A Lady’s Secret (18 page)

He unlinked their arms and opened the gate. They walked into the innyard, but then she halted. “There are soldiers there, asking questions.”

He forced her onward. “We’re just a respectable couple, taking the evening air.”

As they passed, Petra heard one soldier ask about a woman in green with a white cat. The other was looking around. Robin wished him a good evening, adding something about a smooth passage tonight. The soldier agreed and turned his attention elsewhere.

Petra’s heart was racing and her legs felt weak, but she did her best to play her part. When Robin began idle chatter about the voyage and how delighted everyone would be to see her home, Petra responded mindlessly, grateful not to have to make sense of his words.

She expected to return to the Renard, but noise, bustle, and the stink of seaweed woke her to the fact that they were near the ships.

“Do try to look completely at ease,” he said to her, smiling. “I set up a hue and cry for any woman being forced aboard a ship.”

Petra put on a smile and even managed a light laugh, as if he’d said something witty.

He led her to a single-masted ship where a hard-faced man with a strong nose said, “There you are, monsieur. Thought you’d changed your mind.”

“I became entangled in an incident,” Robin said.

“The man who had his balls sliced? He a friend of yours?”

“Don’t know him at all,” Robin said, and assisted Petra onto the ship and into a sort of shed in the middle. He joined her and closed the door. “Again, poor accommodation, I’m afraid, but you must stay inside, out of sight.”

“Of course.”

It was a space about eight feet long and six wide, with wide wooden benches on either side covered with a thin pad. She supposed they could serve as beds if necessary. Robin and she in here at night in beds? The small windows were still unshuttered, so they let in some light but also stole privacy. That was good.

But then he began to undress, stripping off coat, then waistcoat, then neckcloth and sword belt.

“What are you doing?” Petra protested.

“Becoming a common man. I’m going on deck to talk to Merien, but I don’t want to be recognized, either. Will I pass as a common sailor?”

She had to smile. “No, but I don’t suppose Varzi has a good idea of what you look like.”

“Pray for that. Keep out of sight, and make sure Coquette doesn’t escape. She’s like a flag. I’ll urge Merien to leave as soon as the tide allows.”

As usual, Coquette tried to follow him. Petra held her small body tightly until the door closed, thanking her again for her part in the rescue. When she let the dog go, Coquette sniffed sadly at the door, then curled up on Robin’s coat. Petra was alarmed by a temptation to do something similar herself.

Suddenly overwhelmed by events, she sat on a bench so as to be invisible from outside. Varzi really was here and as ruthless as ever. He had almost succeeded in capturing her. She had wounded that man….

She covered her mouth with her hand, then almost gagged at the smell of blood. She must wash! She rose to demand water, but then sat down again. Varzi would be searching furiously, and now he’d want revenge.

When the door opened she started, but then she recognized Robin, his hair tied back beneath a long knitted hat of some sort, a blue-and-yellow cloth knotted around his neck.

“Seawater,” he said, offering a tin bowl. “Best I can do at the moment.”

Petra took it, close to tears. “You are the most wonderful man.”

He shook his head. “You are astonishingly easy to please. Unlike this one.” He picked up the yapping dog. “Hush.” Coquette did go quiet, but somehow managed to look reproachful. “I’m sorry, little one,” he said, gave the dog to Petra, and left.

Petra put Coquette down on his coat again, where the dog laid her head on her paws in a grieving pose. Petra was sure a good half of it was acting, so she said, “He’s not here to see.”

She rubbed her hands together in cold salt water until no trace of blood remained. She couldn’t wipe away the memory of her blade thrusting into flesh, however, or of hot blood gushing. Or of the man’s choked cry. She didn’t know why he hadn’t screamed, but it had been a choke as he clutched himself.
There.

She’d not meant to do that. He’d been a big man, and when Coquette had distracted him, she’d simply thrust upward with her dagger and that’s where it had hit. She’d abandoned knife and victim, grabbed Coquette, and fled.

She remembered the empty scabbard for the dagger and took it off. It was useless now and might even be incriminating evidence. She stuffed it under one of the seats. She studied her gown beneath the cream petticoat. Yes, there was blood, but among the sprigs of spring flowers it didn’t show.

