Deverell's Obsession: A Risqué Regency Romance

by Sahara Kelly

  He had one hell of a headache.

  Léonie was going to be merciless if she found out. And she would find out because she was too observant for her own good. He sighed. Time to surrender, take a powder like an ancient dowager, and put on his best face.

  After all, today was a big step in their efforts to solve this mystery. And the Isle of Wight awaited.

  *~~*~~*

  There was a pretty view of the ocean over the rooftops and the front area of the hotel from Léonie’s room, and the next morning, while waiting for Dev, she sat in the convenient chair and watched the comings and goings.

  Coaches bustled back and forth, the clopping of the horses’ hooves a nice accompaniment to the muted chatter of the guests. Many chose to embark on a walk, since rain looked less likely today.

  One figure caught her eye. A tall woman, elegant, but dressed modestly. Something about the turn of her head perhaps, or the gesture of a hand.

  Léonie frowned, trying to place a memory. She couldn’t see the woman’s face, since the brim of her bonnet was pulled low. She walked alone down the hotel drive to the main street, a firm stride with purpose.

  Then it clicked. The woman from the ball. Lady Jean something or other. Could it be?

  She laughed at herself. No. It couldn’t possibly be her. That was ridiculous. Her heartbeat quickened as there was a knock at the door.

  “I thought you were never coming.” Léonie stared at Dev. “It must be past ten o’clock already, for goodness sake.”

  Dev winced. “It was a late night. I had to arrange for transportation, you know.” He took her arm as they walked down the hotel corridor. “Not easy at a moments’ notice.”

  “You said you had contacts here,” she frowned. “Could you not reach them?”

  “Oh I reached them, all right.” He led her to the restaurant. “Let’s have a little breakfast and I’ll tell you about Captain Crispin.”

  She headed for a table by the window where a little sunshine was working its way through the clouds.

  “Not there. The reserved one.” Dev steered her to a table further inside the room, and seated her without another word.

  She looked at him across the table. “You are not quite yourself this morning, are you.” It was a statement rather than a question. “A wee bit too much arranging, might I guess? Still a trifle disguised, are we?”

  His look spoke volumes.

  She leaned back and managed to suppress a chuckle.

  They ordered simple fare, neither inclined to fill up on food at this hour, although both aware that it was going to be a challenging day.

  “Shall we be able to get a cup of tea when we get to the island?”

  Dev nodded. Carefully, she noted. “I hope so. But then again, we have to be in Scratchell’s Bay at sunset. I’m not sure what time that is, but I hope our sailor will be able to tell us.”

  Léonie remained silent after that, letting Dev get his thoughts together, and indulging in her own. She was a good sailor, she knew, since her life had included more than a few sea voyages, several of which were stormy. She’d been glad to find she had what her father had called “stout sea legs”. It meant she didn’t feel the need to empty her stomach over the railing as so many other passengers did when the seas were rough.

  So that was one worry out of the way. However, she had others. Was this sailor trustworthy? If they found something at sunset, the stars her father had spoken of in his clue—was it a treasure? And if so, would they be pushed overboard so that whatever the loot might be would end up with their boatman rather than themselves?

  It was all very worrying and she could not really reassure herself, since she would bear the scars of a vicious attack for the rest of her life. She now knew that such things could indeed happen to her.

  It was unsettling, to say the least.

  “Stop fretting.” Dev put down his teacup with a sigh. “All is well in hand. I trust Crispin; known the man for many years. He was the first to take me out on a boat and he taught me everything I know about sailing.”

  “Which is…”

  “The pointed end is the front and you get a bucket of water thrown over you if you call it anything but the bow. Likewise the stern.”

  “I’ll make a note.” She grinned. “I see your maritime expertise is undeniable.”

  “Have I mentioned you can be quite droll in the mornings?” His lifted eyebrow robbed his comment of any complimentary intentions.

  “And you are quite charming in the mornings, Mr. Deverell. Even with a hangover.”

