Regency Admirer/The Merry Gentleman/The Gentleman's Demand

by Meg Alexander

  “Go away!” she cried. “I hate you!”

  Chapter Four

  Hurt and bewildered, Perry was at a loss, but Elizabeth did not spare him.

  “Had you not been so very busy back in Genoa we should not have met. All this is due to your interference.”

  “Not quite all, ma’am.”

  She coloured then, remembering. “I beg your pardon, Mr Wentworth, I am being unjust. After all, you saved my father’s life...but, you see, had he not met you he would not have got this maggot into his head about sending me to England.”

  The memory of her father brought fresh tears to her eyes, and Perry was not proof against them. The girl was human after all, he thought to his surprise.

  “Don’t worry about him,” he said gently. “He will make a full recovery, especially since he now believes you to be safe.”

  It was an olive branch of sorts, and Elizabeth accepted it as such. She gave him a faint smile.

  “Safe unless we are attacked,” she murmured. “What happens then?”

  “We fight back, of course. Whatever happens, we shall give a good account of ourselves. You must not be afraid. I’ll come for you if there is any danger of us sinking.”

  “You think an attack may be likely?”

  “Not here in the Mediterranean. The British Fleet has cleared this sea of enemy shipping. In the Bay of Biscay it may be a different matter.” He stopped. In future he would guard his tongue. There was no point in frightening her.

  He glanced at her face in trepidation, but her eyes were sparkling.

  “You mean that we might be involved in a real engagement?”

  “Don’t raise your hopes,” he told her in crushing tones. “Either way, you will see nothing of it. If you imagine that the French will rescue you, I advise you to forget it.”

  She looked at him for a long moment. “I hadn’t thought of it,” she admitted frankly. “But now that you mention the matter...”

  “Must I remind you that you, too, must be considered an enemy of the French? What would be your fate as a prisoner-of-war?”

  “Are not the French thought gallant as far as ladies are concerned?” Elizabeth studied him out of the corner of her eye, and a tiny smile played about her lips.

  “They don’t make exceptions when sending victims to Madame Guillotine.” His sharp rejoinder was brutally effective. Elizabeth’s face paled, but she made a valiant effort to recover.

  “I should claim to be Italian,” she told him coldly. “It is the truth. I am Italian on my mother’s side...”

  “You might not be given the opportunity to explain, you little fool!” Perry ran his fingers through his tousled crop in a gesture of despair. “Have you no sense at all? Damn it, girl! Would you walk into a hornet’s nest?”

  Belatedly, it occurred to him that this was not the way to speak to any female, however young.

  “I beg your pardon for my language,” he said stiffly. “But you would try the patience of a saint.”

  “And that you are not. Pray don’t apologise, Mr Wentworth. That would be out of character. Nothing in your behaviour has surprised me.”

  “Thank you! You are too kind! If you will excuse me, Miss Grantham, I will see what can be done about some food for you.” Perry stalked away, with every line of his figure expressing his outrage at her words.

  Did anyone ever get the better of her in a verbal encounter? he wondered bitterly.

  “You ain’t been doing battle again?” Chris looked at the glowering face. “Perry, this ain’t like you. Have you lost your sense of humour?”

  “I don’t find this situation amusing. That little wretch is the most exasperating creature in the world. I’d like to throw her over the side.” Perry caught his friend’s eye and saw the laughter there. He was teased into a reluctant smile.

  “You’re right!” he admitted. “I must be mad to pull caps with a stupid schoolroom miss. Now she is demanding fruit, chicken and a choice of pastries. She was kind enough to mention that ices and syllabubs were not essential. She would excuse me if they were not available.”

  Chris gave a shout of glee. “She’s winding you up, old lad. Damme, if she ain’t a complete hand!”

  “Since you find all this so entertaining, perhaps you’d care to fetch the food?”

  “Sorry, can’t be done! I’m on duty. I’ll leave it in your capable hands.” Still laughing, he made his way on deck.

  Perry bent his mind to the problem of obtaining food without arousing suspicion. The officers dined together in the wardroom. In such close proximity it would be impossible to conceal anything about his person.

