Compromising the Marquess (8 page)

“Ah.”

“What is it?” Rob and Gabriel asked together.

“Nothing of consequence.” Hal chose not to tell his brothers that he’d actually asked Leah to join him on board. They would probably think he’d taken complete leave of his senses and have him committed to Bedlam. He couldn’t help thinking so himself but was strangely reluctant to rescind the invitation.

“Mrs. Wilkinson and Miss Lewis are here, my lord,” Potter said, entering the room in his habitual stately manner. “Are you at home?”

Hal sighed. “I suppose so. Show them into the small sitting room, Potter. I’ll see them in a moment.”

Gabriel laughed. “Can I be the one to hide this time and eavesdrop? I might learn something.”

“Be my guest.” Hal pushed himself to his feet, deciding that Leah Elliott had a lot to answer for. Before meeting her he hadn’t thought twice about avoiding Mrs. Wilkinson when she endeavoured to interfere in his affairs. Branding him a coward was an effective way of recalling him to his duty.

“Mrs. Wilkinson, Miss Lewis,” he said, striding into the sitting room. “What a delightful surprise. How are you ladies today?”

They appeared taken aback by his civility. “I am perfectly well, I thank you, my lord, but—”

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He swished the tails of his coat aside and sat himself across from the old harridans.

“It’s about the Boar’s Head.”

“My brother told me of your concerns regarding that establishment.” Hal leaned forward, schooling his features into an expression of polite concern. “Tell me what it is precisely that makes you so uncomfortable.”

“There was a fistfight there the other night.”

“You astound me, Miss Lewis.” Hal adopted a scandalized expression, trying hard not to laugh. “I do hope you weren’t exposed to such a spectacle.”

“No, indeed not. I locked my doors and kept my brother’s blunderbuss close at hand.”

“Thank goodness.” He turned his attention to the other lady. “Did you see it, Mrs. Wilkinson?”

“Certainly not!”

“Then, excuse me, but how do you know that it actually took place?”

The ladies exchanged a swift glance.

“I can’t actually see the Almighty but that doesn’t mean He isn’t there.” Mrs. Wilkinson folded her hands in her lap, looking smugly satisfied with her argument.

Hal raised one brow. “You’re comparing a brawl with the existence of God?”

“No, of course not.” Mrs. Wilkinson’s self-righteous expression showed early signs of strain. “You’re deliberately twisting my words.”

“No, madam, I’m merely trying to understand them.” Hal took a deep breath, already bored with this exchange. “Let’s, for the sake of argument, assume that the fight you refer to actually took place. In what way did that impinge upon the lives of the villagers?”

“Well, I—”

“Was anyone attacked? Were crimes against property or person committed?”

“I’m not entirely sure.”

“You would know if it were the case, would you not, Mrs. Wilkinson?” Hal forced himself to remain patient, knowing how important it was to keep the wretched woman away from the Boar. “The local populace looks up to you and keeps you informed of happening in the village, do they not?”

“Perhaps.” Mrs. Wilkinson sat a little straighter. “I pride myself on doing my Christian duty.”

“But it’s not safe for ladies to walk alone through the village,” Miss Lewis wailed.

“Why on earth not?” Hal adopted a quizzical expression. “My sister frequents the village all the time.”

“Always escorted by a footman, or a maid. Besides, no one would dare to lay a finger on Lady Felicity.”

“This is a seafaring town, ladies, and the custom brought to the village by such men is welcomed by the tradespeople. Do you not sell them fripperies for their sweethearts, Miss Lewis?”

“Yes, I suppose so, but I—”

Mrs. Wilkinson glared at Miss Lewis, presumably because she knew nothing of the increase in her trade. That was probably because Hal had only recently thought to arrange it.

“Perhaps they have money to throw about,” Mrs. Wilkinson said with a derisive sniff, “but they don’t attend church. Their souls are in dreadful peril.”

“And there is drunkenness and coarse language,” Miss Lewis added.

“Mrs. Jessop’s hens were so disturbed by the noise from the fight that they didn’t lay for two whole days.”

Hal’s lips quirked. “How unfortunate, but since Jessop lives some distance from the Boar, I think their uncooperative behaviour must be a coincidence.”

“Hens are very sensitive creatures.”