  “I do not…” Dev subsided. “Damn.” He put both hands to his forehead and rubbed it. “It’s getting better. Please don’t mention it again. I’m embarrassed.”

  “Understood.” She folded her napkin and stood. “Let’s be on our way then, shall we? I’m sure some fresh air and a good walk will do you good.”

  He didn’t leap up from the table with enthusiasm, but he did stand. “You’re probably right. And we have to be at Shady Wharf by noon. Which gives us about half an hour’s worth of exercise.”

  “And where is Shady Wharf?”

  “About half an hour from here.”

  “Ah.” Léonie tried very hard not to roll her eyes as she took Dev’s arm and walked out into the foyer of the hotel.

  Since the weekend was near, the reception area was quite busy, with many travelers coming and going. The proximity to the piers and wharves meant that not only local tourists thronged Southampton, but also passengers bound for distant shores, or ones just completing their voyage to England.

  She smiled at the pleasant hubbub of voices that surrounded them as they walked toward the main entrance.

  Then she missed a step…and turned, bringing Dev to a stop.

  “Léonie, what is it?”

  “I…I thought I saw someone…”

  “Who?”

  “Wait…I can’t…” She craned her neck, but the crowds had increased and her vision was blocked on all sides. “Dammit.”

  “Who did you see, love?” Dev pulled her close, his arm around her shoulders in a protective gesture she found comforting.

  “It was…” she hesitated, letting him lead her onward to the sunshine. “…I met a woman at the ball who said she knew me, and indeed our paths had crossed before. She’s Lady Jean Montgomery now, she said. I thought what a small world it was that she should be there.”

  “And now she’s here?”

  Léonie shook her head. “That’s not possible. I was looking out of my window earlier this morning and saw someone who looked like her. A tall, dark haired woman.”

  “That is a pretty general description.” Dev’s eyes roamed around. “It fits at least five women that I can see right at this moment.”

  “Exactly. It’s my nerves playing up, Dev. Forgive me. I never used to be this jumpy.”

  They walked along the street, enjoying the warm sun shining through clouds that seemed to be thinning for once.

  “Nothing to forgive, my dear.” Dev tucked her hand comfortably in his arm. “We’re both on edge. I confess I’ll feel a lot better when today is done and we’ve fulfilled the instructions on your father’s note. Although what kettle of fish that will open, I have no idea.”

  Léonie leaned against him. “Poor Dev. I have turned your world upside down, haven’t I? Here you are, about to set sail on the Solent, prowl a beach at sunset and search for who knows what beneath some stars. I’m sure this isn’t your usual gentleman’s pursuit…”

  “Honestly? It’s a damn sight more interesting than anything else I might have been doing today.” He grinned down at her.

  “Interesting yes, I’ll agree with that.” She lifted a hand to her bonnet as a gust of wind rattled the street. “Although I’m not sure it can rank up there with being hit on the head by persons unknown and left for dead on a strange wharf where you’ve never been before.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “Yes. I think you get the prize for that one.”

&nbs
p; His comment surprised a gurgle of laughter out of her. “Dev.”

  His smile was warm and affectionate. “Well look at it this way, Léonie. If you hadn’t suffered that blow and fallen into the capable hands of Eileen and Mary, I’d never have met you and we wouldn’t be here now. I would doubtless be bored to tears, miserably unhappy and wondering if there was any purpose to my mostly useless existence.”

  “Oh please.” She rolled her eyes. “Doing it far too brown, sir.”

  He hugged her, then placed her hand back on his arm. “You’re right, of course. But all in all, I’m certainly the better for knowing you, so no matter the ups and downs involved, or the adventures to come, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

  She thought about that for a moment or two. “Me neither, Dev.”

  “Which is an excellent sentiment, because I believe I can see our destination. And—I think—our ship.”

  He pointed down the street as they passed the growing stanchions and woodwork of the Royal Pier.

