The Trouble With Misbehaving

by Victoria Hanlen

  He wrinkled his nose at the stink of lye soap as he put on the worn shirt and stained pants the harlot had found. Then he placed a pair of green-tinted glasses on his nose and wrapped the wire rims around his ears. Angling a worn bowler atop his head, he took the mirror off the shelf to gaze about himself.

  Yes. A fine metamorphosis. With his second-hand clothes and unassuming appearance, he doubted his own mother would recognize him.

  Chapter 27

  Portly Captain Marshall, the ship’s master, maneuvered C.C. around three couples circling the small dance floor in the Ocean Royal’s saloon. Lamplight gleamed off the room’s wood paneling. A few colorful streamers draped the walls. In the corner, members of the crew played a pretty melody on a violin and piano as attendants cleared away the dinner dishes. Everyone in the saloon wore small masks for the farewell party.

  This was hardly a costume ball, but the few passengers on the merchant ship had risen to the occasion. C.C. had made her own mask from pieces of other garments. Pink feathers matched the tiered, pink bell-shaped gown she’d bought in Nassau. Its whimsy somehow sent her back to a time of youthful hopes and fantasies.

  She gazed across the room at Captain Tollier sitting at their table talking to other passengers. Her insides whipped into a frenzy and a lump formed in her throat. She didn’t want this night to end.

  With the help of the new nurse, she’d seen to the boys’ supper, and helped tuck them into bed. Tomorrow they’d all need their rest for the big day ahead.

  An odd sensation climbed her back again. Someone was watching her closely. She glanced around the saloon as the captain took her into a turn.

  “I say, Miss Collins,” Captain Marshall huffed, “I must complement you on your dancing.”

  “Thank you.” She gave him a gracious smile. “And you are a very good lead.”

  C.C. wanted to enjoy her last night on the ship. An impossibility when her thoughts kept bouncing from one topic to the next. It was odd that a number could do this to her.

  She would soon be thirty.

  That age had always represented a time when she’d have accomplished a woman’s major milestones. By thirty she’d planned to be the wife of a prominent man, a leader in society and mother of a brood of at least five.

  Of course, she’d only partially met one of those goals, though indirectly. She’d become the matriarch on her mother’s side—guardian to her little cousins and essentially their new mother.

  Decisions had to be made about how they would live. January made moving difficult, but perhaps in the spring they could relocate to the country. It was healthier for children and would help maintain a life of quiet propriety. The boys needed a stable, loving home where they could feel secure and heal.

  One thing she knew for sure, she didn’t want to step back into her old life in London. She was no longer that person. From a distance she could see how stunted her life had been. While others around her progressed through the stages of adulthood, she’d been unable to move past her inner barriers. Captain Tollier forced her out of that rut. And she’d grown to love him for things she’d never thought important.

  His charm and good looks hid an inner fortitude and logical, non-dramatic way of dealing with life, even as he undertook some of the most dangerous tasks of their generation. Underneath a bluff exterior, he was the kindest, most generous and forgiving person she’d ever known. Every glance, every word he uttered showed he valued all of her, including her intellect and opinions, yet still found her a highly desirable woman.

  Captain Marshall took her into another turn, bringing Beau into clear view.

  In his black suit and black silk bandit mask tied across his golden waves, she’d never seen a more dashing man. He leaned over the table to say something to the couple sitting on the other side. They laughed.

  How she would miss his wit…and energy and strength and friendship…and well, everything. She’d grown used to his company: annoying her, teasing her, arguing with her and making her feel…treasured.

  In the short space of a few weeks, Beau and the boys had become her little family. Now when other passengers asked how she and the captain were acquainted, she didn’t have a ready answer. Business associate was no longer correct. Friend didn’t quite fit. He wasn’t husband or fiancé or even her intended. Yet since her near drowning, she’d begun to secretly call him Beau.

