Mary Blayney (16 page)

He would stay near the ladder to the lower deck and wait for her. Most likely she had come above to enjoy the evening and the air.

Gabriel leaned against the mast. He turned his eyes to the night sky for the first time in two years. Cassiopeia, Ursa Major and Minor. He knew them so well that the movement of the ship was no hindrance. Nothing could obscure the Milky Way, its carpet spread out across the heavens.

The ship creaked and groaned its way west as he let the stars blur above him. Charlotte was right. How could God be limited by man’s beliefs? He was greater than man, greater than this planet, greater than the cosmos spread before him.

How could God care about something as insignificant as Gabriel? And his bad choices, his time in prison, this escape were even less than he, a small part of a man, who was less than a dot in the night sky. Still, Gabriel realized, he cared, whether God did or not. He cared about life, his family, his work, his future. About the people who had touched his life: Georges, the children. And Charlotte.

He stayed as he was a few moments more. Then admitted to himself that while it might not matter at all to God or the universe, he wanted to know where she was.

Gabe circled the deck and found three seamen talking quietly and laughing.

“I beg your pardon,” Gabriel started, feeling like a complete ass as he began what had to be the stupidest question a man could ask, “have you seen my wife?”

“Aye, sir, we have,” one said, touching his head in what Gabe had decided was a gesture of respect. “She be with the captain.”

“Has been for nearly an hour,” another said.

Gabriel knew exactly what the seaman was implying and ignored it. “They are expecting me.” He bit each word out, clenched his fists. He did his best to ignore their looks. He turned from them and headed for the captain’s cabin.

“Three can have more fun than two, so I hear.”

Gabriel froze in his steps. Then turned back to the troublemakers. Clearly ignoring the insult was not the right way to proceed. He walked to them, anger radiating in his every step. When he spoke, the effort to control his temper made his voice hard, each word slowly spoken. “Keep your filthy ideas to yourself, seaman. I have been in a French prison for nearly a year. They have shown me ways to cause pain you cannot even imagine. Do not insult my wife again.”

All three seamen nodded. One with such a nervous jerk that Gabriel thought he would fall down.

“It was the grog talking, sir. He meant nothing by it.”

Gabriel turned away. He hoped that one of them would test him. No one made a move. So Gabriel did his best to vent his anger with a long breath. Damn Charlotte anyway. What
was
she doing with the captain? He went on to the stateroom, where he could see candles lit. As he walked closer, he could hear voices. Then he heard a woman’s laugh.

Gabriel realized that he had never heard her truly laugh before. Beneath the humor was a hint of the bedroom, intimacy and invitation. No wonder the crew was intrigued.

There was a man waiting outside this cabin. Gabriel ignored him, reaching for the door latch. The man stepped in front of him, forcing Gabe to drop his hand.

“The captain is with someone, sir.”

“Yes, I know,” Gabriel answered, smiling. “He is with my wife. I’m sure they are expecting me.”

“No, sir, the captain said no one was to disturb them.”

“You will stop me, how?” Gabriel asked. The man had no gun or sword that he could see.

“With my hands, if I must, sir.”

“Oh, I wish you would try.”

Before the steward could do more than raise clenched fists, the door was opened from the other side. “What goes on here?”

“This gent wants to see his wife, Captain.”

Gabriel walked into the cabin without invitation. The man grabbed his arm. Then released him as quickly.

“Leave us,” the captain said to the man. “Keep your mouth closed.”

“Aye, sir.” The crewman closed the door quietly.

Gabriel was watching Charlotte, who was less tidy than she had been before going to bed. Her hair hung down her back, now dark brown where the powder did not cover it. The simple fichu was missing from her dress. Without it, the nondescript, patched dress was not what any man on this ship would notice.

“I woke and saw you were gone. I wanted to make sure you were safe.” He paused before the last word. The other words he had considered were totally inappropriate.

“You can see that I am.” She smiled as if calling his bluff. “I am having a conversation with an old friend.”

He turned toward the captain. Only so that she could not see how her taunting angered him. He knew her game by now and she still managed to infuriate him.

That idea was banished by shock. “Wilton! What are you doing here?” He turned to Charlotte. “Is this how the duke found you? Through our brother?”

“I am not your brother.” Wilton showed that spark of temper that was the Pennistan curse.

“Oh for God’s sake, yes you are.”

Gabriel spoke at the same time as Charlotte. “Meryon blood runs in our veins. Both of us.”

“I am the bastard and you are not. A key difference, my lord.”

He used the same inflection on
my lord
that Charlotte did, the one that stripped the two words of any sense of deference.

“But here the tables are turned,” Wilton said, “I am in command of this ship.” Using the tip of his knife he gestured to the padded bench. “Sit down.”

