Laura and Sabine both appeared charmed, however, by the captain’s florid compliments and expansive manners, and Thomas appeared to take no particular notice, so Geoffrey decided not to question why McLeish was making so obvious a show of his Scottish heritage. He did, however, want to know why he was being given such generous privileges when he should, by rights, be chained up below decks.
So, after he was handed glass containing a finger of quite nice Scotch by the sailor who had apparently been conscripted into service as their waiter for the evening, he asked.
McLeish knocked back his entire measure of whisky and grinned. “Well, now, where would ye be going, Lieutenant Colonel, if ye tried to run? Over the side, into the drink?” He chuckled merrily, but then sobered. “Also, it just so happens that I am acquainted with a certain Jack Prescott, who served under your command at Burgos. You remember him, I trust.”
Geoffrey could hardly have forgot. Major Jack Prescott had been his second-in-command during that regrettable siege and the even more disastrous retreat. Of all the officers he’d served with, Prescott was the best of the best, one of the handful who understood that a commander’s first responsibility was not to win battles, but to win the trust and respect of the men he led into those battles. Prescott gave a damn, not just about other officers, but about every single soldier under his command. He even remembered the names of every one he’d spoken to individually, a talent that put Geoffrey to shame.
Prescott had been good, too good to remain as Geoffrey's second. Shortly after Burgos, he’d been promoted to the same rank as Geoffrey and given his own command. They had gone their separate ways—Prescott and his battalion to somewhere on the continent, and Geoffrey and his to the bloody Americas.
Too bad, that. He doubted Prescott would try to see him executed for treason.
He nodded in response to McLeish. “One of the finest officers I’ve ever had the privilege to serve with. But what has that to do with…” Geoffrey gestured around the wood-paneled dining cabin with its gleaming lanterns and brass-lined portholes, “…this?”
McLeish grinned, his salt and ginger mustache vibrating. “Your reputation precedes you, is all.” His Scottish accent had lessened a bit, giving credence to Geoffrey’s suspicion that the captain had been overplaying it. “Prescott told me your quick thinking and heroic actions saved hundreds, if not thousands, of men during that retreat, and at not inconsiderably risk to yourself. I dinna think—” his brogue was back on full display, “—a man who would put his own life on the line to save common foot soldiers would turn ‘round and betray them to the enemy. It isna logical, ye ken?”
A thoughtfully smiling Thomas gave McLeish a hearty clap on the shoulder. “We all agree with you, Captain. Would that British high command saw things our way.”
“When ye’re from Inverness, ye know the Sassenach seldom see things your way, laddie.”
And that was when Geoffrey understood the captain’s true motives. It wasn’t that he thought Geoffrey innocent—or it wasn’t entirely that. It was that, despite his position in the Royal Navy, McLeish saw an opportunity to poke his finger in the eye of his superiors, and he was enjoying every second of it.
Given what awaited him in London, Geoffrey decided to do the same.
* * *
To Geoffrey’s relief, his wife turned out to be a capital sailor. As the only person on the ship who had never been to sea before, he’d been concerned she might suffer from seasickness, especially when they first reached the open ocean, but the tossing and rocking of the ship did not seem to distress her at all. In fact, she fared better than either Thomas or Sabine, both of whom appeared a bit green around the gills for the first few days after reaching the Labrador Sea.
The weather was remarkably fair for early March, and the four travelers spent much of their time during the day in promenading about the deck, playing dice or cards—Laura particularly enjoyed whist, which she had never played before—and reading. Sabine had brought with her several recently published books, among them two novels attributed to A Lady, titled Sense & Sensibility and Pride & Prejudice. These she loaned to Laura nearly as soon as they had boarded the Venture, commenting that Laura should try to finish both of them before they arrived in London, as they would greatly assist her in understanding the manners and rules of the society she’d have to navigate once there.