  After tomorrow there’d be no further reason to be together. He’d made it clear he intended to leave for Liverpool to start his shipbuilding business. A hollow place in her throat started to ache. The very thought of no longer seeing him, talking with him or laughing with him seemed incomprehensible. He’d become a part of her life, and she didn’t want to say good-bye.

  The music ended and Captain Marshall led C.C. back to her chair.

  Beau turned to her. “Would you give me the pleasure of the next waltz?”

  She fell into his brilliant blue-green gaze, glimmering with devilry. “Yes.” She gulped.

  Captain Marshall settled himself in the chair next to her. “I say, Miss Collins, will you be staying long in London?”

  She dragged her eyes from Beau’s and watched Captain Marshall raise his mask to mop a handkerchief across his face.

  “That’s where my home is,” she said.

  “Oh, I must have misunderstood. I thought you resided elsewhere. I heard a bit of the colonies in you speech and presumed…New York?”

  “You have a good ear, sir.”

  “I enjoy visiting New York—lots of entertainments and diversions.” Captain Marshall had always been friendly, but conversation was not what C.C. craved.

  Thankfully, the violin began the opening strains of a waltz. Beau stood and bowed to both Captain Marshall and C.C. and held out his arm. “Shall we?”

  As he leisurely led them to the dance floor, her heart began to skip. How she wished he would hold her tight.

  Such a public display would not be proper, but she feared this was her last chance to enjoy any kind of closeness. Over the voyage, Beau had been the perfect gentleman—attentive without being overly familiar, polite and considerate yet always maintaining a respectable distance.

  The hair at the base of her neck twitched. She quickly looked around.

  Beau led her in a small circle and leaned in. “Are you looking for someone?”

  She took her hand off his shoulder and rubbed the back of her neck. “I keep getting these strange prickles, like I’m being watched.”

  “Someone is watching. You are the envy of every woman on this ship and the private fancy of every man.”

  “Oh, rest your silver tongue, sir.” She tried not to smile and cut quick glances at him while she scanned the room.

  “You are the only woman I know who actually fits that compliment but doesn’t want to hear it.” He’d a serious tone yet a smile quivered at his lips.

  “Shhh,” she said, exasperated. Beau seemed well rested and in good spirits—a little more like the scamp she’d met months ago.

  “Have you enjoyed your time on the Ocean Royal?” he asked.

  “It’s been veerry relaxing. Compared to the rest of our journey, this has been rather uneventful. And dear me, the meals! I must have gained a stone. Lately, I find myself missing my gray mare and our morning rides.”

  “Not much opportunity for the equestrian at sea. Shall I advise the captain on how to inspire a few belligerents to attack with shell and shrapnel? On my ships everyone commented on how it enlivened their voyage.”

  The edges of C.C.’s lips twitched. “No, thank you. Uneventful is fine.”

  “Do you know what tomorrow is?” he asked.

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow you and I will have come full circle: survived to tell of the journey, to write odes and sing songs.”

  A twinge of fear crept in. The night was growing late and the party would soon be over. He seemed to be preparing to say good night. Tomorrow she’d start a new life, one that didn’t include him. “We shou
ld have our own celebration!” she said brightly.

  His smile faded and his eyes suddenly darkened almost to green. “What do you suggest?” he said in a husky growl.

  Oh, dear. Was he going to become a paragon of propriety again? “Celebrations usually include something bubbly, do they not?”

  “Yes,” he said, holding her gaze. “Yes, they do.”

  By the time they returned to their table, Captain Marshall and the other couples had decamped. C.C. flagged down an attendant who soon returned with a bottle of champagne, popped the cork and filled two flutes.

  She raised hers in a toast. “Here’s to a courageous, determined captain and the successful conclusion of an odyssey he can relate to his grandchildren.”

  He slowly held out his glass, clinked with hers, and both drained their flutes.

  She filled them again.

  “I thank you, madam.” Beau’s tone became serious as he raised his glass to her. “But it would not have been possible without the determination of one very courageous woman. I salute you and your perseverance in the face of formidable obstacles, both natural and human.”

