The young viscount fell in beside his uncle. “I’ve consulted the map with Lieutenant St. John, and once we cross the river it is not more than half a day’s ride to the road to Ostend. God willing, we should reach the coast by sometime tomorrow.”
The Duke merely nodded, his eyes remaining riveted straight ahead. Lucien did not miss, however, the subtle clenching of the jaw or the fact that the powerful hands tightened convulsively on the reins.
He started to speak again, then thought better of it. He had never seen his uncle reduced to such a state. The Duke was a man of intimidating presence, whose stoic demeanor might be taken as cold unless one were on intimate terms with him. And even then, there was a certain aloofness to his manner. It was not always easy to know where one stood with him, mused Lucien. At times, he was almost sure His Grace thought him the veriest of fools, a jackanape to be tolerated only for reasons of blood. In fact, he was of the opinion that Caroline felt much the same—
Caroline. The thought the danger she was in caused his expression to mirror that of his uncle. He knew quite well what her reaction to danger would be, and it brought forth a string of silent oaths that would have put a Jack Tar to blush. If only there were someone she could turn to for help. The very thought of such a thing caused his mouth to quirk into a rueful smile. Lord, she was nearly as stubborn as he was, and the chance that she would admit she couldn’t handle things on her own seemed well nigh impossible. After all, she had never done so to anyone but him.
Who, in all honesty, was capable of helping her?
Lucien gripped his own reins harder and slanted a sidelong look at the Duke, wondering if it was just such thoughts that were occupying the other man’s mind as well.
He set his spurs into his mount’s flanks, causing the horse to bolt forward towards the head of the column. Suddenly he understood his uncle’s overwhelming sense of urgency. And the look of fear on his face. The two of them were all she had.
* * * *
Caroline peeled back the torn fabric and cut through the ragged strips of fabric wrapped around Davenport’s shoulder. She frowned at the sight of the jagged cut, then took up a moistened sponge.
“Ouch!”
“Sorry. But it must be done.” She bent back to the task. It actually cleaned up rather nicely, and in the light of day, didn’t look half so bad as she had feared. After probing gently in a few spots, she was satisfied no further ministrations were necessary. A liberal dusting of basilicum powder finished things off and she began to tear the clean length of linen into bandages.
The earl had worn a scowl through the entire process. “Don’t know why females have to make such a fuss over a scratch.”
“A gunshot wound is hardly a thing to treat lightly, sir,” she replied tartly as she wound the last strip into place. “There. Now mayhap you’ll stop growling like a bear at everyone. I’ve asked Lady Atherton’s butler to bring you up something to eat. Perhaps that will also serve to improve your disposition.”
The earl made as if to protest, then his jaw snapped shut. He took in the dark smudges under her eyes, the sag of her shoulders. “Will you promise me you will lie down and get some rest?” he said quietly.
She nodded, fighting to keep from pitching forward smack into his bare chest.
A knock at the door announced the arrival of the butler. He carried in a large tray and the scent of grilled bacon, eggs, kippered herring, toast and strong, steaming tea filled the room. He was followed by two maids struggling with a hip bath that they placed behind a screen in the corner.
“I took the liberty of having Dawkins to bring you a full breakfast. You must be famished by now. He’s also going to try and find you a fresh shirt at least. And I thought you might like a bath.”
She started to rise but Davenport held her arm for a moment. He seemed to be searching for the right words.
“Thank you.”
She nodded again, not trusting her voice, then left his room.
True to her word, she immediately went to the bedchamber Lady Helen had offered. Without removing any of her clothes, she sank into the blissful softness of the thick eiderdown cover. Her sigh of pleasure turned into a groan, however, as a soft knock came at the door.
Lady Helen came into the room. “Forgive me for disturbing you.” Her arms clutched at a thick dressing gown. “I thought perhaps you might also wish a hot bath. I’ve taken the liberty of telling the maids to bring a tub here as well. And I brought you something to change into while they give your garments a good cleaning.
