The sirens captain, p.7
The Siren's Captain, page 7
“But the comte refused to back down from his claims to the throne,” he said. “I had friends who served on the two ships that sank that day. More who were hit at Quiberon.”
Darkness beckoned. “I lost everyone I loved in that campaign. For what? France is still under Napoleon’s control, and he only grows greedier. He has set his sights on England, and unless we act, he will invade.”
Something of her frustration must have leaked through her words, for he took her hand. “We will stop him. Never fear.”
How many times had her father and his friends said the same thing? How many times had the comte vowed vengeance? She had feared they would never succeed.
Why did the quiet assurance of this man make her believe at last?
Chapter Seven
Quill was never sure afterward what else he intended to say. The sorrow in her lovely voice, the pain etched around her eyes and mouth, told him she still grieved the loss of her father and blamed the tyrant across the sea for his death. He understood. Though he had always been cautious in his friendships, likely a result of his early years at the foundling home, he too had seen comrades fall in battle. This war could not end soon enough.
Hugh and Maudie came through the door with tea, then. Ree stepped back from him, smile in place and face serene. Quill bowed her and Maudie into his two leather-bound chairs and went to draw in the cane-bottomed one from the kitchen for himself. Hugh laid out the teapot, cups, and saucers on the table between the chairs, and Ree poured. Though she kept up an easy conversation, tension shimmered in the air like mist off the sea at dawn. Maudie kept glancing out the windows, as if still caught up in the memory of her husband. Hugh hovered between the front door and the rear as if expecting someone to burst in at any moment.
Ree seemed content to take her time, as if relishing every slow sip. In fact, she refused to dislodge herself until Alex arrived mid-afternoon.
“You know this prolonged visit is going to raise a few brows, even with a chaperone,” Quill pointed out as he escorted her and her companion to the door.
She smiled up at him. “Then perhaps you should consider proposing, mon cher capitaine.” She wiggled her fingers in farewell.
“Faint heart never won fair lady,” Maudie advised. “Though I’m not sure how that saying applies to Sirens.” She followed Ree out.
Quill watched them until the wall of the spa hid them from view, then returned to the sitting room to find Alex and Hugh in conversation.
“Hugh told me what happened,” Alex said, all alert. “What are your orders, Captain?”
“Search the property,” he said. “We already made one sweep, but we were looking for your aunt.”
Alex frowned. “Something the matter with Aunt Maudie?”
Hugh snorted. “When isn’t there?”
Quill scowled at him. “Mrs. Tully is a charming lady. She will be treated as nothing less in my presence.”
Hugh dropped his gaze. “Aye, Captain.”
“Go on,” Quill said with a nod to Alex, who had watched the exchange with some satisfaction in his blue eyes. “See if you spot anything amiss—grass tamped down where someone was hiding, branches broken off a tree.”
“Aye, Captain,” he said before heading out the door.
Hugh crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t expect me to leave you. That’s just what this assassin would want.”
Quill sighed and resigned himself to company.
Though Alex found no sign of an intruder, neither of his men was willing to depart from his side that evening. Quill made sure to check in with James Tuesday morning.
His friend smacked his hands down on the arms of his desk chair. “So, she was right. We have another agent at large.”
“Perhaps,” Quill said. “Someone struck Hugh, but we still don’t know the reason or why they didn’t take advantage of the situation. Any change with the boat?”
James shook his head. “It still waits in the caverns. My cousin, Drake, is going mad wondering who brought it. Rosemary and Miranda, his daughter, have been over it twice, looking for any clue. Lark and Jesslyn tell me that every Newcomer is accounted for and seem to be what they claim.”
“Even a redheaded fellow about my height?” Quill asked. “He ran when Mademoiselle Fortier and I approached him the other day.”
James cocked his head. “I haven’t seen anyone of that description. Ask Jesslyn when you’re tarrying in the spa. At least no one has reported a break in or warned of smoke rising from cottages not let.”
