What was she to do? She hadn’t eaten breakfast and if she didn’t melt from the cloying heat of being cramped in a narrow closet, the boisterous growls vibrating from her stomach would eventually reveal her hiding place.
The room fell eerily quiet. Not a rustle of a sheet or creak of a chair. The air thickened, each inhale an effort, and all because she waited, unsure what was to occur. Did the gentleman sleep? He’d stated he was exhausted. Could it be that easy? Were he to fall into a fitful slumber, she might silently slink past him and out, in search of another, more suitable room.
Ideas came to mind, entertained and rejected with lightning efficiency, all in the space of a few heartbeats. Sweat trickled down her spine as she sought to summon patience, one deep inhale after another until she realized she sounded louder than she intended. She stifled mid-breath and it was then she heard it. A matched sigh as frustrated and concerned as her own. With punishing trepidation, she pressed her teeth into the soft flesh of her bottom lip just as the closet door whipped open.
A man stood on the other side, his shirt sleeves rolled and cravat undone, yet his eyes, bright blue and acutely intelligent, held her in a captive gaze that shook her soul. A cataclysm of emotion swept through her, causing her hands to tremble, her heartbeat thrust into an off-kilter spiral, not from fear but something altogether unknown, and as they stood, stare upon stare, words evaporated on her tongue until all she could manage to produce was a startled gasp.
Chapter Three
‘My ears did not deceive me. Indeed, I heard a mouse.’ Crispin eyed the young miss wedged inside the room’s closet with wry amusement. Whoever she was, she was on her way out. Stowaway, lunatic or pleasure seeker – this last idea gave him pause – he wouldn’t be caught in a situation that brought him further anguish or, worse, a wife. Never mind the illegalities and complications this situation promised.
‘I’m not a mouse.’
She squeaked out the words, her face pinched into a bemusing scowl that further confirmed the irony of his statement. With direct insistence, she held his stare. As a matter of fact, she hadn’t blinked since he’d thrown open the door and exposed her hiding place.
‘Would you like to come out of your hole, little mouse?’ He stepped aside, his stockinged feet silent on the floorboards, amused at her quick objection to his tease.
Her eyes widened, a flash of brown or was it green? He couldn’t tell within the dim confines of the cupboard. With a fair amount of grace, she wriggled her way out of the closet and made a show of shaking out her skirts. She was slim with a high, pert bosom that caught his attention until he noticed her round bottom. Her gown, absent of the layers most women suffered, outlined her figure and explained further how she fit into the narrow space.
Indeed, he amended, the lady was no mouse at all. Flushed cheeks and long mahogany lashes accentuated a pretty face, where striking cheekbones and pink lips finished the portrait of beauty. Who was she and why had she chosen to hide in a closet? What she was doing in his quarters was another matter altogether.
‘Thank you.’
Her voice sounded tight, nervous, or had he imagined he’d had that effect? Too many nights spent with too many actresses, opera singers and widows cluttered his memory to render him clumsy with the manners required of a highborn lady. Somehow, despite her less than refined dress and awkward appearance in his quarters, he knew before him stood a proper miss.
‘You’re welcome.’ He defaulted to manners. ‘Should I ask why you’re hiding in my closet or would you prefer I march you to the top deck and speak to the captain directly? I believe we’re not so far from the coast that we couldn’t turn around.’ The captain of The Haven would hardly inconvenience the passengers and crew for the appearance of a stowaway, but she didn’t have to know that, and indeed, his tactic worked. The colour drained from her face and he mourned the loss of the fetching blush she’d worn so prettily.
‘No. I mean… yes.’ Amidst her flummox she gave her head a little shake as if she wished to jar the answer loose. ‘I can explain.’