“That’s very kind of you.”
Lady Helen approached the bed. “Jeremy and I have had a long coze. He has told me something of what has happened.” She drew a deep breath. “I wish to help you in any way I can.”
Caroline was taken by surprise, both by the words, and the depth of passion beneath them.
“I have a carriage, I have money. You have only to name what you need.”
The offer was more than generous, especially coming from an utter stranger. Caroline blinked. “Lady Atherton, I hardly know what to say—”
“Please call me Helen. And you needn’t say anything. Just get yourself free of the monster who has done that to your face.” Her lips compressed. “I didn’t have your courage, but at least I may help another of my sex escape from an unconscionable tyranny.”
A flush stole up over Caroline’s features. It suddenly became very clear to her what Lady Helen’s life had been like as wife to the late Earl of Davenport. And however passive her own role had been in letting certain assumptions be made, she felt terribly guilty at eliciting such profound emotions under false pretenses.
Lady Helen misunderstood the cause of her discomfiture. “Forgive me if I speak on things that are still too raw to contemplate. But be assured, you will find the will to face them. Take strength from the support of loyal friends. It isn’t necessary—or possible— to do it alone.”
“There are different types of courage, Lady...Helen. Somehow I doubt that you are as lacking in that quality as you claim.”
The other lady smiled tentatively. “But no doubt you think me a veritable featherhead from my performance this morning. I fear I am reduced to acting as if I didn’t have any wits about me when Julian is present.”
Caroline closed her eyes. Though her opinion of Lady Helen had altered considerably, she was in no mood to share any confessions of girlish rapture.
“You see, though he doesn’t think I realize it, I know I have taken from him that which I had no right to take. I am immeasurably better for it, though he, most certainly, is not. It wasn’t until very recently that I came to understand it all, and understand how difficult it is for him to forgive me—and himself. I only wish I could let him know in some way that I comprehend why. Perhaps it would help him get on with his own life. And perhaps we could truly be friends. But I fear that I can’t ever seem to find the right words—they simply tumble out all wrong and I end up making a goose of myself.”
It was not at all what Caroline had expected to hear.
“ So it makes for an awkward situation.” She sighed. “I’m not quite sure why am telling you this, except Jeremy seemed to think it might...matter to you.”
Caroline’s blush deepened. “I don’t know why he...that is, I cannot imagine...”
She was saved from the need of further speech by the arrival of the tub and two young maid bearing pots of hot water. Lady Helen left her to her bath, and as she shed her garments, it seemed that her spirits felt a certain weight lifted from them as well.
Scalded, scrubbed, enveloped in a clean, sweet smelling gown, she had barely laid her head upon the pillow, precious jacket tucked safely beneath it, before her swirling thoughts gave way to a deep, impenetrable slumber.
* * *
Chapter 7
Davenport woke slowly, savoring the crispness of the sheets, the feel of the pressed linen against his soaped skin, the gentle support of the feathered pillow and thick horsehair mattress. It was
all one could wish for. Yet in the muzzy state between sleep and consciousness, he was oddly aware that he would rather be lying with his limbs stretched out on a pile of straw, his head resting on a pair of shapely thighs.... He came sharply to his senses.
Where was she? Was she all right?
The thought caused him to sit up and swing his bare legs out from beneath the warmth of the covers. His clothes, freshly laundered and free of the scent of stable and straw, hung over a chair. A new shirt had been found to replace the ruined one. He dressed quickly, noting that aside from a touch of stiffness, his shoulder didn’t hamper his movements in the least. When she didn’t reply to the knock on her door, he hesitated for a moment, then let himself into her chamber.
She was asleep. Her hair, still damp from her bath, fanned out over the pillow, the sunlight catching glints of gold and copper. He had to restrain the urge to brush the stray tendrils from her cheek and the corner of her mouth. The dressing gown had parted slightly to reveal a deep notch of creamy skin. At that moment she looked almost fragile, and undeniably feminine. His mouth quirked slightly at the thought of breeches and boots. He found himself wondering what she would look like in a an elegant gown cut low and slim to flatter her willowy form, her hair artfully dressed to highlight her expressive features....
