Almost a Lady (39 page)
Meg moved her first piece, the questions tumbling in an incoherent jumble in her head.
Cosimo was safe.
So was Bonaparte dead? How had Cosimo evaded the trap that Montaine must have set for him? And there had to have been a trap. Holding her here made no sense unless it was only one side of the colonel’s plan. But if Bonaparte was dead, Cosimo would not be standing there. Surely they would have taken him . . . killed him.
But she mustn’t distract herself with pointless speculation. She had to concentrate on the game now being played, and it wasn’t backgammon.
She kept her eyes on the colonel as she drank her coffee, noticing that every time she sipped, automatically he followed suit. It was like a marionette dance. So she kept lifting her cup to her lips and moving her pieces and within fifteen minutes the colonel’s goblet was empty. She reached for it.
“A little more, Colonel?” She gestured to her majordomo. “Bring the decanter, Charles.”
“No, no, I think I’ve had sufficient,” the colonel said, and Meg could detect just the tiniest slur in his voice.
Charles filled his glass nevertheless and returned to his station at the door.
It happened so slowly that Meg was hardly aware of it despite her close observation. Colonel Montaine’s hand became a little less sure as he moved his pieces, he slumped a little on the sofa, and then the piece he was about to position on the board fell from his hand and his head fell forward onto his chest.
Cosimo was there instantly. He lifted Montaine’s wrist, checking his pulse. “Good,” he pronounced. “He’ll be out for hours but
we
don’t have that much time.” He pulled Meg to her feet. He clasped her face between his hands for one instant and then released her. “Go and change into your britches and meet me in the stables. And for God’s sake, Meg,
hurry.
”
“There’s no need to be so peremptory,” she said, feeling the warmth of his hands on her face, aware now of a warmth within her creeping into the cold detachment that had insulated her from the fear and hurt that seemed to have been her companions for so long. “I’m not about to dawdle over anything at this point.” She whisked herself out of the salon.
The soldiers were still in the hall and they stiffened to attention as she entered. Ignoring them, Meg ascended the stairs. In her bedchamber she changed quickly into Anatole’s garments that she had kept hidden in the back of the wardrobe. She looked once around the room, wondering if there was anything else she should take. The jewels?
Then she shook her head. If Cosimo had wanted her to bring them, he would have said so. Perhaps they were stolen. The thought brought a choke of lunatic laughter. She left the room and crept down the back stairs to the kitchen. It was silent, but still well lit. A pot boy snored in front of the fire. She tiptoed past him and let herself out into the narrow courtyard beyond. The stables were in darkness and she felt her way until an arm came around her, making her jump and gasp.
“You scared me,” she hissed, turning angry eyes on him.
Cosimo offered only a rote apology, but Meg was not to know how much he relished the anger that returned the liveliness to her eyes. He urged her into the narrow lane behind the church where their horses waited, and gave her a leg up onto the mare.
“We’ve lost close to three hours,” he murmured. “Stay close.”
And Meg stayed close as they left the port by an unfamiliar route and rode along the coast until they reached a secluded cove. Cosimo didn’t speak and neither did she as the dark night gave way to the gray of the false dawn and then the pink tinge in the eastern sky that heralded a new day.
They rode down a narrow path to the small beach, where a fishing boat bobbed in the shallows.
“What about the horses?” Meg asked, hearing her voice as if it was that of a stranger.
“Payment for services rendered,” Cosimo replied before greeting the small group of fishermen waiting on the edge of the beach.
Meg gave the mare’s neck one last stroke and bade her a soft farewell. The animal was too valuable a beast to meet with anything but the best treatment. Cosimo as always had not neglected a single detail.
Except that the details were for nothing if Bonaparte was still alive.
“Come, quickly now. We have to catch the tide.” Cosimo lifted her and carried her through the shallows, depositing her in the bow of the fishing boat. He hitched himself in beside her and two of the fishermen jumped into the stern while a third pushed them off the sandy bottom. The foresail and jib caught the swelling breeze.
