Gallant Rogue (Reluctant Heroes Book 3)

by Lily Silver

  He didn’t understand why Lady Elizabeth pressed this feckless creature upon Chloe and insisted the girl come along on their journey. Marta was an indolent sloth, just like her father, who’d sailed under Jack for more than a decade.

  Marta made a face, childish brat that she was, but stood and hurried to pour her mistress a glass of cool water. She came scurrying over to Chloe and handed the glass to her. The older woman again started her frantic Spanish speech, leaving all but Chloe out of the conversation.

  Seeing his annoyance at the woman, the elderly man shuffled forward. “Consuela, ingles, por favor! El Capitan es Ingles.” The old man winked at Jack, as if he commiserated with the stranger over his wife’s verbose assault upon them in a tongue they found hard to understand.

  “Si!” The old woman gazed at Jack with curiosity. “Est tu marido?” she asked Chloe.

  “No, he is my companion, my guard on this journey.”

  Jack cocked his head at Chloe. The woman was asking her if he was her spouse. Perhaps it seemed so, with him ordering her about as he had.

  Jinx and Morgan returned from their reconnaissance of the villa outbuildings. “It’s empty, sir, save these two.”

  “Good. We will set up a small camp in the rooms upstairs. Mrs. O’Donovan needs to rest.” He said Chloe’s last name with emphasis so the couple harboring them would make no further mistake as to their connection. “I promised the count that I would see her safely to her family, and it appears we have been detoured in carrying out our mission a second time.”

  “Count?” The old man was quick to pick up on the term. “A Frenchman?” His tone betrayed his belligerence. The old woman, too, picked up her ears and glowered at him.

  “No,” Jack said firmly, giving Chloe a hard look. “My lady’s kinsmen is Irish. Count Donovan, si? Don-o-van.” He pointed to Chloe. “Mrs. O’Don-o-van.” It was clear they would not be well received here either if he used Donovan’s true title, as it was French. Count Rochembeau would become Count O’Donovan, just for these simple people, at least.

  Jinx regarded Jack with quiet understanding. He gave a slight nod.

  The woman crossed herself with religious fervor. Obviously, these people had much reason to despise the French.

  Chloe was given a room on the second floor. It was a well-appointed room, with ancient furniture that must have endured through the centuries. A heavily carved canopy bed with rich gold brocade coverings dominated the room. It wasn’t a spacious suite, but it did have a stately appeal. It was a guest suite, as there were no personal furnishings in the room to betray the absence of an owner. She rummaged through the small valise Jack had provided for her since they had to leave her trunk and most of the lovely dresses behind in the small cave. She laid the light cotton bed gown on the bed.

  The room overlooked an orchard in full bloom. It was a breath-taking view, a forest of delicate pink blossoming trees set before a backdrop of misty blue-gray mountains.

  She felt a little sad and wistful at the thought of her dear papa romping amid the stately almond trees, and perhaps climbing them with his elder brother. It felt good to be here. And yet, the emptiness of the place was palpable, as if the very beams of the roof were mourning the absence of the Ramirez family, and had been mourning it or some time.

  Marta was given a room across from her. As for the men, Jack, Lt. Morgan and Jinks, she wasn’t sure where they would take their repose. Jack was edgy, wary. She could sense his distrust of their surroundings, despite the welcome they had been given by her uncle’s servants.

  Did Jack suspect some betrayal was in the offing?

  A light knock on the door made her start. She quickly moved to the heavy, ornate wooden barrier to unlock it. As she peered out, a smile curled about her lips. It was Jack, come to check on her. “What is it?” she whispered, although there seemed no need for faint voices as the house was vacant, aside from Consuela and her husband.

  “I asked them to give you a room at the back of the house, away from the road. May I come in and peek around?”

  Chloe raised her brows at the question. “It is empty, I checked the wardrobe myself.”

  “Let me have a look, just the same.”

  She could feel the agitation in his body, even without a touch. He was alert and ready to do battle with some unseen force.

  As he filled the small room, his height nearly reaching the wooden beam, Chloe felt herself relax. Odd, that his wary presence could have the opposite effect upon her.