She stirred, her hands moving restlessly up to the pillow to catch at the ragged jacket folded under its downy bulk. Slender hands, yet so capable—throwing a credible shot to his nose, handling the reins of his stallion, tending his injured shoulder, and now guarding that rag of a garment. Good lord, she seemed to cling to it like some sort of talisman, but if it brought her some modicum of comfort, he supposed there was no harm in it. With a harried sigh, he reached down and gently pulled the quilt back up to cover her, then slipped from the room.
Lady Helen and Jeremy were in the drawing room. The young man was still taut with nervous energy, though he hadn’t appeared to have slept, and his eyes had a gleam to them that caused the earl to smile inwardly. The adventure seemed to be doing his friend a world of good.
Davenport helped himself to a cup of tea and a piece of toast. There was a long silence as he ate, then he moved to the tall mullioned windows and gazed out over the sea.
Jeremy shifted from foot to foot, impatient with his friend’s reticence, until finally he could bear it no longer. “Julian,” he exclaimed. “Have you decided what we should do?”
“We?” repeated the earl. “What you are going to do is take the gig and return to Sway.
Jeremy’s face took on an expression as stubborn as that of their other companion.
His tone softened somewhat.” Have you forgotten that at the very least, Nero needs looking after? You have done more than your share in helping us out of this coil. Rest assured that I shall see Miss Caroline safely to her destination.”
“I think I have some sort of say in that, my lord.”
She was dressed as a lad again, save for that her hair was still loose, simply swept back to fall behind her shoulders. The others had turned at the sound of her voice, but Davenport remained facing the window, hands clasped behind his back, his expression inscrutable.
“Julian wishes to pack me off back home, like a helpless child,” muttered Jeremy as he cast a dark look at the earl.
“Well, on that, at least, I’m in agreement with him.” At the sight of his injured expression, she smiled sympathetically. “There is the matter of the gig, too. We can’t have the Runners after you, can we?” She refrained from adding that on no account would she risk exposing the stalwart young man to any further physical danger.
“Oh, very well,” he conceded. “I suppose you may be right. We don’t want Bow Street becoming involved.”
“How do you mean to go on?” asked Lady Helen. “Do you wish to take my carriage?”
Caroline considered the matter. She glanced at Davenport, but he gave no indication of paying the least heed to the conversation. “It appears my nemesis has a quite a network of informants along the roads,” she began. Her brow furrowed. “Hmmm.”
It was Lady Helen who thought of it first. “I daresay this is a wild notion, but there is a small sailing boat moored in the cove. One of the tenant farmers uses it on occasion to fetch supplies from Portsmouth. I don’t suppose you know how to...”
“Enough!” exploded Davenport. “Pray, don’t be giving her any more harebrained schemes than she manages to come up with on her own.”
Caroline found herself almost missing his words, so intent was she on observing his face as he turned to look at Lady Helen. Her stomach gave a little lurch.
So it was true. He wasn’t in love with her.
“But Julian,” protested Jeremy. “It’s not harebrained at all! With all the fleet activity, there must be hundreds of small craft around the harbor. And with all the sailors and supplies and official dispatches, not to speak of the rest of the town, it would be impossible for anyone to keep a careful watch on all the traffic coming and going. Slipping unremarked onto a coach to London should not be difficult at all.”
“It hardly matters what his lordship thinks.” Caroline had regained a measure of control over her thoughts. “He isn’t coming, regardless of what means I choose to use.”
Her chin came up a fraction. “And you needn’t worry about the money, sir. I will see that you receive the full amount for what you have already done.”
Davenport’s eyes took on the distinct color she had come to recognize as a signal for a storm. But instead of answering her, he took up a bottle of brandy from the sideboard and stalked from the room without a word.
