To Love a Lord: A Victorian Romance Collection

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  Why the devil had she kissed him?

  It didn’t make sense.

  “Bit of a she-wolf, isn’t she?”

  Jack shook himself out of his stupor. “Aye… can’t quite figure her out.”

  Kell gave him an amused look and then sauntered in as though he knew something Jack didn’t. It infuriated Jack when he seemed to think he knew everything.

  “She’s up to something,” Jack disclosed. “I want to know what.”

  Kell smiled and turned to him. It was only then Jack noticed the papers in his hand.

  “I have something to show you that might shed some light.”

  Curiosity outweighed Jack’s annoyance.

  “Then again, it might not.”

  Jack nodded. “What are those?”

  Kell tossed the papers down on Jack’s desk and said, “See for yourself.”

  Chapter 9

  Sophie had kissed a complete stranger—worse, she had thrown herself into his arms!

  What in God’s name had come over her?

  There was no excuse for it, except that she’d been blinded by her pride. Inevitably, Jack would discover the reason for her journey, and when he did, she couldn’t bear it if he were to pity her. She didn’t want him to see her as a victim, didn’t want him to think her a fool.

  Even if she was one.

  Harlan had used her from the first. He’d never loved her, that much was evident, but she’d wanted so desperately to believe he did.

  The night air was cool at sea, and the sounds of the ocean waves comforted her. She stood at the bow of the ship, staring out over the midnight-blue horizon at the diminishing skyline that was Boston. All that remained now was a barely indiscernible glow that was, at best, poor competition for the bright half moon.

  If she dared forget everything but the place in which she stood, time seemed to suspend itself.

  In that instant, she understood exactly why Kell had looked forward to this experience. It was, indeed, nostalgic in a way nothing else had ever been. This wasn’t a luxurious private yacht, nor was it some elegant ocean liner, laden with newfangled gadgets, but it held a simple charm all its own.

  The crewmen who remained on deck had drifted from their chores by now and lounged about the helm, trading quips with the helmsman. Sophie heard bits of their ribaldry and found herself smiling despite her mood.

  “Damn I’m hungry!” one man declared.

  Come to think of it, so was Sophie.

  She frowned, wondering why no one had bothered to call her to dinner. Surely Jack didn’t intend to starve her to death?

  “What the hell happened to Shorty?” she heard someone ask.

  “Who the hell knows,” she heard another reply. “Probably smothered himself between her tits. Did you see those gems?”

  Sophie’s brows lifted, and she put a hand to her mouth, stifling a horrified giggle. She wondered if they realized she was listening.

  “Who could miss them!” she heard the first man exclaim. “Though he’d better be dead as a doornail, else I’ll kill that horny bastard myself for leaving us high and dry!”

  Sophie sat down so as not to be seen, feeling terribly guilty for eavesdropping. Her cheeks burned fiercely, and she wondered over the wisdom in traveling alone with a ship full of men—not that it hadn’t crossed her thoughts before. She just hadn’t expected it to be quite so intimate a journey. In truth, it was as though they were all under the same roof, very little privacy to be had for anyone at all—except of course Jack.

  “Stubby little bastard!” someone grumbled.

  The others chortled.

  “Blimey! It’s gonna be a long two weeks if we have to eat bread and cheese the entire time!”

  Shorty must have been the cook, Sophie gathered, and from their conversation she surmised he’d been left behind ... or had abandoned them ? Either way, it seemed they’d been left to fend for themselves when it came to supping. Maybe she could offer her assistance somehow? Maybe that would earn a little good will.

  Of course, Sophie hadn’t the least knowledge about cooking, but it couldn’t possibly be so difficult to learn. Could it? All she would need was a little direction. She was sure she could do it. And anyway, if she was to be stuck on this ship for the next few weeks, she was bound to make the best of it.

