The Secrets of a Scoundrel (14 page)

Chapter 10

T
he next day, the morning mists swirled around their post chaise as they set out early on the long but familiar drive to Dover. From there, they’d cross the Channel.

In the interests of convenience and, more importantly, discretion, Virginia had hired the chaise rather than using her own carriage. Though her traveling chariot was far more luxurious, it was also more noticeable on the road.

As for her son, she had left Phillip in the custody of his maternal grandmother until his beleaguered tutor could arrive from Deepwood to fetch him.

As they whisked along, finally clearing the southern outskirts of London, Nick wondered if all youngsters were so much trouble. Of course, at Phillip’s age, he wouldn’t have thought twice about doing the same thing, no matter whom he inconvenienced. Boys would be boys.

As for the lad’s mother, well . . .

Nick peered furtively over his morning paper at the baroness, sitting across from him. Things were still strained between them after all the harsh and cutting words they had exchanged after their visit to the Topaz Room.

He refused to think about the kiss. The woman was impossible, and that was that. She should not even be venturing out on this journey, should have stayed at home with her son and left the bad business to him. By now, of course, Nick realized the futility of trying to tell her that.
Stubborn creature.

Not only was she blithely meddling with the criminal underworld of Europe—a highly dangerous segment of society that he was sure she did not fully comprehend—but, no. More than that, the lady was in charge.

He was now literally in her debt. Therefore, it was hers to give the orders, his merely to smile and shut up and obey.

At least for now. Hopefully, she would not get them killed in the meantime.

He was just happy she had not clapped him in the manacles again . . . though in certain situations, he supposed that might be fun. Maddening as she could be, at least she was nice to look at.

Sitting across from him, she was dressed in fairly ordinary clothes for their journey in an effort to blend in. But, striking beauty that she was, with that dark red hair and lush body, and the air of confidence with which she carried herself, there was only so much she could do to make herself inconspicuous.

They would probably love her in Paris, he mused, savoring the sight of her. She looked smart and understated in a smooth wool barouche coat: blue-black, three-quarter length, buckled at the waist. The high brim of a dark velvet bonnet framed her ivory face.

He gazed at that face for a moment, the sweet curve of her lashes as she watched, catlike, out the window. The rosy tinge of her cheek . . .

But when his wistful study reached the satin fullness of her lips, he had to look away, suppressing a small groan. The softness of those lips, the lure of their opening to receive his kiss, was too intoxicating. Already beginning to throb at the memory, he returned his attention to the safer topic of her hat.

Curious things, ladies’ hats. Hers was jauntily trimmed with a peacock feather, whose colors suited her beautifully. She had untied the ribbons; his leisurely gaze trailed down the hanging length of one, to where it rested on her bosom.

Back into dangerous territory again.

God, how he had wondered about her breasts ever since that first day in his cell, when she had come to tempt him into accepting her devil’s bargain by showing him the cleavage she had no intention of ever letting him touch.

A small sigh almost escaped him before he swallowed it. Letting his gaze linger at her chest, where the barrel snaps of her coat were unbuttoned, he noted her dark green walking dress beneath it.

The lady had style, he thought in secret, fond amusement. As his scrutiny moved on, he was strangely touched by the demure way she had tucked her hands into a big fur muff for warmth. He wasn’t sure why, but it seemed so girlish and charming a gesture, an unconscious admission of vulnerability.

Of course, knowing her, she probably had a pistol concealed inside the damned thing, he thought. She was, after all, Virgil’s daughter.

“Can I help you?” she clipped out suddenly.

“Hmm?” Nick replied, returning from his daydream. His perusal had got all the way down to her feet, encased in black leather half boots, when he looked up—caught—and met her dubious gaze.

“You’re staring at me,” she informed him.

“Just wondering if you’re warm enough, my lady,” he rather purred.

“Yes. Thank you.” She searched his face with a stare that made it clear she didn’t trust him for a minute.

Smart girl.

“You?” she asked begrudgingly.

