The sirens captain, p.8
The Siren's Captain, page 8
“Of course. He brought us together.”
Ree grimaced. “Best not to mention that part. Too close to the truth.”
He nodded. “And will we marry here or in London?”
“Here, I think. The villagers will want to see their captain happy. And where will we honeymoon?”
“The Continent’s out until we vanquish Napoleon,” he mused. “The Swiss Alps?”
She shivered. “Too cold. What about Lyme Regis? I hear it has a fine set of assembly and tea rooms.”
“Never let Jesslyn hear you say it. She’s rather protective of her village.”
“Then we need go no further than Dove Cottage,” she said. “We can send your man on a holiday and cater to our own needs, just the two of us.”
Something kindled in his dark eyes. “I like the sound of that.”
So did she. And she had to remind herself again that this was all pretend.
Chapter Eight
“That cup better than usual?” Hugh asked after Quill had returned from the assembly and settled himself in front of the fire in the sitting room.
He took another sip of the rich chocolate. “No, not particularly. Did you do something differently?”
“Not a bit of it,” Hugh said, eyeing him warily from the door to the kitchen. “You just have this grin on your face, like the drink was special.”
It wasn’t the cup of hot chocolate, but the memory of the look on Ree’s face when he’d proposed that had made him smile. She’d been awed, overjoyed, the wonder of it even more evident in her tremulous kiss. She must be a superb actress, because, for a moment, even he had believed her.
Everyone else had too, according to James. His friend made sure to tell him when Quill popped in Thursday morning to see what other news might be had.
“Speculation ran rampant, as usual,” James confirmed, leaning back in his desk chair as Quill sat across from him. “Had you known her before coming here, perhaps? Were you sweethearts from your youth? Oh, and that Romany princess rumor is circulating again. It seems your mother was quite famous.”
Quill snorted. “So famous I’ve never found the least trace of her, among the Romany or anywhere else. Of course, I could say that of my father as well.”
“You never did discover the name of your mysterious benefactor, then?” James said casually.
Too casually. The hair on Quill’s neck rose. He refused to give any sign of it. “No,” he said. “The foundling home claimed the money came anonymously, through a banker who received it from a solicitor who discovered the instructions shoved under his door. A rather thorough way of preventing discovery.”
“Indeed.”
Quill cocked his head. “You know something.”
James raised his brows. “I know a great many things. To which do you refer?”
Quill leaned forward. “If you know the name of my benefactor, tell me. Otherwise, cease this game.”
Red crept up from under his friend’s perfectly tied cravat. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up until I knew more.”
“Out with it,” Quill demanded.
James sighed as if resigned. “When my cousin, Drake, and I were studying the mess his father the late earl left of the finances, we found a number of things to concern us. It was evident that the last Earl of Howland funded smuggling in the area, turning a blind eye on the fact that some of those smugglers were also in Napoleon’s pay. He also nearly bankrupted the estate with his lavish spending. And there were odd payments with no explanation.”
Quill stilled. “You think the earl was my benefactor?”
James grimaced. “I don’t know. That’s why I hesitated to tell you. The fellow threw money around, Quill, with the thinnest of documentation. Those payments could have been to his tailor, for all I know. But I’ve set a London solicitor, Julian Mayes, to look into the matter. If anyone can follow the trail, it’s him. I promise to tell you anything he brings to light.”
Quill nodded, forcing himself to relax. After so many years of ignorance, he was surprised he still cared.
“All is well,” he reported to Hugh, who was waiting along Church Street for him. His bosun still wasn’t comfortable around magistrates.
“Then it’s back to Dove Cottage?” Hugh asked. “The place is beginning to feel like a jail.”
Quill couldn’t agree more. “No. I’d like to see how you and Alex are coming along with the Siren’s Call. There’s a path up the headland behind the church. This way.”
