A Heartless Design (35 page)

The other man’s lip quirked. He appreciated the absurdity as well. “Bruce Allander. Lord Forester, actually. I’m very pleased to meet you, but we really should get out of here.”

“Wait.” Cordelia nodded weakly toward the table. “The plans.”

“Take them?” Forester asked, moving to gather them up.

“No. Burn them.”

“She’s right.” Thorne nodded, putting his arm around Cordelia to help support her. “We don’t want to be caught with them.”  

Forester swept all the papers into the grate, which suddenly flared with sooty orange flames. The trio watched it all disappear into smoke.

Cordelia had thought her ordeal
was over, but she had forgotten she was still far from a safe haven. Before they left the house, Sebastien presented Cordelia with a cloth bundle. “You’ll need to be unremarkable if we’re to get you out of Calais. Hayden might not have been working for France, but this town is crawling with soldiers who do.”

She was happy to oblige. Sebastien draped a lightweight wool cloak around her, the fabric dyed a forest green. “Keep the hood up,” he warned. “I don’t want anyone to see your face or remember who you are.”

She nodded, pausing only to bind her hair back with a strip of cloth. “Where are we going?”

“The port. A friend awaits us there. I hope.” He glanced at her, and then over to Forester, noting that they both had black hair. “If anyone asks, she’s your sister.”

“I’ve always wanted a sister,” Forester quipped. “Perhaps I could trade my brother in.”

“Who would take Ash in trade?” Thorne asked.

“No one I know,” Forester growled, frowning.

She didn’t get a chance to ask who they were talking about. Forester was urging them to hurry. “We don’t know if someone heard something and will get nosy,” he warned.

They left the house. The hour was late, but the main thoroughfares were still active.

Not wanting to risk even a half-hour in plain view, Sebastien hired a coachman to drive them to the harbor. He paid well, but he imagined the looming threat of Forester’s expression was just as key in getting the man to agree.

Forester, ever alert to the subtleties of such situations, stated that he would ride beside the coachman. “Just in case the man gets any ideas,” he muttered.

Thorne gave him a grateful nod for his discretion. He couldn’t stand the idea of separating himself from Cordelia any longer, and he would be useless as a lookout. Cordelia huddled in Sebastien’s arms for the duration of the short journey, not quite trusting that she wasn’t dreaming. Whenever she looked up at him, he was watching her with an inscrutable expression.

“Are you really here?” she asked once.

“Yes, love. I found you.”

“How will we get home?”

“We’re going to get a ship across the channel. A friend is the captain, and we can trust him. Soon you’ll be back where you belong.”

At the harbor, Forester hunted down the location of the
Mistral
, while Sebastien kept Cordelia in the carriage. He wasn’t going to risk anything at this point.

Forester returned soon enough. “Follow me,” he said. “Hurry, the tide’s in less than half an hour.” The couple scrambled out of the vehicle, and Thorne flipped a few extra coins toward the driver.

They raced down the quay until they stood at the gangplank of the
Mistral
.

Forester paused, giving a final glance around, then called out, “Permission to come aboard?”

“Permission granted,” a tenor voice responded. Cordelia caught sight of a youthful looking man in civilian clothes standing on the deck, though he bore himself with the confidence of a naval captain.

“Let me,” Sebastien murmured to Cordelia, picking her up. He carried her up the gangplank and onto the deck. Forester followed, looking behind them to see if they were pursued. The night was undisturbed.

“Is the lady injured?” the young man asked as he approached them. He looked concerned, his eyes locked on Cordelia.

“Exhausted,” Sebastien explained. “I’m going to take her below to the empty cabin.”

“It’s all yours,” the captain responded, “though it’s not quite up to a lady’s standards. Call out if you need anything.”

Thorne nodded and took her below.

Looking after the couple, Hartley made no attempt to hide his surprise. “That’s what we came for?”

Forester grinned. “Yes. You can see why my friend wanted to get her back.”

“No argument here,” the young man said. He ordered his crew to begin to ready the ship to sail. Then he looked at Forester. “Were you followed?”

“We don't think so. And I trust your business is done?" Forester asked casually.

“A successful run,” Hartley noted in a modest tone. “And your…prize retrieved as well. Could be worse.”

