her. She stopped in the middle of the floor and contemplated it. Arguments emerged before her mind’s eye in orderly rows. Points of persuasion presented themselves. It seemed to her a compelling case. Would it to others?
She started to pace again, taking the idea apart and putting it together piece by piece, testing for weaknesses. Her energy returned as she found very few. It might very well work, she thought, and the future opened out in a whole new way.
* * *
It was hours before a sail appeared. But when it did, it was obvious that the vessel was heading for the island. They tossed more branches on the fire and began to send their signals once again. With excruciating slowness, the ship drew nearer. It seemed eons before they could make out figures on the deck. “It looks like a local fisherman,” said Gavin. “The boat is small, and there’s no flag.”
“Will they take us to shore, do you think?”
“For a price.”
She nodded. “Do you have any money? I have a little.”
“Enough. It’s fortunate Michael thought himself above thievery.”
She nodded again.
Gavin gave her a sidelong glance. There was something different about her, had been ever since she came back to the headland. Her step was lighter, her gaze more sprightly. It was puzzling. She had changed before there was any sign of rescue, and he hadn’t been able to elicit any reason for it. “It’s better, actually, that we didn’t attract a merchantman or a navy ship. They would be much less likely to alter their course, and any navy commander would have a great many questions.”
“Unless it was a British ship,” she replied.
Even her voice was different—more carefree. Gavin felt inordinately irritated by the mystery of it. “They might have more questions than anyone else. We can’t waste time on explanations. We need to move fast.”
She raised her eyebrows, looking quizzically amused. And what, Gavin wondered, had he said that was amusing? This new, enigmatic Laura was beginning to be annoying. “I’m going down to the dock,” he said. “You stay here and wave them in that direction, so they can find the landing.”
“All right.”
He started toward the path, then was struck by a thought. “I’ll tell them our boat was wrecked. And…it will be easier if I say you are my wife.”
“Whatever you think,” she answered airily, keeping her eyes on the now rapidly approaching fishing boat.
Gavin frowned at her back briefly, then dismissed his questions from his mind. The critical thing now was to convince the sailors to take them off the island. Deciphering Laura’s odd behavior would have to wait.
* * *
Laura stayed on the headland until the fishing boat hove out of sight around the cliffs below. Then she returned to the house, where she soon heard voices approaching. They were lively and punctuated by laughter. As they came closer, she took in that they were speaking Italian.
Gavin entered first. “Laura, Luigi and his crew have agreed to take us to the mainland.”
He was followed by three dark-haired men in rough work clothes—one barely more than a boy. All of them eyed her with great appreciation.
Since Gavin had addressed her in Italian, she expressed her gratification in the same language.
“This is Luigi, his son Roberto, and Gianni.”
She acknowledged the introductions. Roberto made as if to kiss her hand, but his father pulled him back.
Gavin indicated the boxes of food stores, and the men went to pick them up. “I told them they could have this, since we won’t be needing it any longer.”
“Of course.” Did that mean that he hadn’t had to pay them? Laura wondered.
“Are you ready?”
She nodded. Gavin came and took her arm, which surprised Laura until she noticed the approving looks of the Italian men. She remembered what George Tompkins had said about Gavin—that he fitted himself to any group he encountered. Listening to him banter with their rescuers on the way down to the dock, she understood what he had meant. Gavin seemed almost one of them. He made them laugh, but he also spoke to them as if they had all known each other a long time. And his manner was different—more animated and open. It didn’t seem like an act, she thought; it seemed as if he had absorbed their ways just by being near them.
The fishing boat was tied up at the old dock. Laura was surprised to see a large dog standing alertly on the deck, watching the path with close attention.
“Alto,” called Luigi. “It is all right. We are back.”
The dog gave one sharp bark and leaped onto the dock, jumping amazingly high. He ran to the little cavalcade and capered excitedly around them, especially Roberto, who was carrying the box with the bacon.
“We call him Alto because he jumps so high,” the young man told Laura. “He guards the boat when we are on shore.”
The dog, whose short brown coat and pointed ears belonged to no particular breed, looked up at Laura as if he knew he was being described. His tongue lolled out in a kind of grin. “Hello, Alto,” she said.
His ears swiveled, but he didn’t approach her.
Luigi put his box down on the dock and turned. “Alto,” he said. The dog trotted over to him immediately. “This is Signor and Signora Graham,” he told the dog. Looking up at them, he added, “Would you give him your hands?”