She didn’t begin readily, but he waited, a captive audience to the fiction she would concoct at his expense. The pause offered time for him to further assess her appearance. Long wavy hair, the colour of fine brandy, evoked the same spirited effect and was pinned back to reveal the gentle curve of her neck, the skin creamy and pale. He’d spent so much time in the arms of Italian lovers of late, the stark contrast of fair skin and delicate beauty proved arresting. Against conscious thought, his fingers twitched as if urging him to touch and discover if his assumptions rang true, to place a kiss there, or better, feel her satiny smoothness against his tongue. He silently cursed himself for the ridiculous idea. He’d indulged in debauchery overlong if he could no longer speak to a lady without wondering of the texture of her skin. Alas, he was that much a bastard. The worst kind.
‘I wandered into your quarters mistakenly. When I heard you enter, I panicked and chose the closet when the better choice would have been to tell you at once and exit. I’ll leave you now as to not cause further trouble.’ She looked at him directly, her eyes as guileless as they were crystalline. And yes, they were green. A fine mossy colour which reminded of England and all he’d left behind.
She made to move around him, but he stepped in to block her path.
‘Where will you go? Do you have passage on this ship?’ He had no reason to care other than a distant and buried sense of protective chivalry ingrained in him from birth and long ago tarnished. He couldn’t help but reflect on his sister Sophie’s tomfoolery. She was always working her way into one problem or another, much to his amusement. He wondered idly if she had accomplished her goal of entering the Underworld, a gaming hell that served as his greatest foe and biggest embarrassment, but he wouldn’t take his thoughts there this moment. He shot his eyes to the lady before him, willing to offer a bit of help if needed.
‘I may have acted a bit impetuously.’ She dared a tight smile at this admittance and he noticed she was really quite lovely when she wasn’t startled. ‘I may have boarded the wrong ship altogether, actually.’
‘Well, you can’t stay here.’ He walked to the front of the room, anxious to create distance and reason a solution, where he paced a line and worked through the predicament. As was habit, he spoke aloud, listing his thoughts and contemplating his options. ‘Nor can I put you out. A ship is a dangerous place for women, and while I can offer my protection, I wouldn’t be with you at all times. The risk is too great otherwise. I know for a fact the ship’s quarters are all reserved. Ferris complained about his accommodations and the captain explained there are none to spare. Furthermore, I doubt the captain would look too kindly on a stowaway, no matter how fetching.’ He finished ruminating and lifted his eyes to catch her expression, confused and slightly bewildered at best. Had he spoken out of turn? What had he said as he cogitated?
‘I don’t know what I can do otherwise.’ She stepped closer, her forehead wrinkled with worry. ‘I must return to England. My happiness depends upon it. I won’t burden you with the story, but I would never have acted in a rash manner if this journey wasn’t of calamitous importance.’
Interesting, indeed. His mind spun with sympathetic suggestions. Perhaps her mother or father suffered on their deathbed, or worse, a child struggled to survive. Could she possibly have borne a child? She appeared too young, but then what did he know about maidens? The one woman to whom he’d offered his heart had rejected him. Several levels of embarrassment and humble wound-licking ensued until he’d hied out of London with a vow never to fall prey to the vicious affliction others labelled love. Still, he couldn’t ignore the utter turmoil detailed plainly on the lady’s face.
‘What’s your name, mouse?’ He heaved a breath of disgust. Somehow, he knew he was journeying down a road aimed for mental derangement and he had no room in his life for irrationality, his predicament already crowded with too many knots to untangle.
‘La
dy Beasley.’ Her voice was barely a whisper. ‘You may call me Amanda, if you’d like.’
It was more information than he’d expected and he would have preferred she hadn’t offered her Christian name. Their alliance would be brief and inconsequential. At the most three weeks in length, though he doubted even that time span would pass before discovery and subsequent consequence took Amanda down a different path.
‘Well then, Amanda. I’m Crispin Daventry, Lord Hastings. Crispin, if you prefer.’ Her expression eased and he eyed the door, wondering if he should fasten the latch. If Ferris interrupted, all hell would break loose. Hadn’t his friend protested of no winsome companionship only an hour earlier? This young woman would catch a blind man’s eye.
‘Thank you.’ A cheerful note filled her words.
He waited, his mind still mulling the matter of her urgent return to England. ‘What will you do?’