“Rest assured, ladies, that I have taken your concerns to heart.” Hal stood to indicate that the interview was at an end. “I shall keep a close eye on affairs. Should anything happen that threatens the welfare of any resident of the village, I shall take swift and decisive action. On that you have my solemn word.”

“Well, Venita,” Miss Lewis said, fluttering her sparse lashes as Hal extended a hand to help her to her feet, “I think that puts our minds at rest, don’t you?”

“For now, perhaps.” Mrs. Wilkinson threw a darkling glance at her friend. “But the moment I hear of anything untoward happening, you may be sure that I shall be back.”

Hal didn’t doubt it. “Thank you for bringing your concerns to my attention, ladies,” he said, handing them over to Potter and making a swift exit.

His brothers looked up as he reentered the breakfast parlour.

“God save me from interfering biddies,” Hal muttered.

“Have you placated them?” Rob asked.

Hal grimaced. “God alone knows. I’m for the boat. I need to check on our visitor.”

Chapter Eight

Leah endeavoured to slip unobserved from the gatehouse that afternoon but was thwarted when she literally ran into Meg at the scullery door.

“You didn’t ought to be gallivanting about like that,” she said, looking Leah up and down and tutting. “No good can come of it.”

“Don’t fret so, Meg. Needs must. I’ll be fine.”

“In London perhaps, but it’s different in the country. There aren’t so many people about and you’ll never pass for a lad.”

Leah grimaced. Technically, Meg was her servant. In reality she was a surrogate mother who loved her and didn’t hesitate to speak her mind. She might be at leisure to worry about Leah’s reputation but Leah had no time to spare for such nugatory concerns. She couldn’t afford not to meet Lord Denby and would just have to rely on his instincts as a gentleman preventing him from taking advantage of her.

She sighed. Hopefully he’d let slip a snippet or two of information that would interest the gossip-hungry readership of Mr. Morris’s newspaper. It had happened before. People became indiscreet when they grew accustomed to her presence. Admittedly, in those situations she’d been able to lose herself in a crowd and no one realised who she actually was. Lord Denby
did
know her true identity
and
she would be alone with him on his ship—a potentially lethal situation. Still, rather that than throw herself on her Uncle Percy’s charity indefinitely, a situation which exposed her to the constant diatribe of criticism that sprang from her aunt’s sour lips.

Jonny straightened up from stacking logs, presumably because he thought he would be required to accompany her. Pickle, similarly minded, wagged his stubby tail, ran in several tight circles and scratched at the door.

“Stay here, both of you,” she said, addressing her remark to Pickle.

“Are you sure, miss?”

“Quite sure, Jonny,” she said, wondering if she actually was. “Stay here and help Meg.”

“Right you are then.”

Grateful for his incurious nature, Leah set off for the Boar.
As she trudged down the lane, she
wondered where precisely she was supposed to meet his lordship. Presumably he would expect her to enter the tavern and seek him out. The prospect of cutting a path through the rough clientele of that establishment caused her a moment’s hesitation. Then she thought of her fast-dwindling resources, drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders in a defiant gesture.

She could do this. She could.

As she drew level with the tavern, Leah had cause to rethink her strategy. It was teeming with activity, people spilling out the door, milling about in groups and blocking the road. The raucous laughter and coarse language that assaulted her ears severely tested her resolve. Without Jonny, whom she now regretted leaving behind, she felt exposed and vulnerable, convinced that his lordship wasn’t the only person who’d seen through her disguise.

She loitered on the expanse of ground behind the tavern, drawing several curious glances from the dubious types already lingering there. She ignored them and directed her gaze towards the beautiful boat anchored in the bay. It had been too dark, and she’d been too preoccupied, to pay it much attention the last time she’d been here.

The tranquil scene settled her nerves. The sun was setting behind the brightly painted boat as it rocked gently with the tide. It looked so normal, so quintessentially English, that she wondered if she was wrong to suspect Lord Denby of sinister activities. As usual, her lively imagination was inventing trouble where perhaps none existed. She was suddenly filled with a ridiculous desire to sail off somewhere exotic with the handsome marquess, leaving all her problems behind for someone else to wrestle with.

Except there was no one else. At least, no one to whom she would entrust her precious sister’s care.

She couldn’t let her guard down. It might look innocent enough but, if she was right about the marquess being involved in secret activities, that boat must be at the hub of his operation. She didn’t know how she could be so sure. She just was.

