by Jo Beverley
She was jerked out of her idyll by a heavy splash of rain on her face.
See, even the heavens wept at her ambitions!
She ran into a cake shop to take tea and hope the rain passed, but at one of the small tables a couple was holding hands, staring entranced into each other’s eyes.
Bella turned and walked out to trudge back to the Compass, grateful for the rain that hid her leaking tears. As she approached she glared up at the dripping inn sign. Why couldn’t the compass there tell her which direction to take for better days?
She went in, and was standing in the hall, wondering what to do with her sodden cloak, when the outside door burst open and wet men flooded into the hall. Noisy men, smelly men, chattering, laughing, calling out to one another and sometimes shaking off rain like dogs.
Bella pressed back against the wall, wishing they weren’t between her and the stairs.
“Pounce! Pounce!” a man yelled. “Where are you, you blackguard? The Black Swan’s in, and we’re all famished!”
Bella no longer noticed discomfort. She searched for the bellowing man. For Captain Rose?
Then a ruddy-faced, black-haired, beefy man yelled again. “Ho, the Compass! Where is everybody? Here’s good men dry as a witch’s—”
He stopped because he saw Bella.
He turned ruddier. “. . . broomstick . . .” He trailed off. “Boys, boys, there’s a lady present!”
Now they were all staring at her, rough men looking like uneasy schoolboys. Bella scanned them, seeking Captain Rose. Tall, dark . . .
Three servants and Mr. Pounce hurried in to take charge. The crew was herded into the dining room and the innkeeper turned to her. “Your pardon, Miss Barstowe. No offense meant. How wet you are. I’ll have someone take your cloak for drying. May I have your dinner sent up to your room?”
Bella glanced toward the dining room, now packed with men from the Black Swan, but the innkeeper would never allow her to eat there, so as she surrendered her cloak, she accepted the inevitable.
“Yes, thank you. I gather those men are from the ship we talked of earlier. The Black Swan.”
“The very one, ma’am.” He was already turning away to pass her cloak to a servant.
Bella asked a blunt question. “Is one of those men her master?”
He looked back. “Captain Rose, ma’am?” He was understandably puzzled by her interest, but didn’t seem suspicious.
“I’ve heard a little about him. Is he the yelling man?”
Bella didn’t think so, but perhaps five years had distorted her memories that much.
“No, ma’am. That’s Pudsy Galt, the bosun. I’ll have your dinner in your room in a trice.”
He hurried away and Bella heard the meaning. She was to go to her room and stay there, and not harbor any foolish, romantic thoughts about Captain Rose of the Black Swan. She lingered a moment longer, listening, but the men’s voices were a cacophony and she could pick out nothing useful.
She went up to her room, mind whirling. Even if Captain Rose wasn’t in the dining room, he must now be in Dover. He might still stay here as he had before. Which meant she might soon have her chance.
Suddenly her knees were shaking so much she had to sit down.
Wanting to encounter Captain Rose was very different from the imminent prospect of it, especially when he was connected to a bunch of dirty, raucous men who were doubtless now becoming drunk.
Chapter 12
She opened her door a crack and heard the growing volume of noise. Louise was coming with her dinner tray, so Bella hastily closed the door again and retreated to a chair.
The maid came in, put down the tray, and laid out the dishes. “There’s a decanter of claret, ma’am, with Mr. Pounce’s compliments, on account of the disturbance below.”
She was keen to rush away, but Bella said, “Are those men staying here?”
“Bless you, no, ma’am. They’ll be off to other amusements.” A dimple was an indication of the sort of amusements. “They generally come here for their first meal ashore, though. Captain Rose pays for it.”
“How generous.”
A wide smile now. “Oh, he is, ma’am. He always stays here when he’s in Dover, and always remembers the servants kindly.” Before Bella could ask another question, she added, “I have to go, ma’am,” and whipped out, closing the door firmly behind her.
After a few moments, Bella opened it again, hoping she’d hear a voice she remembered. Then she sat to her dinner and tried to eat.
She wouldn’t have believed it possible, but the men below became noisier, and their deep- voiced revels were sometimes interrupted by feminine squeals—ones that didn’t sound at all protesting. She wondered if Louise’s voice was among them.
She knew she should be disgusted, but an unfortunate part of her was envious. She didn’t want to be an inn servant romping with rough sailors, but she wanted the high spirits of a celebration and, yes, the company of appreciative men.
The claret was very welcome.
Then came a sudden cry of, “Cap’n! Cap’n!” and a thumping of tankards on tables.
A new voice called, “Are they treating you well, lads?”
“Aye!”
“Then give me a jug of ale and a plump wench. I’ve some catching up to do!”
Laughter poured up to Bella’s room like a flood.
She sat there, eyes wide. That was Captain Rose?
That voice didn’t fit her memory at all! And the image conjured by his words fit even less. A jug of ale and a plump wench?
It made perfect sense, however, for the sort of man he must be. She’d clearly embroidered brief memories into whole new cloth.
She refilled her glass and drank deep.
This Captain Rose was probably more likely to aid her in illegal acts, but she didn’t think he would be at all trustworthy. Strangely, she was still certain that back in 1760 she would have been able to trust him.