“I’m fine,” he replied with an even, pleasant stare.

Still regarding him suspiciously, she returned her attention to the landscape. A short while later, they stopped to change post-horses. The hours passed as they pressed on deeper into Kent, finally taking an hour’s stop at Canterbury late that afternoon.

He was bored enough from travel to remember that the Black Prince was buried in the great cathedral. If there were time, he’d have gone to pay his respects to the long-dead royal most responsible for the founding of the Order, but Her Ladyship said no.

Back into the chaise they went, and so the day passed.

They did not arrive at Dover until evening.

The wind picked up as they neared the sea; somewhere in the night, half-frozen gulls screamed out plaintively every now and then. The lights of the little harbor town at the foot of the lofty hill beamed gold as best they could against the black November night, whose darkness was so deep it seemed to swallow up the world.

The postillion brought them to a snug quayside inn, where they took lodgings for the night, since the packet ship would not set sail until the morning.

While Lady Burke went to ask the landlord where they could buy tickets for the ship, Nick helped the porter bring their luggage up to their room. He saw to it personally, considering they were carrying an emerald worth a fortune.

The late nabob’s gift of the jewel to his wife would be her contribution to the Bacchus Bazaar.

When the porter left the room, Nick closed the door to their room and locked it. Then he unlocked and opened Virginia’s traveling trunk, pushing aside a stack of elegant gowns and distracting lacy underthings to take out the little strongbox.

Safe inside its velvet cradle, the emerald sat among the other bits of jewelry she had brought along to wear.

He had raised an eyebrow this morning when he had seen all her luggage. She hadn’t liked that.

It’s Paris!
she had reminded him when he had scoffed and asked her why she was bringing half her wardrobe.

Women.

No wonder the Order didn’t let them serve as agents. Who could possibly chase villains across the Continent when a person had to worry about bringing along a whole trunk full of shoes? A male spy could just grab his gun and go.

At least she had dispensed with maids and footmen for the mission.

With a slight smirk, Nick lifted the emerald out of the strongbox and transferred it to the surer protection of his breast pocket. He was not about to leave it in the room. He locked the strongbox again and put it back in her trunk, locked that, as well, then went downstairs to meet her for supper in the taproom.

She had already bought the tickets for the packet ship. Apparently, the inn was deputized to sell them there and then. She had been lucky enough to get the last remaining private cabin. But they would have to bring their luggage over to the dock as soon as they were done eating.

The line’s policy was that all passengers’ bags had to be loaded at least three hours in advance of their sailing. The tides determined when it was time to go; plus, there was mail on board that had to be delivered on time; all of which meant that no packet ship would be delayed for late-arriving passengers.

Nick offered to bring their trunks over to the dock immediately, but she said no, they would do it together. There was enough time for a quick meal first since they both were starving.

They ate a supper of pub fare in the inn’s cozy taproom among various other travelers waiting for the ship. Travelers who noticed them likely assumed that they were husband and wife. It was odd contemplating that, Nick mused as he chewed his fish and chips. He couldn’t even imagine himself married.

When they were done eating, they went back up to the room, where he showed her he had the emerald in safekeeping. Then Virginia divided what she would need for sleeping tonight and dressing tomorrow from the rest of her belongings and tucked them into a smaller satchel.

He sat in the armchair by the fireplace in a state of contentment and watched her flitting about while he finished his tankard of good brown ale.

When she was finally ready, they rang for the porter, then Nick helped the lad bring the traveling trunks back downstairs. Upon reaching the ground floor, he set their luggage on a handcart and pulled it for them as they all three went outside and walked across the cobbled street to the dock.

It felt good to stretch his legs after spending all day in the carriage. The bracing cold revived him from the listlessness of the long day’s tedium.

There was no one else out on the dock at this hour except the shipping company’s employees.

They showed their tickets to the agent on duty. He checked their passports, then added their names to the manifest and called for some sailors to carry their luggage down to the cargo hold. Virginia gave the young porter a couple of farthings and sent him on his way. The lad jogged back to the inn, pulling his handcart behind him.

