Authors: Pamela Britton
Scandal (14 page)
The surprise followed by immediate hardening of his eyes told her she’d reasoned out the truth.
“Who is Mr. Hemplewilt?” she asked.
Her new beau, a man she’d had over to dinner three times since she’d first met him, wouldn’t look her in the eyes.
“Who?” she asked.
“I can’t say,” he said at last.
She took a step toward him. “Is he wanted for murder?”
His blue eyes lifted from her breasts so quickly and with so much surprise in them that she knew he found her question a shock.
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
“I just want to make certain Anna’s not falling in love with a shady cull.”
“She’s falling in love with him?”
Molly thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “I’ve never seen her so addled afore. That it’s over a man is tellin’. She’s falling for him. The question is, does he care about her?”
“He does,” Freddie answered.
“You’re certain?”
“I’m certain.”
“How do you know?”
Freddie shook his head this time. “Because he’s out there spreading the word that Anna’s life may be in danger—”
“Danger!”
He held up a hand. “We’ve got things handled, but you should likely keep close watch out for trouble, too.”
Molly nodded.
“Plus he’s determined to help her.”
“Help her?”
“Aye.”
“In what way?” Molly asked.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Ach,” Molly said in exasperation. “You’d try the patience of a sitting hen.”
“He won’t hurt her,” Freddie said.
“Who is he?” she repeated.
Freddie shook his head. “I can’t say. But,” he added when she drew herself up to give him a basting, “I can tell you I believe him to be a good man. A bit high in the instep, but good. What he wants to do for her will likely be an answer to Anna’s prayers, but he needs my help to do so.”
Molly felt her eyes widen; felt, for a moment just the tiniest bit of envy for her friend. Perhaps Annacries had finally found herself a man. And then the envy faded, for she had, too.
“Then help her, you daft fool.”
It wasn’t like Molly to run errands in the middle of the day. Nor was it like her to return from those errands with a frown. Anna might have asked why she looked so serious, but she was too busy trying to come up with a way to face Rein again. What the blazes did one say to a man who’d done the things to her that Rein had done and then got up and left her in the midst of it all?
Thank you
hardly seemed appropriate.
My apologies
seemed more in line, especially given the state she knew he’d left her in.
So hard did she think on the problem that she barely heard Molly say, “You have a visitor, Anna.”
Perhaps I could sneak to my room over the roof.
“Anna,” Molly said, coming alongside to lean a shoulder into her arm. “Look.”
Anna looked.
Rein walked toward her.
Her heart stopped.
It was the only way to describe the way the organ stilled and then popped from the force of catching sight of him. And on the heels of that flush came tingles, great masses of them that radiated to the tip of her fingers and then back to her center—that secret center that seemed to light on fire whenever she spied him from across a room. Or a rooftop. Or a bed of sheets.
And then his gaze caught her own. And though it was another overcast day, Anna felt as if the sun settled around her heart, warming her cheeks and her neck and shoulders. Embarrassment. That must be it. She’d not anticipated seeing him here, in the middle of the busy market, people swarming by and around him as they bargained for vegetables.
She turned to Molly. “I can’t face him.”
“Ach, Anna, when’d you turn into such a coward?”
A coward.
“Stay. Talk to him.”
Anna picked up a knife. She didn’t know what she intended to do with it. Likely throw it into her barrow, pick up the handles and make a run for it. But when she glanced toward Rein again, he’d stopped, his eyes going wide as he lifted his hands in a beseeching gesture.
And as unbelievable as it seemed, just that one gesture, just the small smile on his face, just the shared look of camaraderie in his eyes made her forget what had happened up on the rooftop. Made the embarrassment fade, the self-doubt fade, too, the realization that he obviously didn’t think less of her for what she’d agreed to do with him making her heart sing for a moment.
She dropped the knife.
His smile spread.
