Siren's Secret (10 page)

Olivia gasped, stepping backward, utterly stunned. By him and by Mrs. Tisdale. “She never told me—she never said she was unhappy. She is free to go about.” Olivia knew she was not the easiest person to get along with, but Mrs. Tisdale had managed it since Olivia was fifteen. She’d stepped in and been the parent when Olivia needed guidance. She had always supported and encouraged Olivia, when her father’s friends had doubted. And most of all, she was the only one in Olivia’s life who had stayed. Her mother had died young. There’d been a series of governesses and tutors, but none had stuck. None had given Mrs. Tisdale’s unconditional support. Her father might have done so, but his visits were erratic, and over the last six years he’d been gone more than he’d been home.

“You needn’t worry she has betrayed you in any form,” Stafford said. “She has nothing but kindness for you. Would you hold her back because you don’t want to be alone?”

“That’s not fair. Other than my father, she is my—she is all I have.” With no close relatives to call on, Mrs. Tisdale had become—Olivia struggled with the explanation—family. She paled at the thought of losing even a pathetic version of it. “He has nothing to offer her! A life at sea? A workingman’s wife? Do you think she can cook? Or be a nice colonial wife who makes candles and quilts? It’s foolish and fanciful. Neither is thinking of the reality.”

The captain took one long stride and bent his head until they were nose to nose. Olivia didn’t breathe. He was angry. It wasn’t as if she’d said anything wrong. Just the truth. Though right now, his warm, golden brown eyes were quite dark. She swallowed the knot in her throat.

“I will forgive your insults to me, my country, and my friend, because of your complete lack of knowledge and experience of all things American. I will not, however, overlook your narrow, closed-minded point of view, which I find surprises me, Olivia, for someone who values truth, knowledge, and objectivity.

“To be a good thinker—nay, a great thinker—requires one to let go of the common thought and seek something new. Correct?”

She nodded, for she couldn’t speak.

“A new idea, a new vision, a new solution, a new way to do things, a new answer.”

She nodded again and again and again. For it was true. She prided herself on that, even when she was ridiculed for it.

“And yet you cannot see past my friend—and I am letting you know that he is my friend, not just my employee—being American to see what a fine person he is. That he has more to offer than anyone in your narrow, cold circles. He certainly has an income larger than that of you or your father. Besides that, he has every quality a man should have. He deserves every bit of good fortune that comes his way, none of which he ever takes for granted. I hope, Lady Olivia”—he straightened and stepped away—“that in the future, you will endeavor to keep an open mind about people until you actually take the time to get to know them.”

Olivia felt tension in every part of her body. He stared her down in his usual authoritarian way, expecting an agreeable response to his lecture. She would not let him know how she felt. How he’d hurt not just her pride, but something that went to the core of her own self-value. She straightened her spine and adjusted her shoulders, burying the useless emotion. She lifted her chin to look down on him, which of course was entirely impossible, as the man was so bloody tall. Still, lifting her chin, she could do the
one
thing she was particularly good at in threatening social situations.

“Well.” She pulled at the cuff of each sleeve near her wrists. “That was a commendable number of words for an American to string together all at once.” She had the satisfaction of seeing her insult take him aback.

Arrogant, preachy, bossy mome.

What? Was that a sparkle in his eye? He was not affronted. Did he think she was funny? What a damned annoying man.

“But your point is taken, Stafford. Excuse me.” She turned and made for the ladder, promptly tripping on the first step, tangling her skirts, and tumbling hip over ankle. The opposite of graceful, she landed on her back, looking up into the sky at the towering figure of Captain Stafford, high on the deck. He stopped short. Surprisingly, he looked relieved. Then he shook his head again.

“We got her, Captain.”

The two men who’d caught her tossed her with a bounce, and she landed on her feet. If she hadn’t known better, she would have suspected they were waiting for this. She nodded gratefully and offered her thanks.

“Like I said, Ollie, open your eyes to the world around you. Don’t want to miss anything good.”

