Page 49 of The Hired Hero
“We’re nearly at Portsmouth—look ahead.”
She sat up, blinking in surprise at the sight of the four-decker flying under full sail toward the Lizard.
“It’s quite awesome, isn’t it? Let us hope our navy can help put an end to Napoleon and all the bloodshed and destruction his visions of grandeur have caused.”
“You have no sympathy for the emperor? Many people on the Continent have welcomed his return with open arms.”
His brow creased. “I can’t imagine any rational person being gulled into believing the man cares for aught but personal glory. And at what cost? The sooner he is stopped, the better—but then, I imagine neither politics nor Napoleon are paramount in your thoughts.”
A small sound rumbled in her throat, but she said nothing in reply.
As they approached the entrance to the harbor, the waters bubbled with activity. Luggers loaded with supplies darted under the bows of merchant ships that were setting out for the Atlantic, and coastal schooners gave way to several frigates that were flying the ensign of the Channel Fleet.
“Best fix your hair,” advised Davenport as he kept a sharp watch on the ships around them.
Caroline found her cap and, with a few deft twists, quickly arranged her locks to fit snugly under the thick wool. There was no further conversation as the earl had to navigate a series of rapid tacks to avoid colliding with a squadron of two-deckers that was taking advantage of the ebb tide.
At last, they rounded the stone breakwater and ghosted into Portsmouth.
Fourteen
Davenport chose to put in at a dock where a score of burly sailors was engaged in wrestling a cargo of barrels loaded with salt pork up the gangplank of a barge. Amid the curses, grumblings and harried admonitions of the young lieutenant in charge, nobody took note of the small vessel that was dropping sail on the far side of the pilings or its two nondescript occupants. The earl made sure the canvas was neatly furled and the mooring lines securely fastened to the massive iron cleats before taking Caroline by the elbow and hustling her toward the alleyway that was cutting between a ship’s chandlery and a sailmaker’s loft. Her first steps were somewhat unsteady, causing his grip to tighten.
“Steady,” he hissed in her ear. “Walk smartly, now. The less attention we attract, the better.” He gave a quick glance around. “And let us hope the press gangs are not out tonight,” he added under his breath. That would entail a good deal of explaining that he would dearly like to avoid.
“Stop yanking me about. I’m quite capable of making my own way,” she muttered. “In fact, you can?—”
He shook her into silence as they emerged from the alley onto a busier cobbled street. A group of men staggered past them, singing an extremely bawdy song and laughing uproariously as they struggled to remember all of the verses. Caroline eyed them until they were out of earshot.
“What is a sodomite?” she whispered to Davenport. “And how does he…”
“Never mind!” snapped the earl as he gave her arm another shake.
“Ouch!”
He let go of her. “Ye gods, keep your head down. And turn the collar of your jacket up.”
He hurried her through the glow of lamplight from a tavern window. The noise that was coming from within its smoky confines gave evidence that the place was not lacking in either clientele or high spirits.
Davenport came to a halt after they passed into the shadows. “I need to go ask from which inn the coaches depart for London.” He hesitated as he looked around, contemplating what to do…only to spot two gentlemen as they emerged from the tavern and turned in their direction.
“Hell and damnation,” swore the earl. “It’s my friend, Lord Hartford. He’s bound to recognize me, and given that our nemesis knows my name, that could put us in danger.”
“Well, then do something,” whispered Caroline. “And quickly!”
* * *
Davenport mutteredsomething under his breath, then suddenly seized her around the waist and pushed her back against the brick wall. His lips came down on hers, hard at first, then softening as if he, too, were as surprised by his actions as she was.
Caroline’s first impulse was to pull away. But for some reason, after the initial shock, she merely tilted her head back in order to voice a protest.
“Hush,” he murmured as his lips left hers for a moment. “Trust me—they will quickly depart.”
His mouth was back against hers in the next instant, and his tongue was brushing her lips in a manner that was most…intriguing. The sensation sent a jolt of heat through her, as potent as the earlier taste of brandy—and nearly as intoxicating. It was, she realized, utterly unlike any of the few kisses she had allowed her admirers to steal during a walk in the garden. Those had been, at heart, rather silly affairs.
There was nothing silly about the earl’s embrace.
As she tried to speak again, his embrace turned even more intimate. A shiver coursed through her. He tasted exotic—a mixture of fiery spirits and the tang of the sea. Feeling a bit dazed, Caroline wound her arms around his neck to steady herself. The earl drew her closer?—