First Gavin, then Laura extended a hand to be sniffed.
“They are friends,” Luigi said. “They are coming with us.”
As if he understood, Alto now came over to Laura and offered his head to be patted.
Gavin helped Laura step over the rail and onto the small boat’s deck. She didn’t really require help, but she knew her part now and played it. A blanket was thrown over a large coil of rope, and she was seated as if she were breakable. Only then were the lines untied and the boat cast off from the dock. The fishermen turned the hull with poles and then raised the sail to catch the wind. The boat drew away, picking up speed when it left the lee of the tall headland.
Laura watched the landing, and then the island, recede across the water. She would never forget this place, she thought. It held far more memories than seemed possible for the short time they had spent. But the memories were such an intense mixture of good and bad that she wasn’t sure how she felt leaving it behind.
The day was clear and cool and the waves calm. They encountered no difficulties, and as sunset approached, they sighted the long line of the Italian mainland ahead. Laura was aware of Gavi
n’s voice, discussing with the fishermen where they would be set ashore, but it receded into the background of her thoughts. The sky was washed with crimson in the west. Lights glimmered here and there on the coast. The wind, picking up a bit, brought scents of salt and pine. It felt as if they were moving from one world into another, she thought. Soon, they would be back to the one where she was a governess in need of a post, and Gavin wished only to be free of her. Laura’s sigh joined the currents of the wind floating out over the sea.
Darkness fell, and they had only the stars to guide them. This didn’t seem to cause any concern, however, and after a while Laura found she was getting drowsy. Her head was nodding when Gavin came over and knelt next to her. “They have agreed to take us back to Venice,” he said. “Once there, I can find out where Sophie went and follow her.”
This was an unexpected blow, and it was a moment before Laura could answer. “You wish to follow Sophie.” She was wide awake now and a little breathless.
“I thought of going to Marseilles,” he replied, as if she were arguing with him. “But we can’t be sure when the ship will arrive, or even if they will really land there. No, Sophie is the key.”
But to what? wondered Laura. However, she said only, “We can tell the English authorities in Venice what we have learned about Bonaparte.”
“Umm,” was his noncommittal response. “I wouldn’t mention that name again until we are safely ashore. Loyalties are complicated in this part of the world.”
Stung, she didn’t answer. Let him go chasing after Sophie, she thought. Let him do whatever he pleased!
Soon after this, Laura was shown to a tiny cramped cabin below deck that contained two bunks and a minuscule cupboard. Roberto indicated these amenities with a flashing smile and then vanished. A few moments later, Gavin joined her. “The others will sleep on deck,” he said, sitting on the bunk opposite.
Laura watched his expression gradually shift from concentrated animation to fatigue. This fitting himself to circumstance must be difficult, she thought. It must require every faculty and unwavering attention.
Without looking at her, he lay down with his back to her and pulled up a blanket. She did the same, though it was a long time before she actually slept.
* * *
They docked in Venice late the following day. Gavin made their farewells, which entailed a great deal of gesturing and compliments, and then led her along walkways beside narrow canals to an inn. After a moment, Laura realized it was the same one where she had seen Gavin and Sophie together.
There was only one room available, and he took it with a sidelong glance at her. Laura was too delighted at the prospect of a real bath to think of anything else. And when she had bathed, she found that she was so tired she nearly fell into bed. Her last coherent thought was that it had been eons since she had been this comfortable.
She woke sometime later with the sense that there was someone in the room with her. Blinking, she saw that Gavin stood beside the bed, illuminated by a single shaded candle. His back was to her. He was taking off his shirt.
Laura watched the light flicker across his shoulders and the muscles of his arms. It gleamed in his hair like ancient gilding. He bent to pull off his boots and then set them outside the door to be shined, quietly slipping the bolt as he shut it again. When he turned, Laura shut her eyes and pretended to be asleep. She didn’t know what to say.
There was a silence, and she felt that he was gazing at her. Her body recognized his presence and his attention. Time seemed to stretch into some other dimension. The air seemed to thicken, and Laura’s skin tingled with the memory of his touch.
Then he moved. She heard the floorboards creak and a rustle of cloth—and then nothing.
A few muted sounds drifted up from the taproom below. Outside the window the jingle of harness passed. Cloth rustled again. Laura risked a look through her lashes.
Gavin was wrapped in a blanket and sitting in the armchair that was the only other piece of furniture in the room. His head was resting on its back at an uncomfortable angle. He looked tired and resigned.