  He wandered into the galley, to find the cooks preparing for the evening meal. Steaming cauldrons, securely lidded, hung from stout hooks, swaying with the rolling of the ship. A guard rail round the cooking surfaces prevented other utensils from sliding off to cast their contents over the sweating minions who pushed past him.

  The cook raised an eyebrow in enquiry.

  “Just a routine inspection, Hanley. The stores came aboard as ordered?”

  “Yes, sir. Watch your uniform, Mr Wentworth. Grease stains will be the devil to get out of your whites.”

  Perry turned away, carefully abstracting a couple of pieces of chicken from a tray intended for the wardroom. A kitchen cloth lay close to hand, so he threw it over them, pretending to use the cloth to wipe his cuff.

  “Hanley, I’d like some fruit.”

  “Certainly, sir. I’ll have it sent to your cabin.”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll help myself.” Perry took a generous amount and piled it on a plate.

  So far so good, but obtaining food for his unwilling captive promised to become a problem. He could inspect the galley every day, but Hanley would be quick to notice pilfering. Some poor wretch was likely to be blamed and flogged.

  He regained his cabin to find Elizabeth sitting by the port. As she turned to face him he noticed that all her colour had fled, and her skin bore a greenish tinge.

  “There!” He laid the chicken on the plate, and set the fruit beside it. “That’s the best I can do.”

  “Take it away,” she groaned. “I think I’m going to die...”

  “Seasick? Then come away from the port. Nothing is worse than watching the horizon. You had best lie on the bunk.”

  For all that Perry had wished her to perdition, he felt a pang of pity. He helped her over to the pallet. “Shall I take off your shoes?” he asked.

  “Do as you please! Oh, I feel so dreadful...”

  “Try to sleep,” he advised. “When you get your sea legs you’ll feel better.”

  “Certainly I couldn’t feel worse. Please go away. I think I’m going to be sick.” Elizabeth closed her eyes and turned her head away.

  “No, you aren’t,” Perry told her firmly. He filled a bowl with water and began to bathe her head. “Don’t think about it.” He brushed the curls back from her brow. “You are in good company,” he told her lightly. “Captain Nelson suffers with the same complaint each time he goes to sea, but he don’t let it stop him.”

  “He must be mad,” she groaned. “Is there no remedy?”

  “The best one is to sit beneath a tree.”

  Elizabeth’s eyelids flickered. “How...? Oh, I see. Mr Wentworth, this is no time for jokes. I should be happy to be put ashore.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he murmured soothingly. “Just close your eyes...” He began to stroke her brow. Then his long fingers moved to her temples at each side, making small circles with his fingertips.

  “Ah, that feels so good!” she sighed. Within minutes she was sound asleep.

  Perry left the cabin and locked the door behind him. The problem of providing food had been replaced by another. It hadn’t occurred to him that Elizabeth might be taken ill. He couldn’t care for a sick female, yet what was he to do? He cursed beneath his breath, and was immediately ashamed.

  For the hundredth time he railed against the mischance which had taken
him into Genoa on that fatal night. Then he shrugged. He could not change the situation now. He must make the best of it. It wasn’t Elizabeth’s fault that she was in his charge, and it couldn’t be easy for her. Tonight she had looked so vulnerable...

  It was in a gloomy frame of mind that he went on deck to relieve Chris. It was some time before his normal optimism returned. Then common sense persuaded him that a bout of seasickness was nothing. Elizabeth would soon recover. If she had broken an ankle or some such mishap, it would be a different matter. He would put her from his mind.

  This was not so easily accomplished. Quiescent for once, her creamy skin had felt so soft beneath his fingertips. Watching her fall asleep, he had been struck once more by the ridiculous length of the dark lashes which rested against those smooth cheeks. And her mouth? Ah, that mouth! What must it be like to kiss those mobile, wilful lips, silencing all her protests?

  Perry stopped his pacing of the quarterdeck and took himself to task. He was growing maudlin. Like Chris, he had been at sea too long. Deprived of female company, a man could not be blamed if his natural instincts surfaced on occasion.

