A Ravishing Night With The Mysterious Earl (Steamy Historical Regency)

by Olivia Bennet

  Barton said he had run because of an engagement. What if she had run for the same reason? Desperation could drive people to do outlandish things. What if that proposed marriage had driven her to come here, to sail as far from England as she could get?

  “Now he gets it.” Harry smirked. “She’s tricked yer, all along.”

  Without another word, Simon sprinted out of the room and pounded up the stairs to the upper deck. He had to know the truth for himself. He could not take the word of a foul wretch.

  And yet, the more he thought about it, the clearer it became. All those curious incidents that had made him view Barton in a strange, unsettling light. His arousal in the tub. His inability to look away from Barton, as though he were entranced.

  It is because Barton is a young lady, and not a young man. He did not know whether to feel furious or relieved. And, until he had the truth from his or her lips directly, he would not decide which way to swing with his emotions.

  Racing across the upper deck, he burst through the main door of the Captain’s quarters and crossed the room to Barton’s bedchamber. There, without thinking, he threw open the door.

  And what he found shocked him to the very core.

  Chapter 24

  Andrew could not believe what he was hearing.

  Just when he had thought things could not get any worse, Lord Beaurgant had returned to ensure him that it could. They were standing together in the drawing room, and Lord Beaurgant appeared to have lost much of his former enthusiasm. Andrew could not blame him for that, though he hoped these latest advancements did not mean that Lord Beaurgant no longer wished to marry Jemima.

  “Westport? That is close to Bristol, is it not?” Andrew said, trying to maintain a sense of calm.

  Lord Beaurgant nodded. “Yes, I believe so. I plan to travel there tomorrow morning, if you would care to accommodate with a chamber for this evening? I am rather exhausted, and I must have my wits about me for what is to come.”

  “Of course, Sir.” Andrew paused. “Do you think she may still be in Westport?”

  “I cannot say, Your Grace. I confess, I have some concerns that she may have boarded a ship, but I will not be able to ascertain what has happened until I am at the harbor itself. Someone must have seen her, and someone must know what has become of her.” He sounded bitter and angry, and Andrew shared in the sentiment.

  How could she be so foolish? He had not raised her to behave like an unruly child, fleeing the house at the slightest sign of something she did not wish to do. He thought he had instilled a sense of duty in her, but it appeared he was wrong. Truthfully, he did not know whether to be hurt or enraged.

  “We must ensure that news of this does not reach the gossipmongers,” Andrew said anxiously.

  Lord Beaurgant nodded. “I agree, Sir. If I am to wed her, I cannot have her reputation brought under scrutiny. Hopefully, I will reach her before any of her behavior can be revealed.”

  “Then…you still wish to wed her?”

  He smiled darkly. “I do. I have made a promise to you, and I will not break that. Although, we may have to reconsider matters if anyone should hear of this, prior to me being able to retrieve her.”

  “Of course, Lord Beaurgant. I would not expect you to continue with this engagement if her honor has been besmirched.”

  “Then, we must hope that it has not been.” Lord Beaurgant sighed wearily. “Now, if a bedchamber can be arranged, I must retire as soon as I am able. I have a long ride tomorrow, and there is much to do.”

  “Certainly, Sir.” As he stepped out of the drawing room to find a maid to arrange a room, he took a moment to draw in a shaky breath. Despair did not even begin to cover the spectrum of emotions that rattled through his heart. He was entirely torn, for though he loved his daughter dearly, he did not know if he would be able to forgive her for this.

  The stress and strain that she had wrought upon himself and his wife were almost too much to bear. All he had ever wanted was to see her securely married, and with her peculiar interests in literary meetings and friendships with bluestockings, suitors had been sparse. Indeed, no matter how he tried to view it within his mind, he could not alleviate Jemima of sole responsibility. She had brought this upon herself.

  What else could she have hoped for?

  He had done his duty as a father and arranged a suitable match. She was the one who had dissuaded better gentlemen from approaching her. She was the one who had done everything within her power to make herself difficult and aloof. What else had she expected? Lord Beaurgant had been her only option, to avoid scandalous gossip that would have ruined her.

  This is all her fault.

  So, why did he continue to feel a pang of guilt?

  * * *

  After spending the night at Cowden Manor, and riding away shortly after dawn, Peter eventually arrived in Westport Harbor as a gray afternoon drifted across the docks. The air smelled metallic with rain, and the clouds were rolling in from the horizon. Gathering the collar of his coat tighter around his chin, Peter tied up his horse and headed down to the wharf.

  There, he began his ordeal of asking if anyone had seen Lady Jemima on the night she had escaped from her family home. The docks were crowded with sailors and traders and fishermen, hawking their wares and shouting to one another in bawdy voices that scraped at Peter’s last nerves.

  “Excuse me?” He approached the first man he saw who wore a uniform that marked him out as a dock official.

  “Yes?” the man replied curtly.