“What are you doing?” said Laura.
He started and sat up straight. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said.
“You don’t intend to sleep there?”
“Yes.”
“You have as much right to the bed as I do.”
“It is not a question of rights.”
“Well, there is no reason I should have the bed, and you that chair.”
“There is every reason.”
“Nonsense. Just get in the bed.”
An odd expression crossed his face. Not quite a smile, and not quite a grimace. “Now that we are back in civilization—” he began.
“You already told them I am your wife.”
“I was obliged to do so,” he agreed. “But I don’t intend to take advantage—”
“We can both use the bed without…anything more.”
“Can we?”
The change in his tone reached deep inside Laura and set something trembling.
“I can’t,” he added.
She sat up and looked at him, one strap of her shift falling off her shoulder.
“Go back to sleep, Laura,” he said almost harshly.
She kept looking, wondering if he felt her gaze as she did his. The memory of his touch was so vivid that she shivered a little.
“You’re cold. Lie down.” It seemed as if tenderness had brushed his voice.
“Gavin.” His name slipped out, and her longing and uncertainty vibrated in the word without her conscious volition.
The sound drew him out of the chair. As the blanket slid out of his hands, he was revealed wearing only his breeches, golden hair glinting on his chest. He looked magnificent. “You try me beyond bearing,” he said.
Laura couldn’t seem to recall any words. Her hand came to her throat and rested there. She could feel her pulse beating under her fingers.
“How am I to resist when you sit there looking…?” His chest rose and fell. His eyes burned as she would not have thought possible with their cool color.
He wanted her, Laura thought. That, at least, was undeniable. His desire was proclaimed by every line of his body. The knowledge excited and gratified her. And every part of her responded to the message he sent. Her hand dropped to the coverlet. “Must you resist?”
And then she was in his arms.
* * *
Gavin sat in the inn’s front parlor, a tankard on the table before him. Through the small window at his side, he could see that the sky was overcast on this mid-February day, threatening rain. He toyed with the bread and cheese that were the innkeeper’s idea of breakfast. At least the man had given him no trouble. For a few coins he had happily revealed that the “delectable redhead,” as he called Sophie, had hired a coach and set out for Vienna. Why she had done so was another question, one that would have to wait until Gavin saw her again.
The countess was a damned nuisance, he thought. He was tired of pretending that he found her irresistible. And she had obviously ceased to believe it in any case. The thought of her reaction when they showed up in Vienna once again made him smile slightly.
It faded when he realized that he pictured Laura with him. She had no reason to undertake a wet and chilly journey to Vienna. Perhaps she would refuse to come. The idea made his jaw clench.
He couldn’t leave her alone in a strange town far from home, he told himself. He was responsible for her safety. And what more? he wondered, taking a deep draught of ale. After what had passed between them, shouldn’t he be responsible for far more? Yet she didn’t want that from him. She intended to go back to England and be a governess. Gavin turned the tankard between his hands, bewildered by this unprecedented situation. Women always wanted a man to stay, he thought, feeling resentful at Laura’s perversity in this matter.
She never acted predictably.
Something made him look up. Laura was standing in the doorway, dressed in her green gown once again, its wrinkles and stains removed by an inn servant. She looked beautiful—her ivory skin and raven hair enlivened by a dark green gaze full of emotion and intelligence. A tremor went through Gavin. The tankard wobbled slightly under his hand, and he closed his fist on the handle.
“Good morning,” she said, coming into the room and taking the chair opposite him. “I don’t suppose they have any tea?”
“No.” His voice sounded odd in his ears.
“Coffee?”
He nodded, wondering if he was coming down with a chill.
“Good.” She hesitated, as if about to say something else, then picked up a piece of the brown bread and broke it into fragments.
Gavin tore his attention from her slender white fingers, which had reduced the bread to crumbs. “Sophie went back to Vienna,” he told her.
Laura went still. Gavin couldn’t interpret her expression. “Did she?”
“I’ve hired a chaise to return there as well.”
“Ah.”
He could tell nothing from her face or her tone about what she meant to do.
“Should we not find a British consul, or some sort of official and tell them what we have discovered?”
“He would delay us sending messages to get instructions and permissions and exceptions. By the time he was satisfied, Michael would have accomplished whatever he is plotting.”
Laura raised her eyebrows. “I take it you do not consult the local officials when you are on one of your missions?”