  He must watch himself. The child was in his care, and he would not betray her father’s trust, however strongly tempted he might be.

  He didn’t even like Elizabeth, but he was wise enough to know that sometimes proximity was sufficient to arouse his baser feelings. In future, he would keep her at a distance.

  Upon this worthy resolution he joined his fellow officers in the wardroom, only to find that he had no enthusiasm for their usual banter.

  “Sorry to be leaving Genoa, Wentworth? Have you lost your heart to some Italian signorina? You are quiet tonight...” A grinning face greeted him from across the table.

  “Nothing of the sort,” Perry replied in casual tones. “I thought I’d leave the wit to you this evening.”

  A howl of amusement greeted this remark.

  “There’s a leveller for you, Jordan. Come on now, give him his own.”

  The object of their raillery was spared the need to reply as Captain Robsart joined them.

  “Too much noise, gentlemen!” His black brows drew together in a frown. “Try to contain your levity. We must concentrate on the business in hand.”

  His words put a stop to any further joking. Each man knew that a question from his superior officer must be answered in full and without delay. When it came to naval strategy the captain’s skills were famous. He expected a similar commitment from each member of his crew.

  Fudging and stupidity brought down a blistering tirade of wrath upon the luckless recipient. Men had been known to remark that they would have preferred a flogging at the masthead.

  Perry ventured only a single remark. “Are we to join up with Admiral Hood, sir?”

  “No, Mr Wentworth, we are not. The Fleet will stay here in the Mediterranean. The urgency of our mission means that we must make all haste to England.” The captain then confined his conversation to the need for daily practice by the gunnery crews. “Too slow by half,” he announced with a glare at Chris. “As gunnery officer, you will speed them up, sir, or I’ll have the skin off their backs.” With this dire threat, he left them to deliberate among themselves.

  Jordan whistled. “Why the need for haste, I wonder? There must be something in the wind. I thought it couldn’t be concern for our health which was taking us back to England. Still, mustn’t look a gift-horse in the mouth...I’ll be glad to get back.”

  “To your loved one...and your wife?” someone asked slyly.

  There was a ripple of amusement, and Jordan laughed. The high-flyer whom he had in keeping was no secret to his fellow officers.

  “Jealous?” he asked blandly.

  “Not at all! The lady would ruin me in a week. Still, if we chance upon a prize or two, I might give you a run for your money...”

  As the conversation turned to prizes, Perry made his escape. Tomorrow he was due for a lengthy spell of duty, and he was badly in need of rest.

  With his head upon the door of Chris’s cabin he paused. Perhaps he should look in upon Elizabeth. It would take but a moment. He felt in his pocket for his key.

  Elizabeth was still asleep. For a time he stood beside her, touched by the childish way she had curled up, one hand beneath her cheek. Some of her colour had returned, and he reached out a hand to touch the delicate peach-bloom of her skin.

  He stopped himself in time. This was madness. He was about to turn away when he noticed that she had disturbed her coverlet. He picked it up and bent to throw it over her. At that moment her eyes opened.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded fiercely.

  Her tone annoyed him. “I was trying to make you comfortable, ma’am. Don’t worry! I have no designs upon your virtue.”

  Elizabeth blushed to the roots of her hair. “Don’t be ridiculous!” she cried. “Pray don’t trouble yourself about my comfort. I feel much better now.”

  “Then you will eat your chicken?”

  Elizabeth glared at him. “Certainly!” She avoided looking at the food.

  “I must hope that it is to your taste. There is a pork stew today...though you may find it greasy.”

  Elizabeth paled. “Sir, you are the most detestable creature I have ever met!”

  “Why is that?” Perry was all innocence. “I merely suggested—”

  “I know what you suggested. You think to make me ill again, but you will not do so.”

  “No? Oblige me then, Miss Grantham, by eating the chicken. I was at some pains to bring it to you.”

  “Go away!” she shouted. “Whatever pains you suffered, they were not enough.”

  “Cruel!” he told her solemnly. “Most females are gentler in their ways.”

