Pleasures of a Tempted Lady

by Jennifer Haymore

  “She was a stowaway on our ship. She’s a notion that her presence here will save her sister from Caversham.”

  “How’s that?”

  Mr. Retallack hadn’t asked her the question, and Jessica had been taught that a lady in the company of gentlemen should remain silent unless directly addressed.

  She’d never been much of a rule follower.

  “Jacob Caversham,” she said, chin high, “kidnapped my sister, Meg, and forced her to be governess to his son and companion to his wife for several years. Caversham was abusing the boy… he came close to killing him more than once. So she escaped from his ship, taking the child with her. Now, Caversham is after her. He intends to have her arrested and prosecuted, but if he finds her first, I’m quite certain he’ll kill her.” She paused, then added in a whisper, “Perhaps like he killed your da.”

  Mr. Retallack crossed his arms over his chest and studied her for a long moment. Then he said, “P’raps you should run along home, miss, before you dig too deep into this bad business. This ain’t a safe place for you.”

  “I won’t leave without Meg,” she said firmly. “Not until I know she’s safe.”

  The man studied her for a moment longer, then he turned to David. “You didn’t hear any of this from me, aye?”

  “Aye,” David promised solemnly.

  Mr. Retallack took a deep breath and leaned forward. “Is your sister, Meg… Is she Catholic?”

  Jessica shook her head. “No. Our father was Irish, but he was a Protestant. Why?”

  Mr. Retallack shrugged. “Caversham hates Catholics. Was mightily irked when Wellington pressed that Catholic Emancipation Bill last year.”

  “Was he?” David asked slowly.

  “Oh, aye. The bastard”—he glanced at Jessica and cleared his throat—“apologies, miss. Anyhow, Caversham was right pleased with the Duke of Cumberland’s attempt to form a government entirely against Catholic emancipation.”

  David glanced at Jessica. “The Marquis of Millbridge was part of that.” He turned back to Mr. Retallack. “But the Duke of Cumberland didn’t succeed in his endeavor.”

  “Nay, and Wellington returned to Parliament and passed the bill. Caversham was here at the time, and in a fearsome temper. The village was abuzz with it—one of his sailors failed to follow an order quick enough, and he shot him dead, right there on our dock!”

  Jessica shuddered.

  So Caversham had been against the Catholic Emancipation Bill, as was the Marquis of Millbridge, his brother, and the Duke of Cumberland, the king’s younger brother.

  Was that what they were illegally raising money for? To somehow undermine the Emancipation Bill? But it was too late for that—the bill had already been signed into law.

  Mr. Retallack’s dark eyes scanned David, then Jessica. He chewed his lip, seemingly debating how much more to tell them. Jessica slid to the edge of her seat.

  “Please, Mr. Retallack. My sister’s life depends on it,” she murmured.

  He glanced at her, then at the single window in the cottage. Apparently not seeing anyone outside, he took a breath. “Before he died, my da saw something that worried him greatly.”

  “What was it?” Jessica breathed.

  “Caversham has a cave full of booty not far from here.” Mr. Retallack gave a solemn shake of his head. “Plans to use it for something bad, my da believed. Something… traitorous. Was watching them—following them—on the sly. A fortnight after they left, he was murdered.”

  “Did they know he was watching them?” Jessica asked.

  “Oh, aye, miss, for certain. My da was never one for stealth.”

  David frowned. “Will you take us to the cave?”

  “Nay.” Mr. Retallack’s voice was flat, but fear had stamped deep lines into his face.

  “Please tell us where it is, then,” Jessica begged.

  He hesitated, then said gruffly, “Aye. I’ll be telling you where it is. Then you must leave this cottage, and you mustn’t return.”

  A quarter of an hour later, they returned to the Freedom and fetched extra men and supplies, and two hours after that, they had dismounted from the hired horses at the druid clearing Mr. Retallack had described to them.

  Jessica had insisted on accompanying them to the cave. David must have expected this, and he acquiesced with a sigh, which made her want to give him a smacking kiss on his cheek. Since he likely wouldn’t approve of that in front of his men, she decided against it.

