Captivating the Captain (Scandals and Spies Book 6)

by Leighann Dobbs

  Mama pursed her lips and arched an eyebrow. She said nothing, but her expression spoke volumes.

  Charlie offered the letter. “It’s written in code.”

  A flash of surprise crossed Mama’s face before she hid it. After taking the letter, she carefully unfolded it and angled it toward the light.

  “Can you decipher it?”

  “I can,” Mama confirmed. “Will you find the book in my valise and a pencil?”

  If Lucy had been nearby, Charlie would have had both articles already thrust beneath her nose. She missed her dear friend, even if she was happy that Lucy had fallen in love. Or at the very least, she was happy that Lucy was happy. Ever since she’d moved in with the Graylockes, she’d constantly been in Lucy’s company. She was more a sister than a friend.

  But like Charlie’s own sister, once Lucy had married, she had spent less time with Charlie. In fact, Lucy had moved out of the house. Charlie craved the company of her closest friend, even if she would never seek to spoil Lucy’s happiness by confronting her over the loss.

  Pushing aside thoughts of Lucy, Charlie quickly found the articles Mama requested and handed them over. She perched on the edge of the bed as she waited for Mama to decipher the letter. Lady Graylocke had told them it was a letter of introduction. However, if it was written in code, what did it truly say?

  Mama finished and sat back. “It is a letter of introduction, as Lady Graylocke promised.”

  “That’s all?” Charlie smothered a twinge of disappointment.

  “I’m afraid so.” Mama folded the letter and stuck it between the pages of the book. She tapped the cover with the pencil.

  Charlie frowned. “But if that’s all the letter says, why is it written in code? And how did Lady Graylocke even know to encode a letter?” This made no sense if there wasn’t anything sensitive in a letter of introduction.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are you sure this is actually from Lady Graylocke? Could someone else have substituted this for her original letter?”

  Mama looked thoughtful. “She handed it to me herself, but it was already sealed. I suppose someone could have switched them if she'd written it and left it on her writing table. In any event it has no big secrets. It's nothing to worry about.”

  Charlie's heart squeezed. Her mother might be acting like the letter was no big deal, but Charlie had other ideas. If someone had changed letters—and she was sure they must have—then they had plenty to worry about.

  11

  Day after day, night after night, Gray found himself thinking about Charlie Vale. He couldn’t get her out of his head. The way she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, even if her opinion conflicted with his. The curve of her lips and the way her body had felt pressed against his. Occupying the cabin next to hers didn’t help. Her snoring kept him up half the night, and then he had nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. Even spending more time than usual on deck, looking over his men’s shoulders as they did their work, wasn’t helping. He was going mad. And it was all at the hands of one beautiful woman.

  He had to get her off the ship and out of his life—the sooner, the better. With the anxious way his crew now conducted their work, peering over their shoulders as if watching for him, if he continued to breathe down their necks, he would have a mutiny on his hands. However, other than throwing himself into his work, he hadn’t been able to find a way to distract himself from his attraction to Charlie.

  She was a beautiful woman, no doubt about that, but she wasn’t the woman for him. When he married, it would be to a soft-spoken, well-mannered woman befitting the son of a duke. And if he couldn’t offer Charlie marriage, he certainly couldn’t offer her anything less. His mother would skewer him, for one thing. Not to mention, he still had a duty to set a good example for his men. The Vales often came on deck when the weather was calm to stretch their legs, and he wouldn’t let them suffer unwanted attentions.

  Or even wanted attentions. When he and Charlie had been stuck together in the smugglers’ cellar, he thought she’d tried to meet him halfway when he’d nearly kissed her. The notion that she wanted him as badly as he did her nearly proved his undoing. At all costs, he had to keep himself away from the temptation of touching her—a difficult thing to do when she took her meals in the officers’ mess.

