The Secret Duke (20 page)

Steps passed again. The servant going away.

Heart pounding, throat dry, she checked herself in the mirror. Some hair was straggling out from her cap. She tidied it away. She tried to smooth creases out of her brown gown, newly aware of how little it flattered her.

“And a very good thing too,” she muttered to her reflection. “The last thing we want is to appeal in that way to a sailor new to shore.”

That thought made her hesitate again, but she set her jaw, put on her shoes, opened the door, and peered out. The corridor was deserted, and below all was still. The crew had gone on to their other amusements.

She wondered why Captain Rose wasn’t with them. Lud, might he have brought his amusement upstairs with him? She thought she’d heard only one set of footsteps, but a woman’s softer shoes might not have made much noise.

Or he might have carried her. . . .

For some reason, that image stirred her ridiculous longings again.

If he had a woman with him, she’d hear something at his door. Talk, laughter, something.

She closed her door and then crept along to listen at the next. She couldn’t hear sounds in that room, and she thought the slamming door had been a bit farther along. Behind the next door, she did hear movement, and then a muffled curse.

A man’s voice, and not loving.

She listened awhile longer and heard only a thump.

She gathered her courage and knocked. It was a very timid knock. Perhaps he didn’t even hear it. She knocked firmly.

“Come in, damn you!”

Heavens, he’d wake the whole house and she’d be found here like this!

She opened the door, slipped in and closed it, then turned to face Captain Rose.

Her jaw dropped. He was undressed down to his breeches. His chest and lower legs were bare.

He blinked as if to clear his sight. “Who the devil are you?”

Bella licked her lips. “Isabella Barstowe.”

He blinked again, his brow furrowing. “Did I send for you?”

He didn’t recognize her, but why should he? She wasn’t sure she’d have recognized him if not for the ruby-eyed skull dangling from his ear. It had to be him, however. Tall; dark hair loose to his shoulders; stubble—though this time it was close to a true beard. Carelessly flung on the bed lay his shirt, a black waistcoat, frock coat, and bloodred cravat.

His chest was a great deal broader than she’d expected, but what did she know of men’s chests?

“Well?” he barked, frowning now.

“No, sir, you didn’t send for me. I wished to speak with you.”

“Not a good time, Miss Barstowe.” He turned to the washstand, picked up a cloth, soaped it, and started to wash.

Bella stared, mouth agape. She’d intended a conversation that would reveal the sort of man he was, but perhaps his actions spoke more clearly. He was an oaf.

All the better to assist in a brother’s destruction, though . . .

“I’m Persephone,” she blurted.

He turned to look at her, scrubbing the cloth over his muscular chest. Bella’s eyes followed the cloth and saw his right shoulder.

Saw dark marks. When it moved on, the marks became clear—a tattoo of a black swan.

“Persephone who?”

She dragged her eyes up again.

His eyes were brown, but she hadn’t been able to see eye color four years ago.

Perhaps the difference she sensed between then and now was that then he’d been sober and now he was not. He wasn’t rolling drunk, but something in the careful way he spoke told her he was half-sozzled.

“I stole your horse,” she prompted.

He blinked again, but then his eyes widened. “Oh, that! Have you come to pay for it?”

“What? No. I mean, yes. I mean . . . I wish you would put some clothes on!”

“I have some clothes on,” he said with the hint of a grin, “and you did barge in here uninvited.” He picked up the discarded shirt, however, and pulled it over his head. “Now, Miss Barstowe, horse thief, why are you here?”

Bella did her best to collect her wits. “Captain Rose, we can talk later, when you’re . . . recovered, but I feared you’d leave before I could speak to you tomorrow. I need your help.” He seemed unimpressed, so she added,

“Or rather, I need to hire you.”

“It’s business, is it?” he said in a slightly more interested tone. “I can give you a few minutes.” He gestured to a chair. “Please, ma’am, be seated.”

Bella perched on the hard chair, hoping it would make her feel more in control. He sat in the other, leaning back and stretching out his long legs. Long legs bare from the breeches down. With dark hair on them.

She wasn’t in control at all, and this whole idea now seemed insane. She rose to leave, but he said, “If we’re to do business, we should settle debts first. The horse?”

“It was returned to you. I owe you nothing.”

“What if I didn’t get it back?”

She studied him warily. He was playing with her, but was he lying?

“You didn’t? I arranged for it to be left at an inn near Maidstone, and word sent to the Compass.”

“Then perhaps whoever you trusted with the message decided to simply keep the horse.”

Bella wanted to smash something. Had nothing gone right during that time?

She’d left the horse at the inn because she didn’t want to arrive at her brother- in-law’s house on a stolen horse. During the long, slow ride she’d come up with a story. She claimed to have escaped earlier, just south of London, and to have traveled a short distance by cart.

Once alone with Athena she’d told her the truth and begged her to send the guinea to the inn to have the horse returned. Athena had promised she would, but Athena was afraid to cross her husband. Perhaps she’d gone straight to him.

Sir Watson Ashton wouldn’t have paid, especially with proof that Bella had lied. Athena had already had to persuade him not to turn Bella from the door.

“How much was that horse worth?” she asked tightly.

“Hard to remember after so long . . .”

He was delaying, keeping her here.

She edged toward the door. “Then I will leave you to your . . .” She waved feebly toward the washstand. “You can give me an account later.”

“Not so fast.” He was past her and blocking the door before she could react.

Bella stepped away from him, hand to hammering heart. “I’ll scream.”

“You’d have to explain how you came to be in my room.”

“Let me pass.”

He leaned against the door and folded his arms. “You came to hire me. For what?”

Bella tightened her lips.

“As a lover?”