She grunted and turned away. How dare he accuse her of being blind to life. She saw plenty. Her head bumped wood. “Ouch!” She looked at the low doorway. Where did that come from? She ducked her head and continued to her cabin. Love. Love? Really? He believed that? Olivia shook her head. Love was the greatest myth of all. Didn’t everybody know that?

A few hours later, Samuel climbed into the longboat headed for shore. The second his feet touched the wood, he started swearing. “What the hell are you doing here?” His crew gazed at their feet. A few looked toward the woman in disguise huddling behind Kelley, his large boatswain.

“I need to get supplies,” Olivia said, a tinge of hopefulness in her voice.

“I can take a list.”

“But I have particular needs.”

“So do I!”

There were a few guffaws that he quelled with a death glance.

“Please don’t be difficult, Captain,” she tried again. “It’s Gibraltar. British. My people. It’s as safe as could be. And I’ve never been. I want to see as much as possible. Can’t you understand? No, of course you can’t. You’ve had the privilege of traveling everywhere. I’ve seen nothing. This is my first adventure. My first port. Please, can’t you consider it … please?”

Samuel folded his arms over his chest. She had clearly won over his men in the boat with her plaintive, pathetic begging. Hell, even he felt sympathetic to youthful yearning. They had all been there. He studied her outfit. She’d improved the disguise. The beard and mustache now matched her natural coloring, and somehow she had given herself a man’s chest. Disappointing, but very effective. Her coat was long enough to cover the rest. Her eyes were gray and pleading … A woman that smart had to know what they did to men. He should know better than to give in to a pretty face. Hell, it was currently a scruffy face. He should be stronger.

He sighed. “All right.”

There were cheers of success. Kelley even gave a good-on-ya slap on the shoulder that knocked her off her seat. She adjusted her cap and smiled sheepishly, slugging him back in the arm before wincing at the effect on her weak fist. She’d have to work on that.

“But stay with us. No wandering off. And try not to speak.”

She nodded.

“We’ll keep an eye on the professor, Cap’n,” one of the men promised. The others agreed. Samuel took his seat, curious, eyeing the lady professor. Somehow she had managed not to alienate everyone. Interesting.

She smiled wide. The men smiled back, approving. She turned to him and he found himself responding the same. There was the smile. His stomach twisted. Even with facial hair, it was a damned heartbreaking smile.

He looked to shore, focusing on his next task.

They were entering dangerous waters tomorrow, and the two Portuguese ships that had accompanied them weren’t continuing past Gibraltar. He was picking up a Stafford brig, but one or two more ships would be safer. It looked like there were several in port. Perhaps they would get lucky.

Olivia lengthened her stride to keep pace. She tried not to smile, but she couldn’t help it. Certainly the waterfront area was a little rough, but she was with rough men, protected by the toughest captain sailing the Mediterranean. That’s what Kelley had said. He was a wealth of information. Half of which she could not understand due to his Irish accent, but he was free enough with the information.

They worked their way to the town center. Olivia knew from her reading that Gibraltar continued to undergo rebuilding since the nearly four-year siege had ended in ’83. There were new buildings already in use and others going up, making it a small but bustling port.

A collection of pottery in a window display had her attention when she heard one of the men clear his throat. “Uh, Captain. Over there.” The very discreetness of the warning had Olivia on alert. She turned, as all the men had.

In the middle of the street was the object of their attention. A woman.

Not just any woman. A striking, voluptuous, dark-haired woman in a long red cotton skirt, and a white blouse hanging loosely off one shoulder. She stood still, accepting their regard as if accustomed to it and expecting it, but she only had eyes for Samuel. Captain Stafford, Olivia reminded herself, disturbingly ill at ease. Her stomach flipped with a new kind of sickness—something akin to worry.

The woman called out to him. In Portuguese, she guessed. Olivia knew Spanish, but not Portuguese. Just a few words. Enough to know it wasn’t Spanish. The captain grinned, and to Olivia’s surprise, responded in Portuguese.

Olivia watched in dismay as he strode to the woman, who in turn wrapped long arms around his neck and pulled his face down to hers. Olivia’s throat became strangely tight as she forced herself to watch. The two spoke in way that could only be described as intimate. Samuel pulled a small box from his coat pocket and gave it to her. The woman peeked inside, then closed it, giving him another full-mouthed kiss. It looked nothing like the kisses she had shared with him. Theirs had been quick. Probably because she was so awful at it.

