by Lori Bond
“Doesn’t Mr. Turnton work for the ship builder in some capacity?” asked Caroline. “Perhaps he might be better able to read the drawings.”
“I believe he works on the financial side,” Jerry reminded her, “but it wouldn’t hurt to ask Mrs. Turnton if he should take a look.”
Wellburn seemed about to respond when there was a short rap on the door to the room. Wellburn and Jerry shared a look, and Jerry grabbed her arm.
“I believe the guard is warning us of someone’s approach,” Wellburn said. He pushed the painting back into its spot although he didn’t have time to reclose the crate.
“Come on,” Jerry said, dragging Caroline to a far corner. He squeezed behind some trunks and pulled her to him until her back almost touched his front.
“The crate,” Caroline said, looking back in its direction. “Anyone who comes in will know that we’ve been here.”
“They’ll know someone has been here,” said Jerry. “If they don’t catch us, they won’t know it was us.”
Caroline searched the room, but there was no sign of Wellburn. He and the plans had vanished as thoroughly as a ghost in a gothic novel.
The door to the hold opened. A man and a woman stood in the doorway, their features obscured by their silhouette. The two passed into the room, and the door shut behind them. The light in the room was too dim to make them out, but by the way the two headed straight for the crates of art, Caroline could only assume they were the Kimbleys.
Caroline pushed even further back into the shadow where she and Jerry hid. Her back brushed against his front, and Caroline froze, embarrassed at having bumped into him. His arms wrapped around her pulling her even closer. For a moment, Caroline felt the urge to giggle. She was being held close by a devilishly handsome viscount in a dark corner. She felt as if she’d fallen into the most scandalous French novel, the kind Olive had to sneak out to buy with what little pin money Caroline could save up.
Although Caroline knew that Jerry held her so they wouldn’t get caught by a spy, not because of some growing passion, she decided to enjoy the moment while it lasted. She leaned the back of her head onto Jerry’s shoulder and settled in to wait for the Kimbleys to finish up in the hold. She wrapped her own arms around his and hoped that the Kimbley’s took a very long time.
Chapter 29
Jerry had no idea what had possessed him to wrap his arms around Caroline. Holding her to him didn’t make her any safer. There were already as hidden as they could get. It had been a momentary impulse, one he had indulged—and that he didn’t regret. There was something right about having her in his arms, like she belonged there. When she wrapped her own arms around his, that felt right too, like he belonged there with her.
Jerry shut his eyes. For a moment, he pretended they were anywhere other than in the dusty hold of a ship hiding from potential spies. He wished he could spirit Caroline away to a moonlit garden or a deserted corridor back home, somewhere with a bit of privacy and little chance of interruption. Perhaps they could experiment with kissing again. He would relish the opportunity to please, not shock, Caroline with his kiss.
His thoughts had begun to stray to even more delightful activities when a shriek echoed through the room. Jerry’s eyes flew open. He couldn’t see much in the dimness, but the couple he assumed were the Kimbleys had found the open crate.
“I knew it.” Mr. Kimbley all but shouted. He turned to his wife, resembling a hissing cat. “I knew we should have left the crates in our rooms. I don’t care how many rumors swirled on this ship, they were safer there.”
“Calm down, James.” Mrs. Kimbley had stooped over to study the painting. “Nothing has happened to your precious art.” She stood back up and dusted bits of straw off her hands. “It may have been nothing more than curiosity that led someone to open this crate.” She moved around the rest of them. “The others seem undisturbed.”
Mr. Kimbley crossed his arms and stared at his wife. “You would have me believe that the day after you hear rumors about our business, the day after you convince me to move a small fortune in artwork out of our rooms, the day after our entire operation might be compromised, that it’s a coincidence that someone broke into one of our crates.”
Mrs. Kimbley gave an exasperated sigh. “Of course, it’s not a coincidence. I wouldn’t even be surprised if that Wickingham girl—or Viscountess or whoever she really is—isn’t behind all this.”