“You’re a cynic.”

“I’ll be jubilant when the
Mistral
sails up the Thames. Till then, I am free to worry.”

Hartley sailed at the first available moment. His tiny crew was just as eager to get away from the French city, and they had the main sail—the white one—unfurled in a snap.

Of course, they were all experts, hardly needing Forester’s assistance. Yet he stayed on deck. Hartley gave him tasks to perform alongside the crew. Perhaps he was well aware that Thorne was preoccupied, leaving Forester to his own devices.

* * * *

In the small cabin below, Sebastien was completely preoccupied. He bent over Cordelia, who lay on the bunk that was tucked into the wall, a nook that not even the worst storm could shake. A lantern hung from the ceiling, swinging slightly on the chain. The light cast from the yellowed glass made the room seem warm and cozy, though the cold sea air belied the image. Sebastien tucked a blanket around her.

His eyes surveyed her carefully, checking for damage that he might have missed in his initial fury. “Do you need anything, my love?” he asked finally.

She needed him. Cordelia finally felt safe again, now that Sebastien was with her. She couldn’t stand the thought of losing him. “Nothing at the moment. Just don’t leave me alone.”

“I need to tell you something, Cor.” He knelt by the little ship’s bed, his eyes vulnerable and oddly young. He took her hands in his own. “When you disappeared, I thought I would go mad. I couldn’t sleep, wondering where you were. I should have said it earlier. I need you.”

“You have me,” she said, wonderingly. “Surely you don’t think I care for anyone else, do you?”

“I mean that I need you forever. Not as a lover or even a mistress, but as my wife. Please let me care for you for the rest of our lives. Marry me. Not to protect your reputation, or for protection of any kind, but because you want to be with me. Is that something you could do?”

“Oh,” she said, her heartbeat suddenly fluttering. She’d received so many proposals before, but none like this. “Oh. Sebastien.”

“I love you, Cordelia,” he said, laying his heart bare. Nothing less than the truth would do.

She breathed in very slowly, aware of how much that speech had exposed him. “And I love you.”

“Then you’ll marry me?”

“I…I do want to.”
More than anything.

“But what?” he asked, his eyes darkening.

“My life…my work…”

“Your life is with me, Cordelia. And I would never dream of asking you to stop pursuing your work,” he vowed. Then he smiled. “Though you must promise to inform me if there will be an international incident over a design.”

“But my household…”

“You needn’t fear for your reformed disreputable servants. We’ll keep them all, I promise. You don’t have to be parted from them or feel that you let them down.”

Beaming, she threw her arms around him, holding him as if she’d never let go. Then she raised her face to his. “Kiss me.”

He kissed her, and more. He showed her how much he needed her, and her desire matched his. They fell into each other, into a dance they would never tire of no matter how long they were together. Then both lay entwined on the narrow bed, their breathing slowly returning to normal.

Sebastien ran a finger along her jawline, and then traced her lips. “I won’t let you go this time, you know.”

“I should never have tried to convince myself I didn’t need you.” She smiled at him. “Kiss me again.”

He did, losing himself in her. “I love you,” he breathed, when he could. “I should have told you long before.”

“No matter, as long as you keep telling me from now on.” Her eyes shone with promise. “And you’ll have to bear me telling you the same.”

“Awful fate,” he murmured.

Content, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

* * * *

The
Mistral
crossed the channel as if a hurricane were at her back. The wind favored the midnight enterprise, filling the sails so that the ship seemed to fly through darkness.

Forester, never at home on boats, spent a few long hours in total misery, but as dawn approached, the sight of British waters cheered everyone, and soon the Mistral sailed up the Thames.

Pleased with the outcome of this excursion, Hartley grinned over at Forester. “You might want to tell our other passengers we’ll reach London soon.” 

Cordelia emerged from the cabin looking much more alive than when she boarded the night before. Part of the reason may have been the way Sebastien hovered by her side, his arm firmly round her waist.

She was pleased to meet Hartley and thanked him profoundly for his role in her rescue. The young captain seemed suddenly tongue-tied, and managed a diffident reply.