One look at the schooner, and his spirits lifted. She was a fine vessel, a former packet ship, two-masted and fore-and-aft rigged, purchased with prize money and outfitted with two three-pound cannon amidships and a swivel gun in the bow. With her black sides and white canvas, she looked as sleek as she sailed, maneuvering well in close quarters and in shallow coves. Lord Peverell had graciously agreed to allow her to berth at his pier. The previous Lord Peverell, his late father, had had several large yachts he’d berthed there, but the current viscount appeared to have sworn off sailing. Not a surprise, when the sinking of his father’s latest yacht had resulted in the fellow’s death and the death of his wife and heir.
Now Quill walked her deck, inspecting the lines, the sheets. The sails were bundled on the yards but could be raised swiftly as needed.
Hugh, coiling a line near the rail, nodded to the pier. “We have company.”
Quill turned to find that several of the Peverell staff stood along the cliff above, watching him. He recognized two of the maids who had joined in the rout of the smugglers last month as well as the chef, Monsieur Antoine, and another burly fellow who might have been a gardener. He was new.
Closer to hand, young Ike Bascom stood on the pier itself, gazing up at the ship. No mistaking that longing.
“Come to rejoin my crew?” Quill called.
The youth tugged down the grey coat on his footman’s uniform. “Are you going out again soon?”
“I had hoped to go early next week,” Quill told him. “Why don’t you come along?”
Ike’s brown eyes turned down at the corners. “I have a duty here now.” He glanced back up the hill, where the roof and top story of the rambling, red brick manor house was just visible above the bare autumn trees. The chef and maids had retreated, but the gardener still watched.
“Who’s your friend?” Quill asked.
Ike’s gaze returned to Quill’s. “Darnell, I think they call him. He’s come to help clear away the debris from the storm and work on the grounds.”
Hugh muttered something. Quill ignored him.
“And does being Lord Peverell’s footman satisfy you?” he asked.
His skepticism must have been evident, for Ike nodded so hard his brown hair fell over his forehead. “His lordship and Miss Peverell are very kind, and it’s steady work. I’m finding there’s a comfort in steady. You’ll find out shortly, when you marry Mademoiselle Fortier.”
Had he ever had steady? There had been a routine at the foundling home—breakfast at eight, dinner at four, bed no later than six so as to use the least number of candles. But lessons had been scattered according to the visits of the ladies volunteering to teach them, and discipline had been inflicted according to the whims of the staff. The Navy had had its regulations, with its watches and bells and respect for authority, but he’d never been sure when he’d be called into action to fire on the enemy or repel boarders.
The closest thing to steady had been his life in Grace-by-the-Sea, and even that had been punctuated by stealthy trips to France, when a naval vessel, from either country, might suddenly decide he was the enemy and blow him out of the water.
Perhaps there was something to be said for steady.
He was still pondering the matter when he returned to Dove Cottage later that morning after assuring himself that the Siren’s Call was ready to sail whenever it suited him. Hugh kept glancing about, as if expecting an attack at any moment.
“A marksman with a long gun could pick us off easily along here,” he pointed out as they climbed down the path from the headland to St. Andrew’s.
Quill glanced out over the village. “He’d likely have to be up on a roof, and we’d see him against that thatch. Besides, this so-called assassin has been remarkably quiet the last few days.”
“Waiting his chance?” Hugh suggested as they came out at the church.
“Or moved on to another target?” Quill countered.
He was less confident about that assessment as they approached Dove Cottage. From the rear of the building, shouts rang out, along with the clang of blades clashing. Hugh grabbed his arm to hold him back.
“He’s come for us,” he cried, eyes wild.
“He?” Quill pressed. “Who?”
Hugh dropped his grip and jerked back, as if preparing to flee. “Napoleon, of course.”
Not the emperor but his henchman. The possibility pumped fire through Quill. Finger to his lips, he motioned Hugh to the door. They slipped inside, and Quill went to open his sea chest to retrieve his cutlasses.
They weren’t there.
