Desiring Lady Caro (20 page)

“Giving up my freedom is a large price to pay for . . . companionship. He’d have complete control over me, whether I wanted him to or not.” And she was starting to like him much too much. If she could only get what she wanted without marriage, her life would be perfect again. There must be something about him that made him ineligible. “Risher, you’ve met his valet, have you not?”

Her maid glanced at Horatia sharply. “I have.”

“Could you discover more about Captain Whitton?”

Risher’s lips pressed in a thin line. “I could, but I’m not going to.”

Horatia used the voice she always did when she wanted her maid to do something and Risher was resisting. Though it
had
been a very long time since Horatia had asked Risher to do anything out of the ordinary. “Please, Risher,” Horatia wheedled. “It will help me make my decision.”

Risher’s lips twisted wryly. “Very well. But mark my words, my lady, Captain Whitton is not a man to be trifled with. He’ll catch you out.”

Horatia took her maid’s hand in hers. “Not if you are
very
careful.”

 

“Smyth.” John strode into the parlor adjoining his bedchamber. “I’m going to make the banking arrangements and check on the sale of the ship. I don’t expect it to happen, but if Lady Horatia should ask for me, send word immediately.”

“Of course, sir,” his valet responded. “I posted the letter you wrote the London solicitor, by messenger.”

“Thank you.”

“May I ask how the courtship is proceeding?”

“Slowly, very slowly.” If only he could read her devious little mind, he’d know more. He’d never exercised so much control over himself in his life. After so many years as a widow, Horatia was justifiably wary of giving up control of her life to a man. If only he could have come to her a year after George died, before she’d grown so independent. If it hadn’t been for John’s obligations to the Crown, he would have. All he could do was stay on his course and convince her he was necessary to her future happiness.

As he walked out of the hotel and down the street to the banking area, he thought about the work waiting for him in England. His brother had left the estates in shambles. Although John had hired a well-recommended steward to start putting things to rights, he needed to return home soon. For the present, fixing his interest with Horatia took precedence. He’d no intention of not having her in tow as his wife when he arrived as the new earl. Yet, God knew, she wasn’t making it easy.

It had taken him a while to discover why the eldest daughter of a marquis was wasted on a mere mister, even if the gentleman was the grandson of a duke. He’d found that George Laughton had been a childhood friend of Lady Horatia’s father, and after her last hoydenish trick—taking one of her father’s carriages without permission and driving it down St. James’s Street—her father’d been more than happy to marry her off as soon as possible.

Laughton promised to take Horatia overseas and look after her, which he did, successfully staying out of the hands of any French troops. After George’s death, her father couldn’t get her to return to England. No doubt the Marquis of Huntingdon had planned another marriage for her, and she was having none of it. John chuckled to himself. The vixen. It was her spark of mischief that had so captivated him.

The back of his neck prickled, and he whirled around but saw no one other than ordinary people going about their business. That was the second time since landing in Marseille he’d sensed danger. He turned down another street, hid in an alley, and watched. A few moments later, a man with a familiar limp hurried by.
Scarper
. What the devil was he still doing in Marseille?

The rest of the crew had quit the city over a week ago. Whitton debated going after his former crew member, but after a moment decided against it. Nothing was going to stop him from leaving on the marrow with Horatia. She was everything he wanted, and he was everything she needed. A firm but light hand on her rudder.

If Scarper was looking for John, he would take the precaution of leaving before his future wife so, if he was still being followed, she wouldn’t be in danger. He waited a little while longer before doubling back to the main street and the bank. By the time he’d arrived at the shipyard to meet with the broker, it was already half past twelve. Horatia ate luncheon at one.

“I’ve good news for you, Captain Whitton.” Monsieur Dufore, a dapper, middle-aged merchant, ushered John into an elegantly appointed office. The polished wood and leather chairs were a distinct contradiction to the almost shabby exterior of the building.

Once he was seated with a glass of wine, Monsieur Dufore continued. “We’ve received a very respectable offer for your ship. Considering the condition it’s in, the offer far exceeded my expectations.”