She smiled, too, wondering what was happening to her. She was no coward, had never once since coming to St. Giles been afraid to confront a problem head on. Certainly she’d made a muddle of her life in recent weeks, but that didn’t excuse her from facing Rein and her problems.
And so as she watched him approach, she noted to herself how handsome and tall he was compared to the other men in the market. And as she stared, she realized that this was why she thought him more than a simple gentleman, this was why she sensed there was more to him than met the eye. He had a way of walking, indeed, of just simply
looking
that made a person think of the aristocracy.
Closer and closer he came, and Anna’s spine straightened with each of his steps.
“Ach,” Molly said from alongside her.
“What do you mean?” Anna asked.
“He doesn’t walk, he prowls.”
Yes. It was a good description.
“Well, I see you’ll be needing yourself some privacy. Go on by the church. I’ll watch your barrow.”
She almost said no, but when Rein finally stood before the two of them, Anna admitted she didn’t want Molly to hear whatever it was he’d come to the market to say.
So she slipped out from behind her barrow, leaving her cloak behind, motioning with only a tip of her straw hat that Rein should follow. He did, moving alongside her. Other costermongers watched them pass, male and female alike, some calling a greeting, others—the females—mostly eyeing Rein up and down. Anna ignored their curious stares as she led him away from the market and to the granite steps of St. Paul’s.
“I was worried you would tell me to leave,” he said as she turned to face him, the busy market behind him, the pillars that lined the church behind her. Anna felt tempted to use one of those pillars for support. Tempted to place her hands against the cool surface, or perhaps press her cheek against the marble.
He’d touched her. Intimately touched her. And then he’d left her.
“Why wouldn’t I see you?”
He stared down at her, the look in his eyes one she’d never seen from him before. There was no predatory gleam in the blue depths, no flirtatious smile lifting the edges of his lips. Indeed, if not for the smile he’d shot her earlier she’d have thought him the one who was angry with her, so intensely did he stare down at her.
“Because I bungled things rather badly last eve.”
“Did you?”
“I did.”
He hadn’t, not really. He’d hurt her, though God knew why when he’d only done an honorable thing. But for some reason his walking away had wounded her.
“And so I am here to make it up to you, Anna Brooks.”
She blinked, her heart beating at such a rate it almost seemed to hurt. “What do you mean?”
His eyes never wavered as he stared at her, the look in them so intense, so unwavering, she felt like one of her grandfather’s insect experiments—her wings pinned to a board.
“I have arranged something for you, Anna. A ship. For your sails,” he added when she could do nothing more than stare.
A ship?
What did he mean?
“You shall have access to this ship for as long as you like. It is only a brig, but I am hoping that will do.
A ship? He’d arranged a ship?
And then the full import of what he’d done sank in.
“You know someone who owns a ship?”
“I do. And I have arranged through the help of a friend for you to use it whenever you like, for as long as you like.”
She stared up at him. Stared and stared and stared. And then all of what had come before that moment fell away, replaced by a feeling that swelled in her heart to the point that she couldn’t breathe.
“Of course, you shall need to sew your canvases.”
Thump-thump-thump, so fast did her heart beat she could barely tell where one pulse ended and the other began.
He’d arranged a ship.
He was giving her the chance to prove herself on her own merit, not with her body.
She bowed her head, not wanting him to see the embarrassing way her eyes filled with tears. Again.
“Anna?” he said softly, his hand reaching out to tip her chin. “Have I done well?”
She kept her eyes downcast. Lord, she didn’t want him to see her cry, had a feeling if she met his gaze she’d throw herself into his arms and never stop releasing the tears.
“Anna?” he said again.
And then a hot tear fell from her lashes, belying her silence.
“Anna, don’t cry,” he said gently, his hand dropping to catch her hands.
She fell into his arms as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. And perhaps it was.