19

T
HE KNIFE MADE
the captain’s point with more vigor than Gabriel thought necessary. He raised his hands. “I did not come here to fight.” He backed toward the other chair in the room.

“Is that so.” Wilton stayed near the door, though he did tuck the knife back into its sheath. “Then why are you here?”

“Are the children all right?” Charlotte asked, standing up as she spoke.

“Yes. They are sound asleep,” Gabriel answered, with a glance. Turning his back to her, he spoke to the captain: “I am here because her bed was empty. I was afraid that she might need my help.”

“Your help?” Wilton gave a bark of laughter. “She is the one who rescued you.”

“I am more than willing to return the favor should the need arise.” He could see Wilton bite back a smile. He chose, wisely Gabriel thought, not to say anything.

“You can see that I am perfectly safe.” Charlotte gathered her shawl around her and bundled her hair into a loose knot at the nape. “I will leave you two to share brotherly affection, but I remind you, Captain, I am paid a bonus if he arrives in England alive.”

Without a word to Gabriel, she swept out. He followed, then stopped, though Wilton had the door half-closed. “Our father is dead, Captain. As the new duke, my brother will surely be willing to make amends.”

Wilton shook his head. “We have nothing to say to each other.”

When Gabe would have said more, Wilton stepped closer. “You had best obey me, Pennistan. This is my domain. Here even your duke brother could not save you from a flogging.”

Wilton closed the door. The steward hurried toward it and knocked. They were well across the deck when Gabriel heard it open. When Charlotte stopped, so did he.

“Gabriel Pennistan, you are a lying, thieving spawn of Satan,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “I cannot believe that for even one minute I thought you innocent.”

“Why should it matter to you that Wilton is a relation? I spoke of him before.”

“Not that. Wilton tells me that Viscount Sidmouth has damning evidence of your complicity.”

She was close enough to reach out and push him as she proceeded to list each one of his sins. His back was to the railing of the ship, and he grabbed both her hands as much in self-defense as in an effort to end her tirade.

“What are you talking about? What does Wilton know?”

“He has no details,” she said, backing away a step or two. “Wilton says they have evidence of a bribe so tempting you could not refuse it. That the French Minister of Police, Fouché, was involved. There is talk of it being a hanging offense.”

“There was no bribe.” It was all he could think of to say in the face of such an outlandish suggestion.

“How convenient, my lord. Now that you are free and on your way home, you have no recollection of such an offer.”

“It’s absurd. You told me that Fouché is not even in Paris now.”

“I also told you that even out of favor he wields more power than any man outside the army. In a matter of time, he will be back. He has more lives than a cat.”

“My father agreed. He hated him, called him a liar, to his face, a man without honor and without a goal beyond his own self-interest.”

“All of it true, from the stories I have heard,” Charlotte said, “but a dangerous thing to say to someone so powerful.”

“My father was a power himself.” That prompted another thought. “If I was seen to side with the French, it would have gone a long way to discrediting the family name. I can only swear to you that I would never have done so. I am being completely honest.”

“And how many do you think have said that? Honesty is not something I expect from anyone. Complete honesty is impossible.”

“Your cynicism is too much a part of you. Honesty is possible. You have only to choose to believe. Tell me, are you and Wilton lovers?”

“Y
OU ARE INFURIATING,”
she said, facing him again, clenching her fists to keep from slapping him. “Words are as much a weapon to you as that absurd knife you carry.”

“Not answering me is a whole different kind of honesty,” he said, taking one step away from her.

“No.” She managed not to shout it, but stepped even closer to him as she answered. “Wilton and I have never been lovers. He is married. I do not take lovers who are happy in their marriage.”

“I believe you.” He used two fingers to raise her chin. She thought she could feel his heartbeat through them.

“Now tell me that you believe what I said, Charlotte.”

She shook her head.

“We have been as close to each other as two people can be. Doesn’t your woman’s intuition tell you something?”

She jerked back from his touch and his words.

“Or are you like me?” He reached out and ran a hand down her arm. “Every time we are this close all I can remember is how much there is left between us that is not finished.”

She did not, would not, admit that was true.

“Ah, you cannot even admit it to yourself, can you? Will this help?” He took her into his arms and kissed her, softly, sweetly, but with a hunger barely held in check.

“No, my lord,” she said, pushing him away. She was tired beyond bearing. “No, my lord. If you think to use sex to convince me of your innocence, you are completely mistaken.”

“Charlotte,” he said, sounding wounded. “I only thought to clear the air so we could talk honestly.”

She laughed, and he did too.

“All right,” he said between gasps of laughter, “that was a lie, I admit it.”

