Page 18 of Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman

‘Mr Anders,’ Greville corrected softly, holding the man’s gaze. He might pay for it later if Englemere’s intervention didn’t succeed and he ended up under this man’s authority, but he had ultimate confidence in cousin Nicky’s influence. And he did not intend to bend to this petty tyrant.

The lieutenant looked away first. ‘You are dismissed.’

Greville closed the office door after him and turned to see the gunner grinning. ‘Mustn’t mind ol’ Belcher, sir. Likes to act important, as if he was still aboard a man-of-war, standing the quarterdeck watch. Hard on him, being passed over for promotion. With the cutbacks in the Navy and the war ended, he knows he’ll probably never get a command—unless he finds a rich wife to buy him one, like that Miss Neville you was speaking of.’

‘Gunny, were you listening at the door?’

‘Can’t help if yer voices was a bit loud,’ the sailor replied.

Recalling Belcher’s contempt for sailors, Greville said, ‘Though I imagine you’d welcome his transfer, I have to say I’m glad the lieutenant will never get a command.’

‘The devil of it is, I understand he’s a damn good sailor. But he’s got the making of a flogging captain if anyone does, and there’s nothing worse in the fleet. So you lived on the deck plates, you a gentleman ’n all?’ Porter shook his grizzled head. ‘Seems near impossible.’

Greville remembered his shock and despair when the truth had finally sunk in that he was not going to be able to talk his way off the ship. ‘It nearly was.’

With neither the training nor experience as a sailor, suffering from the unaccustomed labour and poor food, for a time he feared he might never leave the fleet save with his feet weighted down, slipped over the side under the cover of a union   Jack.

‘Had it not been for the doctor who tended me and one old salt who’d been at sea since he was a five-year-old powder monkey, I might not have survived. He kept the bullies from tormenting me, went out of his way to teach me how to perform my duties.’

‘Had a friend meself among Illustrious’s crew. Everyone called him Old Tom, been in the service since sails was first made, he used to say. You woulda known him, I expect.’

‘Indeed, I did! It was Old Tom who helped me. An excellent sailor, and I’ve never met a finer man,’ Greville said warmly.

‘We sailed the China coast together, and there weren’t never a better Jack Tar in a gale or a fight. Sure wouldn’t mind having more of his ilk here, what with what’s going on now.’

Greville recalled Lord Bronning warning his son about smugglers and the concern the lieutenant had just expressed. ‘What is going on?’

‘Always been smugglers here—how could there not be, close as we be to the French coast and duty on brandy and fripperies being so high? Things been run for years by John Rattenbury out of Beer, a right kindly gentleman the folks hereabouts call Rob Roy. But lately, a gang from Sennlach near Land’s End been trying to take over his territory, led by an out-and-out cutthroat more fit to captain a pirate crew.’

Porter shook his head. ‘Black John fired at the last revenue cutter that got close to his ship, wounding three and killing one sailor outright afore he slipped away into the mist. I hear he gets local people to move goods for him—whether they be willing or not.’

‘Is that why there are no cutters at anchor now?’

‘Aye, they’re all out looking for him, though I’m not so sure the next dust-up won’t come on land. There were a fight between Black John’s men and Rob Roy’s last month over how they was forcing some folk to store his cargo. Then, just last week, Farmer Johnson was found murdered. It’s said he refused to hide contraband for Black John. My friends in the village tell me some in Salters Bay been saying they better stand up to Black John afore he takes out them what resist him, one by one.’

‘Sounds like a man who needs killing. I don’t think I’m able yet to wield a cutlass with any force, but I’d be glad to help out if I can.’

‘You get yourself healed first afore you think of joining a fight,’ Porter advised. ‘Well, I reckon the lieutenant will send word when the Admiralty makes up its mind.’ He patted Greville on the arm. ‘It’s the Navy, though. Don’t expect it will be quick.’

Greville thought of the enticing Miss Neville. ‘Slow is fine with me.’

The old seaman chuckled. ‘Wouldn’t expect nothing else from a man who’s hanging his hammock in the house of a beauty like Miss Neville!’