Anna received word that the textile trader had found some canvas for her to use the next day, fate seeming to finally shine down on her. It wasn’t premium canvas like the first roll of material she’d bought, but it was canvas and thus it would do. And so during her three-day wait for it to arrive, and then later during the long evenings when she sewed, Rein—much to her dismay—kept close watch on her, though he never, not once, tried to touch her again. In some ways that felt worse than before. He seemed… different. Distracted. It drove her mad. It made her burn.
The only thing that seemed to help was working herself into a stupor, exhausting herself as she sewed, falling into bed at night looking forward to the mornings when Rein would break his fast with her. She sewed. And sewed. And sewed. Until finally, at last, the day came when she was done.
“I am finished,” she told Rein the moment she descended the ladder. He stood staring out the window, his face in profile as light from outside cast a glare onto the ceiling above. There was a look on his face, one unlike any she’d ever seen before, though he didn’t turn to face her fully. Sad, it seemed. Perhaps even pensive. Concerned.
“We’ll have to spend some coin on a wagon to transport them to the docks,” he said.
“Charlie the fish trader has agreed to let me use his cart. He feels badly.”
“He shouldn’t,” Rein said.
No, he should not. “Did you ever send word to the bastard that destroyed my sails?”
He faced her then, and she could have sworn she saw the look in his eyes change. He seemed to almost shield his gaze from her, to look away for a moment.
“I have tried,” Rein said, clasping his hands behind his back.
“Tried?”
“Through a mutual friend.”
“And did he respond?”
He shook his head, straightening, and suddenly he looked so autocratic, both like and yet unlike the man she knew. “It means no matter, for I vow nothing like that will happen again.”
Could he truly be a lord? Gads, at such moments he looked and acted such.
“Thank you,” she said.
He inclined his head, just a brief inclination, but one done so easily, so precisely, she was certain he’d done it a hundred times before.
And likely had. So what did that matter?
She felt a frisson of… something. Concern? Worry? A premonition? She looked away from him, trying to understand what it was. It was then that Anna became aware that they were alone.
“Where’s my grandfather?”
“He insisted on going out.”
She felt light-headed as she stood there, aware that her breaths had quickly grown irregular. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst of it was the sensation she had as she stared across at him, a sensation of falling, falling, falling.
“Rein—”
“No, Anna,” he interrupted. “Do not tempt me by saying what is on your mind. I know what you are thinking. I see it in the way you look at me. God help me, ’tis the way I feel for you. Having tasted you once, I find myself craving that taste again. Sometimes I swear I can smell your woman’s essence in the air. I want you, but I shan’t indulge myself. For once I shall do the right thing. I believe I owe you that.”
She didn’t want him to do the right thing. She wanted him to sweep her up in his arms. To place her on her bed abovestairs, to show her more ways to gain pleasure. She almost told him that, except she felt absurdly embarrassed to do so. Ridiculous, given all that they’d shared.
“Be ready to leave at first light,” he said, turning away from her.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Out.”
So they left at dawn, Charlie having brought the cart for her to use after dropping his wares at his stall on Dyott Street not many blocks away. Rein drove, many of her friends in the rookery seeing her off. All of them knew of the importance of this day, and all of them rooted for her.
Anna thought she might be uncomfortable sitting next to Rein on the narrow perch that passed for a seat during the long ride to London Dock, the smell of the black nag that pulled the cart drifting back to them. But she hadn’t taken into account the anxiety she would feel over the coming test. Apprehension stepped in to take the place of desire. Would her sails work? What would she do if they did not? And what was this ship going to be like that he took her to? She had asked Rein, but he would only tell her that it was a two-masted brig he claimed never to have seen before. That filled her with a new worry, for what if the ship wasn’t seaworthy? What if the captain resisted hoisting her sails? Rein claimed not to know the crew, so then what was their motivation for complying with his requests?