Leah shaded her eyes with her hand to try and see it more closely, wishing she had a telescope, or that she’d had enough time to educate herself about the ship before embarking upon this madness. She prided herself on her thoroughness and disliked undertaking anything without first doing extensive research.

A wherry she’d noticed earlier had now reached shore but she barely spared it a glance. Instead her attention remained focused on the ship as she wondered what secrets it held and how best to persuade it to give them up.

Feelings of anticipation and excitement gripped her. Perhaps she was being foolhardy but not for one moment did she consider herself to be in any real danger. She suspected the marquess of using the Boar and the village as a whole to cover his activities and yet felt perfectly safe with him. The conflicting messages coming from her brain left her feeling confused and disadvantaged.

“She’s a ninety-foot schooner,” said a gravelly voice in her ear.

Leah started violently. The marquess had crept up on her so quietly that she had no advance warning of his approach. She realised now that he must have been in that wherry. Unlike her, he was equipped with a telescope and, aboard his ship, must have seen her standing here. Even if she hadn’t recognized his deep voice, she would still have known it was him accosting her, even before she turned her head. The aroma of musky French cologne that had clung to him the evening before left her in no doubt at all.

“She’s quite beautiful,” she said, still staring at the ship’s red and green hull. “How long have you owned her?”

“For some years now. She’s ideal for my purpose since she can undertake ocean voyages, do close coastal work and ply inland waterways, all with equal ease.”

“What
is
your purpose?”

“Trade, naturally,” he said, sounding entirely plausible. “
The Celandine
can also sail close to the wind.”

A bit like her master.
“A useful trait,” she said.

Finally turning to face him, she was unable to suppress a gasp when she observed his attire. He wore tight-fitting breeches, well-worn boots and a white shirt, open at the neck, with no coat over it. He was hatless, his hair in its usual queue. He looked more like a common sailor than a marquess, except for his presence, of course. There was something about him, a natural authority that would prevent anyone doubting his lineage. Curling blond hairs peeped out of the opening of his shirt, earning her fascinated scrutiny. Only when she espied his mocking smile did she realise that she was staring. Embarrassed to be caught gawping, she quickly averted her gaze.

“Very useful,” he agreed.

“Tell me, are you as wild as the flower you named your ship after, my lord?”

He laughed. “I prefer to think of myself as untamed.”

I’m sure you do.
“Even though you have so many responsibilities?”

“Especially for that reason.
The Celandine
is my escape, you see. The rules don’t apply when I’m aboard.”

“Why is that?”

He didn’t answer. “Don’t you have your brother and your dog to protect you today?” he asked instead.

Leah shook her head. “No, I came alone.”

“It’s unsafe around these parts for a young lad alone.”

“But I’m not alone,” she pointed out with irrefutable logic. “You’re here with me.”

He smiled at her then, a slow, complacent smile that lit up his features and made her insides churn with pleasurable sensations. “So I am.”

His smiled broadened, pure predatory male. Unsure whether to be afraid or captivated, the dilemma inside Leah’s head didn’t bother to communicate itself to her body. She felt a rush of heat sweep through her as she held his gaze. It was madness, being here alone with such a dangerous man, and yet in her disguise as Leon she felt entirely safe. She instinctively knew that, whatever other mischief he undertook on that damned boat of his, he meant her no harm.

“Shall we?” he asked, indicating the wherry pulled onto the shingle beach a short distance away.

Leah hesitated for the briefest of moments and then followed him to the small boat. Two men stood guard over it and snapped to attention when they saw Lord Denby approaching. Without thought for his boots, he waded into the shallow water, turned to look at her less suitable footwear, shrugged and swept her into his arms. The breath left her lungs in an extravagant whoosh as he cradled her against his chest and carried her to the boat as though she weighed nothing at all. He lowered her onto the wooden bench in its bow and then climbed in to sit beside her. The boat tilted under his weight and then steadied. His two crewmen pushed it into deeper water, climbed aboard and took up their oars.

Leah turned her face into the wind, enjoying the feel of the rushing breeze caressing her skin. Strangely at one with nature, she lost herself in the penetrating silence, the raucous noise from the Boar
barely audible as they distanced themselves from it. The gentle lapping of water against the side of the small boat lulled her, as did the creaking of oars and the heavy breathing of the oarsmen as they bent their backs to their task.