The sun rose as they sailed out of the cove and into a stretch of water between the coast of France and a small group of islands. They sailed around the biggest of the islands and Meg drew a deep breath as the familiar shape of the
Mary Rose
stood out against a gray cliff.
She glanced at Cosimo. He too was looking at his ship, and there was a strange cast to his countenance. Not exactly a darkness, more a question. As if aware of her scrutiny he turned his gaze towards her. The blue eyes were full of light. As if he’d seen something he hadn’t known existed.
As they drew closer to the
Mary Rose
the rope ladder dropped over the side. Men appeared along the rail and one of Cosimo’s nephew-lieutenants, Meg wasn’t sure which one at this distance, climbed down the ladder ready to pull them in. The fishing boat came alongside and one of the men tossed Frank Fisher the painter. He secured it, bringing the boat against the ship’s side.
“Welcome aboard, Captain . . . ma’am.” He offered a hand to assist Meg onto the ladder.
“Thank you, Frank. Go on up, Miss Barratt can manage without help.” Cosimo stood back watching with a tiny smile as Meg grasped the ladder and swung herself easily onto the bottom rung. She went up hand over hand as if she’d been doing it all her life. Her fatigue dropped away from her as she hitched herself over the rail and felt the sloop’s deck moving gently beneath her feet.
“G’day . . . g’day.”
At the familiar squawk she turned, laughing. David Porter, with the macaw perched on his shoulder, emerged from the companionway. “I thought it must be you,” he said, smiling, even as he looked her over with a professional eye. “You seem intact.”
“I am,” she said, holding out her arm for Gus, who flew instead onto her shoulder and pecked her ear. “So is Cosimo.”
“So is Cosimo what?” the privateer demanded as he jumped to the deck. Gus rose with a delighted squawk of greeting and abandoned Meg for his master.
“Intact,” she said. “David was asking.”
“David.” Cosimo held out his hand to the other man. “Everything all right on board?”
“Smooth sailing,” the physician said. “You?”
“Not all the time,” Cosimo said and the physician nodded as if satisfied.
Cosimo, standing at the rail beside Meg, scratched the macaw’s poll, murmuring to him. And Meg could feel the tension that the privateer had carried from the moment they’d left the ship at the Bordeaux estuary leave him like an unwanted cloak. Whatever he’d been through that night, waiting for Bonaparte, was over. Whether the mission was accomplished or not, it
was
over.
Cosimo strode to the quarterdeck, where Mike at the helm nodded a laconic greeting. The captain of the
Mary Rose
stood behind the helmsman and called, “Make all sail.”
Meg leaned back against the rail of the mid-deck and gazed upwards, watching the familiar routine. Men crawled all over the rigging, hanging precariously over the deck some twenty feet below as they set the sails. The sloop sprang across the water under full sail and Meg turned to look behind her at the little fishing boat, now heading out to sea.
She felt Cosimo behind her before his hand came to rest on the nape of her neck. Gus flew onto the deck rail and regarded them, bright-eyed, head cocked. “Poor Gus,” he murmured experimentally, and when he received no response, muttered it again with more conviction and tucked his head under his wing.
Meg leaned back into the warm clasp, closing her eyes against the dazzle of the early sun. “You didn’t kill him,” she said.
“No,” he agreed, his fingers moving upwards into her hair.
“Why not?”
He looked over her head at the receding coastline. “Love,” he said. “An odd feeling. I’ve often wondered what it was like.” He turned her towards him. “Now I know.” He traced her face with a fingertip. “
You
could say it, Meg. I am so sorry it took me so much longer. But I
love
you. You are all and everything to me.”
She didn’t respond immediately, but looked at him seriously, still unsure. She could still hear his words:
I don’t risk failure, my dear.
“It must matter to you that you failed this time.”
He palmed her cheek, running his fingers over her eyelids. “Yes, it matters, but not enough. Can you accept that?”
“Yes,” Meg said, reaching a hand to caress his cheek. “Yes, I can accept that.”