  “This female is not!” She faced him with flashing eyes. “Get out before I stab you with this knife.”

  “Shall I leave it with you? Such a dangerous weapon!” He pretended to consider. “It might be best if you ate the chicken with your fingers.”

  “Just try to take it from me, Mr Wentworth. You’ll regret it!”

  Perry backed away. “I shouldn’t think of it, my dear young lady. You frighten me to death!” His laughing eyes belied his words, and served only to infuriate his listener further. “Enjoy your meal!” With this parting shot he left the cabin.

  The girl was the very devil, he decided. The temptation to be rid of her was strong. At Gibraltar he could help her to escape, if he could bring himself to do so. What bliss it would be to abandon his troublesome charge. He dismissed the idea as unworthy of an honourable man.

  Difficult though she was, the child could not be left to fend for herself. He sighed. He was beginning to know Elizabeth well. Once ashore and out of his sight, she would go to any lengths to take passage back to Genoa.

  Even if he spoke to Captain Robsart it would make no difference. The headstrong little chit would think of a dozen ways to elude the vigilance of any official who might be persuaded to give her shelter at the port.

  “Lost in thought, old chap?” Chris was preparing to go on duty. “How is our fair maiden?”

  “Back on form. She suffered from the rolling of the ship, but it passed off... Now her tongue is just as sharp as ever...”

  “Get some sleep!” Chris advised. “I’ll look in on her later with some books and a pack of cards. She must be bored, poor thing!”

  “As you wish.” Perry tossed him the cabin key. “She’ll probably bite your head off.”

  “No, she won’t. I shall use my well-known charm...”

  “And the best of luck to you!” Perry removed his jacket. “I’ll come for the body later.” With that he threw himself upon the bunk and closed his eyes.

  Later, when he made his way to his own cabin he found a scene of perfect harmony.

  “Miss Grantham has cleaned me out.” Chris held up his cards. “I owe her thousands, though I believe she cheated.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Elizabeth’s eyes were dancing. “Sir, you sho
uld pay more attention to your hand.”

  “How can I? Your beauty has undone me.”

  “Don’t be such a noddlecock, Lord Christopher!” Elizabeth ignored the compliment and shuffled the pack again. “You must concentrate instead of chatting.”

  Perry was amused. Whatever her other faults, this provoking creature wasn’t vain.

  “Please call me Chris,” his lordship pleaded. “I hoped we might be friends.”

  Elizabeth looked at him. Then her enchanting smile peeped out. “Very well, but you must not accuse me of cheating.”

  “My apologies, ma’am. I am jealous of your skill, you see.”

  She laughed at that. “I learned in a hard school. My father is an expert.”

  “And you bid fair to follow him. Will you excuse me now? I have some matters to attend.” With that he hurried away.

  Elizabeth looked troubled. “Will he be reprimanded? I should not have kept him for so long...”

  Perry shook his head. “Chris is the gunnery officer. He must arrange for practice in the morning. Don’t worry, he won’t be keelhauled.”

  “Keelhauled? What is that?”

  “We tie a rope to the offender and throw him overboard. Then he is dragged beneath the ship and drawn up on the other side.”

  “What a barbaric practice! I didn’t know that the navy drowned its sailors.”

  “Some of them survive,” he said with feigned uninterest. “It need not concern you. I have not heard of a woman being keelhauled, although there is always a first time.”

  Elizabeth glared at him. Then she saw the twinkle in his eyes.

  “You’re gammoning me,” she accused him with a reluctant smile.

  “Just a little. Do you care to continue with this game of cards?” He seated himself on the edge of the bunk and began to shuffle the pack.

  She looked her surprise, but the opportunity to beat him was too good to miss.

  “Piquet?” he suggested.

  She nodded, sure of her own ability. The corners of her mouth lifted.

  Perry did not miss that look of triumph. He guessed correctly that the game was a favourite of her own. She was soon absorbed, studying her hand with total concentration. She played well, and he could understand why Chris had found her hard to beat. She spoke only once, to enquire about the stakes.