She rubbed a hand over the ache in her chest, becoming even more conscious of her current lack of femininity. It hurt, but she took a deep, controlled breath, hoping the kiss would end. Now. Any moment. Any moment now …

He pulled away. Finally! Her body relaxed again. They did have other things to do, after all. She took another breath and stepped forward just as the other woman took Stafford’s hand to pull him away. To her lair, no doubt. Olivia felt ill. Someone had to save the poor man.

“Captain!” Olivia cleared her throat, working to make it a little deeper. It was naturally husky, so that helped. “Uh, we were going that way.” She pointed in the other direction.

He looked at her, then at the woman, then at her and the men.

“Kelley, watch the professor. I need five minutes.” Then he turned away and walked into a small but quaint stone building.

Olivia felt ill. Then she thought it through. There was no reason for her to care, and anyway nothing could happen in five minutes.

“That’s Margueritte. She’s sort of the local, uh, message center,” Kelley said.

“Like the post?”

“Sort of, yeah. People leave messages with her. She gives them others.”

“Oh.” Olivia wasn’t so sure they really knew what was up. Clearly this woman did more than deliver messages.

“Come on, Professor,” one of the men urged. “It’s going to be a lot longer than five minutes. We’ll get a bite to eat at the market.”

The men chuckled, and Olivia knew exactly who Margueritte was. Samuel’s mistress. The clarity and shock of it stunned her. Not that it should have. Men in England had mistresses. He was male. He had money. He could afford mistresses. Maggot—that is, Margueritte, she corrected in her head—was beautiful. In a dark, mysterious way that Olivia supposed lured innocent men into relishing the very weakness that caused them to keep mistresses. But it was none of her business. If he was a weak-willed, imperceptive, lust-inflicted man, why should she care? As long as he got her to Egypt … That was all that mattered.

Fretting, she stumbled in a small hole in the road and caught herself.

She certainly did
not
care. She was just annoyed. Her suit didn’t fit properly today. It pulled here and tugged there. She fought with the collar, refusing to look back to see if he was trying to catch up with them.

She looked.

No sign.

Olivia followed the other men, her day suddenly not as exciting as it had been, her shoulders drooping under the heavy jacket. She’d been looking forward to her first port. Admittedly, she thought he would show it to her, at least a little bit. Not that she wasn’t perfectly able to explore on her own. Likely she knew more about Gibraltar than anyone on the ship.

They stopped at an outdoor market, and Kelley directed some of the men to get specific supplies. The men then made a picnic of it, laying out bread, meats, and supplies on one of the tables set up for locals who gathered. Olivia did not think she could eat. How long had it been? Thirty minutes? She sat on an old barrel and looked at the wrapped chicken leg. The sky was blue, the air was fresh, and primitive though the dining was, it smelled good. This was an adventure.

Instead she felt too weak to lift the roasted meat.

“Not the chicken sort, Professor?”

She jumped. The voice had sneaked up on her from behind. Him! She turned and looked up. He smiled down.

Then she turned away, jealous of the cause of the smile. Thirty minutes. It had taken five to walk to the market. That meant twenty-five minutes. She sighed.

“I had to stop for something,” he said, laying a package on her lap.

He’d stopped to make a purchase! That most definitely would have limited his time with Maggot—er, Margueritte.

“It’s for you.”

Stunned, she ripped it open, unable to control her excitement.

“Go ahead and open it,” he said, wryly.

It was a brown leather bag with a long strap. She stared. Surprised. Not at all feminine. Not jewelry, but she didn’t need jewelry.

“I thought since you’re going to be in the sand and dust—”

“It’s wonderful, Stafford! It can hold my journal and writing instruments and even some artifacts that I might discover. Perfect for adventuring! Thank you so much.”

He pulled up another barrel and the men moved so he could squeeze in next to her. She put the strap over her shoulder, lifted her chicken leg, and bit down. It was the best chicken she’d ever had. She chewed and glanced up to see some of them staring at her. Then at the captain.