  The only high point in throwing himself into his work was the speed he was able to excite his crew into creating. The barque plowed through the Atlantic Ocean. Although his flag officer had reported communicating with several other ships—including a Royal Navy vessel that had nearly run them down before being alerted of the barque’s friendly allegiance—until now, they hadn’t crossed paths with the Portuguese ship.

  “There it is ahead, Captain!”

  Gray bolted for the quarterdeck and the spyglass housed there. He turned it toward the ship on the horizon. It flew the Portuguese flag.

  “Hail them,” Gray commanded. “Tell them we request to board. I want to speak with their captain.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  As the flag officer performed his task, Stills climbed up to the quarterdeck to stand next to Gray. “Is this the ship?”

  “We’ll soon find out.” Gray put the spyglass back in its holder.

  “Will you tell me now why we’ve been chasing this ship, sir?”

  Gray hesitated. Having never been involved in a spy mission before, he didn’t know how much he should disclose or to whom. However, Stills was his second-in-command. Gray would trust the man with his life. “A man aboard that ship has information for Lord Strickland. I don’t know much more than that.”

  Stills frowned. “This man. He was supposed to be in the town where Mrs. and Miss Vale asked to be delivered?”

  “Yes.”

  “And this is connected in some way to her impending marriage?”

  Gray didn’t know how to answer that, considering there was no betrothal. However, he was saved the trouble when the flag officer called down, “They’ve agreed to meet with us. They’re trimming the sails now.”

  Gray didn’t have further time to talk, and neither did Stills. His second-in-command barked orders at the crew as they veered toward the friendly vessel. Gray retreated to the captain’s quarters and knocked before entering.

  Charlie, standing by the porthole and squinting to see out into the waves, turned the moment he entered. “Is this it? Have you found him?”

  “We’ll soon find out. Do you ladies trust me to question the captain in your absence?”

  Charlie crossed to him, meeting him toe-to-toe. His body hummed with the desire to touch her. She wasn’t terribly shorter than him, so he could kiss her without bending too far.

  Unfortunately, they weren’t alone. He clasped his hands behind him, holding himself in check.

  Oblivious to the turn his thoughts had taken, Charlie met his gaze with fire in her eyes. “Absolutely not! We are coming with you.”

  Bringing Charlie Vale aboard a foreign vessel had been a bad idea, even if she had insisted.

  “What do you mean, he isn’t aboard your ship?” she asked.

  Gray angled himself between her and the Portuguese captain.

  The middle-aged man frowned as he tried to process her rapid English. Although the captains could communicate, the other man’s English was rudimentary at best.

  Charlie didn’t appear to realize this. She continued her tirade, leaning to speak around Gray’s shoulder. “What did you do to him? Did you kill him?”

  Gray bit his tongue to keep from groaning at her lack of discretion. If she wanted to keep her secret safe, she wasn’t doing a very good job of not drawing attention to herself. The Portuguese crew, for instance, stared at her with bald interest.

  Fortunately, Mrs. Vale took her in hand. She laid her hand on Charlie’s sleeve and spoke to her in a low murmur. Gray turned his attention to the Portuguese captain. He spoke slowly and enunciated carefully to avoid a misunderstanding. “Please forgive my colleague. The information we ga
thered suggests that the man we seek boarded your ship. Did you have a passenger fitting his description?”

  The man nodded. He smoothed his beard idly with one hand. Charlie quieted and stiffened as the man answered in a thick accent. “Yes, we did. But we met with a French ship. He transferred to return to the continent.”

  “Back to France?” Mrs. Vale murmured something in her daughter’s ear, silencing her.

  Gray fought the urge to look at Charlie. Instead, he focused on the task at hand. “Do you know where the French ship was headed?”

  “Not for certain, but it was a small coastal vessel and would not have been able to go far. It must have stopped in the nearest port.”

  “And where was that?”

  “Marseille.”

  Damn and blast. He was going back to France.

