Regency High Society Vol 2: Sparhawk's Lady / The Earl's Intended Wife / Lord Calthorpe's Promise / The Society Catch. Miranda JarrettЧитать онлайн книгу.
one silly trick to fool George. But worse than Jeremiah’s warning was the way he said it, as curt an order as he’d give the lowliest sailor in his crew. It hurt, that order. Though she’d spent no time alone with him this past week as they’d hidden at Desire’s house, still Caro thought they’d gone beyond that. She’d thought they were friends, and a friend would have understood her unhappiness at wearing black. Wondering what she could do to set things right, she was miserably silent as they walked the length of the wharf to the sloop Raleigh tied to the very end.
“This little boat will take us clear to Naples?” she whispered anxiously.
“She’s not large, I’ll grant you that, but she looks sound enough,” answered Jeremiah gruffly. He wished now he hadn’t snapped at her, but damnation, if she’d kept up that business about Frederick, her voice getting louder and more panicky with every word, someone would have been bound to hear her. “The proof will lie in how the sloop takes the wind.”
“I suppose you’re right.” She stopped and looked up to the very top of the mainmast, holding her hat in place with one black-gloved hand. “It’s just that Naples is so very far away, and I’d imagined something more substantial. The ship that took Frederick was twice this size.”
He nearly remarked where that larger ship had gotten Frederick, but wisely didn’t. Instead, he merely patted her hand once again. He’d no right to make light of her misgivings when his own doubts could have sunk every ship in the harbor. He wondered if she was thinking the same thing, that a passenger’s cabin on board a sloop of this size was going to be scarcely big enough for them to turn around, and powerfully close quarters for two people who were only pretending to be married.
“Mr. Sparhawk?” The ruddy-faced man at the gangway squinted earnestly into the sun and wiped his palm on the front of his waistcoat before he held his hand out to Jeremiah. “I’m William Bertle, master of the Raleigh, and I welcome you and your lady here on board, indeed I do.”
Jeremiah took his hand, reassured by the other man’s calluses. He didn’t trust a captain who didn’t work beside his men, the way he always did. No, the way he had, when he still had a crew and ship.
Bertle bobbed from the waist toward Caro, a perfunctory bow at best. “My sympathies, ma’am. I’m sure your brother was a noble, fine gentleman, surely too good to die at the hands of those French rascals.”
Caro only nodded in return. Jeremiah and Desire had concocted an entire family tragedy for her, but she wanted none of it. After what had happened with the highwayman ruse, she was determined to stick as closely to the truth now as she could, or at least not volunteer more than she had to that was false.
But it was enough of a response for Bertle, who had already turned back to Jeremiah. “I don’t generally take passengers, you know, especially females,” he said briskly. “They’re in the main too much trouble, making the men all restless, but I figured since you two was man and wife, Mr. Sparhawk, you’d keep her out of mischief. I wouldn’t have granted you passage otherwise.” He spat over the side and glanced shrewdly at Jeremiah. “You will keep her out of mischief?”
“Captain Bertle, my poor wife is so devastated by her loss that she scarcely has the heart to breathe, let along cause mischief among your men. And if she did, rest assured that she would answer to me.”
“Very good, sir, very good.” Bertle nodded with satisfaction as he ushered them aboard. “A tight rein in a light hand, a crop when they need it. Good policy for horses and wives alike, eh?”
“What an odious man,” said Caro as they stood by the quarterdeck rail, watching as the last lines were tossed away. “Nor are you much better.”
“At least he won’t bother you, because he knows he’ll have to answer to me, and he’s bound to spread the warning to his men.” He hadn’t liked Bertle’s manner any more than she had, and it put an unintentional edge to his voice. “Being a jealous husband has certain advantages for us both.”
She didn’t try to hide her resentment and bristled in response. “And here I thought you didn’t want a wife at all.”
“I didn’t, sweetheart.” He wished she hadn’t reminded him of the brawl with the press-gang; not his finest hour on any count. “I wanted the passage, and you came with it.”
“And I can assure you that I’m quite satisfied with the husband I already have.” As soon as she’d spoken she knew it was a hopeless rejoinder, prim and obvious, but she never had been very good at this kind of banter. “Bother this veil! I can’t see a wretched thing.”
She wrestled to control the yards of veiling that were catching the same wind that was beginning to fill the Raleigh’s sails. Gradually the sloop began to swing around, away from the wharf and land and toward the channel and the open sea. With an excited gasp, Caro grabbed Jeremiah’s arm as the deck slanted beneath her feet like a live creature.
“Oh, Jeremiah, we’re sailing!” she cried with delight, her displeasure with him forgotten, and with one hand she swept her veil up. Her smile was as jubilant as a child’s with a new toy, and he was struck again by how lovely she was, her face glowing against the black.
“We’ve done it, Jeremiah!” she crowed. “We’ve left Portsmouth and we’ve left George, and now all we have to do is bring Frederick back home!”
Done? Lord, they’d barely begun. But faced with such happiness, Jeremiah found he couldn’t bring himself to tell her the truth. Why should he? She’d learn it for herself soon enough.
Chapter Eight
The setting sun washed red across the sloop’s sails as Caro sat perched on the coil of rope on the quarterdeck, her feet propped up on the empty hamper that had held their supper. Tomorrow she and Jeremiah would be at the mercy of the Raleigh’s cook, but tonight they had dined on the best that Desire’s kitchen could offer, and that, decided Caro contentedly, had been very good indeed.
It had taken all afternoon for the little sloop to weave in and out among the navy ships that crowded the harbor, slipping gracefully between seventy-four-gun men-o’-war that towered high above them, before at last she had reached the open water of the channel. There had been so much that was new to watch that Caro had loved every minute of it.
But to her great surprise, Jeremiah hadn’t. Oh, he’d stayed by her side and patiently answered all of her questions, but the distance she’d earlier sensed between them seemed to be growing into a gap she felt helpless to broach. He’d eaten little of dinner, though he’d drunk freely enough of the wine, and he’d resisted all of her attempts to coax him into speaking of himself.
She glanced at him now as he stood at the rail, his dark hair tossing in the wind off the water. She’d always considered him a handsome man in a wild, rough way that made him larger in spirit, as well as size, but since they’d reached the open water he’d seemed to become even less like the English gentlemen she knew and more of a man. He was so obviously in his world here, crossing the deck with the same physical ease as she would her drawing room, and he moved instinctively with the feel of the sloop on the waves beneath them.
Yet clearly Jeremiah wasn’t happy. She could see the sorrow in his face when he stared out across the water, withdrawing deep into some secret inner suffering brought on by the familiar sights and smells of the sea. Maybe it was being a passenger instead of a captain. He’d told her once he’d held his first command when he’d been only eighteen, on a ship that his family owned. How hard it must be for him now to stand by and watch with nothing more useful to do than shepherding her! Perhaps, then, what he needed wasn’t company, but the chance to be alone with his own thoughts. She had to remember that a man like Jeremiah Sparhawk wouldn’t feel the pain of loneliness the way she did.
She stood, steadying herself on the railing. “I’m going downstairs,” she said, slinging the