He sucked in a breath as Hugh edged up to him. Was it Alex this time, out there fighting for his life? No time to prime a pistol, and the gun would only give him one shot, which might not be enough. Instead, he seized up the poker from the hearth and headed for the kitchen, Hugh scuttling behind.
The rear door stood open once more, but the room was empty. Grunts and clangs sounded from the yard. Quill crept to the door and peered around the jamb.
“Harder,” Ree said as she faced Alex, cutlass in one hand and her skirts gathered in the other. “I am not made of glass.”
“Neither is my sister,” he said, circling and holding his own cutlass at the ready, “and I wouldn’t like to face her either.”
“Neither would I,” Quill said, leaving the poker in the kitchen and strolling out into the yard as if his heart wasn’t still roaring in his chest. “Though I would be just as concerned if you take a piece off my first mate. Care to explain yourself, Ree?”
~~~
He was being dense again, but this time on purpose, she thought. It had come to her this morning that one way to protect him was to ensure his men knew how to fight. She’d been looking for an excuse to leave the village in any event. Everyone from the chambermaid at the inn to the ladies she met on the street were congratulating her on her upcoming nuptials. Even Lord Peverell had been felicitous when he’d come to discuss the song he wanted her to sing at his wedding breakfast. For the first time, she struggled to lie.
Why? This was part of the plan to protect him. This was her purpose in being here. Yet the villagers and spa guests were all so sincere, so very happy for her. Always before she had deceived villains in the cause of aiding England. These people had done nothing wrong.
She’d tried practicing the song she intended to use as her finale, but even then people gathered under her windows as if enthralled. So, she’d escaped to Dove Cottage to see about testing Hugh and Alex. Now that she and Quill were betrothed, she’d hoped others might be more tolerant of her visiting him without a chaperone.
Alex, the only one here when she’d arrived, had thought otherwise. “Are you here alone?” he’d asked when he’d answered her knock, head craning right and left as if her companion might be hiding among the shrubs of the front garden.
“Yes,” Ree said. “Let me in so I can speak to Captain St. Claire.”
His gaze came back to her. “The captain appears to have gone out.”
Ree glared at him. “Without your protection?”
“Hugh’s gone too,” he pointed out. But he’d opened the door wider and allowed her into the house.
“And failed to even lock up, it seems,” she said, shaking her head as she strode into the entry hall.
“I have a key,” Alex explained. “They may be down at the ship. The captain doesn’t like leaving her alone long.”
Why was she suddenly jealous of a floating piece of wood? “It’s you I need to see in any regard. Do you have a cutlass?”
He frowned. “Of course. It’s down at the ship.”
She shook her head. “Well, that will not do. Surely the captain has a weapon. He is supposed to be a pirate, after all.”
“Smuggler,” he corrected her. “And he owns a brace of pistols, a pair of cutlasses, and various knives, from what I’ve seen. I’m not sure he’d like us anywhere near them.”
“A shame he is not here to tell me that.” She started down the corridor for the kitchen. “Find the cutlasses and meet me in the rear yard. We have work to do.”
It had taken quite a bit of convincing, but he’d finally agreed to show her how well he fought.
“I am merely assessing Mr. Chance’s skills,” she told Quill now as the young man backed away from her, cutlass pointing at the ground.
“Perhaps we could forego a sharp blade for the assessment,” Quill said, stepping between them. “Someone might get hurt.” He narrowed his gaze at Ree. Around him, Alex grinned at her. But she saw the look in Quill’s eyes. He was more concerned she might hurt his man than whether Alex had any ability to harm her.
She lowered her blade. “Perhaps you have practice swords.”
“Alas, no,” he said. “I have little need to practice. But if you’d surrender your weapon to Hugh, I’ll have him wrap the blades in leather so there’s less chance of injury.”
“Very well.” She lowered her blade and flipped the hilt to offer it to his bosun. Hugh took it gingerly.