  Léonie guessed it would live up to its name when finished, but right now, it was a bit of an eyesore. She tried to follow Dev’s line of sight to see what he was pointing at.

  And then she saw the blue sails billowing in the stiff breeze. “Oh my. The boat with those pretty sails?”

  “Yes, I think that’s ours. Let’s go and find out, shall we?”

  A few more minutes and they were there, on the dock, looking over a very sleek wooden yacht with her name “The Whisper” out of Southampton, emblazoned across her stern.

  “Ahoy, The Whisper,” called Dev.

  They waited and in a few moments the tiny door on the deck opened and a young woman clambered out. She wore the traditional seaman’s outfit of loose trousers, a warm shirt and a kerchief around her hair.

  She was missing the earring and a parrot, but Léonie decided there was a definite piratical air about her.

  “Deverell?” She called up to them, holding a rope and riding comfortably over the busy swells.

  “That’s us. Permission to come aboard?”

  “Permission granted.”

  And the gangway was swung toward them so that both Dev and Léonie could carefully pick their way over the small gap between dry land and dry boat.

  “Hullo.” The girl held out her hand. “Papa tells me you’re a’wanting to go round the isle to Scratchell’s Bay.”

  “Miss Crispin. I should have known. Only the daughter of the world’s best sailor could stride a deck as well as that. But you’re much better spoken than your father.”

  Léonie watched the proud smile cross the windblown face, and realized there was beauty beneath the attitude and a lovely woman under the kerchief.

  “Make yourselves at home then. We’ll get underway and then talk about how you want to run your voyage. Where to land, when, and so on.” She was rapidly untying ropes and doing other useful things as she spoke.

  “Sounds fine to me. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.” Dev shepherded Léonie to a bench set into the side of the wheel house.

  There was a snort of laughter from Miss Crispin. “He said you’d offer. He said best you keep out o’ my way and let me sail. You got a good heart, he said, but when it comes to yachts…well, you got a good heart.”

  Dev shook his head and sat next to Léonie with a big sigh. “Sometimes I find myself wondering where I went wrong.”

  She patted his knee. “Don’t we all, dear. Don’t we all.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Whisper accomplished the trip around the Isle of Wight without much difficulty. After a lengthy discussion with Miss Crispin, it was decided to bypass Cowes completely and go directly to Scratchell’s Bay. Given the distance, if the wind held, it would take two to three hours or so. Once there, both Dev and Léonie could go ashore and wait for the sunset.

  Dev enjoyed the little voyage and was pleased to see Léonie laughing as she held onto her bonnet. The wind was gusty, but overall the sea behaved itself. He pointed out various landmarks as they sailed down the Solent, Cowes—the destination of most of the mainland ferries—which was a cluster of buildings on either side of an inlet. Many boats were in the area, fishing boats, cargo boats and more than a few yachts.

  She asked the right questions, paid attention to his answers, and Dev wasn’t surprised that her presence enhanced his own pleasure in this trip. The sails billowed, the sun broke through the clouds, and they had to squint against the brilliance of the light on the grey blue waters.

  To their right was the southern coastline of England, and they passed Calshot and Lepe, the entrance to the Beaulieu river and then on down westward to Lymington, another active and busy port, although on a lesser scale than Cowes.

  The wind settled to a breeze as they approached Yarmouth and saw the walls of Yarmouth castle shining white over the sea shore.

  From there they headed to the narrowest point between the island and the mainland, and sailed past Hurst Castle. Dev was proud that he remembered a smidgen of history, and informed Léonie that King Henry VIII had built a fortress there.

  “You did well in school, I’m guessing?” She grinned at him.

  “I remember odd things.” He grinned back. “But who didn’t love the tales of a man with six wives?”

  Her mouth turned down. “All well and good for the boys, but us girls were definitely not predisposed to look kindly upon marriage to a monarch.”

  “Good point.”

  “Oh.” She straightened and then stood, holding on to a convenient rope to keep her balance. “Look. Are those the Needles?”