  “Where are you and the men sleeping?” She was curious as to his proximity to her.

  “Jinx and Morgan are taking turns keeping watch outside. One will sleep while the other patrols the perimeter around the house and keeps watch over the road below.”

  “I see,” Chloe remarked, not seeing clearly at all. Her mind was tired, too absorbed in admiring Jack’s trim backside. He stood with both hands on either side of the window frame, bracing himself against it as he gazed out at the almond blossom landscape. “And where are you sleeping, Captain Rawlings?”

  “Outside your door.” His blond profile was highlighted by the light of the setting sun. “Making sure you enjoy a full night’s sleep in a civilized bed.”

  “You must sleep, Captain. Take a room near this one.”

  She saw a roll of his shoulders, and then her gallant hero turned to her. “I’ll be just outside. Do you have what you need for the night?”

  No, I need you beside me.

  “Consuela is bringing up water for a bath. Perhaps you’d like to bathe when I’m finished?” She eyed his dusty clothes, taking in the tight fit of his trousers over solid thighs and the curve of his hips beneath his short jacket. “And a shave?”

  “Embarrassed to be seen with me, a simple sailor, Mrs. O’Donovan?”

  “You are bedraggled, Captain,” she teased, looking him up and down with mock disdain. In truth his scruff of a beard and unbound blond hair loose about his shoulders was oddly appealing. The rumpled clothing completed the portrait of a wild and dangerous man, as did the sword at his belt and a rifle over his shoulder. He claimed not to be a soldier, but in truth, he was a warrior, a mercenary warrior. He could be an ancient Viking about to invade the coast instead of the civilized sea captain she’d known for many years. “I suppose I should not complain, when you’ve taken such care to protect me.”

  The grin splitting his lips was her reward. And a generous one, that. Chloe wanted to go to him, hug him and hold him close. She wanted to stroke his tawny mane, rub her fingers over his roughened gold stubble, and taste his wet mouth upon her own.

  The sharp rap at the door brought an end to her silent admiration of the man. Consuela entered, with Lt. Morgan and Jorge following her, bearing wooden pails. The woman quickly gestured for the men to set their burdens down on the floor and to follow her from the room.

  As Chloe watched the trio retreat, she glanced in Jack’s direction. To her surprise, Jack stood with his pistol drawn. He had his elbow crooked and his fist holding his weapon, pointed upward at the ceiling, but ready just the same should a threat present itself. His look was stony, no longer amused. Wary, so wary, as if he expected they would be set upon by soldiers.

  Consuela returned, with the men bearing a large copper bathing tub. They set it in the middle of the small room, and began pouring the water into it for her bath. The sight of a steaming basin just for her made Chloe sigh. It looked lovely, positively heavenly. Walking today and sleeping on the cold ground last night made her body scream at such abuse. She wanted to soak her poor feet, her aching calves and tense thighs in this delightful bath, and then sleep in the sturdy bed for the next week.

  “Would you like me to stay, senora?” the woman asked in Spanish. Her dark coffee bean eyes glanced from Chloe to Jack and back again, quickly but with an unspoken disdain for the burly seaman who lingered with his pistol at the ready. “I can assist you.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Chloe responded in Spanish. She made a sweeping gesture towar
d the door. The men had retreated. Only Consuela and Jack remained. “You might send Marta to me,” she said to Jack. She’d let Marta bathe after she finished.

  Left alone, Chloe removed her shoes quickly. She rolled down her torn and snag-riddled stockings and tossed them across the room. She examined her sore feet. They were angry, swollen slightly, and so red and chaffed from the extensive walk today.

  Marta entered, with Jack behind her. The girl squealed with delight and rushed to the steaming tub to dip her hand in it. Jack stood in the door, looking from the exuberant, childish Marta to Chloe with open disdain. Chloe merely shrugged and smiled at him. She understood how Marta felt at the prospect of a hot bath and envied the girl’s freedom to express herself as she wished. Jack nodded to her and closed the door, leaving them to their private delights.

  “Come, help me with this gown.” Chloe said, asserting herself to bring the girl back into line. She understood Marta’s feelings, but she also expected a maid to earn her keep. “You can bathe after the captain.”