  In the morning, she decided, she would surprise them all with breakfast, but this instant, she thought a trip to the kitchen would be fitting because she had never even used a stove. It would be in her best interest to acquaint herself with the tools of the trade. Certainly Jack should appreciate her effort, and she hoped it would serve as an olive branch between them. They’d gotten off to a terrible beginning, and Sophie needed allies just now, not enemies.

  Besides, Jack didn’t know it yet, but someone was going to have to bring her home, and she didn’t intend to wait about for Harlan to do it. And if Jack couldn’t do it straightaway ... well then ...

  She smiled to herself. She would simply have to hang around the dig site, now wouldn’t she? It wouldn’t be the most terrible fate. In fact, she rather hoped Jack would let her remain in his company as there was no better time to begin learning than the present. As far as her reputation was concerned, what did it matter? If she didn’t wish to marry, then what did she care what people thought of her? Life was far too short, and she intended to live it to the fullest. Her entire life she’d wanted to do this, and now the opportunity was there and she fully intended to seize it.

  But right now it was time to make herself indispensable. She didn’t want Jack to have any reason to regret her presence.

  The first telegram read simply: Find out his agenda And the second directed: Make certain he doesn’t arrive before the board reconvenes.

  Not one contained a name, or even much clarity of direction—merely simple instructions that would be apparent only to the recipient. Both had been delivered to an address that could have been anything—an office, a warehouse or a legal office. There was no way to check until they returned. What was clear was that there was foul play at hand.

  “You found these where?”

  Kell made himself comfortable on the desktop. “In the kitchen.”

  “All of them?”

  Kell nodded. “Stuffed in the stove, ready to be burned ... except that whoever put them there hasn’t had a chance to get rid of the evidence yet.”

  “I can’t believe that dirty S.O.B.,” Jack exploded, slamming his fist down on his desk.

  “You think it’s Penn?” Kell turned one of the telegrams so that he could reread it himself.

  “Who else would benefit from our absence from the Yucatan?”

  “And yet you aren’t really a threat to him, Jack. He has backers. You don’t. Why should Penn give a damn whether you show up on your own or not?”

  “Because he’s a lazy, cheating pretender, that’s why! I’d be willing to wager he hasn’t the first clue what he’s doing down there. Even Penn will need something to throw at the investors. If they believe he’s sitting there twiddling his fingers and diddling howler monkeys, he won’t see another dime.”

  “Is the expedition up for review?”

  Jack rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “That I’m not sure of. To tell you the truth, I thought he pretty much had free rein, with his father-in-law on the board.”

  “They aren’t married yet, Jack,” Kell reminded him, and Jack had the impression it was more of a suggestion than a mere statement of fact.

  He eyed his friend with annoyance. “Might as well be,”

  “So you think Penn put her up to spying?”

  Jack eyed the papers, thumping his fingers, considering them thoughtfully. “Who else? Why wouldn’t she spy for him? She loves him, right? She’s his fiancée.”

  Kell’s brows lifted suggestively. “She doesn’t look to me like any lass who’s missing her lover. And if she were so concerned about Penn’s affairs, I would think she’d simply ask her father.”

  Jack peered up at him
through narrowed brows. “They aren’t lovers,” he corrected, disturbed by the very prospect—and more at himself for giving a damn.

  What the hell did it matter if they were lovers? They were engaged to be married. That was enough. Why should he give a damn whether Penn had bedded her or not?

  That annoying half smile of Kell’s returned. “Defending her, are we?”

  “Hell no!”

  Kell’s grin actually widened at his vehement response, and Jack nearly turned the desk over, dumping him on his ass. “You’re a bastard, you know that, Kell?”

  But he really didn’t mean it and Kell knew he didn’t as well. As proof, Kell merely laughed at his slander. “Keep it up, buddy, and I’ll let you sail this prehistoric tub all by yourself.”

  “You do that,” Jack warned him, his own smile returning, “and I’ll send you back to Boston on a deuced raft!”

  Kell shook his head and laughed again. “No the hell you won’t! Who the devil would you argue with? You’d die of sheer boredom, MacAuley!”