“He could be hiding farther out, then,” Quill said. “Those French sailors this summer made do with one of the empty farmhouses closer to Upper Grace.”
“I’ll send word to the Army encampment at West Creech to search the outlying farm-steads,” James promised. “In the meantime, stay close to your bodyguard.”
Quill shuddered. “Which one? Mademoiselle Fortier hugs my side all day, Hugh and Alex all night. I can’t visit the necessary without someone hanging about the door.”
James grinned. “Such a difficult life, I’m sure. It shouldn’t be for much longer.”
Would that he had such faith. This Frenchman was all too good at hiding.
He found himself studying the visitors at the spa as he trailed after Ree that day. Regulars like Lord Featherstone, Mr. Crabapple, and the Admiral were above consideration. If they had been French agents, they’d have had plenty of opportunity to capture or kill him. Likewise, he discounted the physician, Doctor Bennett. He may have first come to Grace-by-the-Sea this summer, but he’d proven himself a staunch ally in the fight against the French. He and his wife, the lovely and talented Abigail, had identified one of the agents this summer. Quill checked with Jesslyn, who confirmed that she and her husband, Lark, the local Riding Surveyor for the Excise Office, had cleared the Newcomers who crowded the spa, with nary a redhead in sight. He trusted her implicitly. Few cared more for the village and its inhabitants.
And no one troubled her spa.
So, left with nothing else to do, he behaved like a gentleman Tuesday and Wednesday, charming the ladies, befriending the fellows, always making it clear whenever he visited the spa that he was there because of his affection for Ree. No one unexpected approached him, there or at the cottage, where Alex and Hugh took turns watching over him more closely than a feverish child. If it wasn’t for Ree’s company, he thought he might have gone mad.
“Dark of the moon tonight,” Maudie told him, slipping up to his side on Wednesday and gazing at him with her solemn grey eyes. “Good night for smuggling.”
“And how much should I know about smuggling?” he teased her.
“Not much lately,” she said with a humph. She handed him a crosshatched piece of paper. “Here are my wishes. See that you don’t disappoint.” She glanced both ways, then hurried to join Mr. Guthrie by the fountain. The curly-haired fellow looked nearly as besotted as Quill.
He frowned as he glanced down at the paper. “Mother of pearl comb like the mermaids wear?”
“Treasure indeed,” Ree said, taking Maudie’s place at his side with a brush of her white muslin skirts. “Is that what she wants you to bring back from France?”
“Apparently. Along with Alencon lace and,” he squinted at the overlapping words, “honey beetles?”
“Honey bottles?” she suggested. “Though why you would need to send to France for honey is beyond me. Surely there are English bees.”
“Ah, but French bees are more likely to visit lavender fields,” Quill said, tucking the note into his coat pocket. “I understand that gives the honey a unique flavor. I’ll have to see what I can do.”
She took a step closer and lowered her voice. “But you will not go yet?”
“No, worse luck,” he said. “I doubt you or my men would allow it.”
“Good. And you intend to make the proposal tonight?”
The proposal. Of course. Tonight was the weekly assembly, and he was expected to do the pretty. “I’ll be there,” he promised her.
It was one more role to play, one more act in their drama. Yet, as the day waned, he found himself unaccountably jittery. He shifted his shoulders to make sure the gold braid of his uniform sat correctly, rubbed the toe of his evening pump against the carpet for a little extra polish.
“You want another cravat?” Hugh asked, eyeing him as Quill peered into his shaving mirror to make sure nothing was stuck between his teeth.
“No,” Quill said, setting down the mirror and raising his head. “It isn’t as if she’s going to refuse me, not unless she’s caught the assassin this afternoon.”
Which was an oddly discomforting thought.
As it was, he strolled the short distance to the assembly rooms, which were just down the hill from Dove Cottage, and entered with his usual hauteur. James must have been watching for him, for his friend tipped up his chin in acknowledgement when Quill’s gaze caught his. Lark, who was standing with his oldest sister, also nodded a greeting. Lord Peverell went so far as to bend in a bow in Quill’s direction.