  After clinking glasses again, C.C. gulped her drink.

  Beau held his to his lips and watched her. “I didn’t know you liked champagne,” he drawled. “For some reason I’ve been under the impression you prefer temperance.”

  “Usually, but this is a special occasion, don’t you agree?” She filled her glass again and drained it.

  With his full flute hovering at his lips, his expression turned wry. “Have you ever experienced the aftereffects of a night of celebrating…with champagne?”

  “No, but then I’ve never been more in want of celebration. How many people do you know who have done what we have and lived to tell the tale?”

  “There is that,” he said and finally drained his flute.

  She jiggled the bottle and sighed. Raising a finger into the air she called out a little louder than she intended, “Attendant!” Her voice sounded so funny she broke into giggles.

  Beau took the bottle from her and set it on the table. “Perhaps we should get some air.” He helped her to her feet and into her fur-lined cloak, then wrapped her hand around his elbow.

  Even through her gloves, her fingers tingled at the touch. She could feel his arm muscles bunch beneath his coat sleeve and wanted to squeeze and explore them. The champagne had done funny things. It had relaxed her but increased her sensitivity. And Laws, she wanted to touch and explore more of him.

  ***

  A couple exited the saloon before them, letting in a brisk draft. After a day of smooth sailing, the seas had grown heavier. Yelps of laughter drifted back to them while the couple listed and swerved on the heaving promenade deck.

  “Steady on.” Beau put his arm around C.C.’s shoulders to keep her from stumbling as he led her out the doors.

  A chill salt mist swirled about, veiling the deck and gas lamps in a gauzy glow. Below, combers battered the iron hull, accompanied by the throaty rhythm of the ship’s engines.

  As Beau steered C.C. to the rail, bubbles suddenly gurgled in her throat.

  She clapped a hand over her mouth and giggled. Somewhere around the third glass of champagne her words had started to slur and she’d begun to unwind and smile. She smiled still, a smile that could turn any red-blooded male into a stammering idiot.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets. He couldn’t trust them not to roam where they ought not. For starters, he’d like to tear off her mask and gaze one last time into her beautiful face.

  Deep breaths. Concentrate. Too much champagne, too quickly had gotten him into more predicaments than he could count. Fresh air was what he and C.C. needed. He only had to keep his emotions and impulses chained for a few more minutes. They’d say good night and by dawn this journey would be over. He’d be off to Liverpool, and she could get on with her life.

  “Ah, there it is,” she said. “Another dreadful moon. I know you prefer to avoid them, but one such as this is made for wishes.”

  He looked back over his shoulder. A fog-shrouded moon hung above the ship’s smokestack. The entire voyage he’d managed to dodge similar situations. Now the champagne had lowered both their inhibitions and his impulses were gaining strength over his good judgment. He inhaled, tasting the salt air. Only a few minutes longer. All he had to do was behave himself.

  A distant surge of music drifted toward them as the saloon’s doors opened and closed.

  He turned back, breathing in her vanilla and honeysuckle perfume and that indescribable, tantalizing fragrance that was C.C. Behind her mask her large, beautiful eyes had become softly luminous.

  “What do you wish, Captain?”

  “Wish?” The glow in her eyes pained his poor heart. Never had he wished for his brother’s title. It would have been a ball and chain. But tonight, right now, he wished he were a titled lord, propertied and influential. The kind of man C.C. had set out to marry.

  When the war was over he would take her back to New York and waltz her up and down Broadway so all of her high society could gape with envy. He wished he were steadfast and dependable, a man who could spend the rest of his days with her. He gazed at her lips, so full and inviting. “I wish you’d call me Beau.”

  A heavy wave rolled against the ship. She lost her balance and grabbed for the rail. Perhaps calling him Beau was still too big of a request.

  Just as well.

