Catch Me If You Can (8 page)

She bristled. Not least because the term “chaperone” was the bane of her life. “My father was not a chaperone. He treated me as an equal, not some helpless female who needs to be herded and led like sheep. I have the wit, will and capacity of any man.”

“I don’t doubt that. However, your father indulged you. Traveling alone would not only be foolhardy it is dangerous. Your father has encouraged you to believe you are safe, which was all well and good while he was alive, but it is wrong to believe that now.”

“How dare you insult my father’s judgment!”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not insulting his judgment.”

“Just mine. Fine.”

“No. Your father raised a capable young woman, all I’m saying is he accompanied you while he was alive, now I shall take up his role as chaperone for your journey to California.”

There was that term again. Chaperone. How she hated it. Fury lit her veins. She was clearly a nuisance to him, nothing else. Her feelings toward him were not reciprocated after all and she found herself reeling after the ensuing clarification. “You’ve had a wasted trip, Mr. Rivers. I embark upon a carefully planned expedition, an expedition that I’m undertaking in memory of my father. I’m perfectly equipped to cope on my own.” She paused. “You are free to go.”

She walked away.

He caught her up by the door. “Eleanor, please.” 

He appeared to be mighty vexed.

That irritated her all the more.

His hand was against the door, barring her exit.

She stared at it. “Let me pass.” 

“Eleanor…” He shook his head as if in disbelief. “Frieda was concerned for your safety. Is that wrong?”

Frieda, Frieda cared. Not him
. Eleanor’s heart plummeted further still. “No, I respect my Aunt’s concern. However, as you are well aware…” She glanced at him, meaningfully. “This journey has been carefully planned for several years. I’ve anticipated any problems I might encounter. I don’t need to be treated like a feeble woman and I would be grateful if you would desist from that line of behavior. Now, allow me to pass.”

Rivers growled in his throat.

The tension between them mounted.

His hands were clenched into fists. “Eleanor, you are not a feeble woman, but you will sure as hell be acting like one if you walk out on a perfectly reasonable conversation about your welfare.”

Oh, that was low.
Eleanor folded her arms and glared at him. “There is nothing reasonable about being told your plans are “quite impossible”.”

They glared at each other for several moments, then Rivers shook his head and stepped away, leaving the door unbarred.

“I have to travel to New York anyway,” he said. “I’ve booked passage on the Baltic.”

He’d already booked passage. He would be on the vessel she was traveling on with Miette. Stunned, she stared at him, and found herself strangely torn at the thought of his company aboard the ship. However, she reminded herself, he’d done so out of a need to take charge of her. As far as she was concerned, that was truly unforgivable.

He shrugged at her accusing glance.

“As we are booked on the same voyage,” she said, face averted to conceal her emotions. “It seems there’s nothing I can do about it. However, you don’t need to concern yourself for I already have a shipboard traveling companion. I travel with a friend. Once we get to New York, the situation will be different. We can both make our own way to California, I’m fit to do so, as I’m sure are you.” She glanced back at him.

His brow was furrowed, his eyes narrow chinks of darkness. He was clearly thinking fast and furious, as if this was some deal he could barter over until he got his way. “We can discuss it when we arrive in New York”

“I won’t discuss the matter any further,” she interrupted. “Now,
or
when we arrive in New York.” Oh, she could see what he was up to. He was playing for time, hoping for her capitulation.

His mouth tightened. “In that case, I’ll bid you good-evening.”  He reached for the door handle, wrenching it open and holding it ajar to hasten her exit.

She gave a curt nod without looking at him again, and left the salon, smarting beneath a riot of conflicting emotions.

* * *

Alone in her room, she paced up and down, going back over the scene in her mind. How dare he walk into her life and expect to take charge of it? He’d treated her as if she were helpless. Didn’t he realize how hard she’d worked to make herself strong enough to be alone?

He hadn’t listened to a word she said.

He thought she would buckle at his command. If her father had been there, he would have sent him on his way. She stopped pacing. Or would he? She reflected on her father’s approving words about Frieda’s right-hand man.

Her anger subsided somewhat.

Her father had thought him both decent and loyal. He’d called him a worthy, intelligent man and said he looked forward to enjoying his company again.

She calmed down, rapidly, and to the point where she felt quite miserable.

Throwing herself onto the bed she hid her face in the pillow.

It was ridiculous, to have behaved that way in front of him. Whatever was she thinking of? She buried her head in the pillow, wishing the whole episode away.

That wretched man, he put her into such a state of confusion.

Eventually, she decided that her attraction to him left her in such a muddle he could easily have his way, submit her will and take away her independence.

She resolved to keep her distance from him aboard ship. Once she was in New York she would escape and journey on as before: alone. She didn’t need anyone, and she certainly didn’t need Mr. Peter Rivers.

* * *

Passers-by leapt out of his path at the sight of his thunderous expression, 

Rivers barely noticed them.

He paced the streets of Southampton for well over an hour, before stepping into a tavern and imbibing a large quantity of port in order to quell his urge to go back and shake some sense into the woman. He assured himself that there was no reason for him to feel quite so concerned about her. She would soon be captive aboard ship.

It was the urge to stifle her ridiculous remonstrations with a kiss that unsettled him most of all. Even when she’d got herself into a blind fury, she caused his ardor to rise. He’d wanted to silence her by grabbing her into his arms and make her complaints much sweeter in nature.

He shook his head in despair. How she’d managed to wheedle her way into his blood so easily was totally beyond him.