  Anthony Graylocke was avoiding her again. Throughout the trip down the coast, Charlie had savored the respite from him. When they were near, the only thing she could think about was their moment in the smugglers’ cellar when she had almost kissed him, but he had pulled away. If he didn’t enjoy her company, she didn’t want his, either.

  But she did want information, and that seemed to be the very last thing she could extract from him. He spent most of his waking hours above deck with the crew, where he’d warned her never to venture unescorted.

  Yet every time she tried to approach him, he concocted some task that required his attention and excused himself from her presence. He didn’t seem to care a whit if he left her alone with the crew, so long as he didn’t have to endure her company.

  No longer. She was getting answers from him even if she had to pry the words out of his mouth. Fortunately, the sea was calm, so she didn’t slip and slide across the deck. The sun warmed the back of her neck. “Captain Graylocke,” she called, shading her eyes as she searched for him. She tried to remain on his good side this morning, since her other tactics didn’t appear to be working.

  She heard a sigh that must have been his. She spotted him by the bow, up on the deck above. Gathering her skirts in one hand, she swiftly joined him. He was alone, for the moment.

  “Charlie, please go back to your cabin. I have a crew to oversee. I don’t have time to talk.”

  As she found her footing on the deck, she dropped her skirts and crossed her arms. “I have a right to know what is happening. Have you made contact with any other ships that might have seen Papa? Are we getting close to Marseille?”

  He stepped closer. His body surrounded her, the heat soaking into her like the sun. She took a step back. The edge of her foot slipped on the ledge, and she nearly careened off onto the main deck. He caught her, pressing her against his body for a moment before he took a step back and released her, safely away from the edge. He didn’t move away.

  Her cheeks flushed, she averted her gaze. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” he said stiffly. “Now kindly return to your cabin.”

  She stiffened her spine. “No. Not until you tell me something. I’m going mad, locked away at all hours of the day. I need to feel as if I’m doing something.”

  “Your role at the moment is to wait.”

  Wait. She hated that word. “How long do I have to wait?” It had been days since they’d last made port, and she felt of no use in the middle of the ocean.

  A young man at the top of the mast shouted out a warning. Anthony crossed to the side of the deck and claimed a spyglass from his holster. He turned it toward the shore. Whatever he saw there brought a grimace to his face. He handed her the glass. “See for yourself.”

  As she raised it to her eye, she scanned the coastline and found a bustling port.

  “I reckon you only have an hour or two of waiting left.”

  12

  As before, Anthony insisted upon sailing past the city and finding a sheltered cove before he set down the anchor. Why, Charlie couldn’t fathom. They resided on a French ship. It wouldn’t be any more noticeable in port than the dozen others that looked identical.

  However, Anthony refused to be swayed, so when Charlie set foot on solid land again, it was once more on a sheltered beach. She brooded as she followed Anthony during the half-hour walk before Marseille came into view.

  The city was magnificent. An enormous citadel surrounded by a stone wall perched on the edge of a horseshoe-like city surrounding the harbor. Although it was much smaller than London, Marseille was a sight to behold, nonetheless. As they approached, Anthony became more and more tense. His shoulders turned rigid ahead of her and Mama.

  Charlie shortened the distance between them and touched his elbow. “What’s bothering you? Do you expect trouble?”

  He glanced from her to Mama and back. “Yes,” he answered, his voice curt. “I might not be in uniform, but nothing can hide my military bearing. I’m no spy.”

  Mama stepped up to his other side. “No, but I am. I’ll handle the questions inside town. All I ask is that you keep your eyes and ears open.”

  Anthony nodded. “Stay close,” he commanded as he resumed walking.

  Trotting to keep pace with his easy lope, Charlie said, “If the authorities will know you for a military man, shouldn’t we be trying to keep our distance, in case the worst should happen?”

  Anthony scowled. “And what if they notice you for an English lady?”

  Charlie laughed. “I’m nobody. I wouldn’t even garner a full dance card if my sister hadn’t married your brother.”