“That’s good news indeed,” John replied, “and it comes just in time. I am leaving for England soon. I’d been prepared to authorize you to sell it for scrap.”

Dufore’s eyes widened. “Its state is not that bad.”

“I need to move ahead with my plans, and the ship no longer enters into them.” The schooner had hit heavy weather crossing the Atlantic, but she was still a damn fine ship.

“Ah,
oui
. I understand. Life moves on.” Dufore busied himself with the papers on his desk. “I have all the documents in order, in anticipation you would agree to the price.”

John took the file the agent handed him, then, after carefully reading them, approved the terms. “Send the letter of credit to Rothschild’s. They have my instructions.”

When John rose, Dufore did as well. “Thank you, Captain. I will send a messenger immediately. It has been a pleasure doing business with you.”

“On my part as well,” John replied. “Thank you for effecting the quick sale.”

He had less than fifteen minutes to make it to the hotel. Once he’d attained the street, he lengthened his stride and immediately turned. Scarper again. “You’ve been following me all day. What the hell do you want?”

“Aye, Capt’n. It’s good ta see ye.”

John had no time for the man. He’d been a liability on board, and John was not going to allow Scarper to scuttle his current plans. “Cut line. Why have you been watching me?”

The seaman’s gaze shifted from one side to the other but couldn’t seem to make contact with John’s.

“Out with it. I have an appointment.” From the corner of his eye, he saw a lad dressed as a courier exit Dufore’s and take off down the street toward the commercial area. Scarper still had not answered. Whitton moved so his back was to a building and shifted his leg to feel the dagger in his boot. “Never known you to be so slow to voice your complaints.”

“Weal, ye see, I jus’ wanted ta see the old girl again.”

“Is that all?” John asked with exasperation. “Then be my guest. She’s in the yard at the end of the docks.”

Scarper stared at him in surprise. “Ye don’t mind then?”

John narrowed his eyes. What the devil was the man up to? “No, why should I? Is there something I should know?”

“No, no, Capt’n,” Scarper said. “Naught at all. Then I’ll see ye around.” He turned to leave and stopped as if he’d forgotten something. “Will ye be heading back ta England then?”

Something was definitely going on. John reminded himself it was no longer his concern. “After I’ve finished my business here,” he said. “It will be a change to be a passenger.”

“Aye, it would at that,” the sailor responded. “I’ll be seein’ ye around.”

“Most likely.” Not if John had anything to say about it. He stared at Scarper as the man made his way down the docks, and wondered what rumor had started about the ship. It was going to make John late to luncheon, but he needed to lay a false trail. If anyone wanted to find him, he’d make damn sure they’d have to work at it.

Turning the next corner, he entered the booking office and was surprised to find it completely empty of customers. After paying for passages for two on a ship leaving next week, he strode as quickly as possible to the hotel.

Horatia was just preparing to take a seat at a table in the courtyard when he arrived.

She glanced up. “I was beginning to think you had abandoned me.”

He dismissed the waiter and held her chair. “Thinking or hoping?”

She waited until John poured their wine. “If you know you are upsetting me, why do you persist?”

Taking a sip of wine, he studied her over the rim of his glass. Horatia’s color was a little high and her breathing shallow. “You’re not such a poor creature as that. I’m only disconcerting you because you want me and I insist on marriage.”

She set her glass down with a snap. “Oh, how dare you?”

He grinned at her. “Truth?”

“You are completely odious.” Picking up her glass again, she took a sip yet made no move to leave.

He glanced around to make sure no one was within hearing. “I’ll make you a wager, my lady.”

She lifted her chin and replied haughtily, “I do not wager for money.”

“Not money. In fact, it is actually more of a dare.” The last time she’d gambled for money, she’d lost a fine pair of pearl earbobs one evening in Baden-Baden. Laughton had boxed her ears. John still had the letter telling him of it.

Part of his plan to convince her to marry him was to keep her off balance by changing the rules of the game each time she became comfortable with them.

