by Lucy Monroe
Thea had to agree. "His father is a fool." She could not imagine a father not wanting to acknowledge the dynamic man she had come to know. "If he's a natural child, how is he accepted so readily by Society?"
From what her mother had always said, Society was unforgiving about things of that nature. In fact, on occasion, Thea had received a less than warm reception even on their small island. No one knew who her father was, and not everyone believed the story her mother had concocted about early widowhood.
"His mother is the daughter of a duke. She never married, but her father would not allow her to be ostracized. In fact, he showed favor to Pierson in every way. No one who wants the duke's friendship dares ignore his daughter or grandson."
"The duke allowed Drake's father to refuse to marry his mother?" It occurred to Thea that Drake had left her with someone who knew him quite well.
"His mother was a sweet child. Too beautiful for her own good. Pierson's father dallied with her before announcing his engagement to another woman. She didn't tell the duke she was with child until her erstwhile lover had married the other woman."
"I don't understand. Wouldn't a duke's daughter make a more advantageous match than someone else?"
Lady Boyle nodded. "In the normal way, yes. But Lady Noreen is the duke's youngest daughter. When he married the others off, it became common knowledge that he had tied up their portions in ironclad marriage settlements. Pierson's father needed cash to repair his fortune. He married a very wealthy young lady who had control of her own fortune. Upon their marriage, that control passed to him."
Thea could not believe what she was hearing. Were all Englishman without honor, or was it merely her and Drake's fathers? "That is terrible."
"Yes."
"Are you a very close friend of Drake's family?"
"He's my great-nevvy."
The blush started in her toes. How could she have asked such common questions of Drake's own aunt?
Lady Boyle laughed. "You didn't think he'd leave you with just anyone, did you, my dear? Pierson has shown more than average care for you this journey. I wouldn't be surprised if the announcement for your betrothal was made before the end of the Season."
"But I don't want to get married," Thea blurted out.
"That explains your age." The other woman's assessing glance made Thea squirm. "You're too lovely to be a spinster for lack of offers. Though living on a heathen island like you did might explain it as well. For all that you lived with Ashby and Ruth Merewether."
The old lady knew a great deal about her as well. Gossip was rife aboard ship.
"I cannot believe that you would be content with a spinster raised on a heathen island as the wife of your nephew."
Lady Boyle put her knitting away and settled back to view the scenery. "It has always been my experience that Pierson gets what he wants, and he obviously wants you. No use his family putting up a ruckus about it."
Perhaps he did want her, but Thea doubted very much it was for any position so permanent as that of his wife.
"Aunt Josephine, it appears you have worn Miss Selwyn out with your chatter."
Thea's head listed to one side, her eyes closed in sleep. The softened features of her face enhanced the aura of vulnerability that she tried so hard to hide. She wanted him to believe that she needed no one and could take care of herself. He knew better.
He was not convinced that her near miss the first day they had met had been an accident. The facts spoke for themselves. For barrels that size to topple would have required a very strong man pushing them. That made it a purposeful act of aggression against Thea. Considering her vocal views against slavery, it was not a far-fetched scenario.
He did not scrutinize his feelings of relief that she had insisted on sailing with him. He knew only that he was glad she was safely away.
"She dozed off a quarter of an hour ago." Lady Boyle stood and shook out her skirts. "I'm returning to my cabin for tea and a game of cribbage with Mrs. Coombs."
"Thank you for staying with her."
His great-aunt nodded acceptance of his thanks. "She's a delightful gel. Not at all put off by your birth, you know."
Drake's hand that rested on the top of Thea's chair tightened. "You told her?"
"Of course. You've already compromised her beyond redemption. She has no choice but to marry you. The gel at least had the right to know what she was getting into."
Drake wanted to hit something. Anything. "I have not compromised her."
"How do you think your visits to her cabin look to the passengers on board, nevvy?"
"I don't bloody well care."
"Perhaps not. But it's likely Miss Selwyn will, particularly when they refuse her admittance to their houses or word of this gets back and she is not extended vouchers to Almack's."
Had he done that to her? "But her maid has always been present on my visits. I behave as chaste as a bloody eunuch when I'm with her."
"Are you telling me you don't want to marry the gel?"
His aunt had a way of focusing on the important and dismissing the trivial.
"I don't know."
"Well, you had best decide soon." With that the older woman turned and walked away, her skirts swishing her disapproval with every step.
Marry Thea? He had always planned to marry a lady high in the ton. A woman above reproach who would prove to his father and everyone else in the ton that Drake was not beyond the pale. That he was worthy of recognition.
True, the one serious relationship he had carried out with a woman of quality had ended badly. He had a much more cynical view of women and marriage in the polite world now. It was a business arrangement between two interested parties. That was how he intended to handle his own marriage. After this trip, he would have enough money to buy and sell most of his peers. Although the ton made a pretense of turning its nose up at blunt, Drake knew that his ready cash would buy him a more than respectable wife. It would buy him a bloody paragon.
He didn't want a paragon, though. He wanted Thea—and her virginal innocence dictated he possess her only within the bounds of matrimony.