  Jack grinned, knowing it was probably true, but he jabbed back anyway. “I’d get a better debate out of a bag of bones!”

  Though his and Kell’s friendship had existed most of Jack’s lifetime, they’d never spoken a kind word to each others’ faces—behind each other’s backs for certain. Kell was probably the best friend a man could hope to have and Jack respected him as he did no other.

  “I can just see you now, stubborn bastard ... wandering aimlessly about the seas, babbling like an idiot to yourself ’cause no damned body will put up with you, Jack MacAuley, you know it good ’n’ well.”

  Jack was forced to laugh at the hellacious picture Kell painted. “You’re a heartless bastard,” Jack said without meaning.

  “Yah yah,” Kell agreed. “What can I say?”

  Indeed Kell was a bastard, but he knew Jack didn’t mean it that way, and he really didn’t seem to have any problems about it anyway. It was just a fact his friend lived with.

  Jack reached out and punched him lightly on the thigh. “Not a damned thing to say. Just don’t go changing on me now. At least I know what to expect from you.”

  Unlike someone else he knew.

  He’d suspected her of spying when she’d first come to him, but he’d blown it off, thinking it too far-fetched. Well, he should have followed his gut—the papers scattered before him assured him that much. He certainly would from now on. He hadn’t achieved all that he had by ignoring his gut.

  “How do you intend to handle it?”

  Sucking in a weary breath, Jack considered the telegrams. No names mentioned... no proof... no real evidence—not really, because they didn’t even say clearly what they were about. All of it was purely circumstantial.

  “Nothing for now,” he said after a moment’s deliberation. “Personally, I think we should just sit back and let her hang herself. It’s not like she’s going anywhere.”

  Kell nodded in agreement.

  “But I’m not letting her out of my sight,” Jack added. “I don’t trust her.”

  Kell’s grin returned. “You mean you don’t trust us!”

  Jack smiled thinly. “That too.”

  “She’s a sweet one, for sure!”

  He knew damned well Kell wasn’t referring to her disposition.

  “Don’t worry, Jack, she’s had your name tattooed on her forehead from the instant you saw her. No one would dare touch her, you know that.” He jumped down off the desk before Jack could object, and continued, “Anyway, I’m sure watching her won’t be a hardship for you. It’s not as though you know a damned thing about sailing this dinosaur anyway. Suppose you have to keep busy somehow since you’re no use to me.” He winked at Jack. “Have fun, buddy!”

  “You never let up, do you?”

  Kell shook his head in answer. “Someone has to keep you in line,” he countered, and left with a chuckle. “I’m going to count some sheep before my shift. I’ll leave Mizz Vanderwahl to your capable hands.”

  Jack’s thoughts had already drifted to their unexpected guest. “All right,” he said absently.

  When Kell was gone, he gathered the evidence, then set it neatly within his desk... and went in search of his beautiful little spy.

  Chapter 10

  Sophie located the kitchen easily enough.

  Like the matron’s desk in a schoolroom, the stove sat in the center of the room, facing a multitude of tables, so that the cook would be forced to face the men he would feed.

  She grimaced at the thought, imagining the galley filled with starving men, all of them waiting on their supper, banging impatiently on the tables with enormous wooden spoons. The pressure to deliver would be high, and Sophie resolved to come early in the morning to begin cooking.

  After looking at the sooty old contraption, she was glad she’d come to inspect it. But even after close scrutiny, she couldn’t quite understand how it was supposed to work.

  Opening the oven door, she stared into the oven’s bowels, trying to decide whether it was in fact an oven... or whether one was supposed to burn wood inside it and cook on top. There wasn’t any wood to be seen, or coals, either... but there might possibly be another compartment for that beneath. She poked her head into the dark chamber, trying to see what she could see. Goodness! It was spacious enough to roast a man inside! She found herself inside the oven up to her forearms, trying to peer down into the lower compartment.