So many questions, so many fears. When they reached the square-shaped docks, the horse that pulled their cart lifted his head in protest as his iron-shod hooves struck the giant stones that formed the man-made harbor. Anna felt her heart begin to beat in rhythm to the clip-clop-clip-clop. They had arrived. It would finally happen. She would get to test her sails. And what a perfect day it was. The sky was a blue only ever seen near the bottom of a rainbow, so perfectly clean it didn’t look real.
And then Rein transferred the reins to one hand and used his other hand to clasp her own. “It will be all right,” he said, glancing down at her with a slight smile.
God help her, Anna knew in that moment she was losing her heart.
And was that such a bad thing? she asked herself. Whoever he truly was, he had proven himself to be an honorable man. Would it be so horrible to fall in love with him? To share a future with him? To be with him?
It would if he were a nobleman, for then she would face new obstacles—loving a man who was far above her reach, who would be unable to wed her because of her low birth, who might one day have to wed another woman.
But she wouldn’t think of that now.
She faced forward, so nervous her tongue seemed to swell near the back, making it difficult to swallow.
God help her, it might already be too late, because the thought of him with another woman…
“Do you know where you are going?”
“Here,” he said, pulling the cart to a stop next to a schooner.
“It has three masts.”
“It’s not that ship. ’Tis that one.” He pointed with his chin. “I undershot the mark a bit, I’m afraid.”
She looked, the ship in question obscured by another, but slowly, as they walked along the stone pier, the ship took shape.
She came to a halt. “It is a
yacht
.”
“So it is.”
She looked up at him. “It’s as big as the
Royal George
.”
“Is it?” Rein asked, for he truly did not know.
But then he noticed Anna’s gaze had sharpened to a point like shaved stone. “Who owns the ship?” she asked softly.
He’d expected the question, but that made it no easier to answer.
“The duke of Wroxly.”
“A duke? You know a bleedin’ duke?”
He had known she would ask this and so he told her the truth, which she would misinterpret, but the truth nonetheless. “No. Not really. The man was a veritable stranger to me.”
“Yet he’s letting you use his ship.”
“Anna, the man in charge of the duke’s estate is letting us use the ship. The duke is dead.” Which, for the first time, filled Rein with a touch of sadness. Gone. The one person who’d seen through his jaded and selfish facade to the man beneath.
“Come, Anna,” he said. “Let us go and test your sails.”
She nodded, though she suddenly looked a bit ill. Thus it was Rein found himself leading the way up the swaying gangplank. Rein, who steadied Anna as he boarded his ship. Yes,
his
ship, for the fifty-foot brig was his, should he complete his time in St. Giles. The ship and several others, income-producing ships—tea clippers, merchant ships and the like—all belonged to the ducal estate, several of them moored near the yacht, though by rights such a fine ship should be moored in the Pool of London, away from the grunge of the dock.
“Mr. Hemplewilt?” cried a man in a tan jacket and gray trousers that Rein assumed must be the captain. He wore no hat, his red-brown hair swept over
à la
Brutus. He had a face so browned by the sun that when he didn’t squint, white lines emanated from the corners of his blue eyes. Yet the man was as finely dressed as a nobleman: buff nankeen breeches, dark-blue tailored half coat and tails with brass buttons down the front, starched white shirt beneath his jacket, which made Rein wonder how much he paid the man.
“I am Captain Jones,” the man said. “The duke’s man told me you’re wanting to test some new sails for His Grace. Can’t say that I’m not curious, though he said nothing about your bringing a woman.”
“She is the inventor of the sails we wish to test,” Rein replied with an edge to his voice.
“Beg pardon?”
“She is the inventor.”
“
She
invented the sails?” he asked without looking at Anna.
Anna chose that moment to throw back her hood. Captain Jones’s gaze moved to her, then away, then back again rapidly. His eyes widened as he got his first glimpse of her, the blond hair Rein found so striking gathered at the top of her head and yet flying about her face when strands came free.
“Indeed I did, sir,” she said.
“God help us,” the man muttered, looking at Rein again. “Does the new duke know?”
