Love and Adventure Collection - Part 1 (Love and Adventure Boxed Sets) Page 8

  “Nothing so desperate,” she answered, her voice tight. “The men were merely celebrating the betrothal of their captain.”

  “The betrothal? You cannot mean—” He came to attention.

  “Can I not? I assure you every man jack aboard the Sea Jade is now certain that their captain expects to wed and bed me, we may hope in that order!”

  “Perhaps, you had better tell me what took place,” he said, stepping aside for her to enter the saloon.

  The room was empty. Julia took a chair, unbuttoning her pelerine and throwing it back. Marcel sat down beside her. With one hand on the back of her chair, he leaned toward her. “How did this come about?”

  His sympathy, his interest, was soothing to her ruffled dignity. The only jarring note was the uneasy remembrance that Marcel had only the night before been prepared to treat her in much the same manner as Rudyard Thorpe. A shiver passed over her as she realized how alone and unprotected she was among this company of men. It seemed that New Orleans and everything familiar was dropping away into the distance behind them, and the more it receded, the less the conventions which operated there held. Soon, they would have no validity at all and she would have nothing except her own strength and wits to aid her.

  Pushing such despairing fancies to the back of her mind, she gave Marcel his answer. When she had done, he sat frowning until with an abrupt movement he doubled his fist and slammed it down on the table.

  “Species of a dog!” he breathed. “Do you still say you have no physical appeal for him? It is as I said, he means to make you the prisoner of his desire here on this ship.”

  “He has given me an alternative,” she reminded Marcel.

  “One he knows you must refuse! A child would not be taken in by his protests of duty and philanthropy. Why should he care that Robeaud reaches St. Helena in good health? He has been paid to see that Robeaud reaches England and embarks on an East Indiaman, and for having the Sea Jade at Rio at the appointed time. More than that enriches him by not so much as another centime. Money, so our Captain Thorpe asserted in New Orleans, is his sole concern. Why should he volunteer his services for anything less?”

  “Perhaps, he has become caught up in this enterprise and does not wish to see it fail?”

  “Does our success or failure depend on him? Bah! It is a hoax designed to convince you that you have no choice other than to stay on his vessel, dependent on his goodwill.”

  She shook her head. “I cannot believe it. There was not the least sign of any such overwhelming attraction last night when the offer was made.”

  “No, possibly not. The English are famous for their reserve. But this morning? How do you explain this morning?”

  “I don’t want to explain it, I don’t want even to think about it! And, I certainly don’t want to be married — to anyone! All I require is a way of removing myself from this ship when we reach London, and keeping myself until such time as the arrangements for proceeding to St. Helena are complete.”

  “I will not press you for an answer to my suit then, my dearest Julia, at this time. I can wait. Until then, I am at your service, as you must have known that I would be. I see no difficulty in securing your release, one way and another. Once free, the question of maintaining yourself for as long as necessary should not be pressing for one of your means.”

  With a guilty start, Julia realized that Marcel was unaware of her straitened circumstances. But why should he have to know? If she did not marry him — and she had no intention of it — the subject of a dowry did not enter into it. From all accounts, he was not without funds. Surely, he would not expect to be paid for whatever services he might perform for her?

  “No,” she answered, and managed to smile as he turned to stare at her.

  Later, in the privacy of her cabin, she was assailed by doubt. A cynical part of her brain questioned if Marcel, finding her dependent on his charity, would exact any less from her than Rudyard Thorpe. Probably not. Still, what was the point in worrying about it? If she could not stay without submitting to the dictates of the captain of the Sea Jade, then she must go, using whatever means were available to her.

  The remainder of the day she spent in her cabin going through her jewel box and trunks, and listing those items she thought she might sell. It was a painful process, not one calculated to leave her hopeful. She had the usual seed pearls and garnets bestowed on girls when they left convent school; she had a parure of topazes and a pendant and earrings of baroque pearls, but she had never been attracted to gems purely because of their value. It was doubtful if selling every bauble she possessed would keep her above a month. The golden bee could not be sold, of course. Its value could not be calculated in difficult English currency.