“I wish I had been able to read something like these when I first came to England, but neither was even published yet,” Sabine told Laura when she handed them over one afternoon. “Of course,” she added with a laugh, “I would have needed them translated into French back then. My English was quite appalling.”
At this observation, her husband gave his wife a look so full of heat that Geoffrey feared it might singe off his friend’s eyebrows. “Your vocabulary was certainly execrable,” Thomas murmured, and Sabine flushed, though not with embarrassment.
The couple had retired some minutes later with hasty excuses of fatigue, despite the fact that it had been the middle of a quite bright and pleasant afternoon. Geoffrey and Laura, exchanging knowing glances, retired to their own cabin, no doubt with similar results.
The voyage took a turn for the worse, however, on the tenth day. Overnight, a thick layer of clouds rolled in, accompanied by cold, driving rain, heavy winds, and rough seas. In the early hours of that morning, the ship began to pitch and roll violently, sometimes seeming on the verge of overturning, and all the passengers were confined to their quarters for the duration of the storm.
Having sailed the Atlantic once before, Geoffrey had possessed some notion of the perils and travails of the crossing, but Laura spent most of the first day of the tempest in white-knuckled terror. She did her best to conceal her fright, but there was little they could do to pass the time. Cabin lamps could not be lit for fear that hot oil might spill from them and spark a fire. This, combined with the severe rocking of the vessel, precluded any of the typical forms of entertainment aboard ship—dice, cards, and reading were all quite impossible. Sleeping was equally difficult, and making love would have been downright dangerous.
Robbed of any other means of distracting his wife, Geoffrey resorted to telling her stories about his childhood and the members of his family she would soon meet. Laura laughed at the tales of Freddie’s wild escapades, remarking that the lady who had written the books Sabine had given her would likely have been scandalized by his sister’s behavior. When he explained to her how Walter had come to be a vicar and then gone on to marry a former courtesan, Laura’s eyebrows had nearly climbed into her hairline.
“I cannot credit that his parishioners would accept such a thing,” she protested, aghast. “Certainly such a thing could never happen in New York. A minister who took such a woman to wife would be run out of town on a rail.”
Geoffrey smiled into her hair. “The English are not known for being any more magnanimous, to be honest, but my brother…has a way about him. You will understand when you meet him, I think, but he leads with his heart and by example. He asks nothing of his parishioners that he does not expect of himself, and somehow, that carried more weight with them than Artemisia’s past. Besides, she is a lovely woman in every way, and they are now the foster parents of six—or is it seven?—children. I suspect by now the people in Grange-Over-Sands have mostly forgotten she was once a fallen woman.”
“I find that remarkable.” Laura sighed. “I am not certain that most of the people in Plattsburgh have forgiven me for hiring Joseph as my foreman and orchardist instead of any of the half-dozen white men who applied for the position. They were quite vocal about the foolishness of my choice at the time.”
“Really?” Geoffrey asked, surprised. “As far as I could tell, Joseph was welcome enough at church and in town. Which is not to say I saw no evidence of prejudice at all. Even in England, men of African ancestry are regarded as…” his lips twisted in distaste, “…less than white men, though having served with a number of them, I cannot agree with the assessment.
”
At this juncture, the ship plunged precipitously to the right, and Geoffrey had to grab onto the handle affixed to the wall near the bed with one hand while wrapping his other around Laura to keep them from tumbling hard to the floor. His trunk slid across the floor and stopped against the cabin’s door with a loud thud. Laura trembled but made no sound of alarm. A few seconds later, the ship swayed back to upright, and they both let out a whoosh of air, followed by light laughter when they realized they’d each been holding their breaths.
When the ship continued on for another few minutes without any more extreme lurches, Geoffrey returned to the previous subject of conversation. “So, what was your neighbors’ objection to your hiring Joseph?”