Lastly, the shipping agent advised them that they’d sail at dawn. Having made a note of where they were staying, he said he’d let them know if there were any changes to the schedule.

At last, with everything squared away, the two of them headed back up the long, wooden dock. Instead of going straight back to the inn and the intimacy of their shared room, they decided to take a walk on the beach.

It was very cold, but the ceaseless rolling of the white-tipped waves mesmerized him. As the deep layer of large pebbles crunched and shifted under their feet, Nick gave her his arm to steady her.

They did not venture very far, frigid as the night was, especially when they saw some dodgy-looking characters gathered around a bonfire farther down the strand. Instead, they stood in silence side by side, looking at the sea.

“You’re freezing. You should get back inside,” Nick murmured at length when he felt her shiver.

“I suppose we’ve got an early start, as well,” she conceded with a nod.

When they returned to the inn, they parted ways for now; Nick took a seat in the taproom while she went upstairs. He nursed another tankard of ale so she could have some time to herself to get ready for bed.

She was probably pretty well sick of him by now and could use some time alone. She wouldn’t want to have to try to undress for bed with a strange man watching her, especially one so recently freed from a prison cell.

In truth, Nick feared the sight of her peeling off those clothes would be more temptation than he could bear. Better safe than sorry. She was, after all, Virgil’s daughter, not to mention pure trouble, head to toe. He sat idly looking at the fire and watching the few stragglers who, like him, had not yet turned in for the night. Finally, he told the barkeep to add the bill to his room tab and went upstairs to the room.

Strangely, his pulse raced a bit as he unlocked the door with his key. It was much like uncovering the emerald in the strongbox, unlocking this door behind which another sort of jewel lay, snugly tucked into her bed.

Nick chased away any sign of his attraction to her again as he went in, a cool professional once more. She sat propped up against the headboard, surrounded by pillows. He swallowed hard and dropped his gaze.

“Bed comfortable?” he drawled as he locked the door behind him and crossed to set the key on the chest of drawers.

“Not bad,” she answered, pointing toward the fireplace. “You can have the chair.”

He sent her a rueful smile, tickled by the sight of her in a virginal white night rail with lace-cuffed sleeves. It was buttoned up to her throat.

He wondered if that was what she wore to bed with her “gentlemen friends,” of which, apparently, he was not one.

She might as well have put on a chastity belt, he thought sardonically, but, oh, yes, he got the message.

Well, she needn’t have worried. He could be a gentlemen on occasion.

But only because she was Virgil’s daughter.

He shook out the folded blanket she had left there for him with a pillow and threw it over the armchair, then he took off his coat. He unbuttoned his waistcoat, took off his cravat, and felt her staring as his shirt fell open once these were removed.

He sat wearily and pulled off his boots. Her blue eyes danced as she watched his every move.

“Do I amuse you?”

“For some reason, yes. Very much.”

“Happy to be your entertainment, madam.”

She smirked, but the sparkle in her eyes was still playful enough to tempt him. “Just so you know,” she added, “I’ll be sleeping with a pistol under my pillow.”

“So will I. So don’t get any ideas,” he replied. “Good night, my lady.”

“Good night, my lord.” She blew out the candle and left him in the dark, smiling in spite of himself.

G
in found it hard to fall asleep with Nick in the room. Her awareness of him was intense.

As she lay awake, filtering all the unfamiliar sounds and smells of this place, she reflected on the fact that she probably should have taken two separate chambers for them at the inn, but she still found it necessary to keep an eye on him. Make sure he didn’t steal her emerald and abandon her now that he’d got her the game piece. Make sure the rogue behaved.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t expected to find his charismatic presence so distracting. In the darkness, staring at the ceiling, she couldn’t stop thinking about all the things written about him in her father’s book of secrets—the item that was, in fact, the real reason for this journey—a fact she had not yet seen fit to share with Nick.