She frowned at her empty glass. That was foolish, because she hadn’t trusted him. She’d stolen his horse and ridden off alone—which in itself had been terrifying—because she hadn’t trusted his intentions.
Clearly she’d been right.
His arrival downstairs didn’t calm the affair. Instead, it grew wilder. Soon the men were all singing what sounded like a common tavern song, thumping and banging the rhythm, one strong baritone in the lead. Bella knew it was good that she couldn’t make out the words.
Her glass was full again, so she sipped, considering the new reality.
It wasn’t surprising that she’d built Rose into a chivalrous hero. Back then, even after all that had happened, she’d still been able to dream of a man dashing in on a noble steed to carry her away from imprisonment and torment.
Now it would seem she had a more likely case—a rough sea captain who enjoyed ale and wenches—but a man who was generous to his men and to servants, and whom people in general seemed to think well of.
She hadn’t invented the way he’d reacted so quickly and bravely to the dangerous men in the Black Rat, or the fear his very name had stirred there.
He was still a man capable of daring action, and that was what she needed.
Probably.
She’d have the night to think about it. He always stayed here, so she’d speak with him on the morrow. She reached for the decanter, and realized it was empty. No wonder her head felt a little strange.
She stood, swaying slightly, and went to close the door. There was nothing more to learn that way. She considered the chair by the fire and the book on the table beside it, but instead went to the bed and lay down.
Oh, dear. She’d left the door unlocked so Louise could return for her dinner dishes, but probably she was busy with the jollity downstairs. . . .
She really should bolt her door before she fell asleep.
She should get up, undress, and wash—but it was so much easier to simply lie here. . . .
She didn’t know how much time had passed before
she heard footsteps coming along the corridor. Not a servant’s careful tread but confident, hard boots. She forced herself upright. What had she been thinking, leaving her door unlocked in an inn full of drunken ruffians?
She was halfway off the bed when the boots passed. A moment later, a door close by on her right slammed.
Was that Captain Rose?
Bella sat looking to her right as if she could see through walls. If he was there, he’d be there tomorrow. But then quicker steps hurried past and a door opened. She caught some words. “. . . your horse, Captain . . .”
Horse? Did that mean he was leaving?
She stood, swaying slightly. If he was leaving, this could be her only chance. Her only chance to meet the man, talk to him, assess him.
If she had the courage.
Steps passed again. The servant going away.
Heart pounding, throat dry, she checked herself in the mirror. Some hair was straggling out from her cap. She tidied it away. She tried to smooth creases out of her brown gown, newly aware of how little it flattered her.
“And a very good thing too,” she muttered to her reflection. “The last thing we want is to appeal in that way to a sailor new to shore.”
That thought made her hesitate again, but she set her jaw, put on her shoes, opened the door, and peered out. The corridor was deserted, and below all was still. The crew had gone on to their other amusements.
She wondered why Captain Rose wasn’t with them. Lud, might he have brought his amusement upstairs with him? She thought she’d heard only one set of footsteps, but a woman’s softer shoes might not have made much noise.
Or he might have carried her. . . .
For some reason, that image stirred her ridiculous longings again.
If he had a woman with him, she’d hear something at his door. Talk, laughter, something.
She closed her door and then crept along to listen at the next. She couldn’t hear sounds in that room, and she thought the slamming door had been a bit farther along. Behind the next door, she did hear movement, and then a muffled curse.
A man’s voice, and not loving.
She listened awhile longer and heard only a thump.
She gathered her courage and knocked. It was a very timid knock. Perhaps he didn’t even hear it. She knocked firmly.
“Come in, damn you!”
Heavens, he’d wake the whole house and she’d be found here like this!
She opened the door, slipped in and closed it, then turned to face Captain Rose.
Her jaw dropped. He was undressed down to his breeches. His chest and lower legs were bare.
He blinked as if to clear his sight. “Who the devil are you?”
Bella licked her lips. “Isabella Barstowe.”
He blinked again, his brow furrowing. “Did I send for you?”
He didn’t recognize her, but why should he? She wasn’t sure she’d have recognized him if not for the ruby-eyed skull dangling from his ear. It had to be him, however. Tall; dark hair loose to his shoulders; stubble—though this time it was close to a true beard. Carelessly flung on the bed lay his shirt, a black waistcoat, frock coat, and bloodred cravat.
His chest was a great deal broader than she’d expected, but what did she know of men’s chests?
“Well?” he barked, frowning now.
“No, sir, you didn’t send for me. I wished to speak with you.”
“Not a good time, Miss Barstowe.” He turned to the washstand, picked up a cloth, soaped it, and started to wash.
Bella stared, mouth agape. She’d intended a conversation that would reveal the sort of man he was, but perhaps his actions spoke more clearly. He was an oaf.
All the better to assist in a brother’s destruction, though . . .
“I’m Persephone,” she blurted.
He turned to look at her, scrubbing the cloth over his muscular chest. Bella’s eyes followed the cloth and saw his right shoulder.
Saw dark marks. When it moved on, the marks became clear—a tattoo of a black swan.
“Persephone who?”