“That feather brain?” Mr. Kimbley snorted. “I could perhaps be persuaded that Viscount St. David might put her up to this if I could think of any reason why he would care. People like the Danvers have no need for smuggled art, and a man with his connections could get whatever they like. I don’t see the girl having the brains to appreciate art, much less wanting to snoop through it.”
Although Jerry couldn’t see Caroline’s face, he could feel her chagrin radiating from her body. He held her closer and rocked slightly, a soothing motion that he hoped conveyed that he didn’t think her feather brained.
“That girl isn’t half as idiotic as she pretends.” Mrs. Kimbley paced around their art crates again, her fingers brushing against one crate after the other. “But she does not strike me as either a thief or a collector. I’m not sure this is about us at all. The more I think of this, the more convinced I am that this has something to do with Bryce.”
Jerry felt as if he were a retriever coming to point. All his senses seemed to come alive at once. Harold Bryce was the other name on his list, the one that hadn’t been accounted for. The one that could very well be on this boat. His vision and hearing seemed to narrow in on the couple on the other side of the room. From the way Caroline had stilled in his arms, he knew she had focused in on the couple as well.
“Harold?” Mr. Kimbley waved his spouse’s concerns away. “Harold is engaged in a harmless, if stupid, bet. I don’t see how he comes into this.”
Mrs. Kimbley seemed to give her husband a pointed look. “You don’t? We have never had the least trouble moving our art before. Now, when we have Harold Bryce along there are sudden rumors? I don’t trust the man. I don’t care how many drinks the two of you have shared. Or other things.” Acid seemed to drip from the woman’s words. Jerry was unsure what the woman meant.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Mr. Kimbley said as if echoing Jerry’s thoughts. He didn’t sound very convincing though.
Mrs. Kimbley gave a magnificent snort, the sort normally heard from an irritated carriage horse, not a dignified member of the gentry. “You’re missing the point. I think Bryce is up to something dodgy, possibly illegal from the looks of it.”
“We’re not ones to talk,” Mr. Kimbley muttered although he spoke loud enough that Jerry could still hear.
Mrs. Kimbley shook her head at the crate. “I think we need to have a talk with your dear friend.”
She stormed from the room. Mr. Kimbley followed, sending numerous worried glances back at the crates of art as he went. The door slammed behind the two, and the room was plunged back into a silent gloom.
Jerry knew he should let go of Caroline now. Her own grip had loosened like she expected him to release her, but he couldn’t bring himself to let the moment end. Instead he rested his cheek on the top of her head for a long moment.
Wellburn materialized in front of them, and Jerry nearly jumped out of his skin. He understood now that Wellburn was a trained agent with twice the cunning as the man they sought, but each proof of Wellburn’s prowess unnerved Jerry all the same.
Slowly, Jerry straightened and unwrapped his arms from around Caroline. Wellburn didn’t give any indication that he had noticed their intimate position. Instead, the man merely said, “I take it you were able to overhear their conversation?”
“Harold Bryce has clearly been setting the Kimbleys up. I’m not sure if they are meant to be a diversion or if they are meant to be blamed for treason should the noose begin to close around someone on this ship.”
Caroline added, “And it seems clear that Bryce is the Kimbleys’
new servant, that Hillard, the one Olive found so personable.”
Wellburn nodded. “Yes, it does appear to be so.”
“Excellent.” Caroline clapped her hands as if she’d just been given a rare treat. “How do we trick this man into revealing himself and divulging the location of the real bayonet plans?”
“We?” Jerry said. He could feel the blood draining out of his face. He grabbed onto a nearby trunk to support himself. The thought of Caroline in danger made him physically ill like he had suddenly contracted Olive’s seasickness from the day before. With a sickening plummeting of his stomach, he realized he was in love with this complicated girl. And he knew with every inch of his being that the next words out of his mouth were going to break her adventure-loving heart. “There’s no we. I thank you for the assistance you have provided us up to this point.” Jerry’s voice had turned cold. He sounded like his father at his most ducal during a meeting of the House of Lords. “However, we will no longer require any more from you at this time. I must ask that you gracefully allow the men to take over from here.”