  He looked. “Yes. There they are. Pretty impressive, aren’t they?”

  Even from this distance, they were striking. A massive formation extending out into the cold waters of the English Channel.

  Soaring chunks of chalk, almost like wedges protruding from the waves, they were white, although striated with a variety of shades. From where he sat, Dev felt they were leaning away, angled to the east. Which made sense, since they would take their fiercest battering from the waters driven by storms coming in from the west. They bore the marks of time, and yet still stood proud.

  How British. The whimsical flash of patriotism darted through his mind.

  “My goodness. They are breathtaking.” Léonie stared as the boat drew nearer and the Needles got bigger.

  Time and tides had left their marks around the base—each rock had a band of dark greenish brown at the waterline. It was probably seaweed, thought Dev as Miss Crispin adjusted course, making the boat roll a little.

  “You might want to hold on to something sturdy,” she called, hands on the wheel now and eyes on the sails. “Currents are a bit unpredictable around those buggers.”

  The wind had picked up and they were scudding along at a good speed, buffeted a little now and again. Dev noticed a few whitecaps starting to form on the water, and tugged on Léonie’s hand. “Sit, love. Hold tight. I don’t want to lose you overboard before we’ve done what we came for.”

  She sat. “But afterward I can go over the side without a problem?”

  Dev rolled his eyes. “Have I mentioned you’re much too literal at times?”

  She smirked.

  But luck was with them and they rounded the Needles with nothing more than an errant splash or two up against the hull of the Whisper. Miss Crispin knew her yacht and these waters very well indeed. Dev reminded himself to make sure there was a bonus for her. A private bonus so her father didn’t expect his daughter to buy his ale for the next few months.

  “This is Scratchell’s Bay.” The hail came from the wheelhouse, and Miss Crispin emerged to take down a sail or two, which she accomplished with impressive efficiency. “I’ll get as near as I can. There’s a good drop, so I can get in close—just be careful. You’re going t’get your feet wet, for sure.”

  Since both Léonie and Dev had been aware that might be the case, they were prepared with their stoutest footgear.

  As the boat slowed
, they stood and moved towards the bow, watching as the chalk began to loom over them. The beach was narrow and empty, a strip of dry land between a sheer cliff and a blue ocean.

  It wasn’t the most hospitable place, but the sun shone and the birds called above in a sky that was partly blue. He would take what they were given.

  “Right then.”

  There was a grinding bump and the boat came to a standstill, rocking slightly since only her nose was held by the shore.

  “If you get a good jump, you’ll be in the shallows, see?” Miss Crispin pointed to the small pale strip beneath the edge of the ocean, where the waves were frothed and foamed.

  “I see.” Dev nodded and turned to Léonie. “Let me jump first. My boots are thicker than yours.”

  “All right.” Léonie fidgeted, an air of excitement and a little apprehension surrounding her.

  He felt the same as he stepped up onto the ledge beneath the rail, and pushed himself forward, leaping as far as he could toward land.

  There was a splash, the nasty sensation of wet feet and wet fabric round his legs, but one more step and he was on the beach. “There we are. Nothing to it.”

  He held out his hands to Léonie. “Your turn.”

  *~~*~~*

  She looked at him as he stood in the sun, his eyes mirroring the excitement she felt. Knowing he was there, waiting to catch her—it was as if her entire life coalesced into that one moment.

  This was how it should be.

  This was everything she could ever want, ever hope for.

  A white cliff, a brilliant blue sky above it, the lap of the waves and a man offering his hands, filled with love for her.

  She blinked away the sting of tears, gulped down the ball of emotions clogging her throat and gathered up her skirts in an unladylike bundle.

  And jumped. In more ways than one.

  Ever adroit, Dev caught her by the upper arms and swiveled her in an arc, managing to deposit her at the very edge of the water.

  “Good heavens, Dev,” she laughed. “Do that when you’re waltzing and you’d set London on fire.”

  “I have my moments,” he preened.