Who was by now probably waiting for him at the inn. Cheered by that thought—and by recalling the arrogant Lieutenant Belcher’s teeth-gnashing indignation at finding his subordinate on familiar terms with so rich and beautiful a lady—Greville bid the sailor goodbye and headed off to find the Knight and Dragon.

Chapter Eight

After an enjoyable lunch at the inn, during which Mr Anders kept them amused with naval anecdotes, Amanda let him hand her into the gig for the drive home.

For a few moments, the pleasant tingling sensation created by the touch of his hands at her waist halted all other thoughts. Then it faded and her present worries rushed back.

Their excursion was almost over, and she’d still not worked out how to have a private word with Mr Anders about whatever he might have learned of the smuggling threat. She didn’t think it wise to broach the matter in front of Althea; she had enough to worry about without having her Navy-mad cousin decide to go haring off investigating on her own. Or worse, take it into her head to help the free-traders bring in cargo, as Amanda suspected her bored brother George might be doing.

She hadn’t wanted to voice the fear to Papa, but after what he’d said about the local smugglers, the many nights her brother had absented himself and the mornings she’d caught him creeping in had taken on an ominous new meaning. If something as exciting as a battle between rival smuggling groups was going on, George would very likely want to be right in the thick of it.

She’d tried to send Althea off on an errand before they left the inn. But since the girl was perfectly indifferent to visiting the haberdasher or the local modiste and there was, alas, no bookseller in town, Amanda hadn’t been able to shake herself free of her cousin’s company after Mr Anders rejoined them.

There’d be no opportunity for a private chat now, with Althea seated right beside them in the gig. Tuning out her cousin’s chatter, Amanda tried to figure out how she might create a chance to talk with Mr Anders once they reached Ashton Grove.

‘…open air so energising, I believe I shall ride once we get home.’ Althea’s words penetrated her abstraction. Amanda looked up sharply to see her cousin direct a hopeful glance at Mr Anders. ‘Would you like to accompany me?’

To Amanda’s relief, Mr Anders said, ‘Perhaps another time, Miss Holton. Poor spirited as that makes me appear, I must confess to being somewhat wearied by our excursion today.’

Amanda didn’t doubt it. She’d seen how he’d grimaced, one hand going instinctively to cushion his wounded side after he’d hauled back on the reins to halt and then control their frightened team during the near-collision earlier.

He’d steadied them masterfully. That incident and the way he drove today demonstrated a skill at handling the ribbons any Society Corinthian might envy.

Had he been a Corinthian? He’d not yet explained how he came to enter the Navy as a mere common sailor. Amanda wished for once she was as heedless of proper behaviour as Althea and could just boldly enquire about this and several other very personal matters.

She knew he’d attended Cambridge. What else had he done for what looked to be thirty-odd years? Amanda had to admit to a very ill-bred curiosity.

She came back from her reverie to hear Mr Anders encouraging Miss Holton to proceed without him and chose a favourite path on which he might ride with her later.

Excellent, she thought. When Althea stepped down at the entryway to go change into her habit, she’d invent some excuse to remain in the gig while Anders returned it to the stables. That would gain her a snippet of time on their way back to the manor for her to speak with him.

It would be only a short walk across a flat bit of Ashton Grove land, but an unexpected thrill of anticipation ran through her. Would he think she was asking for something other than advice if she were bold enough to solicit his company?

She recalled that moment on the terrace at Ashton when, startled, her eyes had locked on his. Heat had blazed across her skin, her bosom, her lips. Every nerve awakened, she’d sensed the descent of his lips towards hers, anticipated the brush of his hands at her sides. Urgency flooded her to feel the warmth of his hard chest against her body, the press of his mouth upon hers.

Her face and ears flaming at the memories, surreptitiously she fanned herself, blessing the fact that Althea continued to chatter on, holding Mr Anders’s attention. Though her experience was limited, she did have some notion of what had transpired between them on the terrace. Now she felt acutely aware of him seated beside her, radiating a strength, warmth and boldness that urged her to draw closer.

Lust was the blunt name for the force pulling them together, a force, she was nearly certain, he felt as strongly as she. A year ago in the autumn, before her second aborted Season, Mama had taken her to the local assemblies in Exeter, to acquire a bit of town bronze before she had to appear under the far more exacting eyes of the London ton.

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