It seemed he was surrounded by friends. Why did his cravat feel as tight as a stopper knot?
As he moved into the crowded rooms, he noted other looks being directed his way—Mrs. Harding from the spa, Mrs. Greer and Mrs. Ellison from the village. Maudie gazed at him with narrowed eyes as if she knew exactly what he intended. And there, at her side, was Ree.
He’d never understood the poets’ fixation with leaping hearts and pounding pulses, but he could not deny that his heart jerked in his chest and commenced a tattoo as rapid as a drummer calling troops to battle.
He moved through the crowd, nodding to this one, smiling at that one. In a moment, he was at her side. “Mademoiselle Fortier, you outshine the stars tonight.”
She was gowned in white silk, with scallops of gold along the daring neckline and a gold ribbon tied under her impressive chest. Her jet black hair was done up in a casual knot, with a tendril loose over one shoulder, begging for his touch. If she had intended to complement his dark navy uniform with its gold frogging and epaulets, she could not have chosen better.
She simpered at him. “And you, Capitaine, so commanding in your colors. Every lady in the room will be sighing.”
“I care about only one lady in this room,” he said. He took her hand and bowed over it. “Would you honor me with a dance?”
“The honor would be mine.”
He led her to the set that was forming.
“Nicely done,” she murmured around her smile. “They will all be gossiping about us.”
“Let them talk,” he said. “We’ll be dancing.”
It was a rather more vigorous country dance than he’d expected, requiring some hopping about that his leg protested. He’d overstated the remains of the injury so often he sometimes forgot the wound could still trouble him. But the movements of the dance also required the gentlemen to grasp their partners by the waist and lift them into the air a moment. Ree’s gossamer giggle, the glow in her deep blue eyes, made every step a pleasure.
He led her off the dance floor as couples exchanged partners for the next set. Alex was bearing down on him as if determined to secure Ree’s hand, and Mrs. Greer was sweeping along the dance floor as if lying in wait to pounce upon him as well. The stage was set, the candlelight glowing. Now was the time.
~~~
Seldom had she enjoyed a dance more. Quill was all power on the floor, claiming her hand as if he would never let her go. Once again, he left her nearly breathless.
He tugged on her hand now, pulling her up short just at the edge of the dancing. She looked at him askance, and he went down on one knee in front of her. The remainder of her breath fled.
“Mademoiselle Fortier, Ree,” he said, captain’s voice making everyone around them stop to watch. “Your beauty, talent, and courage have swept me away. I cannot rest until I know that you are mine. Would you do me the honor of marrying me?”
Gasps rang out all around them, and the musicians in the alcove above the floor screeched to a halt. He seemed to see none of it. His dark gaze implored. His very posture said she had humbled him. It was as if everything depended on her answer.
“Yes, mon cher capitaine,” she said, grasping his hands and holding them in hers. “I have been waiting for you all my life. I do not want to wait another moment!”
He surged to his feet and enfolded her in his arms. Applause thundered, and voices cried out “Huzzah!” and “Well done!” She barely heard them over the thunder of her heart as his lips sought hers.
Oh, the sweet pressure, the silken touch. So tender, so soft, as if she were impossibly precious to him. Was that trembling coming from him, or her?
She could only gaze at him in wonder as he released her. The grin on his face made him look boyish, vulnerable. She wanted to clasp him close once more.
She should not feel this way. She knew this was all for show, an excuse to allow her to remain close to his side until they caught the assassin.
Why did it feel so real?
The others were completely taken in by the deception. They crowded close, wrung his hand, and clapped him on the shoulder. Jesslyn and Mrs. Harding hugged her, eyes shining. Lord Peverell pushed his way to the front. A tousled-haired blond with an easy manner, he beamed at Quill.