Bella jerked backward. “Absolutely not!”

He grinned, running his eyes coarsely over her. “Pity.”

Ridiculously, amid fear and fury Bella felt a little spark of pleasure from that.

Was she so starved for male appreciation?

“So why did you come here?” he demanded with an implacability that told her she’d have to give him some story he could believe. She pieced it together with skill driven by desperation.

“I . . . I had a chance encounter with one of the men who abducted me.”

“Go on.”

“He told me that you’d threatened retaliation if he did anything more to harm me. I was grateful. That made me think of your horse. That I couldn’t be sure it had been returned to you. So I came to see.”

“Hiring me?” he prompted.

He was damnably persistent. “I’ve changed my mind on that.”

“One sensible decision. You traveled here alone? How old are you?”

“That, sir, is none of your business. Get out of my way.”

He merely cocked his head. “Persephone. She’s the one who was stolen into the underworld and escaped, but had to return for a sixmonth in the year. Is this your underworld? And I’m your Pluto?” He grinned again, and it was a taunt. “Those stories of gods and goddesses. They call them classics, but it’s all disguises and false identities used to do wicked mischief.” With a sudden change of tone, all humor gone, he asked, “What mischief brought you here, Persephone?”

Bella caught her breath. He thought she might be a danger to him. He was, after all, some sort of smuggler.

“I mean you no harm, Captain. I promise you.”

“But you might cause it anyway.”

She began to wonder if she might be in real peril here. If he might actually murder her because he saw a threat. She’d heard horrific stories of smugglers’ cruelty, and the skull’s ruby eyes seemed to flicker by candlelight.

He straightened, however, and stepped away from the door. “Your time’s up. I’ll be back in two days, maybe three. If what you want from me is important enough, be here when I return and we’ll talk again. Perhaps it’ll make more sense when we’re both sober.”

Bella blushed that her state had been obvious, but she was focused on the possibility of escape. She worked her way to the door, keeping her eyes on him, and as much distance between them as possible.

“Will you be here?” he asked.

Door already an inch open, she met his flat eyes. “I don’t know.”

He nodded as if that, at least, made sense. “I’m changeable as the sea, Miss Barstowe, sometimes rough, sometimes gallant, but on my word, unless you harm me or mine, you’re safe from me.”

Bella studied him, hearing truth but finding it hard to believe. But when he began to take his shirt off again, she whipped around the door and raced back to her room. Once inside, she shot the bolt and leaned there, heart pounding.

She should return to London on the morrow and forget all about Captain Rose. He wasn’t the gallant hero she’d created in her mind.

She wasn’t entirely sure she would, and could make no sense of her own reasons.

 

Thorn broke the swan seal and read the note from Caleb.

Thorn put down the letter, very thoughtful.

He looked down at the meowing cat in the basket, her two kittens greedily attached, as seemed constantly to be the case.

“You’re doubtless correct, Tabitha, but it’s unignorable, you know.”

“You’re only concerned about the fate of yourself and offspring if I come to an untimely end. Remember, you’re Christian’s cat.”

Tabitha spat, and Thorn laughed. Christian and his wife had acquired the strange cat in their adventures, but Tabitha had taken him in dislike. That was why he’d asked Thorn to care for her for a while, with the strange comment, “She won’t talk to me.”

Oddly enough, as soon as Christian left, the cat had begun to make its strange, speechlike noises. They made no sense, of course, but the cat did seem to recognize Christian’s name.

“Very well,” Thorn said, “you’re Caro’s cat. They are happily together now, however, so you’ll have to tolerate him.”

The cat put out a paw and hooked down the lid of her basket. The ultimate disapproval. But that would imply that she did understand English, which had to be impossible.

An intriguing creature. She was a strange breed mostly found on the Isle of Man, hence called Manx. The cats had little or no tail and large hindquarters that looked like those of a rabbit, leading to speculation that they resulted from a mating of a cat and a rabbit. In Thorn’s opinion, if that were true, they must have very strange cats and rabbits on the Isle of Man.

In Christian’s adventures with Caro, they’d spun a wild story of the cats being from Hesse and bred to hunt ferocious rabbits there. The myth of the cat- rabbit of Hesse was delightful, but Thorn was more interested in establishing the truth, and now that he had temporary custody, he’d invited scientists to study the matter. There were currently two warring camps on the subject, and a search was under way for more specimens.

Thorn had installed his feline guests in his private study in a velvet-lined basket, and assigned a page to attend to them. They were pampered beyond belief, but Tabby, as Caro had named her, still felt free to complain. She’d learned to close her basket as a snub, but the one attempt on his part to fasten the lid down to prevent wandering had led to ferocious violence accompanied by what appeared to be cursing worthy of the lowest sailor.

Thorn had accepted that he’d finally been cowed by a female, and chosen to be amused. He’d given her the more dignified name of Tabitha and appointed her the resident Delphic oracle. After all, that oracle had supposedly been hard to interpret.

“To go or not to go, that is the question,” he orated to the closed lid. “Do you think Mr. Shakespeare understood how apposite some of his words would remain, centuries after his death?”

The lid rose a little, but Tabitha gave no opinion.

“Barstowe. Do we know a Barstowe?”

“No, I didn’t think so either. A false name? And what could she want, so many years later?”

Tabitha rose up so the lid fell backward. One of her kittens scrambled out. She took its ruff in her mouth and dumped the creature back in again. Thorn knew from experience that this game could continue for a long time. Tabitha had only two surviving kittens, and one was like her, while the other was normal, which also fascinated the scientists. The normal kitten was adventurous, whilst the Manx one was timorous, and whether that was significant, Thorn had no idea.