‘I’ll find a way to stay out of sight. I’ll be fine, Crispin.’ She sounded much more like a mouse now, her voice high and thready, most likely due to the impossibility of her suggestion.
And was that a glimmer of tears?
His eyes rose to hers at the sound of his name in her voice. Peculiar that, for some reason, he wished to hear her say it again.
Discarding the inanity, he pushed on to more important matters. ‘You won’t be fine. A woman alone on a ship full of randy sailors and lonely crew is far from safe. Until you determine otherwise, you may stay here.’ The suggestion, outrageous in its nature, surprised him as it tumbled from his mouth. What was he doing? How would he endure three hours, never mind three weeks, at sea with a young woman in his quarters?
He couldn’t. And the surreptitious show of chivalry left him baffled, though the next conclusion was a punch in the face. Bloody hell, he would have to bunk with Ferris. The man’s snoring rivalled a roomful of tormented animals, the heavy breathing, droning snorts and unexpected gasps identical to the sounds he remembered from his childhood visit to the National Zoology Museum during mating season.
‘I’ll find other accommodations.’ Resigned to his magnanimous gesture, he sunk into the only chair in the room, refusing to surrender his seat despite she remained standing. Let her sit on his bed. He’d already sacrificed enough. ‘You can’t leave these quarters. Not only are you aboard without a purchased fare, but I didn’t exaggerate the concern for your safety.’
‘I understand.’ She nodded, a question already tumbling from her lips. ‘How will I eat?’
He threw his head back and laughed, the situation ripe with irony. Perhaps this was his punishment for shirking due responsibility overlong. Again, images of Sophie’s harebrained plots and escapades rose to mind. ‘I’ll bring you food.’
‘And a bath occasionally?’
‘Amanda.’ Her eyes shot to his in much the same way he’d received her bid for attention, but now a flicker of annoyance challenged his patience. ‘Why should I be inconvenienced, whether by sleeping on the floor or finding somewhere else to lay my head? Keep in mind that I’ll become an accomplice to your deceit and the captain could very well malign my name and report my actions if I’m discovered, having us both hauled to a magistrate as soon as we’re docked. Why would anyone take that risk for a stranger?’
‘Because you’re a good man,’ she replied with sincere importance.
‘Incredible notion, capital mistake. You’ve wandered into the wrong quarters if you’re expecting goodness. I’m the worst rogue: selfish, arrogant and obscenely indulgent.’ He stood, straightened his shoulders and approached her with what he hoped was a menacing expression.
‘No. You’re a good man. You may wish for the world to see otherwise, but beneath that portrayal lies a soul composed of kindness.’
He was unnerved by her description. ‘For all your flummery, I can only consent to this foolhardy plan because I easily envision my sister in a likewise situation.’
‘Thank you.’ She rushed forward, hands extended, and he wasn’t quite sure what she meant to do.
‘You’re welcome.’ He caught her wrists, circling each one with his finger and thumb as if to touch her skin would be the death of him, and, by stalling her pursuit, released her just as quickly. ‘You have Sophie’s buffoonery to credit for this acquiesce.’ Then, fearing he might do something that proved the trait ran in the family, he turned and left the quarters in search of a clarifying jaunt on deck.
Amanda stared at the closed door in awe of her good fortune. She’d managed to skirt below deck undetected, and gain safety in an open room, as well as find a responsible gentleman aboard who would vacate his quarters in a generous act of chivalry. Thank heavens for Lord Hastings and his automatic assumption she was a stowaway. She had boarded the wrong ship despite her purchased passage on the other galleon. Truly, she saw no reason to correct him. It would be downright rude, wouldn’t it? He was a lord. Pity she hadn’t thought to ask more about his family. Father and Raelyn would indeed approve of her association and wish to thank him properly when they were all reunited in London.
Enid, her maid since the nursery, would assuredly recommend him for his fair hair, as rich and golden as a chest full of treasure despite the unconventional length. His lovely blue eyes glittered like sunlight on the water. Crispin was strikingly handsome, if one preferred the sort, all uncompromised masculinity and strong stature. Although there was a moment when she glimpsed a different man beneath the exterior, almost in kind to vulnerability. She shook her head with the wayward thought. None of that mattered, really. She would bide her time, keep to the room, and return to England.
