Natalya (21 page)

Grey blinked. "Left?"

"Gone off to one of those house parties in the country or whatever it is young people do these days to amuse themselves," his lordship replied, waving a hand. He turned to his manservant and said querulously, "Go to bed! You hover like an old woman!"

Chester, who was accustomed to such abuse after thirty years in the earl's employ, merely bowed and left the room, closing the door behind him. Grey thought that his father appeared extremely fatigued, wavering slightly as he struggled with the buttons on his waistcoat.

"Father, I know that it's late, but could you spare me a moment of your time? Perhaps we could sit down."

The earl eased himself onto his favorite wing chair, clutching the arms, and waited as Grey perched on the edge of the mammoth Tudor bed.

"I've been to see that Kean fellow perform," Hartford remarked. "I'm not at all certain what the fuss is about."

"Edmund Kean? They say he's brilliant." Grey sighed and pushed aside the frayed bedhangings of blue velvet that brushed against him. Every time he tried to converse with his father, he felt as if there were an impenetrable wall of glass between them. "Father, I'm sailing tomorrow to America on the
Wild Rover."

"Yes, yes, I suppose so," the earl replied. "Doubtless it is dull for you here. I find it dull myself."

"That's not precisely why I'm going. I have an obligation to fulfill; I've promised to deliver the daughter of your friend Alexandre Beauvisage to Philadelphia."

The old man's ice blue eyes warmed for an instant. "Beauvisage? Such a long time ago. I suppose he must be dead by now."

"Actually I don't think so—" Grey broke off, seeing that the earl wasn't listening. "Father, is there anything that I can do for you before I go?"

"Whatever can you mean?" He waved his thin hand dismissingly. "I manage very well on my own, dear boy, and you must do as you please."

A heavy sigh swelled in Grey's chest as he stood and held out his hand to the earl. "Good-bye, then, Father."

Hartford gazed longingly toward his bed. "Good-bye, dear boy. Do visit me when you are next in London."

Chapter 14

April 15-19, 1814

Natalya awoke to a strange assortment of sounds. Gradually she recognized the high-pitched squawk of sea gulls, the slap of waves against creaking oak, and the clatter of footsteps above her. She looked around groggily to find herself tucked into a cozy bunk built into the corner of a teak-paneled cabin that smelled faintly of lemon oil. Sunlight streamed through a narrow transom overhead. There was a writing desk against the far bulkhead, a Windsor chair, and braced shelves lined with books. After noting that her trunk was within reach, she nestled into the softness of down-filled linen pillows and closed her eyes again.

"Miss Beauvisage?" a timid voice spoke a short time later.

Her lids were so heavy that she could scarcely open them. "Yes?"

A plump, rosy-cheeked girl with curly brown hair swayed in the doorway, trying to keep her balance as the ship rolled and the contents of the tray she held nearly slid off. "You're awake!" Hurriedly the girl staggered over and pulled down the folding table built in next to the bunk. With a sigh of relief, she set the tray on it. The edges of the table were ridged upward
to prevent objects from falling off. "I'll never get used to this ship," the girl cried. "I'm forever bashing into walls, falling down, and dropping things."

Natalya felt light-headed. Should she know this person? Vaguely it seemed that she did, but—

"How are you feeling?" The girl straightened her mobcap, then reached for a steaming mug of tea. "Doesn't this smell grand? It'll be so much easier to get you to take a bit of nourishment now that you're truly awake. Mind you don't nod off again, Miss Natalya. Not until you've had some tea and a bit of soup and fruit." She plumped the pillows behind Natalya and boosted her up against them.

"I'm afraid... I'm not quite certain..."

"Oh mistress, you've been very, very ill. Do you remember me? Charlotte Timkins? His lordship brought me along as your new maid when we sailed from London, but you were feeling poorly that very first morning, sniffling and all. You insisted you'd only caught a bit of a chill and wanted to stay up on deck, but his lordship would have none of that and sent you below to lie down."