She turned within the circle of his arm and looked out over the sea. “Where are we going?”
“I promised I would take you back to Folkestone,” he said, his hand flattening against her hip. “I will keep my promise.”
“And if I release you from it?”
He drew her closer against him. “Then the
Mary Rose
will follow Bonaparte to Malta.”
“And the captain of the
Mary Rose
will try his mission again?”
“In one way or another,” Cosimo said. “Nelson’s waiting for Bonaparte. If we don’t sail back to England, then the
Mary Rose
will join the admiral and the navy in this fight.”
Meg turned to put her hands on the rail, feeling his body come up close, molding itself against her back. “Then I too will join this fight.”
“Out of conviction or out of love?” His breath rustled across the top of her head.
“Both,” she said after a moment. She turned again, reaching her hands up, linking them behind his neck. “But love takes precedence. I
love
you, privateer.” Her eyes glittered with a sheen of tears.
He kissed her eyelids, stroking her face. “You are all and everything to me,” he said as he had done earlier. “I love you, Meg Barratt.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JANE FEATHER is the
New York Times
bestselling, award-winning author of
Almost a Bride, The Wedding Game, The Bride Hunt, The Bachelor List, Kissed by Shadows, To Kiss a Spy, The Widow’s Kiss, The Least Likely Bride, The Accidental Bride, The Hostage Bride, A Valentine Wedding, The Emerald Swan,
and many other historical romances. She was born in Cairo, Egypt, and grew up in the New Forest, in the south of England. She began her writing career after she and her family moved to Washington, D.C., in 1981. She now has more than ten million copies of her books in print.
Also by Jane Feather
Vice
Vanity
Violet
Valentine
Velvet
Venus
Vixen
Virtue
The Diamond Slipper
The Silver Rose
The Emerald Swan
The Hostage Bride
A Valentine Wedding
The Accidental Bride
The Least Likely Bride
The Widow’s Kiss
Almost Innocent
To Kiss a Spy
Kissed by Shadows
The Bachelor List
The Bride Hunt
The Wedding Game
Almost a Bride
PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF
JANE FEATHER
Almost a Bride
“[A] boundary-pushing page-turner . . . Rich with details that put the ‘historical’ back into historical romance, this tale seethes with breathtaking tension.”
—Publishers Weekly
(starred review)
“[A] moving and complex romance, one of her best yet.”
—Booklist
The Wedding Game
“[
The Wedding Game
] is a perfect ending to a delightful trilogy, although readers will miss Feather’s fascinating and entertaining characters.”
—Booklist
The Bride Hunt
“Interesting characters keep the sensual story lively, proving once again why Feather is so very popular. Readers will eagerly anticipate the adventures of the third Duncan sister.”
—Booklist
“Feather unites a free-spirited woman and an assertive lawyer in this tale of a mature, sensual, delightful relationship.”
—Romantic Times
“A charming romp.”
—Publishers Weekly
The Bachelor List
“Feather develops her conflicts well, and when they’re needed to make the relationship compelling, they step gracefully into the spotlight.”
—Contra Costa Times
“In her latest wonderful romance, Feather enriches the genre.”
—Booklist
“A lighthearted romp with great banter . . . Fans . . . of [Feather] will no doubt find
The Bachelor List
enjoyable, and will eagerly be waiting for the next in the trilogy!”
—Romance Reviews Today
Kissed by Shadows
“[
Kissed by Shadows
] will hook readers at the outset. . . . Feather skillfully draws out the intrigue and immerses readers in the time period.”
—Publishers Weekly
“This fascinating follow-up to
To Kiss a Spy
is rife with danger and intrigue.”
—Booklist
“Strong characters and writing, a rich historical backdrop and a secondary love story flow through the pages of this sensual, memorable romance, making it ‘a keeper’!”
—Romantic Times
“Jane Feather continues to . . . perfectly combine sensuality, suspense, and lovely leading ladies.”
—Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
To Kiss a Spy
“Passion and intrigue abound in this lusty yet dignified bodice-ripper.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Another genre winner from Feather, done with skill, sensuality, and brio.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“A devour-it-like-chocolate page-turner that takes the reader through the vivid landscapes of the times, from grand balls to the bleakest stews of foggy London and across the countryside.”
—BookPage
“Against the backdrop of espionage and intrigue in the court of young Edward VI, Ms. Feather writes a story filled with sensuality, passion and poignancy.”
—Romantic Times
“I recommend
To Kiss a Spy
as a fast-paced, engrossing novel of intrigue, passion and the power of not only romantic love, but love of family, to conquer and heal all.”
—America Online’s Romance Fiction Forum
The Widow’s Kiss
“Typical of Feather’s novels, the story succeeds as romantic fiction, with fine characterizations.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Rich characters, sophisticated sensuality, and a skillfully crafted story line: a first-class historical romance, wonderfully entertaining.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Filled with period detail and dynamic characters, Feather’s appealing historical romance exemplifies the qualities that make her perennially popular.”
—Booklist
“Feather, whose millions of readers eagerly await each new book, is at the top of her form here.”
—Brazosport Facts
“One of the most intense romances I’ve read. . . . From the opening scene to the final pages I was glued to this book. I had one of those nights where you keep reading no matter how late it’s getting. You keep looking at the clock thinking, ‘If I turn off the light right now, I’ll get six hours of sleep.’ Then it’s five hours, then four, and if you’re lucky, you’ll have finished the book before you get to three.”
—All About Romance
The Least Likely Bride
“Feather’s writing is quick, vivid, and upbeat. . . . Her hero is dashing and articulate; her heroine is headstrong and intelligent and ends up saving her lover; and it all adds up to a perfect light historical romance.”
—Booklist
“Ms. Feather’s latest is full of intrigue, passion and adventure—a lively read.”
—Dallas Morning News
“A charming, fast read.”
—Philadelphia Inquirer
“I highly recommend
The Least Likely Bride,
and I plan to search out the other books in Feather’s Bride Trilogy immediately.”
—All About Romance
“The third in Ms. Feather’s Bride trilogy reunites Portia and Rofus, Cato and Phoebe, and brings together Olivia and Anthony in this powerfully crafted story filled with romance and enough adventure to keep the reader turning pages. A keeper.”
—Romantic Times
“Add a bit of ‘wrecking’ by a dastardly nobleman who wants to marry Olivia for her fortune, along with the skulduggery of a stepbrother she loathes, and you have a typically engaging romance à la Feather.”
—Brazosport Facts
A Valentine Wedding
“A fast-paced book that will keep the reader entertained.”
—Rocky Mountain News
The Hostage Bride
“The first in Jane Feather’s ‘Bride’ trilogy is a feather in her cap and one of her best stories ever.”
—Atlanta Journal-Constitution
The Silver Rose
“Well-written and fast moving . . . entertaining.”
—Booklist
“Feather’s writing style is spirited and her plot is well-paced.”
—Publishers Weekly
Vice
“
Vice
offers everything from sensual romantic scenes to hilarious misadventures to an exposition on the problems facing ladies of the evening in the mid-18th century. . . . Readers will love it.”
—Brazosport Facts
Violet
“Great fun . . . Feather’s well-paced plot generates lots of laughs, steamy sex and high adventure, as well as some wryly perceptive commentary on the gender stereotypes her heroine so flagrantly defies.”
—Publishers Weekly
Valentine
“Four out of four stars . . .
Valentine
. . . comes much closer to the Austen spirit than any of the pseudo-sequels that have been proliferating lately.”
—Detroit Free Press
Vixen
“
Vixen
is worth taking to bed. . . . Feather’s last book,
Virtue,
was good, but this one is even better.”
—USA Today
Virtue
“Jane Feather is an accomplished storyteller. . . . The result—a rare and wonderful battle-of the-sexes story that will delight both historical and Regency readers.”
—Daily News of Los Angeles