  The day was waning, and she was thinking of resorting to the tinderbox to light her lantern, when a knock came on the door. She closed her lap desk and swung her feet off the bunk. She was a bit rumpled, but it scarcely mattered. Crossing to the door, she drew it open.

  The tall frame of the captain filled the doorway. As he stood surveying her without speaking, she lifted her chin.

  “Sulking?” he asked at last.

  “Certainly not.”

  “We missed you at noon, and I thought I had better see if you were ill or just ill-tempered.”

  “I did not feel like company,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Catching up with your correspondence, I see?” He picked up her hand, studying the ink stains on her fingers. From there, his gaze traveled to the crumpled pages of foolscap which lay on the coverlet of the bunk.

  “Not at all,” she denied.

  “Having trouble deciding what to put in your journal concerning this morning, then,” he suggested. Without waiting for permission, he stepped over the threshold and moved to the bunk, where he took up a ball of paper. He spread it out with strong, capable fingers. Looking up, he said, “Not very impressive.”

  Julia stepped forward and twitched the paper out of his hand, her face tight with close-held anger. “It was not meant to be.”

  Hands on his hips, he watched as she swept the other papers together and pushed them away out of sight in the lap desk. Reaching for a scattered piece, she brushed against his uniform jacket, then drew back as if she had been burned.

  “I wonder,” he said, a hard note entering his voice, “if you could be persuaded to heed a word of advice?”

  “For my own good, I suppose?”

  “Yes, whether you believe it or not. Don’t do anything foolish, like trying to leave the ship unescorted.”

  “Don’t leave the ship? That sounds very much as if I am your prisoner, captain. Will you prevent me from going?” She stood straight, her hands clasped tightly before her.

  “I will, if it is the only way I can guarantee your safety.”

  It was intolerable. What right had this man to interfere in her life? “You will forgive me if I doubt your concern is for my safety as much as for your convenience!”

  His eyes narrowed, and she thought for a moment that she would be called upon to explain her meaning. Such a thing would have been impossible. Nothing could have prevailed upon her to put Marcel’s suspicions into clearer terms. There was no need. With an impatient movement of his shoulders, he shrugged aside her allegations and her anger, turning to the door. “Either way,” he said quietly, “the means of securing it is the same. We will expect you in the dining saloon in ten minutes.”

  Long after the cabin door had closed behind him Julia stood staring at the hardwood panel. She wished with sudden passion that she knew if he had understood her meaning. He might have; he was not slow. On the other hand, he could have thought she was referring to the convenience of securing a berth for himself on the Indiaman as her husband. Again, there was the even more innocuous interpretation — that he was determined to make her wait until he was ready to escort her ashore. A lady would naturally not have referred to anything approaching her meaning, and Captain Thorpe may have taken that into consideratio
n. Julia was finding it increasingly hard, under her present circumstances, to cling to such refined conduct and thought processes. They served little useful purpose when it came to a need for self-preservation.

  Moving to the washstand, she lifted the carafe and poured water into the basin. She took up a cloth and, wetting it, began to bathe her face, making ready to join the gentlemen for dinner.

  The final days of the voyage were uneventful. Thirty-seven days out from New Orleans they came to rest at the dock in the port of London. Chill rain was falling from a leaden sky, making the day seem more advanced than it was. Though it was only midafternoon, lamps shone here and there in the gloom, marking the entrances of shipping offices and the windows of alehouses. Drays plied up and down the wharf, men shouted, and there was a great coming and going from the other ships tied up alongside them. Despite the activity, the city of London was still some distance away up the Thames.

  Toward the latter part of the evening, two men in sober business dress came aboard the Sea Jade. Shortly thereafter, Captain Thorpe departed with them, getting into a carriage, which pulled away in the direction of the London Road. Before he was out of sight, Marcel de Gruys descended the gangway and, with portmanteau in hand, set out into the rain-lashed dusk.