And in that one silly moment, she believed him. Believed him innocent. Believed him.

He took her arm and they moved along the deck as though it were early evening instead of almost midnight.

“Tell me why you make all these trips to France.”

She almost did. Their promenade was so natural, his question so simple.

“Is it because of the children, Charlotte? You are so solicitous of them, especially Claire. Are you her mother?”

Observant but not a genius, she thought with relief. “No, I am not their mother, and that is the truth.”

“Then why?”

“Because I helped destroy their families.”

“Oh, Charlotte, I do not believe a word of that.”

“You are amused?” She stopped the promenade and confronted him.

“No, I would never make light of your pain, but it is so clearly impossible.” He took her arm and made her walk beside him again. She had no idea who was watching, that was the only reason she allowed it.

“I am sorry I made light of your confession, Charlotte,” he said again. “It is only that while you may have done some things you regret, that would disappoint me, I find the idea of murder hard to credit.”

Before she could reply, they were distracted by the bell announcing the change of watch.

There was the clatter of the lines as men came down from the rigging and the thud of feet as the new crew came onto the deck. Charlotte saw a few eye them with curiosity despite the fact that Pennistan had found a spot at the stern and out of the way. All the activity gave her a blessed moment to think.

“My lord, kindness is a pathetic choice of weapons.”

“Make no mistake, my dear, if I wanted a weapon, you would know,” he said as he followed the progress of a man moving up the ratlines. “I will not press you anymore but will wait until you want to tell me about it. It will be a rational test of my patience.”

Now she smiled. Did he turn everything into a scientific assessment? Discussing rats with Pierre. How ridiculous. And yet there was something very appealing about a man who made the best of what he was given. What if they had met in a ballroom? What if she had met him instead of meeting Charles Strauss?
Change the subject,
she commanded herself. “Did you take some time to look at the night sky this evening?”

He nodded, looking down to hide his disappointment at her change of subject.

“After all your efforts were you able to see the Great Comet with your friend Dr. Burgos?”

“Yes.” He watched her for a long moment and then raised his hands in surrender. “All right, Charlotte. I promised patience. We will change the subject.”

“Thank you,” she replied, smiling at him, if only to see the surprise on his face again.

His surprise melted into a grin as he caught her game. He leaned to her, pressed a quick kiss on her lips and laughed as she stumbled backward. Not for all the money in the treasury would she admit that his touch had made her knees weak. He grabbed her arms and held on to her until she was steady again. Even then he did not let go right away.

“This test of who can discomfit who the most could lead somewhere interesting.”

His grip was light. She had a choice.

“It would lead to an argument,” she said in as dismissive a voice as she could muster, pulling out of his grasp, wondering what he was like in bed when not half drugged by spirits and exhausted. “I am not interested.”

Liar.
He mouthed the word, but did change the subject. “So, we are to talk about astronomy? Did you see it, Charlotte? The Great Comet?”

“Of course,” she said. “That was one comet that was hard to miss. What an amazing spectacle. They do not come along very often, though. Why do you study the stars?”

“Rhys Braedon is a true lover of astronomy. Working with him made it interesting and worthwhile. Even exciting. As for me, I feel as though I own the night hours when I am alone. That anything is possible. That God created life on other planets. That their astronomers may be doing the same thing I am. Or they are centuries more advanced than we are and will be dropping from the sky to visit when we least expect it.”

“Is it wise for a man of science to have such an imagination?”

“Yes, of course, where do you think great ideas come from? If Jenner had not been curious, do you think we would have a vaccination for smallpox?”

She considered the truth of that and wondered if Jenner had ever said anything as bizarre as Gabriel Pennistan had just said. She kept that to herself. “I know nothing about astronomy, not even how to tell the planets from the stars.”

“It’s very simple. Would you like me to show you?”

When she nodded, he stood behind her, instructing her in the way to look at the stars, to watch for the steady lights. Those were planets. From there he helped her make sense of the jumble of night lights by starting with Orion’s belt and working up, and then down to the “legs.” She watched the stars but was more aware of Gabriel’s arm along her shoulder, his face close to hers, the way his body sheltered her.

She tried so hard to pretend indifference that her body rebelled with a violent shiver. Gabriel pulled her shawl more firmly around her.

“It is very beautiful,” she said, abandoning resistance and relaxing against him. Not defeat. Surrender.

“Yes, it is,” he whispered.

When she turned to him, his face was close enough to kiss, his eyes on her as though she was the beauty to which he was referring.

For a moment he was all she wanted. “Be honest, Gabriel,” she whispered, “admit that this exercise in science is only an excuse to put your arms around me.” She moved from his embrace, and the truth was trumped by sanity. “I think we should check on the children.”