  That brought a hiss of disgust. “Me, after the captain? I’d rather bathe in a horse trough in the stables.” Marta scoffed, yet came to help Chloe unlace the back of her gown.

  “Do so, then, with my blessing. The captain has been good to us. His protection is worth all the layers of dust and perspiration you and I have endured. Perhaps I should let him bathe before me.”

  “I will wash in my room, if you’ll allow it, ma’am. I’ll just fill a pitcher from your bath water and take it to my own room. I can make do with that.” Marta cajoled, “As long as it’s fresh and clean water. I don’t mind following you, mum, but after you and the captain!” She shivered, as if asked to bathe in a rancid pool full of green slime.

  “Do as you will,” Chloe replied, anxious to have the annoying child out of her way. “Take a bucket,” she gestured to those wooden pails left behind near the door, “And fill it half full with water from my bath. I’m sure I can manage without a maid again this evening.” She meant the last as a jab, an insult.

  “Oh, thank you, mistress!” Marta said, as Chloe’s sarcastic barb went right past her. “You are too kind.” The girl rushed to the door, snatched a pail and lowered it into the tub.

  “A failing, it seems. One I shall have to overcome,” Chloe muttered, stepping out of her dress and standing in her petticoat. Marta didn’t hear her or didn’t care. The girl lifted her portion of steaming water from the bath and jaunted to the door.

  The door remained ajar at Marta’s retreat. Chloe didn’t bother to cross the room to close it. She was too tired and dirty to care. She just wanted to bathe and go to sleep in a clean bed.

  It didn’t take much for her to shrug out of her camisole and petticoat. She left them in a pool of white on the rug and stalked across the cool tile floor to the copper bathing tub. One leg was lifted over the rim and dipped into a near scalding bliss. It hurt for a second, and then her skin seemed to sigh with pleasure. She placed her other foot into the basin and sat down, slowly allowing the fresh, clean, warm water to embrace her sticky skin. It was so exhilarating she let out a small gasp of surprise. Nothing compared to this sweet indulgence after a full week and a half of traveling through the Spanish countryside.

  Oh, she loved seeing the land of her father’s birth first-hand, but there was nothing to compare to a warm meal, a hot bath, and a real bed in a woman’s life. She slumped down lower, so the lovely water was up to her neck, and closed her eyes. She always bathed nude. It was the way she was raised. She’d heard tales of great ladies bathing in a gown of muslin to protect their modesty, even from their maids. When Elizabeth told her of the Old English way of bathing, she had laughed, and so had her friend. Bathing with clothing on defeated the purpose and seemed at best a poor method all around—for preserving one’s modesty and for cleaning the skin.

  The minute creak of the door hinges made her clutch her arms over her bare breasts. She gasped with alarm and sat up straight at the intrusion. It was Captain Rawlings.

  He had pushed the door inward a few inches and peered in at her with his gun still firmly clutched in his right hand. His other hand was outstretched, his fingers on the door panel. His face was austere, as if he expected to find … well … something more threatening than a nude woman bathing. “It was ajar. I was concerned.”

  “Is something amiss?” she asked, feeling oddly amused by his bewildered expression.

  “Ah, no—I just—I returned from a reconnaissance of the perimeter, and your door was ajar—I thought—it seemed—peculiar.”

  “Marta rushed off with her prize of a half bucket of clean water. Careless girl.” Chloe sighed and sank back down into the warm water. “You can come in, Captain. Or you can close the door. Either way, you’ve seen me at my worst, bathing like a pagan, so it’s no good for me to try to act all maidenly and shocked at this point.” She unwound her hands from their protective shield over her bosom and clutched both sides of the tub, giving him a full view of her bare upper torso. “Well, either step inside or get out.”

  He chose the former. He stepped inside the chamber and pushed the door shut. The hand holding the pistol relaxed. He lowered the weapon and returned it to his holster. The quick click of the latch told her he’d locked the door against further intrusion. Without looking in her direction, he stalked to the open window again and peered out of it, giving her his back.