It might always stain her mind, however. Shakespeare had known of what he wrote.

R
obin helped prepare the ship, keeping a sharp eye out for Varzi or his men. He hated leaving Petra alone when she was so distressed, but he couldn’t rely on the sailors as lookout. In any case, the less they were alone together, the better. Tension, danger, and action seemed to create strange impulses and wreck self-control.

The sun was almost down and the sea was rising. Passengers were moving steadily onto the packet ship, but boxes, chests, and other luggage were still being loaded into the hold. Closer by, people were boarding smaller, privately hired vessels. He saw one that already held a coach, and another that was being loaded with casks under a man’s careful supervision. Burgundy? Port? Cognac?

“You are escaping villains, monsieur?”

Robin looked to see a fresh-faced lad looking up at him. The long face and nose said he was the captain’s son.

“Of a sort,” he said. “Are you free to help me keep watch?”

“Yes, monsieur!”

“Then climb higher and watch for anyone who’s behaving strangely. Not going aboard a ship, for example.”

“Yes, monsieur,” the boy said, and climbed nimbly up the sheets, clearly enjoying the mission. A lad after Robin’s heart, but this wasn’t a game, alas. Nor were his feelings for Petra d’Averio. They could shape, perhaps destroy, his life.

He leaned against a rope, enjoying a fresh breeze and golden evening light, watching the quay settle. But he was thinking about family, duty, and his mother, still grieving for her husband and expecting Robin to be his image as Earl of Huntersdown.

His parents had been warm and attentive, but much of their attention had focused on training him for his future. All his attendants and tutors had been carefully selected, and his progress closely observed. He’d been trained as intensely in elegance, wit, and charm as in Greek, Latin, and the sciences. He knew music and all the arts, and had been encouraged from youth to be a patron according to his tastes. He had no particular talent for any such thing, but no one could be perfect.

His parents had been held up as role models, and he’d seen them that way—people of intelligence, grace, and civility. Nothing was less elegant and civil than excess emotions, especially those connected with romantic love—and romantic love had no place in the business of marriage, especially for a future earl. There one chose a person of congenial nature, correct behavior, suitable family, and handsome property. Robin’s parents had expected to select an ideal bride for him, and Robin had not objected, knowing they would choose wisely. He’d asked only to wait until he was thirty. As he had two younger brothers, they’d agreed, but only upon his promise not to marry without their approval.

He supposed that promise still held, and his mother would never approve of Petra d’Averio. He shook himself. He didn’t even know why he was thinking such things. He’d known her only days, and what he knew wasn’t promising. She was a penniless bastard, perhaps of an English lord who would probably deny her when confronted.

And perhaps not even that. He didn’t think Petra was lying, but her mother might not have been entirely truthful. If she’d had an affair with an actor, mercenary, or even a nobleman’s footman, might she not have preferred to say it was the nobleman himself?

Would she then send her daughter in search of him?

Alas, it was possible for lies to turn into truth in some people’s minds, especially over twenty difficult years.

Petra would make a perfect mistress, of course, perhaps even for life, but she was fleeing across Europe at great risk to avoid exactly that.

So he would let her go. He would see her safe somewhere, give her money if she’d take it, but then walk away and forget about her. He realized his hand was tight on a rough rope and relaxed it.

Petra d’Averio was nothing but trouble, and it would be a good day when she left his life forever.

Petra sat on a bench, listening to the bustle of the wharf and watching the light change as the sun set. The ship began to bob a little more, which she assumed meant the tide was rising. She’d never been on the sea before, unless one counted the canals and lagoon of Venice. Surely after all this, God would spare her seasickness.

Then she heard a screeching voice. Lady Sodworth! She turned and knelt to peer out. Yes, there she was, late apparently, harrying her children toward a nearby ship. Georgie broke free to run—too close to the wharf edge. Petra started as if to capture him, but a sailor grabbed him, tucked him screaming under his arm, and carried him on board. Perhaps that was the sort of nursemaid the children needed.