"Yes..." Natalya nodded, sipping the tea laced with lemon and honey. "I do remember now. I felt very warm, and dizzy, and I lay down here..."

"And you've scarcely moved since. I've managed to get a bit of tea or soup down you, and kept you in clean nightgowns, and we've all just prayed for your fever to break. Oh, there were moments when you opened your eyes and spoke, but it was all nonsense. Just between us, you called for his lordship on more than one occasion. Since I knew it was all just dream talk, I didn't see any point in disturbing him."

"This soup is delicious. I'm simply famished!" Natalya sat up straighter, noticing that she wore a soft lawn nightgown edged with Belgian lace that had been a gift from her Aunt Lisette. Her hair was twisted into a relatively neat braid that hung over her shoulder and down over her right breast. "I must look a sight!" She turned the bowl to get the last drops of soup onto her spoon. "I do hope that you haven't let anyone else in here, Charlotte."

"Lord Altburne tried to come in, but I made him peek from the doorway, just so he could see that you were breathing and such," Charlotte confessed. "I mean, Mr. St. James. He says he wants no part of titles, but it's difficult to change."

"Charlotte," Natalya said between spoonfuls of custard, "how long have I been ill?"

"Oh, ten days, I'd wager, mistress. I never really feared that you wouldn't recover, for I've nursed people who have died and I know the look when death is near, but you were frightfully ill."

"Ten days!" Natalya murmured, stunned. "'Have we been at sea all this time?"

"Yes'm. His lordsh—I mean, Mr. St. James has a lovely, trim ship and the wind's been with us. There was a squall two days ago that frightened me badly, but he brought us through it splendidly." Smiles wreathed her plump face.

"Why, we might be halfway to Philadelphia! How could I have missed so much? Charlotte, where have you been sleeping? Has it been very awful for you, the only woman among so many men?" Questions raced through her mind, and she heard herself exclaiming them aloud. "Is there more food? Who has been cooking it?"

The young maid patted her mistress's pale hand. "Yes, I believe that we may be more than half the way to America, Miss Natalya, as long as some ship doesn't take it into its mind to attack us. The captain's managed to outwit them all so far. I'll own I've never seen a more magnificent man than Mr. St. James. I like that word, don't you?
Magnificent."

"Well, I rather think that it tends to denote royalty or a true work of art or something of that sort," Natalya replied dryly, "and Mr. St. James does seem to fall rather short in my opinion."

Charlotte shrugged philosophically. "Each to his own taste, as my mum would say. To answer your other questions, I've been sleeping in a hammock that fastens to those hooks." She pointed to large brass hooks attached to beams in the cabin's far corner. "I had to be nearby at all times. As for all the men, I don't mind them a bit. It's a small crew, and they're nice boys—all except for Mr. Fedbusk, who is rather unpleasant and full of himself. Acts as if it's
his
ship when the captain's not about, but as I understand it, Fedbusk oversaw the
Wild Rover
while Mr. St. James was off at war, so—"

"Is there more food?" Natalya interrupted. Every dish on her tray was scraped clean and she was ravenous.

"Indeed, mistress. How good it is to see you eat! There's a proper cook on board, name of George, and I know he'll be delighted to fix you anything your heart desires."

"Anything at all would be welcome. Do you think you might ask him?"

"Right away! But it will have to be food that will go down gently, and not too much all at once."

"Whatever you think is best, Charlotte," Natalya said, with a smile. "I am indebted to you for caring for me so diligently these past days. I may well owe you my life."

The girl blushed with pleasure. "It was an honor, Mistress Natalya. I'll go and speak to George now, and you just rest." Charlotte took the tray and stumbled right and left as she crossed the cabin, nearly losing the dishes again. Then, with a bright smile of parting, she went out into the gangway and managed to pull the door closed behind her.