  A half hour passed, an hour. More lamps glowed into life in the fast-encroaching darkness. From the shelter of the companionway, Julia watched for Marcel’s return. The chill, damp air felt more like winter than spring to her, and she huddled, shivering with mingled cold and excitement, into her heaviest cloak. The deck of the ship was deserted as the seamen took their ease in the forecastle, awaiting the captain’s return. A watch had been posted, but they were sheltering on the lee side of the vessel, out of the blowing rain. Now, her instinct shouted, now was the time. Still, there was no sign of Marcel returning with a carriage.

  At last, the dark shape of a hackney materialized out of the mist, coming to a splashing stop at the gangway. The instant it appeared Julia took up her bandbox, which had been hidden by her cloak, felt to be sure her bonnet was secure, and made a dash for the gangway. The rough planks swayed beneath her hasty tread. Behind her, she thought she heard a shout, but she did not look back. Marcel had stepped down and was waiting to hand her into the hackney.

  The interior of the ancient vehicle smelled of dust and stale sweat and the moldy straw which covered the floor. Julia hardly noticed. Tumbling onto the cracked leather seat, she laughed as she righted herself, then moved her box from the seat, so Marcel could take its place. He called something she did not understand to the driver, then swung in beside her as the carriage jerked forward. Craning to see out the window, Julia looked for signs of pursuit. There were none.

  “We made it, we have escaped!” she cried, placing her gloved fingers on the arm of the man beside her.

  Quickly, he took her hand, placing it in the crook of his elbow, clamping it close to his side. She was drawn against him, his thigh pressing hers on the seat, her shoulder rubbing his. “Yes,” he said, his voice rich with satisfaction. “We have escaped.”

  The carriage lantern gave a faint illumination to the inside of the hackney. Julia could not see the expression on Marcel’s face, but she knew he was staring down at her, waiting perhaps for her response. Pushing a decided unease to the back of her mind, she schooled her features to reflect nothing more than careless joy. “I wonder what Captain Thorpe will say when he finds his prisoner gone.”

  “Let’s not think of the good captain. Nothing need concern us now except ourselves.”

  “Yes, of course. It will be so exciting seeing London. I’ve never been here before. Do you know it?” Leaning to peer out the window served as a good excuse for putting some small distance between them. When she settled back, he had moved nearer still, retaining his hold on her hand.

  “It has been some time since I was here,” he answered. He seemed to speak at random, as though his thoughts were elsewhere.

  “You — you have the direction of the Bonapartists here in London. We must not lose touch.”

  It was an unfortunate phrasing, for he immediately gave a low laugh and passed his hand beneath her cloak, over the curve of her waist and upward to her breast. “I have it,” he murmured deep in his throat.

  She could have assumed a stern demeanor and demanded that he cease taking such liberties, but she sensed something different in his manner. There was a recklessness about him, an aggressive force that she had not seen before, though she had caught a fleeting glimpse of it the night of his proposal in her cabin before Captain Thorpe had intervened. If he chose to ignore her demand, what could she do? Scream? Fight? Futile exercises, both of them. Her tongue might be a more potent weapon of defense. “It — it would be disappointing if we should miss the sailing of the Indiaman for St. Helena,” Julia said, hastily placing her hand on his, stilling his movements.

  “You need have no fears,” he answered smoothly.

  “But, I would never forgive myself if that happened,” she said a little wildly as with a twist he freed his hand, sliding the fingers beneath the lace of her décolletage.

  “Compose yourself, my love,” he said, his lips against the blue-veined skin of her temple.

  Recognizing that succumbing to hysteria would give him a valid excuse for restraining her still further, Julia forced herself to relax. She took a deep breath. “Yes, no doubt you are right. I’m sure everything will be resolved for the best. Tell me. Where do we stay? Have you chosen some respectable hostelry for me?”

