Page 47 of The Hired Hero
If she didn’t turn up in the next hours, he couldn’t afford to chase around any longer. He had an alternative, of course…
He always did.
The walking stick resumed its drumming. He had hoped to avoid putting it into action, for, admittedly, the risk was far greater. But at least it would leave nothing to chance.
* * *
The waves began kickingup into whitecaps as soon as the boat left the shelter of the cove. Low, scudding clouds darkened the horizon around the Isle of Wight, hinting at a stiffening wind and perhaps some rain.
“Can you take the tiller for a moment?” called Davenport as he surveyed the spread of canvas. “I think it might be wise to put a reef in the mainsail, just to be safe.”
Caroline moved from where she had just finished belaying the jib sheet to take over the steering. The earl watched her with grudging approval. “It’s a good thing you weren’t exaggerating your experience in a boat. I fear we are in for a bit of a blow.”
She squinted at the craggy shoreline. “Are there any charts below? How shall we navigate to Portsmouth?”
“If we stay within sight of land, it won’t be a problem. But if we can’t make it there by dusk, it would be best to put into some smaller harbor for the night.”
A frown creased her features. “Why don’t we leave the sail as it is, then? We shall make better time.”
She stood straight up at the stern, head tilted back, chin thrust forward into the teeth of the oncoming weather. The wind was blowing straight in her face, and her hair, which she hadn’t yet bothered to pin back under her cap, was streaming out past her shoulders like the flying colors of a naval frigate. Flecks of spray were clinging to her cheeks, and her eyes had a dogged sparkle to them that was not due entirely to the beads of water. In response to a sudden gust, she instinctively eased up on the tiller so the boat did not lose way.
Davenport found himself grinning in spite of himself—she looked every bit as resolute as a post captain at the helm of a ship of the line. “It may get wet,” he warned, for already, the lee rail was nearly buried in the foaming water.
“I’d rather be wet than delayed yet again.”
“Very well.” And he took another turn of the mainsheet. “Hold on to your hat!”
* * *
A few hours later,Caroline was close to regretting her words. Not only was she soaked with spray, but the temperature had dropped considerably, so she was chilled to the bone as well. Her bare fingers were so stiff they could scarcely manage to work the lines that the earl had sent her scrambling to loosen, and the combination of salt and rough hemp had rubbed them raw. Still, she voiced no complaint. They were fairly flying across the churning sea. Surely, Portsmouth could not be far off.
“Are you all right?”
Her tongue was too numb with cold to form words. Her reply came out as a mere croak.
Davenport motioned for her to return to the shelter of the cockpit. She crawled awkwardly back across the slick deck and took a seat beside him. At the sight of her shivering limbs, his mouth compressed, but just as he began to speak, a sudden squall caught them from astern. The force of the wind knocked the mast nearly horizontal with the churning seas, sending Caroline sprawling toward the lee gunwale. Only the earl’s lightning-quick grasp saved her from disappearing beneath the foaming waters. As it was, her left side was soaked to the skin, which set her teeth to chattering uncontrollably.
Just as suddenly, the wind died, the sky took on a less ominous hue and the seas became calmer. Davenport threw a leg over the tiller to keep the boat on course, then took Caroline’s hands between his and began chafing them. She closed her eyes as the warmth started to seep back into her fingers. Without quite knowing how it happened, when she opened her eyes, she found her head was settling on his shoulder.
“Oh!” She straightened and made a show of brushing the hair back from her cheeks. “Sorry.”
He shrugged out of his coat and draped it over her shoulders.
“No, please. You’ll catch a chill yourself, sir.”
“Nay, the wind has dropped.”
Davenport must have noted that she was still shivering, for he reached out and pulled her closer. As he settled back against the rail, there was a muffled clink against the varnished wood. He reached into the pocket of his coat and extracted the bottle of brandy.
“Here, a swallow of this will help warm you.”
She looked askance, first at the bottle and then at him. “I’m not sure that is a good idea, my lord. The last time you gave me strong spirits, it wasn’t a pleasant experience for either of us.”
Davenport chuckled. “I shall refrain from pouring half the bottle down your throat in this instance.” He took a swig himself and then held it out to her.
After a moment’s hesitation, she accepted and tentatively let a small taste pass her lips. A sharp cough nearly sent it back from where it had come. Her face puckered. “It does set fire to your innards,” she muttered as she passed the bottle back.
The earl merely grunted and placed it back in her hands. “Give it another try.”