England. She had anticipated her return through a different lens, but she’d be forced to make the best of circumstances now. If only she could somehow contact her father and sister. She worried over their wellbeing. Would they continue to France without her? Search for her in Italy? The predicament was wretched and all due to her befuddled mistake. Perhaps confessing this to the captain proved the wisest choice. Still, there was no way to remedy the problem or forward word to her father. Her one small decision had immense consequences.
She sat down at the table to contemplate how she would spend her time and her stomach growled. She placed a hand against her abdomen. Hopefully Crispin would return soon. She needed to think of some way to repay his generosity. A plentitude of unanswered questions bothered her brain. She stalled, restlessness causing ill ease.
How nice it would be to have a book or deck of cards to pass the time. She wondered if Crispin packed any such distractions in his trunks? She could never go through them. But when he returned with food, she must remember to ask. Stopping in front of the mirror, she pulled the pins from her hair and dropped them into the bowl on the desk. As she threaded her fingers through the lengths she fanned out the tangles before setting to work on weaving a large braid as tightly put together as her plans for the future.
Unexpectedly, the ship pitched to the left and she swayed with the motion. During her trip to Italy, the ocean allowed smooth travel and the ship made excellent time into port. She hoped this voyage proved as peaceful. Taking a turn around the interior to occupy her time, she counted how many footsteps composed the circumference of the room. Then she counted each pace across the diagonal until, with a huff of boredom, she plopped down on the bed to try the mattress. It was thin and somewhat lumpy, though she had no right to complain.
Rising from the bed, she walked to the tiny window above the table. If the table weren’t nailed to the floorboards, she would have had a clearer view of the outside world, but as it was, she couldn’t stretch nearly as far as necessary to see anything worthwhile, her line of sight composed of the wooden wall adjacent to the door.
Again, her eyes fell to the trunks against the wall. Could a book be inside? Crispin appeared a knowledgeable and educated fellow. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to breach his trust. If for some reason he changed his mind and rescinded his offer of this room, she would never reach England unscathed
. Worse, if the captain made her stowaway adventure public, she would be ruined, her family shamed and maligned by her negligent actions. That embarrassment would become Raelyn’s doomed fate as well and together their future would present a burden to Father, never able to marry his daughters into suitable, respectable futures. The series of graceless episodes that composed her foray into society were mild and amusing by account, but a scandal of magnitude would be tragic and unforgivable.
A shudder ran through her and she settled further on the mattress, weary from the excitement of the morning. Perhaps she should lie down and attempt a nap before eating. Hunger proved an annoying distraction and she was terribly tired. Hadn’t Crispin expressed the same? But now he would have to sleep on the floor, or worse, find some corner of the ship to occupy. This knowledge paled her good fortune by degree.
Sometimes life offered less than desirable circumstances.
Chapter Four
‘What are you doing here?’ Ferris answered the door, his shirt untucked and open. ‘I was sleeping.’
‘So I heard.’ Crispin stepped over the threshold and into the room, identical to his own and about to become more cramped. ‘I may sleep here tonight. If you don’t mind.’ He tried for a casual tone, but knew better than to expect his friend would not question this turn of events, most especially after Crispin had made a point of insistence about their equivalent accommodations.
‘What’s wrong with your room?’ Ferris pulled out the only chair and pushed it forward before he dropped to the bed and reclined, his hands folded behind his head, eyes closed.
‘I found a mouse.’
‘Not a rat?’
‘Not a rat.’ Crispin allowed a half-smile to twist his lips. Amanda Beasley. Amanda was an occurrence he hadn’t planned upon. He could only blame himself for what transpired afterwards. Some long-lost resurrected sense of duty had made him suggest she have his quarters, his sister, Sophie, the cause. Despite his better judgement, he knew discovering the lady and agreeing to harbour her couldn’t end well. Worse, he’d volunteered to withstand the punishing sound of Ferrisimo’s snoring.
Return to the House of Sin Page 3