“Well done, indeed,” he said. “Hester hesitated a full half hour before responding.”
“I most certainly did not,” his betrothed, a tall, honey-haired woman, scolded as she joined him. “Though I admit to waiting longer than my heart dictated.”
“Well, it certainly felt like an eternity to me,” the viscount insisted before turning to Quill and Ree again. “You both must attend our wedding on Friday.”
“We sent you an invitation, Captain St. Claire,” his bride-to-be put in. “I haven’t seen a response.”
Quill slipped one arm about Ree’s waist as if loath to be parted from her for even a moment. “I regret that I have been too busy to take notice of the mail. My bride-to-be and I would be delighted to join you.”
A wedding of a peer of the realm? Dozens were likely to attend, many strangers to the local area. It would be an excellent place for an ambush. Ree opened her mouth to demur, but his lordship forestalled her.
“Actually, I was hoping Mademoiselle Fortier might favor us with a song,” his lordship said.
“Rob,” his bride said before turning to Ree. “I’m afraid Lord Peverell is the impetuous sort. You should not feel obliged to sing, mademoiselle. We would simply enjoy your company at our union.”
And wasn’t that kind of her? Ree was rarely invited to society events unless it was to perform. As if he realized he might have implied she was no more than the hired help, the viscount was reddening.
“I would be delighted to sing at your reception,” she told them. “Perhaps you could think of a song or two that pleases you.”
“Thank you,” Lord Peverell said with a bow. “You are graciousness itself.”
Jesslyn must have signaled the musicians, for they began playing again, and the others grabbed their partners and headed back to the set. Quill drew Ree against the far wall.
“Did that meet with your approval?” he asked, gaze searching hers.
He could not mean the kiss, which had exceeded all expectations. “Your performance was impeccable,” she assured him. “No one could doubt your devotion to me.”
“Nor yours for me,” he said. “Do you mind attending the Peverell wedding? He’s been a help to me. It was through him we captured the most recent French agent.”
So, that was the connection. “It will be fine. A large affair, I take it?”
“Huge,” he said. “I think the besotted fellow invited everyone in the area, he’s that pleased with his bride.”
“How sweet.” She watched the couples out on the floor, swinging about. Closer to hand, others promenaded past, nodding respectfully to her and Quill.
“I suppose since we have publicly announced our betrothal, we should at least pretend to plan our wedding as well,” he said. “If I know Jesslyn and Mrs. Harding, they will be sure to quiz you about it tomorrow.”
“Very likely.” She laced her fingers with his. “So, what will it be? A military affair with crossed sabers to duck under?”
He chuckled. “Nothing so bloodthirsty. Friends and family invited, though I have few enough of the former and none of the latter.”
Ree frowned. “No family? Brothers, sisters, cousins?”
“No one that ever claimed me,” he assured her blithely. “I don’t recall my mother. I grew up in a foundling home in London. It was supported by the Royal Family, so of course there were rumors that we were the illegitimate children of some prince.”
“Did you run away to join the Navy, then?” she asked, fascinated. “I’ve heard youths enter as cabin boys and end up captains.”
“Some do,” he allowed. “When I was ten, a benefactor paid for me to attend Eton. I never knew who it was, but that sponsorship only fueled the rumors about me. The other lads were certain I was the son of Prince George and a Romany princess.”
“Double royalty,” she teased.
“Nothing less,” he said with a grin. “The same benefactor arranged for a midshipman’s berth for me two years later. I have a feeling he may have died since, as no more fortuitous events have befallen me.”
“Or perhaps he was satisfied his investment bore fruit,” she said. “A foundling boy, now a naval captain and a hero to his country. It’s the stuff of legends.”
“Perhaps,” he said as if already tired of the subject. “But what of you? Your parents are also gone. No family to claim acquaintance?”
“None,” she admitted. “Some friends in London who helped me after Father died. I would certainly invite them to my wedding. And Captain Dorland.”