  So she planned to kiss him thoroughly later. As the days went by, she liked him more and more. He was protective of her, but not overprotective. He allowed her to make her own decisions, and despite his gruff monosyllabic responses, he truly listened to what she said. He treated her as though she was an intelligent being. Very different from all those men she’d experienced in London, who’d viewed her as a potential pretty trophy to display in their home. David didn’t look at her like that at all.

  And he wanted her more every day. Every time he looked at her, she could see the hunger in his eyes, and it made her skin prickle. She wanted him, too, badly, but as much as she flirted with him, as many kisses as they had shared, he’d forced himself to stop after a time, breathing heavily, hard all over, his gaze stark with need.

  He held back because he was staying true, no matter what it cost him, to his promise to speak with Serena and Jonathan first.

  He was a man of conscience, of self-control. Of honor.

  Jessica was falling in love with him. Correction, she’d already fallen. Madly in love.

  The sun was bright today, and warm, but there had been a recent rain, leaving the path treacherously muddy. She fumbled, her foot losing its grip on the slippery path. David, who was right behind her, caught her, his arm wrapping around her waist.

  “Careful, now,” he murmured in her ear.

  She rested against him, just for a second feeling the hard press of his body against hers, secure and stable.

  With a sigh of regret, she separated her body from his and moved forward at a slow pace, placing her feet carefully so she wouldn’t fall. They’d been searching the area for half an hour and had found a few giant rocks and ruined piles of stones, but no cave.

  From ahead of them, Mr. MacInerny gave a victorious shout. He was standing at the base of a small hill, his body partially obscured by brambles and tall grasses.

  She and David rushed over to where he was pushing dead branches aside, revealing a door made of crisscrossed bands of iron. David knelt across from him, and together they heaved the door aside.

  Jessica peered into the shallow hole. At its bottom, it swerved at an angle so she couldn’t see very far inside—but it was definitely a cave.

  Mr. Jasper hurried up to them and busied himself with lighting a lantern.

  David jumped into the hole and then reached up for Jessica. She slid down slowly, then let herself fall into his arms. He caught her waist easily and set her onto the rocky, uneven ground. Leaning forward, she peered into the dark depths of the cavern. She couldn’t see far, but she could tell that the walls were made of smooth, flat stones. This was a man-made tunnel, then, not a natural cave. She wondered what the druids had used it for.

  Mr. Jasper handed David the lantern, and he went in first, bending at the waist and knees since the entrance to the cavern was only about three feet high. Jessica followed, picking up her skirts out of habit more than necessity, since her dress was already hopelessly torn and soiled from her adventures so far.

  The ceiling grew higher quickly, and the passage grew wider, until they could stand side by side. Jessica focused on finding her footing along the uneven floor, but when David stopped abruptly, she stopped, too, and looked up.

  She’d expected barrels of rum, but this wasn’t contraband of that sort.

  No, it was weapons. Bayonets, cannons, crates labeled “gunpowder,” and bombshells.

  “Good Lord,” she whispered. “What on earth?”

  “What the hell does he plan to do with al
l this?” David murmured.

  “Look at those cannons.” She pointed to a pair of small, shiny guns mounted on wheeled carts. They appeared brand new. Certainly they’d never been used or fired.

  “Not cannons,” David corrected. “Howitzers. Smaller and more maneuverable than cannons.”

  A sick feeling curdled in Jessica’s gut. These weapons, along with the explosives David had found in the warehouse back in London, could cause terrible damage to something… or someone.

  “Mr. Retallack was right,” she breathed. “Caversham is planning something very, very bad.”

  Only an instinctual desire for survival kept Meg afloat. She was tired. So tired. It had been calm, so that helped, but the wind was picking up and she wasn’t going to last much longer. Her muscles ached. Her head ached.

  But why did she bother? She’d been afloat for what must be hours now, with nothing to do but fruitlessly search for any vessels that might by chance encounter her and watch the sun make its slow crawl across the blue, blue sky.