The ship came to dock shortly after dawn. Sebastien left Forester with Hartley and hired a closed carriage to take Cordelia the last leg home. Once again, he kept the hood of her cloak up to conceal her identity, and his hat jammed low to conceal his. He was profoundly grateful that the day was too young for many people to have arisen. The streets were still largely empty, with the exception of some hurrying to work and street hawkers setting up for the day. They were all too busy at their tasks to notice anything else.

He gave the driver the name of Quince Street, and bundled Cordelia inside the carriage. He sat next to her and cradled her against his body, recalling the first time he’d done so, after Hayden had attacked her.

She must have been thinking along the same lines. “Do you remember when you used that paltry excuse of a knife wound to put your arm around me, on that first night you showed up in my carriage?”

“You saw through that, did you?” He smiled down at her.

“Eventually.” She cuddled closer to him, and whispered, “But if I had avoided that maneuver, I’m sure you would have thought of something else.”

“When it came to capturing your eye, Cor, I found almost limitless determination.”

“I’m glad. Are we there yet?”

“Very nearly. You’ll be home within a half hour.”

“How lovely. I’ve missed my home,” she said, her eyelids closing. “Wake me when we get there.”

“Anything you say, Cor.” He kissed the top of her head, and his arm tightened around her. Cordelia fell into a doze, feeling she was already home.

The hired carriage rolled up
the drive. Sebastien nudged Cordelia awake and was rewarded with a blissful smile.

Jem ran to the door of the conveyance and flung it open without asking. Seeing Cordelia, he took a deep breath and started to grin widely. “Very glad to see you home again, my lady!”

Sebastien leaned forward. “Please tell a maid to wake Mrs Wharton. Miss Bering will need assistance.”

Jem’s expression turned serious. “Are you ill, ma’am? Injured?”

“I’m fine, Jem, but I am tired, and Aunt Leona ought to know I’m back. I only hope my absence hasn’t hurt her as well.”

Sebastien helped Cordelia out of the carriage. Jem ran ahead, opened the doors of the house, and alerted nearly everyone with one shout.

Cordelia walked into the house on her own feet—it was important to her that she do that—but then it seemed she was not allowed to do a thing for herself. Bond actually burst into tears of joy on seeing her mistress back, and even Stiles had suspiciously glassy eyes. Sebastien stayed near Cordelia, forgoing all previous subterfuge. He wanted to make his place very clear.

When Aunt Leona saw her, Cordelia thought the older woman might faint. “Please sit, Aunt. I am quite safe and well, you will see.”

“I’m so happy,” Leona said, sinking into a chair next to Cordelia. “I knew Lord Thorne was doing his best, but…oh, my dear, I thought something terrible had happened to you! I couldn’t sleep. If Edward…that is, if Lord Dunham hadn’t been there to lean on, I don’t know what I would have done.”

“Well, I am back, and all will be well.”

Leona nodded. “I have done my best to keep your disappearance quiet, but I’m not sure that there won’t be consequences. A few people asked after you. I said you were at the house in Bristol.”

Thorne cleared his throat. “I suppose this is as good a time as any to make a small announcement.”

Cordelia looked at Sebastien, who was waiting for her approval. “Go on, Sebastien,” she said, using his given name quite deliberately.

He grinned at her, and said to Leona, “Cordelia has accepted my offer of marriage, and I expect the wedding will happen as soon as humanly possible.”  

Leona clapped her hands together once. “Oh, how wonderful!”

A while later, Bond took Cordelia upstairs, and insisted on giving her a scorching hot bath. “You need to scrub out the past, my lady,” she said. Cordelia couldn’t disagree.

While in the hot water, she drank a glass of brandy, a remedy also insisted on by Bond, and then was tucked into her bed like a child. She slept a blessedly dreamless sleep until hunger awoke her in the evening.

Bond dressed her in a lovely, loose-fitting gown and draped the jade pendant around her neck.

“There’s a bit of a celebration planned,” the maid explained.

Downstairs, she found that both Sebastien and Lord Dunham were in the parlor, along with Leona. Everyone was dressed for dinner. The only guest who had not arrived was Mr Jay, who had been notified of Cordelia’s return.

Lord Dunham beamed at Cordelia when she appeared. “The prodigal returns,” he said. “Now that you are back, I find myself at a loss. I was able to offer comfort and diversion to Leona in your absence. But perhaps I have overstayed my welcome.”