Page 50 of The Hired Hero
Somehow, she was aware that the footsteps that had been coming toward them had stopped.
“What the devil…” sputtered one of the men, disgust evident through the slur of drink.
“Call out the watch,” exclaimed his companion. “The filthy scoundrels should be clapped in irons and thrown in the gaol.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Caroline saw them retreat a few paces, then turn and hurry off in the opposite direction. Freeing her mouth from Davenport’s kiss, she drew in a gulp of air and managed to find her voice.
“I…I think they are gone.”
“Mmmmm.” His lips traced a feathery path along the curve of her jaw. “Are they?”
It was another moment before he slowly released her. Shaken, Caroline drew back a step and began to fiddle with rearranging her cap, which had fallen sadly askew. Though her clothes were still uncomfortably damp from the storm and the chill in the night air had deepened, she felt hot all over. The darkness, she hoped, would cover the fact that her face must have been several shades redder than normal.
That the earl appeared totally unaffected by what had just transpired didn’t help her composure.
“T-That was very clever of you, milord. But how did you guess such an…action would drive them away?”
Davenport took her firmly by the arm. “Perhaps your dear cousin will explain it to you at some later date—I most certainly will not.” He started marching her away from the harbor.
“But…”
“Kindly refrain from any further questions. Your garments may fool most onlookers in this darkness, but your voice will give you away, especially among this sort of crowd,” he growled.
Caroline drew in a sharp breath but did as he asked. In truth, she was having a hard enough time just concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other to think of something scathing.
* * *
The duke graspedthe gunwales of the lurching ship to keep from being tossed across the rainswept deck. Next to him, Lucien turned up the collar of his borrowed oilskin and shouted to be heard over the groaning of the rigging and the snap of wet canvas.
“The captain thinks the weather will break in another hour or two. Then he should be able to set us back on course.”
His uncle merely drummed his palms against the varnished rail and stared out into the roiling blackness. The wind had increased to near gale force, and all around them, men were scurrying up the ratlines to reduce sail.
“Come below, Uncle Thomas,” urged Lucien. “It does no good to stay up here. You must try to get some rest.”
Another wave crashed into the hull, sending a shudder through the oak timbers and rattling the brass six-pounders in their casings. The duke shook the water from his sodden coat and reluctantly followed his nephew down the narrow hatchway and into the officer’s wardroom. The two of them hunched forward to keep from knocking their heads in the cramped space as a young midshipman materialized to take their wet outer garments away. The first lieutenant stumbled in right on their heels.
“Your pardon, Your Grace,” he said. “The captain sends word that he will remain on deck until midnight watch, but he begs you to make use of his cabin for the remainder of the voyage.”
“And how long will that be?”
The man began to scratch at his chin, then remembered in whose presence he was. The speedy sloop and its crew were more used to carrying dispatches than important passengers. He straightened as best he could before replying.
“The barometer is dropping, Your Grace, so the wind should die down soon. Now, with the weather coming from the north and the taffrail showing a speed of…”
The duke fixed him with an impatient glare.
“Ah, I should think we will land around daybreak.”
“Thank you,” replied the duke, in a tone that indicated nothing less than dismissal.
The man slunk off.
Turning to Lucien, his uncle pulled a face and started to make his way aft. “I suppose you are right. Since the Fates seem to be conspiring against us, let us see if we can at least manage to snatch some sleep in this cursed weather.” Another lurch caused him to grab onto the edge of the table to keep his balance. “This damned ship is worse than a skittish hunter. May Neptune grant us the speed to touch down on English soil as soon as possible.”
He reached the door of the cabin and yanked it open. Lucien followed him into a space that was barely bigger than a horse stall at Roxbury Manor.
“Thank heavens that I never felt the urge to make the navy my career,” he mumbled as he hauled himself into a hammock that had been hastily strung up in a corner of the cabin while the duke wedged himself into the captain’s berth. A groan rumbled in his throat—one that was quickly echoed by his uncle. The sounds grew more pronounced each time the rough sea knocked the ship on its ear.