  She lay on her back, her arms outstretched, feeling the skirt of her chemise floating up around her.

  Gazing up at the sky, she prayed. Please, Lord, protect Jake. Whatever happens to me, please watch over him and keep him from harm. Please.

  She’d thought she’d find a way out, somehow, but it was sinking in. There was no way out. She was going to drown.

  She thought of Will, of how he must have felt when he’d found her gone. Of how he’d feel when he realized, once and for all, that he’d never see her again. That made her close her eyes. Please, Lord. Help Will to forgive me.

  She’d been so stupid not to trust him. What she wouldn’t give to see him right now, to see his somber face, so full of love as he looked at her. He’d do anything for her. Anything to make her happy, and to keep her safe. Now, she recognized the raw truth of how he’d looked at her. Why hadn’t she believed in it at the time? Her focus had been too narrow; her distrust of everyone in the world too strong.

  Please, Lord. Help my sisters forgive me, too. Please help them to overcome the loss of their sister a second time.

  Now, Serena, Olivia, Phoebe, and Jessica would have to mourn her all over again. Everyone had told her Serena had never gotten over her loss the first time. And she’d been so distant from her sister. So awkward and uncomfortable. She’d failed to open her heart to her family, just like she’d failed to open her heart to Will.

  She closed her eyes, the sun heating her face as she bobbed in the swell of the ocean waves. Her skin from the neck down was numb with cold. Her face was chapped and burned from the wind and the sun, and she’d have terrible freckles from this day… but what would it matter now?

  And then she heard it—the low drone of an engine. She’d only heard it a few times before, but the sound of a steam engine was a memorable one.

  She struggled up, swimming. There, coming from the east, was the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen. A steamship, moving fast in her direction.

  She fumbled in her stocking, taking out the whistle and shaking the water out of it. She’d had plenty of time earlier to analyze it, to experiment with it. It was a silver boatswain’s whistle, the kind the men on Caversham’s ships used to alert the crew of a watch change.

  “Don’t be too eager. Don’t waste your breath,” she murmured to herself. The ship was still too far away—there was no way they would hear her.

  It drew closer, and closer, until it was about half a mile away, Meg estimated. She began to blow on the whistle. When she could see people standing on the deck, she alternated waving her arms, calling out, and whistling.

  It drew closer, and closer still. A quarter of a mile away. It was headed in a direction that would pass her by several hundred yards unless the ship turned.

  “Turn,” she called. “Please! Someone see me!”

  She whistled and waved and called.

  No one saw her. No one heard her. More and more desperately, tears streaming down her face, she called until her voice was hoarse. She blew until she thought she might faint from lack of breath. She waved until her arms hurt and her legs could hardly kick hard enough to keep her afloat.

  The ship plowed onward, its engine growing louder and louder, until it surged past her, still quite a distance away, and she was staring at its stern, at the trail of smoke the ship left in its wake, blowing in her direction.

  “No!” she cried. “No! Please don’t pass me! Please, come back! Please!”

  No one heard her. The roar of the engine was too great. Even if she blew the whistle on its deck, she doubted anyone on board would hear her.

  Oh, God. Why hadn’t a sailing ship passed her? Why had it been a loud steamship? To taunt her? To offer her hope and then whisk it away, leaving only a trail of foul-smelling smoke for her to inhale?

  It had been her last hope. And it had left her here.

  Of course, no one would have heard her whistle. She’d been stupid to even try it.

  She lay back, shivering, as lethargy crept, syrupy thick, through her veins. She’d been too long in this frigid water. She closed her eyes and waited for the exhaustion to overtake her.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Will stared over the bow of the Endeavor, his heart sinking. The Irish Sea was a big damned ocean. Not as big as the Atlantic, or even the Caribbean, but bloody big. Finding a single ship in the fifty-mile-wide channel between Holyhead and Dublin—hell, he might as well have been trying to find a needle in a haystack.

  And where would Caversham be taking Meg and Jake? Back to the Caribbean, where he could keep them hidden among the traders frequenting those ports? Where he could continue his rum-running activities for the benefit of his half brother?