  “I am looking for my nephew, who has recently disappeared. I have reason to believe that he came here, and I hope that you may help in my endeavors to find him.” Peter shrugged off his irritation at the man’s brusque attitude. “He is around shoulder-height to me, with unusual blue eyes, and dark hair. He would have been wearing a cap, and clothes that did not quite fit, and he is of slender frame and delicate features.”

  The man snorted. “You’ll have a job, finding your nephew here. Do you know how many people come and go each day? Chances are, he’s already long gone.”

  “So, you have not seen such a gentleman?”

  “No, Sir. I can’t say I have.”

  “Well…thank you for your time and courtesy,” Peter said sourly, as he turned away. Moving along the wharf, he stopped and asked every person that he passed, desperate to find some answers. However, the same response continued to come back to him—derision, amusement, and no sign of Lady Jemima whatsoever.

  Someone must know where she is.

  She was unique in her beauty. It could not have gone unnoticed. It simply could not have done. He refused to believe that he was walking upon another cold trail, the scent fading fast. And so, he continued in his task, until he found himself at his wit’s end. It truly did seem as if she had vanished into the ether, never to be heard from again.

  Eager to calm his fractious nerves, he decided on another course of action. I will not be beaten by you, Lady Jemima. The Dock Office would know which vessels had come into port that day, and which had departed on the dawn tide. If Lady Jemima had reached Westport before dawn, then it stood to reason that she had gained passage on the ship that had left the soonest.

  If needs be, he would wait until that ship returned. And when it did, he would be there, at the port, to apprehend Lady Jemima upon her arrival.

  As reckless as she was, he could not believe that she would settle in a foreign land, far from here. Chicks in their nest always flew back home. Lady Jemima was an English lady, and to England she would return. He was almost convinced of that. For, if she did not, then his plight was doomed to failure.

  With a furious sense of determination, he walked towards the Dock Office and entered the tall, white building. It was one of the grander structures along the docks, standing tall and imposing beside the churning water. There, he located a gentleman that he vaguely knew—a fellow named Jonathan Brake.

  “Mr. Brake, good afternoon to you.” Peter forced a smile upon his face,
though his cheer was waning somewhat. Lady Jemima had evaded him for much too long, and he did not think he would smile again until he had her in his grasp. Truly, he had never worked so fervently for anything in his life. And though he was not one to shirk a challenge, the novelty had begun to wear thin.

  The gentleman looked surprised, a glitter of suspicion in his dark brown eyes. “I am sorry, I can’t quite recall your name.”

  “Lord Beaurgant,” he replied tersely. He did not like it when people failed to remember him, for he delighted in making his mark.

  “Ah, yes, of course. And how may I assist you today?” Jonathan Brake was a clerk here, and often held letters from sailors, that were to be collected by friends and family, as well as contending with official matters.

  “I was wondering if you might be able to tell me which ships were in port eleven days ago, and which ones sailed on the dawn tide.”

  Jonathan frowned. “I can’t give you that information, Sir, not unless you have the proper authorization.”

  Peter cricked his neck. “My nephew has recently disappeared, and I have reason to believe that he was upon one of those vessels. He is not yet of age, and his family are desperate to see him returned. So, if you would indulge me, I should like to know which vessels were in the port, and which ones departed on the dawn tide.” His voice held a warning, as he repeated the same thing he had been telling everyone else.

  “Well…I suppose I could, if it is for a good cause.” Jonathan hesitated, before reaching below his desk for an enormous ledger. Heaving it down in front of Peter, he began to flip through the pages, until he reached the date that Peter had given. Licking his finger, he drew it down the list. “There were fifteen ships in the harbor that day, but only four sailed on the dawn tide of the following morning.”

  “Which ships?”

  “The Queen Elizabeth, the Emerald Siren, the Jewel of India, and the Evening Star.”

  Peter stared at Jonathan. “What was the last one?”

  “The Evening Star, Sir.”

  “Do you know of their voyage itineraries?” His heart was beating fast, for that name held a bitter place in his heart.

  Jonathan nodded, and removed several pieces of paper from the ledger. “The Queen Elizabeth is headed for the Americas, directly. The Emerald Siren is intended for West Africa, by way of Europe. The Jewel of India is set to voyage to, well, India. And the Evening Star is destined for Cape Verde, though it tends to make several ports of call on the way.”

  “Are there other ships destined for these locations, that are due to depart today?” He could barely get the words out, for he felt a shiver of excitement amidst his disdain for the vessel, the Evening Star.

  “Yes, I believe the Northern Angel is due to sail to India this evening. The Maiden of Caerphilly is due to leave tomorrow morning, for West Africa. The Summer Wind will be leaving for the Americas in the next day or so, and the Flight of Fortitude sails for Cape Verde this evening.”

  “Will the latter be stopping along the way?”

  Jonathan shook his head. “No, they are set to collect cargo from Cape Verde, and have no planned ports of call prior to that.”

  “Thank you. You cannot know what this will mean for my family.” Peter grinned with satisfaction, for now he had a lead. True, he had four that he needed to pursue, but at least he had something to follow.