The door closed with a resounding bang.
The three of them exchanged uncomfortable looks.
“Dear me,” murmured Lady Helen. “Julian never loses control of himself. Since when has he developed such a temper?”
“Since he met me,” answered Caroline with a sigh.
The other lady choked back what sounded like laughter. “How wonderful,” she managed to say.
Caroline’s brows drew together in puzzlement.
“One is only indifferent if one doesn’t care.” Seeing that the import of her words still hadn’t dawned on Caroline, she merely smiled.
Jeremy looked thoughtful, then shrugged and changed the subject. “What shall you do?”
“I mean to think on it—but not on an empty stomach. Forgive me if I seem rude, but may I ask for a tray to be sent up to my room? I need some time by myself to sort things out.”
* * * *
It was finally quiet throughout the house. Jeremy had lately been settled in a room down the corridor with the admonition to get some rest. The earl was apparently nursing his wounds, physical and otherwise, with the bottle within the confines of his own chamber. After sending Cook herself up with enough food to last for days, Lady Helen had stopped by briefly to ask if there was anything she could do, but Caroline had assured her that all was fine for the moment.
A short while later, a small package was delivered to her room by one of the maids. The purse was reassuringly heavy, noted Caroline, as she stood by her window and watched Lady Helen walk off with the gardener to confer on what was to be done with a bower of overgrown roses. At least one worry was taken care of, judging by the glint of gold, as she slipped the bulging leather into her jacket pocket.
A cursory look showed that the hallway was empty. Caroline wrapped a portion of the remaining food in a large napkin, then debated on whether to leave any sort of note. What possible scribble could adequately convey her feelings? Better to leave things unsaid rather than said badly. She trusted they would understand. Later, she would make amends for her actions.
If there was a later.
She hesitated only a fraction before the earl’s door before moving resolutely on, down the stairs and out the french doors of the music room. A gravel path, bordered by tall privet hedges, led through a formal garden and down towards the cove. She had to slow her steps as it changed to a mere trail through
rocks and gnarled roots. But the way was clear enough and soon, just as Lady Helen had described, she spied a small craft tied up to a narrow wooden jetty.
As she came closer, Caroline surveyed it with mounting satisfaction. It was obviously tended with care. The rigging was taut and showed no signs of wear, the hull looked well caulked and the sail was neatly furled around the varnished spar. She had sailed on numerous occasions with her cousin in a boat similar to this one, though never by herself. Still, she had little doubt as to whether she could handle it on her own....
“Ah, I had expected you a trifle sooner.”
Mouth agape, she spun around at the sound of the familiar baritone.
Davenport was lounging against a stack of wooden crates. He eyed the bulging napkin tucked under her arm. “Stopped for nuncheon, I see. But you should have inquired as to the tide. There is little time to spare.”
By now her jaw had assumed its proper place. “What are you doing here?”
“Really now, I’ve come to expect more rational questions from you. I, too, have an engagement in London, if you will recall.”
“You are foxed!”
He held the bottle up to the light and made a show of gauging its contents. “I must be, to contemplate doing what I’m doing. And in all fairness, an extended time in your company could drive even a saint to drink.”
“I’m not taking you with me! I thought I made that clear.”
He rose and shoved the bottle in his pocket. “As for you taking me—well, I suppose we might see who would prevail in a battle for the boat, but I daresay we can’t afford to squabble.” He began casting off the lines. “If you have any nautical sense whatsoever, you will mark those clouds to the east and take my meaning.” Jumping lightly onto the deck, he turned to her.
“Well, are you coming?”
The gentleman’s patience was nearing an end. The ebony walking stick drummed with a rising degree of force against the side of his immaculately polished boot. He recrossed his legs, then flicked at a minute speck of dust sullying the sleeve of his coat. Finally, there was the sound of footsteps approaching the carriage and the curtained door was opened a fraction.
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