The wind picked up and Thea shivered in her sleep. He bent down and lifted her, quilt and all, into his arms. Though her eyes were closed, her face wore a small frown. She must be dreaming about something unpleasant.
Thea paced her cabin while Melly slept like the dead in her narrow bed. It was late, but she could not sleep. Drake was avoiding her.
The only time she had seen him the past three days had been at dinner. He had been polite to her, but that was all. He did not offer to walk her about on deck, nor did he speak much to her after his initial inquiry about her health.
Had his aunt's words destroyed their friendship? Thea wanted to tell him she did not care a fig for Society's scrutiny, but did not know how to without admitting she had been feigning sleep during that incredibly embarrassing conversation between him and his aunt.
Not that she had had an opportunity to speak to him alone.
There was no opportunity to do anything alone aboard ship. She felt she would have a bout of sickness again, this very minute, if she did not get out of the cabin. She was desperate to get out under the stars. Drake had told her not to walk on deck alone, but surely it could not matter at night when no one was there to see her.
She hastily pulled on a gown of dark gray wool. Aunt Ruth had insisted Thea pack it, saying she had no clothes suitable for England's climate. From what Lady Upworth said in her letters, Thea's muslin and India Cotton gowns were all the rage right now. She had not wanted to hurt Aunt Ruth's feelings, however. So she brought the gown. It was two sizes too large and years out of fashion, but it would serve its purpose.
Carrying her shoes, she stealthily let herself out of the cabin and closed the door behind her. She tiptoed down the corridor, not wanting anyone in the neighboring cabins to know what she was about. When she reached the door to the deck, she slipped on her shoes and made her way outside.
The fre
sh air and freedom felt wonderful. She hugged herself and took a deep breath of the salty air. Moonlight reflected off the water, giving an enchanting feel to the night. The sea stretched on and on, making the ship that had appeared quite large in her harbor feel minuscule.
Skirting the stairway that led to the passenger deck, she walked toward the part of the ship most of the passengers ignored. Passing the entrance to the engine rooms, she wondered if she would ever get the chance to see the steam engine in motion. The door to the sailors' quarters was ajar, and loud snoring rumbled through the opening. She skirted by.
Neat coils of rope rested at the base of the main mast, and a bar used for lifting the hatches lay next it. Someone would be in trouble for leaving it out. She ran her hand along the smooth surface of the mast, amazed that such a tall pole would stand securely. Stopping to look up, she soaked in the sight of huge white squares billowing against the night sky.
No wonder Whiskey Jim had said that there was nothing so easy on the eyes as the look of a sailing ship at night.
She also liked the quiet and relative privacy night offered. The skeleton crew that made up the night watch were barely visible in their positions around the ship.
She was preparing to move on when the strong odor that often accompanied sailors alerted her to the fact that she was no longer alone. Turning to greet the sailor and ask how quickly the ship was traveling, she was caught completely unawares when he grabbed her arms from behind.
Reacting instinctively, she twisted her body. She freed one arm and elbowed her attacker. Since she was still weak from her seasickness, however, her blow had little effect on the large man. He grunted, but didn't loosen his hold. He yanked her toward him, trying to secure her free arm, and she screamed.
"Help! I'm being attacked! Somebody, please help—"
Her shouts were cut short when a dirty hand slammed over her mouth and nose. Frantic, she fought his hold. She needed air. She bit him. Hard.
He yanked his hand away from her face and she sucked in a desperately needed breath.
"You'll pay for that, you bleedin' tart." He squeezed her and she felt as if her ribs were cracking.
She kicked her legs back, satisfied when her heel connected with his shin and his hold loosened infinitesimally. She kicked again with all her might and tried to squirm from his grasp while she attempted to pull enough air into her lungs to shout for help again.
He started dragging her toward the side of the ship. "We'll see if you like fightin' with the sharks more'n you like fightin' with me."
He was going to throw her overboard.
Terror lent her strength and she managed to break his hold on her arm. She swung her fist upward and connected with the underside of his jaw. He swore and staggered. Kicking his kneecap, she twisted violently once again. This time, she broke from his arms. She dropped to the deck and rolled toward the main mast.
"Help me." Even to her own ears, her voice sounded weak and breathless. She could not rely on being rescued.
Her fingers closed around the iron bar she had seen earlier. Thank you, God.
Her attacker grabbed her feet and started dragging her toward the side of the ship again. Taking a firm grip on the bar, she swung with all the strength she could muster. The bar came around in a perfect arc and connected with the villain's shoulder. He howled in pain and dropped her legs.
The sound of running feet told her that help was on its way. Her attacker must have heard as well, because he took off in the direction opposite from the running feet.
She lay on the deck, panting. Her entire body ached from the confrontation. She blessed the negligent sailor who had left the iron bar out, and Whiskey Jim for teaching her how to handle drunken seamen.
The sight of Thea sprawled on the deck, her hand gripping a latch bar, momentarily paralyzed Drake. What the bloody hell had been going on?
He dropped next to her. "Thea?"