  She sat still as a stone tower, gripping the sides of the tub, watching him. He seemed to be surveying the countryside again in the fading light. A bird chattered in the nearby tree, seeming restless in the growing twilight, as if it, too, sensed Jack’s unease.

  “We should be safe here, shouldn’t we?” Chloe fished for reassurance.

  “As long as soldiers don’t come in the night,” Jack answered without turning to her. “As long as there aren’t troops in the hills watching the house, watching for lights in the night.”

  “We saw the soldiers earlier, moving north along the road. That was hours ago. They’ll be long gone by now.” Chloe didn’t like what he was implying.

  “Yes, they were moving north. They’ll have broken camp for the night, and they may be mere miles from here.” Jack gripped the window casing and continued his stern surveillance of the surrounding countryside. “And when soldiers break camp, they drink, they wander and they find mischief. A good leader will keep them in line. A bad one will encourage them in their mischief upon the local populace.” He turned to her. “I’ve given orders that no lights are to be lit this evening. No one shall know we are here. Finish your bath. No candles. We don’t want company in the night.”

  His words were as far from the comfort she sought as the Indies were from Spain.

  Chloe’s grip on the sides of the tub tightened. She nodded, wondering how she would even sleep with such dire news.

  “It will be all right,” Jack said, clutching the hilt of his sword as he stepped quickly across the room. He came to stand at the foot of the tub and was staring down at her. “I’ll be right outside that door, all night, Chloe.”

  Being naked in a bath, with Jack staring down at her should have been thrilling.

  And yet, the gruesome prospect of being found by the French army made the situation morbid and frightening. Chloe released the tub, her fingers stiff from her bruising grip. She made fists to try to ease the blood flow back into the numb digits and then crossed her arms over her breasts in a weak attempt at modesty. Too late. And too insincere. She didn’t want to hide from his gaze.

  “You may bathe when I am finished, Captain. It’s the least I can do to thank you.”

  “Open the door when you are dressed. I’ll bathe in the twilight and you can cover your head in the bed and cower, my lady fair.”

  Chloe released her breath in a rush and smiled at his dark silhouette. “I would wish for a candle, as I’d not miss such a vision, my good captain.”

  “A shuttered window doesn’t guarantee a concealment of light. I’ll check on your maid.
I’m not certain I trust her to adhere to the no light rule.” Jack’s boots made nary a sound as he moved across the tiled flooring and made his retreat.

  She finished her bath alone, dried herself and then slipped into the cotton night-rail. When she went to the door to open it, she found Jack was standing with his back to the entrance, like a soldier at the ready. He turned about in the darkening hallway. She couldn’t see his expression, as his face was bathed in shadow. “Come in. The water is still warm.”

  He brushed past her, seeming to be in a hurry to be away from her. She sighed. What did she expect? He was here to protect her, nothing more. He was fulfilling his duty.

  She looked about, noting the graying sky in the window at the end of the hall, and stepped back into her room. She noted the trail of clothing leading to the tub. Chloe’s breath hitched at the sight of the tall, lanky silhouette of Jack as he stepped into the tub.

  The sound of water splashing as he descended kept her vision riveted on the tub. She could see a slight shimmer of water as the light from the window reflected on the moving figure before her. Jack had dipped his head beneath the water and then sat upright as the water ran off his impressive frame. “Did you find the soap?” Her voice sounded warbly with excitement.

  “Aye, you left it in the water. I’ll smell like an herb garden, better than roses or lilies.”

  She heard him sniff the bar of rosemary and lemon thyme soap she preferred. It was a recipe she concocted herself while at Ravencrest.

  The sound of splashing in the now dark room intrigued her. She wished she could have a candle, the better to see this sculpted, golden god of the sea.

  “Do you have a linen wrap to dry with?” His voice startled her out of her fantasy of golden deity rising from the copper bath to make her tremble with desire.

  “Oh, yes.” She rose from her perch on the bed, uncertain of how she even came to be sitting here as last she remembered it she had been standing at the door. Chloe felt around the floor with her foot, and located her cast off linen blanket. She held it up and unfurled it like a sail to encompass him, hoping he could see it in the dark room.