Her eyes took on a curious sparkle, and she had another taste of wine. “Yes?”

Ah, this was the girl who drove down St. James’s Street. “I shall wager you’ll be betrothed before you bed me. If you are not, and I succumb to your not inconsiderable charms, I shall free you from your commitment to allow me to accompany you to Nancy.”

The tip of her tongue lightly licked her full bottom lip, as if she was already savoring victory. “You, Captain Whitton, have a deal.”

“Perfect.” He fought to keep a satisfied look off his face. “In the interest of honesty, I should tell you that I sold my ship today. Mr. Whitton would be more appropriate, or John.”

Horatia considered him. It was always appropriate to address a former captain by that title. But since he suggested it, calling him John might work in her favor. “John it is. You may call me Horatia.”

“Horatia.” He took the hand she held out, but instead of kissing her knuckles, turned it and lightly grazed his teeth across her inner wrist.

She sucked in a breath. It appeared the dratted man was going to make her seduction of him extremely easy. She felt a bit cast down, but reminded herself this was what she wanted, only a short affair. He’d probably changed the rules because he realized he did not wish to marry her after all. A small stab of disappointment sliced through her. Well, good. She could bed him and be rid of him before she reached Nancy.

“I must leave early in the morning,” he said, “to attend to some business. Your major domo told me you’d be staying at the Hôtel du Jardin in Salon-de-Provence. I’ll meet you there.”

She knew it. He was leaving her. She raised a brow. “Running away?”

The look of pure lust he shot her sent a streak of desire straight through her.

He was still holding her hand, and he stroked her wrist. Lowering his voice and making it seem like a caress, he responded, “No. I intend to rid myself of any distractions so that I may devote all my time to you on our way to Nancy.”

She quickly brought herself back under control, raised her gaze to his, and smiled slowly. “If you make it to Nancy.”

“Indeed. At this point, the only known outcome is that one of us will win.”

Her head was in a whirl as he escorted her back to her chamber. She’d been so sure he was going to leave. This time, rather than rush back into her room like a breathless girl, she slid her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Until dinner.”

His lips quirked up. “Until then, Horatia. Oh, and by bed, I meant full copulation.”

Oh, he was wicked. She’d be purring in a moment. She caught her breath, responding evenly, “Of course. What else?”

She backed into her chamber and watched as he ambled down the corridor. “Yes, that is definitely what I meant as well.”

Her heart pounded so hard she had trouble catching her breath. She’d had a full marital life. He was right. She did want him. To be held in a man’s strong arms again and made love to. Men were easy to get into bed, at least that’s what George always told her. Soon she would have the experience she wanted and be on her way. She wondered if John tasted as good as he smelled.

An hour later, Horatia set down her book and gazed out over the harbor. If she wanted only an affair with John, why then did she feel as if she was in danger of losing something? She shook herself. This was ridiculous. Her life was complete as it was. There was no reason to marry again. Not that she had anything against marriage, but it was such a gamble. It had been a week since he kissed her fully. What would it feel like to do it again? Perhaps she’d find out this evening. Of their own volition, her fingers touched her lips.

This was silly and not at all helpful.
Think about something else.
Huntley and Caro. She should be worrying about them instead of lusting for John Whitton. Unable to settle herself, Horatia paced the room. There must be something she could do until it was time to dress for dinner.

Strident voices rose from outside in front of the hotel. Stepping out onto the small balcony, she gazed down. A ship must have docked, and by the looks of it, all the passengers were English and planning to stay
here
. Just what she did not need. Thank heavens she was leaving in the morning.

Risher called to her, “My lady, Mr. Whitton sends a message that the English have invaded, and you might want to dine alone in your parlor this evening.”

A burble of laughter rose in Horatia. Of course he’d say that. He’d been away from England as long as she had, or longer. “I agree. Meeting or being stared at by a lot of my fellow countrymen is not what I wish for. Not to mention that I’m traveling without a companion. It’s just my luck I’d see someone I know. Please send a message to him that I will meet him in Salon-de-Provence.”