She could sense Lord Denby watching her, but he didn’t speak. Leah ought to have felt apprehensive, boldly allowing herself to be swept into his world. Instead she felt free. Free of obligation, responsibility and the perpetual need to chase scandal in order to survive. Perhaps it was her disguise that made the difference. She didn’t know the precise reason for her state of mind, nor did she much care. She trailed her fingers through the torpid water, her earlier feeling of excitement and anticipation roiling inside her. Something significant was about to happen to her—she could sense it and didn’t fight against it. For once, she would place her well-being in the hands of fate.

Fate and the brooding sophisticate sitting as still as a statue beside her, casting her long, considering looks through unsettlingly intelligent eyes.

Leah was disappointed that it took the small boat just a few minutes to reach
The Celandine.
She could have sat in the bow of that tiny boat and had those two men row her about forever. She supposed their arms would have got tired eventually but she wasn’t about to let such practicalities intrude on her fantasy. Today she wasn’t Leah, the realistic older sister, holding her family together by wit and guile alone. For the moment she was Leon, would-be cabin boy, with no responsibilities other than his own welfare, about to embark upon an adventure.

As they approached
The Celandine,
a rope ladder was lowered over the side. Lord Denby grabbed it with one hand and held it steady.

“Up you go, lad,” he said, offering Leah his other hand and pulling her towards the ladder.

Leah glanced up. It seemed like a very long way. A man at the top of the ladder was waiting to help her, but she wasn’t sure if she could make the climb. She’d never admit it, but she was afraid of heights.

Before she could decide what to do, her mind was made up for her. Lord Denby must have passed the ladder to one of the other men in the wherry because he bodily lifted her onto the first rung and gave her backside a hefty push. She could either stay where she was, swaying about on the bottom of that flimsy ladder, with Lord Denby’s hand assaulting her bottom, or she could climb.

She expelled a long breath. And climbed.

* * *

A bolt of hot lust shot through Hal as his hand made contact with Leah’s derriere. He cursed his stupidity beneath his breath. He was an idiot to have brought her here and only had himself to blame. He now knew why she’d been at the mill so ought to have dismissed her from his thoughts long since and left her to her harmless scribbling. He would have done so too, except that he could hardly send written word cancelling their assignation—if indeed, that’s what it was. It certainly felt like it. Mrs. Wilkinson would be in alt if she got wind of a note from him to an unmarried lady. It was just the sort of thing she lived in expectation of discovering so she could discredit him.

Hal had no intention of playing into her hands, which presented him with a problem. He couldn’t leave Leah unattended, open to all sorts of inappropriate propositions as she waited for him at the Boar. Every gentlemanly instinct he possessed balked at the very idea
.
His only hope was that she would decide against coming, even though he was fairly certain that her innate sense of curiosity would overcome any misgivings. It was the only reason he’d been watching for her from the poop deck of
The Celandine,
unsure whether he was more pleased or disappointed when she put in an appearance.

Alone.

No good could come from exposing her to the workings of
The Celandine,
especially since she relied on gossip and titillation to survive. He ought to have gone ashore, told her he’d had a change of heart, and escorted her home. Except, given her inquisitive nature, denying her access to his ship would only have made her more curious about it and set her to asking questions. That was the last thing he needed. Better to give her an abbreviated tour of the ship, take a short trip out to sea so she could admire the stars, and be done with it.

It seemed so cut-and-dried before she got here. But now? He thought of all that was at stake, the trouble he’d taken to protect the visitor sequestered in the best cabin—his cabin—below, and decided that he must indeed have run quite mad. He was a meticulous man, a slave to duty, so there could be no other explanation for his totally out-of-character behaviour.

Hal paused halfway up the ladder, ignoring the enticing view of Leah’s posterior as he endeavoured to assess the situation in a more rational manner. The minx had been a guest at his house but presumably knew better than to write about anything that occurred there. If she was foolish enough to be tempted, she must realise that her identity would be exposed and she’d be ostracized by local society. With the exception of Mrs. Wilkinson, the villagers were fiercely loyal to Hal’s family and wouldn’t take kindly to its secrets being exposed, or to its members being the focus of ridicule.