  “There’s an inn I used to know — the Dog and Partridge — just outside the city,” he said, trailing kisses along the angle of her jaw. “We will make our way there, if you have no objections?”

  She managed a light laughter. “None whatever. One place is as good as another to me.”

  “And, to me,” he said, his voice dropping lower, “so long as you are there.”

  He was waiting for some reaction, some answer to his declaration. She hesitated, uncertain what she should say. Was it possible that frankness would extract her from this coil? It was worth trying. “Please, Marcel,” she said at last. “I told you I have no interest in being married.”

  “I remember very well, Julia my love, but I think you will realize how foolish such ideas of independence are for one of your loveliness. You are a constant temptation, and someone must protect you from all those who find it impossible to resist.”

  “Very pretty,” she mocked. “I have no desire to exchange one jailer for another.”

  “Jailer? Not I. You will find me a most conformable husband. We shall deal well together with your fortune as well as my own behind us. We can move among the beau monde, maintain a townhouse in Paris and perhaps a small chateau in the country. I am not at all of a jealous nature, and if you will not mind my small peccadilloes then I will look the other way while you amuse yourself.”

  As he squeezed and fondled her breast, Julia could feel her anger rising. The need to slap his hand away was almost overpowering. She could not bear it much longer. Something had to be done. “Fortune?” she exclaimed. “Whatever gave you the absurd idea that I can command a fortune? Why, nearly all I own in the world is here with me in this carriage.”

  This announcement had the desired effect. Marcel drew back, his hand falling away as he stared at her in the darkness.

  “What are you saying? Your father was one of the most wealthy men in New Orleans.”

  “‘Was’ is correct. His estate and his property in town were all mortgaged to finance this expedition. You were there when the affair was discussed, you contributed to the monetary backing. You must have known.”

  “Hardly. Your father did not confide in me,” he grated. “I was allowed to contribute my money and make one of this expedition, nothing more. I was too much the stranger to be privy to the details, though Thorpe, who is not even of the same nationality, was taken into their intimate council without a murmur.”

  Her father had been a good judge of men. He
would not have slighted Marcel without reason. Now was not the time for examining her father’s motives, however. “I — I’m sorry if this upsets your plans.”

  “My plans? I have none.”

  “I take it there will be no chateau, no Parisian town house?”

  He gave a bitter laugh. “Did you think to batten on my wealth? I dislike to disappoint a lady, but my funds are also invested. We are a pretty pair of fools, are we not?”

  “I never pretended to want anything from you except aid in escaping Captain Thorpe,” Julia said, sending him a cold glance. “If you will set me down at an inn, I will be happy to see to my own comfort.”

  “No, no, I wouldn’t think of it,” he told her, his voice growing hard. “We may have to readjust our thinking, but it is possible something may yet be salvaged from this escapade.”

  “I don’t believe I take your meaning.”

  There was a fixed expression in his overlarge, staring eyes. He did not reply.

  The Dog and Partridge was not a large hostelry. It might once have catered to a sporting crowd in its long history, as the name suggested, but from appearances outside and in, its patrons were mostly seamen and draymen, and it had become more alehouse than inn. The smoke-filled common room resounded to a half dozen foreign tongues. Men with tarred pigtails and weathered faces jostled at the scarred and stained tables with the barrel-chested, beef-shouldered drivers of London’s dray wagons. The sour reek of ale filled the house, overriding the cheap scent of the barmaids who made their perilous way between the tables and outstretched, grasping hands.

  The place possessed a small and grimy private parlor that, from the close, musty smell, had not been used for many a long day. The blackened grate of the fireplace was filled with caked ash containing not a single lump of coal. A layer of dust covered the table and mantel like a coating of fur, and a spider had firmly attached the room’s single candle to the wall behind its girandole of rusted tin.

  The innkeeper’s hunchbacked slattern of a wife showed Julia into this depressing chamber. She lit the candle from the greasy taper she carried, then went out, closing the door behind her without inquiring if Julia would like so much as a glass of water.