“He does,” Rein snapped, wondering if walking the plank was out of vogue.
“He does?” Anna asked with a lift of her brows.
Rein realized he suddenly trod upon vastly unstable ground. “He does,” he decided to state simply, because… he did.
“He knows about me?”
“He knows
all
about you, Anna. Indeed, once he heard about your plight, nothing would do but that he help you.”
“Truly?”
He nodded. “Truly.”
He saw Anna’s eyes soften then, saw the look of gratefulness she shot him before turning to face the captain again.
“When you hoist my staysails, Captain, tell your crew to use a loose knot; the more play in them, the better.”
“I beg your pardon, ma’am, but I’m not so certain this is a good idea.”
“Whether or not it is a good idea is not your concern.”
“I beg your pardon,” he said again, this time to Rein.
“Do as she says,” Rein ordered.
“She is a woman.”
“And I am the man the duke has ordered you to obey.”
Captain Jones stiffened. “Aye, sir,” the captain said, though he looked none too pleased about it. “But if she sinks my ship, they’ll be hell to pay.”
“I believe the ship belongs to the new duke of Wroxly,” Rein reminded him. “A man you have never met, which means his opinion of you can yet be swayed.”
Rein left the threat hanging, something the captain obviously didn’t like, for his eyes narrowed.
Anna stepped in by saying, “Find us a commanding wind, Captain. And when you do, toss out your log line to gauge the speed of your ship.”
One last glance between the two of them and then a small bow. “As you wish,” the man grumbled before turning away, Rein wanting so very badly at that moment to tell the bloke who he was.
“Shall we go to the front of the ship?”
“Bow,” she said softly, smiling at a crew member in a blue half jacket and white trousers. Rein saw the man almost bash into the mast as he caught a glimpse of her. “’Tis called a bow.”
“Why?” he asked, because he thought she might need to keep talking. He could tell, in the way her eyes shifted about, never landing on any one thing for longer than a moment, that she was as nervous as a horse at a steeplechase.
“Why what?” she asked as they made their way along the rail and up a small flight of steps that led to the bow.
“Why is it called a bow?”
She draped her fingers over the smooth surface of the rail, her gaze catching on the gold gilt inlaid into the surface. “It’s an old word that means
shoulder,
the front of a ship meant to be the ‘shoulder’ of a boat.”
“Indeed?” he asked.
“Indeed,” she said, pausing beneath one of the lines that stretched to that bow. “And this is a beautiful bow… and ship.”
“Is it?”
“As lovely as the royal yacht, I suspect.”
“I do not know.”
She looked up at him, studied him, but she didn’t look like she believed him. “Do you not know?” she asked.
“No, Anna, I do not.”
“You’ve never ridden on the
Royal George
?”
She still suspected he was nobly bred, and for a moment Rein cursed her cleverness, but he could answer this question honestly, too, and so he said, “I’m afraid not,” taking her hand and leading her toward the front of the ship in the hopes of distracting her again. Ice-cold, that hand was, and, unless he missed his guess, trembling. And in that moment a very odd thing happened. Rein’s heart began to ache for her. Actually ache. Not in pain or fear, but in mutual sympathy.
“Frightened?” he said as they stopped near a rather stunning masthead of a mermaid coming out of a foamy sea, her red hair streaming back in waves.
“Terrified.”
“Do not be.”
She bit her lip, the gray cloak of hers swinging out behind her as a wind caught the edges, revealing a gray dress beneath.
“What if they don’t work?”
“Then you shall have some very unique window coverings.”
She looked up at him sharply.
He smiled.
She stared at him a second and then smiled, too, strands of her upswept hair flying free and loose around her face. God, he found himself thinking, there could be no more beautiful woman in all of London. None.
And then he found himself doing something he’d never done in the past, not when the boys at the university had pounded at his face, and certainly not when his father had done the same before.
He prayed.