She remembered caution and slipped back quickly out of sight, but she smiled ruefully at what might have been. If Ludo had been the slightest bit sensible, he would have washed his hands of her. She would have endured the journey in Lady Sodworth’s party, and would arrive in Dover tomorrow with only simple cares. She would never have encountered Robin Bonchurch, never have suffered this tormenting conflict of the heart.

Tomorrow she would have gone with Lady Sodworth to London and…and somehow managed from there. At worst, she could have sought refuge with Teresa Imer. Surely she wouldn’t turn away her patroness’s daughter.

Petra straightened, thinking. If Teresa was now so famous a hostess, wouldn’t she know her father? When she escaped Robin, perhaps she should go to her address in Soho Square. Unwise to trust such a woman with her secret, but surely she could steer gossip.

After all, her mother’s beautiful, gentle young lover, the one of the dark, somehow smiling eye, was now a great man, but a dangerous one. He was sometimes referred to as the Dark Marquess or even the Eminence Noir—the dark power behind the throne.

They’d heard other things, as well. That he was a duelist of great skill who’d killed a man who insulted his sister. That his mother had gone mad and that her blood had tainted him. Petra’s mother had dismissed that possibility, but…

Petra had promised her mother that she would go directly to her father, but she couldn’t put herself into the power of the formidable Marquess of Rothgar until she was sure at the very least of safety.

Robin saw Powick and Fontaine go aboard the packet ship, along with a cloaked man and woman. He watched for Varzi but didn’t see him. Merien began to call orders, and his crew sprang into action. The same thing was happening on other ships. The tide was right and the journey had begun.

Had Varzi decided not to continue his hunt into England?

Robin turned to go into the cabin, but the lad called to him. Robin turned and saw a man running down the quay, shouting up to the readying ships. Varzi’s swordsman.

Damnation!

Robin ducked into the cabin to lie on the empty bench, saying, “Stay down,” to Petra. Coquette, damn her, leapt onto him with a yip of greeting. He said, “Hush,” covering her muzzle with his hand, and she obeyed.

The running man was shouting a question to each ship. Booted footsteps clattered to a stop at the
Courlis
.

“Captain!” An Italian accent. “I’ve mislaid my party. A young couple, he with golden brown hair; she with dark, very short. They have a small white dog.”

Petra gasped, and Robin shook his head at her.

“Not here, m’sieur,” Merien called back. “Got two finicky older gentlemen and their servants threatening to be sick before we even cast off.”

Footsteps ran on.

“Varzi knows!” she gasped.

Robin rolled onto his side and tried a calming smile. “I did hope to keep them fooled a little longer, but no matter. There, we’re off and free of them. No, no looking yet, tempting though it is.”

She settled back, staring upward, and he saw the rosary move through her fingers.

Nun. Now she was out of her habit, he kept forgetting that detail. His mother was Catholic. Did that make it more or less likely that she’d approve of a nun? As a bride?
Don’t be an idiot.

“Varzi won’t stop,” she whispered.

“Don’t worry. In England he’ll be on my territory.”

She rolled her head to look at him. “King George in disguise, are you?”

He sat up, feeling the welcome roll of the
Courlis
catching the wind. He pulled out a coin and gave it to her. “No resemblance at all.”

She studied the profile in the fading light. “I grant you that, so why think yourself immune to Varzi there?”

“Trust me. If he takes one step outside of the law in England, I can crush him.”

She sighed, and he knew he’d exasperated her again. Perhaps he should tell her his rank, but with all these shady goings-on he might prefer to keep his identity a secret. He could settle her somewhere, and Robin Bonchurch could disappear.

“Robin,” she said patiently, “Varzi will follow your men to London. When he doesn’t find me, he will capture them and torture them.”

Her certainty chilled him, but he said, “No, he won’t. They’ll travel on the public coach, then go to my house. Then they’ll alert a friend of mine, a major in the Horse Guards, who’ll make sure no one can touch them. As for us, we go from Folkestone to a friend nearby, where we’ll be equally safe.”

And that’s going to explode any secrets,
Robin thought,
unless I can forewarn Thorn
. Why did this all have to be so complicated?

“Or where we’ll put your friend in danger,” she protested. “Why will you not understand?”

He put Coquette aside and slid to sit cross-legged on the floor by her. He turned Petra’s face to him and saw evidence of recent tears. “Why can you not trust me? I will keep you safe.”