* * *

The weather was exquisite. Clouds as soft and light as stretched cotton drifted across a cornflower-blue sky, while the
Wild Rover
sliced through the Atlantic Ocean, her sails filled with a warm west wind. The
Rover
was light, with sharp, clean lines, made for speed and beauty. After his years aboard giant ships of war, it was pure joy for Grey to stand on this polished deck and bask in the sunlight as they sailed nearly effortlessly toward America. He felt freer and happier than he had in a very long time, except for the constant worry about Natalya Beauvisage. After their first day at sea, when it had become clear that she was afflicted with something far more serious than a simple cold, he had nearly turned back. Charlotte Timkins had persuaded him that she had nursed many through similar illnesses, having learned the duties of a sickmaid from her mother. It did seem that Natalya was now out of danger, but—

"Captain?"

He turned from the polished rail to find Charlotte weaving before him. Putting out a hand to steady her, he immediately inquired about Natalya's condition. "She's not worse, is she? Dear God, if anything were to happen to her, I'd never forgive myself!"

Charlotte blinked at this sudden exclamation of apparent emotion. "Rest easy, sir. Didn't I tell you that I would see her through? I could tell in the night that Miss Natalya was better by her breathing. The cough had gone and her brow was much cooler. Now she is awake and alert for the first time, sir. Hungry as a horse, she is, and in fine spirits!"

"I'm going below to see her," Grey said immediately.

Charlotte caught his sleeve as he started past her. "Oh, no, sir, that wouldn't be proper."

"The devil take propriety," he shot back angrily. "You've kept me from her these last ten days, and I abided by your rules, but no more."

Fedbusk, a wiry, balding, sun-weathered man, had been standing nearby and looked on with interest as St. James stalked across the deck toward the companionway leading to the cabins. Only a few years older than Grey, he had grown up as a stable boy for the Earl of Hartford, son of the head coachman. It had been he who had taught Grey to ride and fish and had imparted the secrets of mating. Because the earl disapproved so strongly of their friendship, Grey had clung to it even more stubbornly, installing Fedbusk as his first officer when he purchased the
Wild Rover.
Now, as Fedbusk watched St. James disappear belowdeck, he scratched his head and chuckled. "Wonder what that's all about," he murmured.

Charlotte's mouth puckered and she hurried after the captain, determined to chaperone her mistress.

* * *

Grey opened the door to Natalya's cabin silently and looked inside, afraid that he would find her a ghostly shadow of her former self. But his first glimpse flooded him with relief. Natalya looked like an angel lying against the snowy pillows. Her molten-honey braid flowed down over the front of a prim white nightgown edged with lace, and he could see that there was color in her fine-boned cheeks.

When he approached the bunk and whispered her name, Natalya opened her eyes and nearly gasped aloud. "Grey?"

A disarming smile lit his face. "The same, my sweet."

Her aqua eyes were huge with surprise. "How...
well
you look!"

It was an understatement of epic proportions, for Grey had been transformed during his ten days at sea. A few of his lost pounds had returned before they left London, but the remainder had been added quickly on board the
Rover.
George had delighted in cooking his captain's favorite dishes, and the brisk salt air had completely restored Grey's appetite. The sun and outdoor activity had done the rest, and now the man who stood before Natalya was utterly magnificent, just as Charlotte had said.

His ebony hair with its gleaming strands of silver was windswept, framing a bronzed face with the same rakishly familiar features she recognized... yet somehow his brows seemed to arch more recklessly, his smile seemed whiter, his jawline stronger. And there was an added light in his steely eyes. Grey's physique was now truly powerful. He wore a loose white linen shirt, open halfway to his waist to reveal a light mat of black hair covering his tanned chest. The shirt was tucked into fawn breeches that clung to the long muscles of his thighs and disappeared into topboots. Natalya could feel the aura of male potency surrounding him.

"I
am
feeling more myself again, thank you," he said, with a grin. "But it is your health that concerns me at the moment. Charlotte tells me that you are better?"