“What wasn’t their objection?” She snorted derisively. “How could I trust a Negro with so much responsibility? Didn’t I know they are feckless and lazy? And what about my virtue? Everyone knows an unprotected white woman is considered fair game by lustful Black men.” Even in the dimness of the cabin, illumined only by the weak light filtering in through the two small portholes, Geoffrey could see her lips flatten with anger. “But you see, I knew the white men who wanted the job were the ones who saw me as fair game. They ‘little lady’d me, they scorned my intention to take an active hand in running the farm, and they tried—to a one—to convince me they would make better husbands than employees. Of course,” she added, her voice heavy with scorn, “once they learned the farm would eventually go to Daniel no matter what, they rather lost interest in marrying me, though several of them still seemed interested, if you take my meaning.”
He did. Grimacing with indignation on her behalf, he cursed his sex and race. Callous, entitled bastards to treat a young widow so cavalierly. “So you hired Joseph because he respected you.”
“That and he was the most experienced orchardist, regardless. He was raised on an apple farm in Vermont, you see. His father still owns that property, but as the youngest son, Joseph has no expectation of inheriting the land, so he needed to make his own way. I am extraordinarily lucky he was willing to work for me, a mere woman, and to abide by instructions even when he thought I was making a mistake.”
“It doesn’t seem as if you made many mistakes.”
“I made a few. I didn’t convert as much of the land to orchard as soon as Joseph recommended, and I regret that now. The first three years would have been more difficult, but we’d have been profitable sooner if I hadn’t been timid. I’m sure Joseph wishes he could tell me he was right all along, but he’s much too kind for that.”
“And you think people still believe you made a poor decision?”
“Not my friends, of course. But some of the men—especially the ones who’ve expressed interest in me over the years—have been overheard making salacious remarks about my relationship with Joseph, suggesting he is the reason I never remarried.” Laura shrugged. “I suppose now, at least, that vicious rumor has been put to bed. Though I imagine there will be new ones to contend with when we get home.”
Home. The word had a queer effect on Geoffrey’s stomach. Far more dramatic, in fact, than any of the huge dips or rolls the ship had undergone.
Ostensibly, he was going home. That should mean something to him.
Oh, he was pleased enough at the thought of seeing his brothers and sister, as he always was when he visited on leave, but in the final analysis, he was always visiting England. He didn’t belong there. Hadn’t for years. Home was the place he was supposed to be fighting to protect, but over the two and a half decades he’d been a soldier, that place had become less and less real to him. Less and less important. And it seemed he had become considerably less important to England, seeing as how it was bringing him back primarily so it could try to kill him.
Fine homecoming.
No, he only had one home now, and that home lay next to him, one arm draped possessively across his chest. Emotion swelled in his heart and desire in his loins. Wherever Laura was—that was where he belonged. And he needed her. Now.
Her gasp of surprise was audible as, without warning, he rolled her onto her back and braced himself over her. She knew him well enough by now to know what he intended. “Is—is the storm over?” she asked hesitantly.
Geoffrey paused. Deep as he’d been in his own dark thoughts, he’d actually forgotten the storm. But he wouldn’t have been able to forget if the wind and waves were still tossing the ship about, as they had been for the past several hours. He paid attention to his surroundings and realized the boat was scarcely swaying at all, that the howling of the wind had ceased, and the torrential pounding of rain and water against the portholes had slowed to a patter. It was, in fact, almost unearthly still.
He shook his head. “Not over. We are at the center of the storm. That is why it has become so quiet and calm.”
“So it will get bad again?”
“Yes,” he admitted regretfully. “But not for an hour or more.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, threading her fingers into his hair, and smiled a siren’s smile. “Then let’s make the most of the time we have.”