“I know you’ll try.”

“I’m getting better at it,” he teased. “This rescuing of damsels business is new to me, you know.”

“Please stop
joking
!” She rolled sharply onto her side to face him. “Don’t you understand Varzi yet? His diabolical way of knowing everything, his ruthlessness?”

“Don’t you understand me?” he retorted. “’Tis my nature to joke, Petra, but I can act seriously in season. Yes, I misjudged the situation at the Renard, but I know better now. Are we not here? Have we not escaped?”

“I want to believe that.”

“Believe.”

She rested her face on his hand for a blessed moment, but then pulled back. “But if he asks about alternative ports, won’t someone tell him about Folkestone?”

“Do all Italians think in knots? Yes,” he conceded, “but there are other harbors. Hythe, Deal, even Rams-gate or Hastings. He’ll have to follow my men and we’ll be safe, though…” He didn’t want to confess another mistake. “I don’t suppose you have any money, do you?”

“You don’t?” she asked, eyes widening.

“A slight lapse in planning, I confess. When traveling, I split the ready money between the three of us. There’s more concealed in various places, but all the luggage is on the packet. No ducats sewn into your clothing, my sweet?”

“As every stitch I have on is new…”

“True enough. Ah, well, I have enough to pay Captain Merien and the smugglers—”

“Smugglers?”

He explained the necessities of landing in Folkestone.

She rolled onto her back. “When supposedly ordinary farm women turn out to be murderers, and villains stalk us, you will entrust us to known criminals?”

He took her hand and found it chilled, so he held it for warmth. “Most smugglers are ordinary fishermen and farmers, just earning a little extra by night. Perhaps you really did live a life of virtue and propriety until recently.”

“On the contrary, I was a wild and willful girl.”

“Ah yes, with Lousy Ludovico.”

She turned her head to frown at him. “He didn’t have lice.”

“Your translations again. It also means ‘disgusting.’”

“He’s not even that. Remember, I would have married him.”

The spear that went through Robin was undoubtedly jealousy, the most forbidden of forbidden emotions. He rose to his feet. “I’m going out again.”

“Don’t.”

It was almost a whisper, but stopped him dead.

“Did that disgust you?” she asked, looking upward. “I’m only trying to be truthful. How can you imagine that I wanted to marry a disgusting man?” She looked at him again. “Please. I’m so afraid….”

The dim light caught tears on her dark lashes and the quiver of her lips. Robin hesitated, then lay down beside her, taking her into his arms. She stiffened and pushed him away, but he said, “Merely an anodyne for fear. Don’t we all need comfort in the dark?”

“It’s not quite dark,” she said, but she relaxed against him.

The bench was narrow, so he readjusted their positions so she lay half on top of him, her head in the hollow of his shoulder. She sighed and settled there, her arm across his chest, one leg over his thighs. Dangerous, but he’d been trained in self-control. He’d also been trained to offer protection and comfort to those in need, and that he could do.

He didn’t attempt conversation. It would strain his truthfulness to tell her more about himself, and therefore didn’t seem right to pry more information from her. They rolled on the sea as flaming sunset settled into moonlit night. And he, too, relaxed, sure of his purpose and his ability to achieve it.

He would keep Petra safe.

Petra absorbed his warmth and inhaled his smell, varied now by sea air and a touch of tar. She knew she shouldn’t indulge in this intimacy, but there was no easy way to reject it and it might be her last chance to lie so close to Robin. Only his open-necked shirt covered his chest, and the rolled-up sleeves exposed his forearms. Only his breeches covered his lower body, and she regretted her skirt and petticoat that added to layers there.

It could be just this once, because she was going to have to flee him soon. It was partly to keep her secrets, but also in the hope that Varzi would ignore him and his men once they were apart. There was a selfish part, however. Varzi knew she was with Robin, so leaving him would make her safer.

It would be hard, though, perhaps the hardest thing she’d ever done. She’d never imagined that a heart could be snared almost instantly, that a stranger could become precious overnight. Her mother’s attempts to explain her liaison had made no sense, but now Petra could begin to understand. If it had been like this…