A variety of emotions chased across Caroline’s face. Her cheeks flushed first pale with mortification at such an abrupt dismissal to red with anger. She took a deep breath, and her eyes narrowed. She opened her mouth, and Jerry braced himself for the torrent of spite he expected.
“I see,” was all she said. She stared at him and then bounced down into a small, sarcastic curtsey. “My lord.” She turned, and with all the grace of a future duchess, she sailed from the room.
Jerry turned to find Wellburn staring at him with raised eyebrows.
Jerry sighed and looked away.
“If I may speak freely, my lord?”
Jerry rolled his eyes and headed for the door. “Don’t you always?”
“That was poorly done.”
“I know.” Jerry turned to his man. “But you do see why it had to be done, do you not?” Jerry knew he sounded like he was pleading, but he didn’t care. “This Bryce fellow already killed a man to see his mission succeed. I can’t let Caroline anywhere near him. The thought of Caroline injured, or worse …” His voice trailed off. For just a second, he caught a glimpse of a sympathetic look cross the man’s face, then Wellburn’s perfect servant mask reappeared.
“Caroline, my lord?”
“Yes.” He glared at his man, at the agent next to him, with all the fierceness he could manage. “Not Lady Caroline, not the fictitious Mrs. Wickingham, not a pretend viscountess. Caroline.”
“I see.”
Jerry suspected Wellburn did see. The man seemed to be one of his father’s best agents. He had probably seen the contents of Jerry’s heart long before Jerry did.
“I will make this up to her,” Jerry told Wellburn. “I have to.”
Jerry wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Wellburn or himself.
Chapter 30
Caroline fumed the entire way back to her state room. She managed a ladylike saunter down the corridors instead of the toddler style stomping fit she would have preferred. She was so distracted by her inventive new curses for Jerry’s parentage that it was a small miracle she didn’t lose her way.
She slammed into her room, banging the door shut behind her.
Olive nearly fell off her bed, she sat up so quickly. “What? What’s happened?” Olive looked all around the room, searching for the threat.
Caroline’s anger fell away. She rushed to Olive’s side and helped the girl lay back down. “Nothing. It’s nothing.” Caroline pulled the blanket up to Olive’s chin. “I’m in a bit of a temper is all.”
“A bit?” Olive gave Caroline a knowing look. “You slammed that door harder than the time your older brother stole your dolls and cut off all their hair. I had thought the ship under attack.”
“I wasn’t as loud as all that,” Caroline said in mock horror. “I have had a falling out with our loathsome lord and protector.”
Olive’s eyes narrowed. “What have you gone and done?”
“Me?” Caroline got up from the bed and began to pace the cabin. Her ire had returned, and it was impossible to sit still when that upset. “Only helped the little lord find his Russian agent. Now he wants me to sit back and let him save the day. The nerve.”
“The cad,” Olive agreed. Caroline was touched. Olive had not been that keen on Caroline investigating a purported murderer. She probably wasn’t as upset as Caroline that Jerry proposed to set Caroline off on a shelf while he finished the grand adventure.
“We should have a Council of War,” Caroline decided. “I cannot let this slight stand.”
“I can’t imagine anyone would expect you to do so.” Olive gave a small sigh and settled back into her pillows.
Caroline ignored the slight dig. Olive was still recovering and could be granted such small liberties. Instead, Caroline rang for the steward and asked that Mrs. Turnton’s presence be requested.
She paced the room while she waited, and Olive neither commented nor interfered.
After a small eternity that was probably closer to ten minutes, Mrs. Turnton bustled into the room and headed straight for Olive’s bed. “Has the patient relapsed?” she asked the room at large. “I would have assumed the gentler seas would have made for a gentler stomach.” She placed her hand on Olive’s forehead.
Olive shook her head. “I’m not the one out of sorts today.” She gave a significant look in Caroline’s direction. “Lord St. David has been behaving badly.”
Mrs. Turnton seemed surprised. “I was under the impression you enjoyed the viscount’s attentions. I wouldn’t have thought another kiss would have sent you into such a state.” Mrs. Turnton eyed Caroline’s pacing. “You certainly are in a state. I can be forgiven for originally assuming it was due to Olive’s worsening condition.”