She dragged her eyes up again.
His eyes were brown, but she hadn’t been able to see eye color four years ago.
Perhaps the difference she sensed between then and now was that then he’d been sober and now he was not. He wasn’t rolling drunk, but something in the careful way he spoke told her he was half-sozzled.
“I stole your horse,” she prompted.
He blinked again, but then his eyes widened. “Oh, that! Have you come to pay for it?”
“What? No. I mean, yes. I mean . . . I wish you would put some clothes on!”
“I have some clothes on,” he said with the hint of a grin, “and you did barge in here uninvited.” He picked up the discarded shirt, however, and pulled it over his head. “Now, Miss Barstowe, horse thief, why are you here?”
Bella did her best to collect her wits. “Captain Rose, we can talk later, when you’re . . . recovered, but I feared you’d leave before I could speak to you tomorrow. I need your help.” He seemed unimpressed, so she added,
“Or rather, I need to hire you.”
“It’s business, is it?” he said in a slightly more interested tone. “I can give you a few minutes.” He gestured to a chair. “Please, ma’am, be seated.”
Bella perched on the hard chair, hoping it would make her feel more in control. He sat in the other, leaning back and stretching out his long legs. Long legs bare from the breeches down. With dark hair on them.
She wasn’t in control at all, and this whole idea now seemed insane. She rose to leave, but he said, “If we’re to do business, we should settle debts first. The horse?”
“It was returned to you. I owe you nothing.”
“What if I didn’t get it back?”
She studied him warily. He was playing with her, but was he lying?
“You didn’t? I arranged for it to be left at an inn near Maidstone, and word sent to the Compass.”
“Then perhaps whoever you trusted with the message decided to simply keep the horse.”
Bella wanted to smash something. Had nothing gone right during that time?
She’d left the horse at the inn because she didn’t want to arrive at her brother- in-law’s house on a stolen horse. During the long, slow ride she’d come up with a story. She claimed to have escaped earlier, just south of London, and to have traveled a short distance by cart.
Once alone with Athena she’d told her the truth and begged her to send the guinea to the inn to have the horse returned. Athena had promised she would, but Athena was afraid to cross her husband. Perhaps she’d gone straight to him.
Sir Watson Ashton wouldn’t have paid, especially with proof that Bella had lied. Athena had already had to persuade him not to turn Bella from the door.
“How much was that horse worth?” she asked tightly.
“Hard to remember after so long . . .”
He was delaying, keeping her here.
She edged toward the door. “Then I will leave you to your . . .” She waved feebly toward the washstand. “You can give me an account later.”
“Not so fast.” He was past her and blocking the door before she could react.
Bella stepped away from him, hand to hammering heart. “I’ll scream.”
“You’d have to explain how you came to be in my room.”
“Let me pass.”
He leaned against the door and folded his arms. “You came to hire me. For what?”
Bella tightened her lips.
“As a lover?”
Bella jerked backward. “Absolutely not!”
He grinned, running his eyes coarsely over her. “Pity.”
Ridiculously, amid fear and fury Bella felt a little spark of pleasure from that.
Was she so starved for male appreciation?
Yes.
“So why did you come here?” he demanded with an implacability that told her she’d have to give him some story he could belie
ve. She pieced it together with skill driven by desperation.
“I . . . I had a chance encounter with one of the men who abducted me.”
“Go on.”
“He told me that you’d threatened retaliation if he did anything more to harm me. I was grateful. That made me think of your horse. That I couldn’t be sure it had been returned to you. So I came to see.”
“Hiring me?” he prompted.
He was damnably persistent. “I’ve changed my mind on that.”
“One sensible decision. You traveled here alone? How old are you?”
“That, sir, is none of your business. Get out of my way.”
He merely cocked his head. “Persephone. She’s the one who was stolen into the underworld and escaped, but had to return for a sixmonth in the year. Is this your underworld? And I’m your Pluto?” He grinned again, and it was a taunt. “Those stories of gods and goddesses. They call them classics, but it’s all disguises and false identities used to do wicked mischief.” With a sudden change of tone, all humor gone, he asked, “What mischief brought you here, Persephone?”
Bella caught her breath. He thought she might be a danger to him. He was, after all, some sort of smuggler.
“I mean you no harm, Captain. I promise you.”
“But you might cause it anyway.”
She began to wonder if she might be in real peril here. If he might actually murder her because he saw a threat. She’d heard horrific stories of smugglers’ cruelty, and the skull’s ruby eyes seemed to flicker by candlelight.
He straightened, however, and stepped away from the door. “Your time’s up. I’ll be back in two days, maybe three. If what you want from me is important enough, be here when I return and we’ll talk again. Perhaps it’ll make more sense when we’re both sober.”
Bella blushed that her state had been obvious, but she was focused on the possibility of escape. She worked her way to the door, keeping her eyes on him, and as much distance between them as possible.
“Will you be here?” he asked.
Door already an inch open, she met his flat eyes. “I don’t know.”
He nodded as if that, at least, made sense. “I’m changeable as the sea, Miss Barstowe, sometimes rough, sometimes gallant, but on my word, unless you harm me or mine, you’re safe from me.”