She’d had her own way too often in the past, that much was fact.

Before he’d left them in Italy, her father had confided to Rivers that he was concerned about the planned journey across America. He was a much older man than he’d been before, and wiser. Furthermore, he told Rivers when he’d previously traveled abroad with Eleanor, he’d organized adventures that were safe, treks that were well frequented by fellow travelers and much safer than Eleanor realized. He’d led her to believe it was the two of them against the world. Now her imagination ran away with her and she over estimated what she was capable of. Rivers knew it was his task to harness it back and make her see reason.

She looked beautiful though, even in the plainest mourning gown and with dark shadows beneath her eyes. Eleanor Craven bore the kind of beauty great artists would long to immortalize. He lingered on the vision of her, before downing more port.

A plan formed. He would let her calm down and when they reached New York he would explain to her the reasons why a woman simply couldn’t travel alone. Yup, that’s what he would do. He could think of plenty of devious ways to ambush her plans, if necessary.

He smiled to himself at the idea of it.

Once he was calm, he realized how travel-weary he’d been when he’d gone to her. Perhaps he hadn’t worded things well. He’d been trying to think of the correct responses to reassure her, amidst the outburst of varying emotions that had greeted him. Obviously she was upset over her father’s death. She’d grown pale and she’d lost weight since he’d last seen her. That alone had caused something inside him to knot with foreign emotions.

He should have given her loss more attention. He should have considered her fragile state. Perhaps he’d also been too forthright, or over-familiar.
Dammit
. He shook his head. He usually had more finesse with the fairer sex. Something about Eleanor made him loss sight of those skills. In fact, the more she defied him, the more fascinated he seemed to get.

What is this accursed affliction?
he wondered.

If he could work out how to handle her, he could make her see sense. He must to handle it right though, that much was clear. She was a hothead. Right now, she was upset and needed time to get used to the idea of traveling under his guidance and protection.

He yawned into his port and pulled out his fob watch. It was near ten. In twelve hours they would set sail. He smiled wearily to himself. One thing was certain, there was no way she could give him the slip aboard ship. She would be safe enough for the duration.

He pictured her flashing blue eyes. An ache immediately flared in his loins.

He groaned and reached for the bottle.

She was nothing but trouble, that damn woman
.

Chapter Seven

The Lady Embarks

Eleanor gripped the handrail and watched the dockside shrink away.

The crowd of people down there were still waving, their hands specks of movement among the mass. She wondered if Rivers was on board, for she’d not seen him since their encounter the evening before. Had he stayed at The Metropole, or had he gone elsewhere?

She dwelled for a moment on the image of his dusty coat, thinking of his long ride from Dover. A pang of guilt stole up inside her. She tried to shake it off. It didn’t matter where he was, she shouldn’t care – at least, that’s what she told herself.

She looked down at the water furling up from the mighty engines below. The ship was turning slowly toward the horizon. The water was distancing her from the land, she was on her way.

“It’s very bad for your looks, to have cried over leaving England.” Miette’s voice drew her back from her thoughts. Her friend peered at the dark shadows beneath Eleanor’s eyes.

“Oh, I cried for my father, that’s why.” Eleanor hadn’t informed Miette of the situation with Rivers and couldn’t face doing so as yet. “Although departing my Queen and country does feel rather odd this time.”

She smiled and took her friend’s arm, who nodded and squeezed her hand.

Miette had arrived late in the evening and the two had chatted into the night before retiring to bed. Within minutes, her old friend had lifted Eleanor’s spirits and by the end of the evening, they were both looking forward to the prospect of the voyage ahead.

They strolled along the deck, and she could tell from the glances of the other passengers that made quite the sight – she in her mourning garb with her black hair and blue eyes, Miette with copper hair, green eyes and elfin features. Eleanor wore a fitted velvet traveling frockcoat in black, with a matching skirt. Her pin-tucked blouse had an oval brooch of silver inlaid with black jet, set against the high collar, as did the black hat set at an angle on her hair.

Miette was extravagant in her dress and wore a long and large fur coat, with a tall collar that framed her face. Exotic feathers curled down from her hat to touch her forehead. She peeped through them at Eleanor.

“We have much to talk about. I want to hear about everything since we last met.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously. The old camaraderie of their school days had rekindled.

They took shelter inside, the crisp cold of the December day biting into their bones. The saloon area was awash with people and luggage. As they moved amongst the crowds, the increased movement of the ship as it passed outside the harbor rolled through Eleanor. It was a strange feeling and she chuckled as she made her feet step in time with the movement.

The passengers chattered, alliances being established as hands reached for the same bags. Everyone was made to laugh at themselves and each other while they found their sea legs.

It was the largest ship she’d been on and Eleanor was truly startled at how ostentatious the vessel was inside. The saloon was breathtaking, it’s huge space framed by the ornately decorated ceiling and walls. Padded leather seats nestled in booths along the walls, punctuated with framed paintings between them. One could be in a grand palace anywhere in Europe; it was difficult to believe they were at sea. The atmosphere was gay and extravagant and Eleanor enjoyed the surroundings.

Miette, however, waved her hand in dismissal at the crowds. “Leave this rabble. I’ll get Felix to collect our luggage.” 

“Felix?”

“My manservant.” 

“Ah,” Eleanor replied.

With a pensive look, Miette added, “I’ll get him to bring yours first so I can examine what you have to wear. We’ll go to your cabin.”