“Shouldn’t have to fight a lady,” he grumbled, but one look from Quill and he was ambling for the cottage. With a salute to her with his sword, Alex followed him.
“We haven’t had to fight on our crossings,” Quill said in the quiet that followed. A stray breeze tugged at the black of his hair, setting it to rippling. “But most men I know have experience with the sword, at least.”
“Very likely Hugh and Alex are skilled,” Ree acknowledged. “It would be good to be certain. And I was looking for an excuse to leave the village in any event.”
He frowned. “Someone troubling you?”
“Not on purpose.” She rubbed her hands to smooth out the wrinkles on her pelisse. “The ladies of Grace-by-the-Sea are overjoyed you have decided on a bride. I was surrounded by well-wishers everywhere I went.”
He cocked a smile. “And that requires an escape?”
Ree sighed. “Yes. You see, a few wanted to know how I had won your regard, as if I had some secret to capturing such a man.”
He took a step closer, dark gaze brushing hers. “It’s no secret. You’re beautiful and talented, and you care passionately about your cause.”
“Yes, well, a little humility is generally more effective than pointing out the obvious,” she said. “And, of course, the ladies cannot know that I am trying to bring down Napoleon.”
“They’d only warm to you more if they did,” he assured her.
She couldn’t quite believe that. Few knew of her efforts to help the War Office, but even practicing with her father and his friends had made some of the lady émigrés view her with suspicion. Allowing anyone below the aristocracy to bear arms was what had forced them from their homeland, after all. Or so they reasoned.
“They are warm enough as it is,” she assured him. “Mrs. Greer has asked me to call her Artemis, and I had an invitation this morning to take tea at Castle How with the countess and dowager countess.” She shook her head at the very idea.
He chuckled. “You’ve sang for royalty. Two countesses should not present a problem.”
“Standing in front of an audience is one thing,” Ree told him. “Sitting politely over tea is another. I’m not sure what to say, what to do.”
“Just don’t challenge them to a sword fight, and you should be fine,” he said.
Hugh came back then, both of the swords wearing black leather sheaths. “Alex claimed the need to visit his auntie,” the bosun said, clutching the swords close. “He didn’t want to fight her, if you ask me.”
“Then I suppose you’ll have to fight her,” Quill said.
Hugh jerked back. “Me? I fight fine. I don’t need to prove myself.”
“Perhaps not to your captain,” Ree allowed. “But proving it to me will only take a moment, if you are so skilled.”
His eyes narrowed, but he handed her one of the swords, then quickly backed away.
She shook her head again as she gripped the unwieldy blade. “How can I know how well he fights with these? They weigh more and will move slower.”
Quill crossed his arms over his chest. “They will have to do. It’s wrapped or nothing. Your choice.”
In answer, she raised her inelegant blade and took up the stance.
Hugh glanced from her to Quill. “Do I have to, Captain?”
“Yes,” Quill said. “Disarm her or put the blade to her neck, and this will be over.”
Hugh nodded. She thought he would bring up his blade as well, but he lunged at her with a wild yell.
Ree smacked down the blade and brought hers to his neck.
Hugh’s eyes went wide as he scrambled out of reach. “Not fair. I wasn’t ready. Two out of three?”
“Very well,” she said, but she didn’t lower her blade until he’d moved a little farther away.
He approached more cautiously this time, likely looking for any weaknesses. He favored his right side. An old injury, perhaps. She circled right, and he mimicked her as if to keep himself an equal distance away.
“On the deck of a sailing ship,” Quill put in, “there’s seldom time or space for this maneuvering.”
“True,” Ree said. “But I doubt your assassin will wait until you are on your ship.”
“She’s right, Captain,” Hugh said, glancing at Quill.
She lunged and caught him on the wrist. His sword tumbled to the ground to land with a puff of dust.
He rubbed his hand, gaze accusing. “That hurt.”
“Sorry,” she said, putting up her blade. “I am merely trying to see how well you would fare in a fight.”