  He would write four letters and send them on the ships that were due to sail to the same locations, to give to those four vessels that had departed the same morning that Lady Jemima had arrived here. He would include a description of the missing Lady Jemima, for someone will have seen her, he was sure. She could not have endured the task of being a stowaway.

  “Was there anything else, Sir?” Jonathan glanced at Peter with concern.

  “Yes, actually. Do you have anything for me from Jack Spratt?” He smiled at the name. It was one he had conjured up himself, as a means of keeping his co-conspirator a secret. He did not collect letters often, but there was usually one awaiting him, with news from abroad.

  Jonathan frowned, and riffled through a box of letters to his right-hand side. After several minutes of sifting, he produced a square of cream vellum and handed it to Peter.

  “Thank you, Mr. Brake.”

  Jonathan nodded. “My pleasure, Sir.”

  Taking the letter, Peter crossed the marble floor of the grand Dock Office, to a side room where they had bureaus and quills and ink, for traders and suchlike to make their notations. Settling himself down at one of the empty desks, he set the letter in front of him, and unfolded it carefully. He was eager to read the contents, for it had been some time since he had heard from ‘Jack Spratt.’

  Dear Lord Beaurgant,

  I hope this letter finds its way to you. I’m writing to you from Westport, having returned from my latest voyage upon the Evening Star. I’ve done as you’ve asked and taken matters into my own hands. His Lordship continues to ingratiate himself, which makes things more difficult. I’ve included a list of our latest cargo, for your perusal, and the price it received at auction. As promised, I’ve enclosed a suitable sum from the cargo that I managed to siphon off without detection from the upper authorities. I would’ve written sooner, but I only received news of the cargo’s private sale this morning. His Lordship and his best pal were watching, so I had to be careful, but I don’t think they suspect anything.

  We’re due to sail again in a few days, and I’ll attempt to write to you again from one of our first ports of call, to let you know what cargo is being picked up. As usual, let me know how much you want me to siphon off, and I’ll do what I can to make it happen. I’ve taken my cut, as agreed.

  Yours Sincerely,

  H.

  Peter smiled and took out the notes of money that his acquaintance had acquired for him. If he was to stay here in Westport, he knew he would receive any further letters far earlier than usual. He did not visit this place very often, but H sent him letters with some regularity, to let him know how things were aboard the Evening Star.

  He had a stake in the trade that went on aboard that vessel, but he hated that name, for it brought him nothing but bad memories and left a sour taste in his mouth. It was not something he cared to remember, but necessity made it a continued part of his existence. For that ship had been named in honor of a young lady he had once known, whose ghost haunted him still. Her death would always weigh upon his shoulders.

  Shrugging off his irksome thoughts, he took a fresh sheet of paper from the small stack that had been laid out and began to write the first of his four letters to the departing ships. Once they were in place, they would sail in pursuit of Lady Jemima. And once she was discovered, those in receipt would have no choice but to send her back home, for the sake of duty towards her future husband.

  The Duke of Cowden might have been concerned for Lady Jemima’s reputation, but Peter was past caring. He wanted her back, by hook or by crook, and if that meant telling a handful of men that they had been harboring a young lady, all this time, then so be it. That unspoken bond between gentlemen would ensure her safe return. He would have staked his life on it.

  And if Lady Jemima’s reputation was ruined in the process, then so be it. For he did not care for such things. Indeed, he planned to ruin her anyway, so what harm was there in picking away at her honor now? He had no qualms about the gossipmongers dragging her name through the dirt, for when she was his wife, she would not see the light of day again.

  He would cage her for what she had done.

  Chapter 25

  Jemima whirled around as the door burst open, snatching up her discarded shirt and drawing it across her bandaged chest as Lord Burhill stood on the threshold to her bedchamber. Her eyes flew wide in horror, for she had not expected him to return for some time, and she had certainly never expected him to intrude in so abrupt a manner.

  “My Lord, I can explain.” She fumbled for the right words, aware of her state of undress. She still wore her trousers, but he
r top half was all but bare, aside from the bandaging.

  Lord Burhill stared at her. “So…it is true?”

  “My Lord, please…please, let me explain.” She felt sudden tears brimming in her eyes as he continued to stare at her in disbelief. She could not gauge his emotions, for his face showed nothing but surprise. Would he be cross? Would he throw her from the ship? Would he ask the Captain to turn this vessel around, and head back to England? She did not know.

  “You are not Andrew Barton?”

  Jemima shook her head. “No, I am not, but please do not be cross with me. I have good reason for this, I assure you.”

  Lord Burhill crossed the room and seized Jemima in his hands, grasping her bare arms. “It can wait,” he murmured. “My goodness, it can wait.” Slowly, he leaned in towards her, moving his hand so that it cupped her face. She held her breath, hardly believing what was about to happen, as his lips grazed hers with a desperate tenderness that made her heart pound violently.