  There, indeed, she spied wood, though how the devil one was supposed to get new wood down inside there, she had no clue.

  Carefully, so as not to get herself dirtier than she already was, she began pushing against the sides of the oven, testing it, looking for a removable panel. Nothing budged, and it occurred to her suddenly that she could probably remove the grating on which she was leaning.

  She had already checked the supplies, and there was ample bread to be heated and slabs of meat to go with it. It was probably best to do something extraordinarily simple with her first attempt, and leave the more difficult tasks for later. Still... she would need the oven to heat the bread.

  “Well, well,” came a familiar voice.

  Sophie gave a startled little shriek and instinctively tried to look to see who had come in, banging her head on the roof of the oven and yelping in pain as she fell once more onto the soot covered grating.

  Much to her dismay, she discovered the way into the lower chamber and plummeted, hands first, into the gray ash and what remained of the charred wood.

  “Ouch!” she cried, and tried to lift herself out before she could cause any more damage. A log rolled beneath her palm and she lost her balance entirely, toppling head first into the ash. A cloud of soot exploded in her face, and she sputtered and coughed.

  His voice was sarcastic, as always. “Imagine finding you here.”

  She heard his footfalls as he came around behind her, and was at once mortified at the sight she must present with her bottom poking indecently out of the oven and her feet waving at him.

  “What in the hell are you doing, Mizz Vanderwahl?”

  By Jude! She was beginning to loathe the way he said her name, as though it were a blasphemy! “What does it look as though I’m doing?” she snapped, and coughed as she stirred another cloud of ash.

  Wretched man!

  “Looking for something perhaps?”

  Yes! Sophie thought at once. Her dignity—something that seemed to be stubbornly eluding her these days!

  “Go away!” she begged him, but knew he was too much of a cad to adhere to her wishes.

  “And miss the show?” he taunted. “I don’t think so.”

  Wicked, wicked man!

  By the sound of his tone, Sophie thought he must be enjoying this immensely. She dearly hoped he was! The rotten louse! This was the thanks she got for trying to help? Some days it just didn’t serve to get out of bed.

  There was only one way she knew to salvage her pride... with a sense of humor and her grandmother’s wit. Her father’s
mother could curdle milk with mere words, but she’d rarely meant a single unkind word she spoke. It had merely been her way of showing affection.

  “Gee, I thought I’d dust a bit,” she told Jack sweetly, her voice echoing within the cavernous oven. “Your hired help has been remiss, I think.” She wiggled backward, and managed to get her feet on the floor.

  His sarcasm doubled. “Is that so?”

  “Yes,” she informed him quite coolly, trying to extricate herself with as much aplomb as she was able, “I wasn’t particularly looking forward to grease with my bread in the morning. Oh, my! You should see it,” she told him. “I really think you’d be quite appalled!”

  With her feet back on the ground, she backed out of the oven all the way, wincing at the sting in her left hand as she put pressure on it to lift herself out. It hurt enough that she daren’t use it again. Bracing a hand behind her, on the oven door, she used it as leverage to drag herself up, and yelped in surprise as the oven door fell off, then again in pain as it landed on her heel.

  “Ouch!” she exclaimed. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she refused to cry. With some annoyance, she pushed the oven door aside, and once removed from the oven, she stood straight and faced him squarely, refusing to cow before his acid tongue.

  His brows were both arched high, and Sophie could tell he was trying hard not to laugh.

  The awful wretch!

  He placed a hand to his jaw as though to appraise her—as though she were a work of art to be studied. Let him be amused at her expense!

  “I take it you were personally mopping up the grease?” he asked her.

  Sophie ignored the insult. She knew she was an awful sight, dirty as she was, though it certainly wasn’t very gentlemanly of him to say so. “It might have been polite of you to help,” she chided him, and kicked the oven door again, wishing it were his shin instead.

  Jack eyed her with amusement. Indeed, it might have been polite of him to help, but he wasn’t in the mood to help Penn’s appointed saboteur.