  He glanced at her quickly then away and muttered something under his breath that sounded similar to “I very much doubt that.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Charlie asked. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

  He offered her a terse command. “Stay close, and don’t speak unless spoken to.”

  Charlie bristled but clamped her lips shut. If he didn’t want her to speak, she wouldn’t—at least, not to him.

  Mama took the lead as they entered the city, and she began her search in the dockside taverns. At this hour, the fishermen were all at sea, finding their next catch. Most of those employed at other tasks were hard at work, keeping them away from the taverns. Save for a few travelers and the occasional local with a free afternoon, the eateries they visited were, for the most part, empty.

  As afternoon bled into evening, that changed. More and more locals arrived, as well as those who’d slept the morning away. Businessmen conducting meals and interviews claimed the shadowed tables that afforded the most privacy. As hard as Charlie searched, she couldn’t see Papa anywhere, but she wondered if she would recognize him. It had been years since they’d last spoken.

  Mama left them at a table in the last tavern, which smelled strongly of fish, as she went to fetch drinks and make friends with the salty-looking men sitting along the bar counter. Charlie peered around for a mark of her own, hoping for a young man she could charm into giving details about the people he’d seen in the tavern recently. Choosing such a man was made even more difficult when Anthony loomed over her shoulder, glowering at anyone who dared to look them in the eye.

  A rakish young man entered the tavern, scanning the interior with an appraising eye. He would do. With a smile and a flirtatious touch to the arm, Charlie would be able to coax him into sharing his every secret, if she could separate herself from Anthony long enough to keep him from glaring at the newcomer.

  As she sidled around the table, trying to put some distance between them, a serving girl sashayed up to Anthony and asked him if he needed anything. From the purr of her voice, she wasn’t asking him about food or drink. Charlie’s stomach shrank and she abandoned her mark in order to glance sidelong at Anthony, wondering if he would take the invitation.

  Charlie had no right to be jealous. He was a talented kisser, but he’d shown no interest in repeating their kiss, and she didn’t want him to. He—and every other man—would only come between her and the adventure she so longed to experience. She was not going to give up that chance in order to play the demure wife and mother. Maybe somed
ay, but not now.

  Anthony could kiss whomever he wanted. Even better if doing so provided them with the information they sought. She turned away, her stomach churning, and pretended not to notice the flirtation unfolding mere feet away.

  He answered the serving girl in stilted French. “Thank you, but my friend is getting all we need.”

  The woman frowned. The flirtatious way she leaned closer to him changed. She straightened and held her arm around her middle. “You have an intriguing accent.”

  No, he didn’t. He had a British accent. Blast! Charlie swung her hips and tried to smile as she rounded the table. She laid her hand on Anthony’s arm. Her heart thundered, but she battled the urge to spew the first words to come to her lips. She rehearsed them first, making sure she knew the proper vocabulary for what she wanted to say before she uttered the words out loud. The roaring in her ears didn’t help her think, nor her mounting panic.

  Imitate Mama. Smoothly, she said, “He hasn’t been in France long. My sweet man is Bavarian.” She thought that Bavaria was still on France’s side in the coalition, but Charlie couldn’t remember. Before she’d learned that Mama was a spy, she hadn’t paid much attention to the war at all.

  She wondered if she should have phrased that differently. Maybe she should have sought to distract the serving girl with an entirely different topic. The woman narrowed her eyes at Anthony and didn’t seem convinced.

  Fortunately, Mama arrived with three glasses of wine. She set them down on the table and smiled at the serving girl. “Thank you, but we have already been served.”

  As the young woman marched away, Mama’s smile faded. She turned to Charlie and Anthony. “What happened? You weren’t supposed to speak.”

  Charlie’s stomach dropped, because that was precisely what she had meant to do, regardless. If Anthony hadn’t bungled the answer to the serving girl, Charlie might have made a fool of herself with that rakish fop.