Despite the quiet outside, the temperature inside the cabin was still almost painfully cold, and both of them were wrapped in several layers of wool and cashmere clothing that had, to their good fortune, been stored in Geoffrey’s trunk. Somehow, they managed to remove the necessary items while still covering themselves in enough of the warm fabric to ward off the chill. It was a bit like trying to make love inside a very dark, very tiny tent—their vision dimmed and their movements circumscribed. But rather than limiting his pleasure, these constraints only served to increase the intimacy of the coupling. He was minutely aware of her every breath, her slightest movement, whether voluntary or involuntary. Even here, aboard ship, she smelled like fresh bread and the sweetest apples, and her mouth tasted just as wholesome and satisfying. She met him kiss for kiss, thrust for thrust. By necessity, their motions were small and restrained, but the sensations—the smoothness of her skin, the softness of her curves, the tightness of her welcoming heat—were bloody enormous.
Everything was right when he was fucking her, when he was inside her and there was nothing but bodies and bliss and belonging. Her pleasure was his pleasure, her gasps and moans were his gasps and moans, and her climax was his climax. Because when she came, her muscles milking his cock like a fist, he couldn’t hold back his own release. Couldn’t withdraw as he should have, as he always had before. Instead, he poured his seed into her in glorious, jerking spasms that felt as if they started behind his eyes and traveled all the way to his balls.
He floated for some time on pure euphoria, on the sheer decadence of coming inside a woman. And not just any woman, but Laura. His Laura, his beloved.
And then his blood ran cold as the enormity of what he’d done hit him.
If she conceived…
But no, he already knew with a premonitory certainty that there was no “if” about it. He had impregnated her just now. And thus had likely consigned her to the fate of raising another child alone.
Chapter Twenty-One
Laura knew Geoffrey considered his failure to withdraw on the night of the storm to be a mistake. They did not make love again for a week, and when they did, he was scrupulous in pulling out and finishing with his hand. He did not speak of the error, however, and she understood why. Acknowledging that he hadn’t intended to take the risk of conceiving a child would require that they accept what would happen if he was found guilty of treason. And that was an outcome she was just as unwilling to consider as he was.
He would be acquitted. She would not entertain any other possibilities. So there was no need to address the aftermath of such an outcome, because it would not occur.
Their failure to discuss the possibility of a pregnancy meant, however, that when she missed her courses a little over two weeks later, she couldn’t bring herself to mention it to him. There were other reasons she might be late, after all, and that was especially true given the s
tresses of ocean travel, not to mention the rather restrictive diet. There was plenty to eat, of course, but little variety: stews and bread, day in and day out. A month into the voyage, she had lost enough weight that her skirts no longer clung to her waist, but slipped down to rest on her hips. In another month, they might fall off.
Unless, of course, she was with child.
Time passed. Slowly. Tediously, but for the occasional storm, which she began to find she looked forward to if only because they broke the monotony. None of the other gales they encountered were as violent or protracted as the first, and after Captain McLeish guided them safely through the third such event, Laura began to believe their demise by shipwreck was not as likely as she had initially feared.
Her courses failed to arrive for a second time. What did arrive was nausea. And since she had not suffered from mal-de-mer for the previous eight weeks and the waves had become calmer rather than rougher, she could hardly blame her queasiness on that. Nor did she have any other symptoms that would suggest illness.
She did her best to conceal her digestive complaints from Geoffrey, not so much because she feared his reaction to the news as that she feared recognizing the pregnancy would increase the likelihood of a miscarriage. Intellectually, this was ridiculous, but when she had miscarried before, it had happened only a few weeks after she had told Samuel they would be having another child. And while she was not certain Geoffrey would welcome the idea of a baby the way Samuel had, she wanted to wait until she was more confident of the outcome before she told him.
Hiding her discomfort from Geoffrey was not as difficult as it ought to have been, given the tiny space they shared aboard the ship. She was aided in her efforts by two circumstances. First, she felt ill only first thing in the morning, and once she managed to force down a small amount of dry bread and drink a bit of water, the nausea passed, resolving into mild indigestion she could mostly ignore. Second, since there was nothing appetizing about the morning meal, her husband did not think it particularly odd that she approached her breakfast with something less than enthusiasm.
Sleeping with the Enemy: Lords of Lancashire, Book 4 Page 16