  Or somewhere else? Somewhere having to do with that warehouse full of explosives in London?

  “Papa?”

  Thomas had quickly grown bored with the endless study of the sea, so Will had given him his spyglass so that he could “practice” for his future role as captain of his own ship. “Yes, son? Do you see another bird?”

  Thomas had been so excited upon making his first sighting of something besides the rolling sea that Will had thought for a moment that he’d found Caversham’s ship. His hopes were dashed when Thomas’s discovery proved to be a pair of puffins.

  Thomas lowered the spyglass to frown up at his father. “No, Papa. There’s nothing out there anymore but waves. But Mr. Halliday is calling for you.”

  With one last glance out over the bow and seeing nothing besides water clear to the horizon, Will sighed and turned toward the stern to see Halliday at the wheel, gesturing and calling out, “Captain!”

  Will had been so focused on his search for Caversham’s ship that he hadn’t heard him. Not to mention the fact that he was unused to being hailed over the sound of the engine.

  He took Thomas’s hand, and they trudged to the stern, where Thomas stood at the rail and lifted the spyglass again while Will turned to Halliday.

  “Wind’s picking up, Captain,” Halliday said. “I suggest we shut down the boiler and proceed under sail. We’ll progress at the same speed under full sail, and we’ll save the coal.”

  Will hesitated, glancing out again at the sea. It had been a calm morning, but now the wind was indeed rising, kicking up whitecaps on the tops of the waves at intervals. Turning back to Halliday, he gave a jerk of a nod. “Agreed.”

  Halliday tipped his cap, then turned to issue an order to a midshipman.

  Will went to stand beside Thomas, his eyes grazing the horizon once again.

  “Papa?”

  “Yes, son?”

  “There’s something shiny out there.” Holding the spyglass to his eye, Thomas pointed behind them and to the north.

  Will squinted at the horizon for a long moment, and then he saw it. A flash of silver. A flying fish, perhaps?

  “Do you see it?” Thomas asked excitedly, standing on his tiptoes now, with the spyglass still trained on the same position.

 
Will stared at the ocean’s surface where he’d seen the glint. He couldn’t see anything there but a bit of white—could be a whitecap, or…

  “Thomas, hand me the spyglass, will you?”

  The boy pressed the brass instrument into Will’s hand, and he raised it to his right eye.

  There it was, the glint again, as if the sun was refracting off some shiny surface…

  “Good God,” Will murmured as the form came into focus. “Halliday!” he bellowed at the top of his voice, still not moving his gaze from the woman floating in the water, her skirt billowing around her, her body limp, her arms outstretched. She wasn’t moving, but something glinted again—it looked like something she held in her hand.

  “Aye, sir?” Halliday asked from directly behind him.

  Will pointed. “Turn this ship around immediately. There’s a woman in the water back there.”

  Meg, Meg, Meg, his mind screamed. Caversham, that rotten bastard, had tossed her overboard. He’d tried to kill her.

  Please, he begged. Let me not be too late.

  Halliday and the rest of the crew flew into action while Will kept the spyglass trained on her limp, floating body, making sure they didn’t pass by her again.

  The ship was turned, the boiler kept running even though half the sails had been raised, and they bore down on the woman.

  Meg.

  When they were close and he could see that it was indeed Meg—an unmoving, half-sunk Meg, he lost all patience with the men struggling to get the boat into the water. He tore off his coat and waistcoat, kicked off his boots, and dove off the side of the Endeavor, leaving Thomas with his eyes wide, asking, “What are you doing, Papa? Where are you—?”

  The splash stung, but then the water washed over him and he could feel nothing but the painful pinpricks of cold. How long had she been in this? Hand over hand, his feet scissoring, he raced toward Meg.

  He reached her just as her face dipped under a wave. Her eyes, those beautiful gray eyes, were closed, and her face was peaceful.

  “Meg?” he cried, clutching her against him, kicking hard to stay afloat. “Meg, love, wake up. Please wake up.”