She didn't respond. Her eyes stared past him as if searching for someone else.
He shook her slightly. "Thea. What happened?"
She blinked. "Drake?"
"Yes." She was starting to scare him. Had she fallen and done injury to her head?
He wrapped his arms tightly around her and pulled her closer. "Tell me what happened."
The latch bar fell from her hand, clanging against the deck. "Did you trip on the bar?" He would find the man responsible for leaving it out and deal with him personally.
"Trip? No, I didn't trip." She tipped her head back and looked at him. "Thank the sailor for me."
"Thank him for what? You aren't making any sense." And his patience was getting thinner by the minute.
"For leaving the bar there, of course." Then she fainted.
Her head slumped against his shoulder. Picking up her limp body, he turned to the first mate. The seaman had been walking the deck with Drake when they had heard a loud curse. Not certain why he had felt instant dread at the sound—it was, after all, common enough to hear cursing aboard ship—Drake had taken off at a run. The first mate had followed him.
They had come upon Thea lying alone on deck, and for a few minutes Drake had forgotten the curse. It had not been Thea's voice he had heard. Not unless she made a practice of imitating the gruff timbre of a man.
"I think she was attacked. Alert the captain and search the ship."
The seaman nodded. "Whoever the bloody bastard is, he's probably made it back to his cabin by now, Mr. Drake."
"Search anyway."
"Aye, sir."
Drake turned and headed toward the cabin Thea shared with her maid. What had she been doing on deck at night? Even Thea had to realize how dangerous it would be for a woman alone, the darkness a cover for perverse deeds.
He stopped in front of her door and Thea's eyes opened. They filled with terror and she stiffened in his arms.
He tightened his hold on her. "It's me, Thea. No one is going to hurt you."
"Drake?"
He said, "Yes," again for the second time in ten minutes.
She relaxed against him. "Thank God."
He waited for her to produce the key for her door. She didn't move. She just lay in his arms, her breathing much too shallow. Perhaps she had not locked the door. He tried the handle, but it did not move.
She roused a bit from her stupor. "The door is locked."
"I see that."
"I wanted Melly to be safe."
Lucky Melly. "Do you have the key?"
"Oh. Yes."
She fished around in the pocket of the voluminous gown she was wearing. When she found the key, rather than letting him release her, she leaned down and unlocked the door. He carried her inside the cabin and she shut the door behind them.
He set her on the bed and then lit the lamp. "I'll wake your maid."
"No."
"Damn it. This is not the time to worry about her rest."
She gave him a small smile. "It will do no good. With that ginger tea of yours, she could sleep through a black squall."
That answered how she had managed to leave her cabin undetected. Melly was much too protective to have allowed it under normal circumstances. He turned his back.
"Put on your nightrail."
"Perhaps you should go first."
"I'm not going anywhere."
She sighed. "I was afraid of that."
He heard sounds of rustling fabric. Then the bed creaked. "You may turn around now."
He did so and was struck by both the beauty and the defenselessness of the woman sitting under the covers. She was afraid of nothing, but she was so small compared to a man. What had she been about, traipsing on deck alone at night?
"Start."
She frowned at him. "Start what?"
"Your explanations. You can begin with what the bloody hell you thought you were doing walking on deck alone."
* * *
Chapter 6
« ^ »
I have taken Lady Upworth into my confidence about Thea. She has p
romised to help me leave England. It was a risk, but so is staying here. She thinks that I should wait until Thea is a little older to travel. I think she believes that Langley will relent. She does not say so, but she has a soft spot for her nephew. I cannot blame her. There was a time when I loved him, too. No longer. I cannot bear to be in the same room with him. My son is now a year old and I have not seen him since last spring.
September 24, 1798
Journal of Anna Selwyn, Countess of Langley
"Surely, that is not the most important issue at the moment?"
Drake glared at her. "Don't bet on it."
"What about my attacker? Shouldn't you be trying to find him? Your other passengers could be at risk."
His expression turned more forbidding, if that were possible. "My other passengers know better than to walk on deck alone at night." He sat down on the edge of her bed and loomed over her. "Bloody hell. Even your stubborn, independent little self had to realize that it would not be safe."
She scooted back toward the wall, pulling the covers up to her chin. "Lady Boyle said that life aboard ship was like being in a small village."
"She referred, I'm sure, to the spread of gossip. Not the friendliness or honesty of the people. We've picked up passengers in every port. For all you know, every man jack of them is a rake and rogue."
"It wasn't a passenger."
"What?"
"It was a sailor."
"You saw him? Why didn't you say so? You can point him out." The smile on his face was anything but friendly. "Then I'll deal with him."
She shivered at the implied threat in his voice. "I didn't see him."
"Then how can you be sure it was a seaman?"
"The smell."
"The smell?"
"Yes." She shifted under the blanket, trying to find a more comfortable position. Her entire body felt bruised. "Sailors have their own unique odor, and unless you have passengers who go similar lengths of time without bathing and spend the majority of that time in the salty air, it was a sailor."
He didn't believe her. She could see it in his eyes.