Caroline’s face had caught on fire at the mention of Jerry’s kiss. Fortunately, she still strode around the middle of the room, so her red cheeks could be attributed to her continued exercise. “The Viscount has not been seeking such liberties,” Caroline said, deliberately not thinking about their shared embrace in the hold.
Mrs. Turnton shook her head. “More fool him.”
Caroline halted for a moment, confused by Mrs. Turnton. Did the woman actually think the two of them a match? Caroline might have dreamed of such a possibility yesterday after their kiss, but his cold words in the hold had doused any passion she might have been kindling. “He has removed me from his adventure.” Caroline wailed, sounding like a spoilt child. She took a deep breath and tried again. “He thanked me for my assistance and politely dismissed me from further investigations.”
Mrs. Turnton sighed and settled herself onto the sofa. “That was poorly done,” she said, clearly meaning the viscount. “I can’t think why Wellburn allows him to go on like that.”
“Wellburn?” Caroline asked, thrown by the reference.
“Wellburn,” Mrs. Turnton said in a definitive manner. “Most parents are better able to rein in their young.”
Olive gasped. “Wellburn is Lord St. David’s father? But how?”
Mrs. Turnton gave the girl an irritated look. “Of course, Wellburn isn’t St. David’s father. That boy has the Danvers look through and through. However, you don’t have to be a child’s sire to be his parent.”
Caroline nodded, understanding. After all, Olive was more of a sibling to her than either of her brothers.
Mrs. Turnton patted the seat next to her. “Come sit. Your pacing tires me, and it can’t be good for Olive to watch you bounce from wall to wall like a rogue rubber ball.”
Caroline slumped onto the other end of the sofa, but at Mrs. Turnton’s raised eyebrows, she sat up like a proper lady.
“Explain exactly what happened,” Mrs. Turnton commanded.
Caroline told the women about her adventure in the hold. She described finding the fake plans to Olive’s gratifying gasp, and she told of hiding while the Kimbleys argued and gave away the spy’s name. She did not mention snuggli
ng in Jerry’s arms or of nearly missing the entire exchange while her thoughts dwelt on trying to gather enough nerve so that she might turn her head and kiss Jerry again.
Although she didn’t touch on those topics, she rather suspected Mrs. Turnton knew her thoughts all the same.
“It was after all this that the little lord became all lordly and insisted that I not have a part in the investigation,” Caroline finished.
“Men and their misplaced chivalry.” Mrs. Turnton shook her head, the image of a stern governess displeased with her latest student. “St. David hadn’t seemed to be the sort to succumb to it. Look how willing he was to rope you and later—although most reluctantly—me into his schemes.” She tapped a finger on the sofa’s arm. “Of course, that was before he fell in love. Love does make ninnies out of the soundest of men.”
All the feeling ran out of Caroline to puddle on the floor at her feet. She only hoped she hadn’t turned as white as the sheets on Olive’s bed. “In love,” she croaked out. “Jerry’s in love?” She felt like the simplest of fools. She had been pining over a kiss and daydreaming of a man in love with someone else. Her stays felt too tight, constraining her lungs.
“Hadn’t you noticed?” Mrs. Turnton stared at her, curiosity evident in the set of her shoulders.
Silently, Caroline berated herself for attaching so much significance to a kiss and a stolen embrace. She had known that both were due to the situation, that they hadn’t been about her. Jerry would have done the same with any woman in the same spot. The pit in her stomach seemed to grow larger, more bottomless. Gods, he had probably been thinking of someone else the whole time. “Who?” Caroline managed to whisper. It was really becoming difficult to breathe.
Mrs. Turnton looked surprised, shocked even. “My dear, you, of course.”
The boat seemed to get caught up in a spinning vortex until it disappeared altogether into the blackness.
Chapter 31
When Caroline awoke, she had been propped up on the sofa. Olive’s anxious face and Mrs. Turnton’s amused one hovered over her.