  No telling what might happen if she broke her rigid rule and called him by his familiar name.

  The ship surged back and she wobbled the opposite direction.

  “Too much champagne tends to make one’s sea legs soggy.” He smiled and placed his arms on either side of her, enclosing her against the rail. “Well, madam, what do you wish?”

  “Let me see, what shall I wish?” she slurred. “I wish—” She raised a hand to trail a gloved finger down his cheek. Then rose up on her toes and brushed a soft kiss across his lips.

  His pulse stuttered. He didn’t dare move fearing the full mutiny of his good sense.

  Slowly wrapping her arms around his waist, she laid her head against his chest and whispered, “I wish this night would go on and on.”

  Two couples strolled toward them through the mist.

  “Come,” she said, taking him by the arm, and led him toward a set of doors off the promenade deck.

  ***

  Now isn’t that sweet? Calista and Tollier are in love.

  Costume parties were made for stealth observation. Attendees tended to wrongly believe a mask made them unrecognizable and they let down their guard.

  Fools.

  Not that he needed a costume ball for cover. He’d been right next to them many times, standing in plain sight.

  Calista and Tollier had been so wrapped up in one another, they couldn’t see beyond their noses. They acted oh so proper, but even he could tell they were in love. And she cared for her bratty little cousins too. One little happy family of odds and ends. He chuckled to himself.

  They think they’re safe…and laughed some more.

  ***

  C.C. opened her door and quickly drew Beau inside. Prominently positioned in the center of the plush carpet was a comfortable four-poster bed. A gilt lamp softly glowed. Carved paneling, mahogany furniture, an oversized porthole and a private W.C. completed her accommodations. His attention swerved back to the handsome bed coverings, already turned down for the night, gaping invitingly.

  C.C. threw her gloves and cloak onto a nearby chair and stepped toward him.

  Apprehension struggled against the alcohol in his blood. For a man who’d dealt with risk most of his life, he knew exactly why little twinges danced in his abdomen. “I shouldn’t be here,” he muttered. C.C. deserved a better man, someone titled and reliable.

  She squeezed his arm. “Will you stay anyway?”

  He took an unsteady breath. The clean bouquet of the ship’s flowery sachet, soap and her honeysuckle and vanilla perfume tormented him.<
br />
  No. He couldn’t. “Staying won’t do either of us any good.” He already wanted her so badly he was at his wits’ end. Life without her would be hard enough. Craving another night with her would be pure torture. He reached for the door handle behind him and pulled.

  The ship pitched and threw her against him, slamming it shut.

  “I’m sorry, I keep falling into you.” She licked her luscious lower lip.

  Why had he drunk so much champagne? He was a hair’s breadth from yanking off her damn mask. That would lead to everything else. He forced his fingers to remain locked around the door handle.

  C.C.’s hands climbed his chest and lightly framed his face. Leaning up, she brushed a soft kiss across his lips.

  His conscience battled with his baser desires. He wanted to capture her mouth under his and devour all the rest of her. “We shouldn’t,” he growled.

  The ship pitched again and sent her solidly against him. Every nerve in his anatomy flared. A surge of need roared into his blood. This wasn’t fair play. Even the ocean conspired to break his will.

  His resistance couldn’t take much more temptation. The room made a slow, tipsy spin. “Do you love me, C.C?”

  Where had that come from?

  She leaned back. A light so tender it clutched at his heart entered her beautiful dark eyes. “Do I love you?” Her words came out a breathy whisper.

  What possessed him to ask such a question? No doubt it had welled up in some disjointed effort toward self-preservation. From their first meeting he’d known C.C. considered such words taboo. It would save them both a lot of heartache if she’d take offense and send him out the door.

  His pulse thumped in his ears. Either option—to stay or to leave—filled him with unease. It had been over a year since he’d said good-bye to Millie. Casual affairs had long since lost their appeal. Sweet Millie had shown him how rich and satisfying lovemaking could be when both partners had affection for one another.