Deadly Peril (28 page)

She took her time to join him, surprised by this trekschuit’s interior, which was deceptively spacious and opulent, and not what she was expecting of a barge in the austere environment of Emden, where the interiors of the houses had more in common with the practical merchant Dutchmen than they did the baroque excesses of the Austrian and French royal courts. But not this trekschuit.

With a wide, low, and slightly convex roofline, from the towpath she had assumed the space within to be cramped. But she was able to stand to her full height with the calash hood of her cape back off her hair. And while the deckhouse was not excessively wide, there was sufficient room for a wooden bench either side, running under the length of the windows, and near the steps where she had descended, a narrow table was set between the benches to allow passengers sitting opposite each other to engage in a game of cards, to play at checkers or chess, and offer a place to rest their mugs of tea. The benches were covered in red velvet cushions. The walls were painted in a duck blue with gilded piping framing the windows, and these were dressed with curtains in red-and-gold patterned damask tied back with heavy gold braid, affording the passengers a view.

The deckhouse was also snugly warm, with a coal-burning brass heater in one corner, its brass pipe flue piercing through the painted ceiling, and there were tapestry carpets under foot. At the far end was a long curtain stretching from ceiling to floor in the same fabric as the windows, and it was at this long curtain Colonel Müller paused and rapped his knuckles on the painted wood paneling to announce his presence. He was called behind the curtain and held it aside to allow Selina to enter before him.

But Selina’s gaze had not come down from the ceiling. It was painted, too, with a blue sky strewn with fluffy clouds inhabited by winged cherubs. It was such a fanciful piece, much in keeping with the rest of the decoration, that she was sure this barge had never been used in any utilitarian way but as some wealthy gentleman’s pleasure craft. She was still on this thought when she came out of her reverie to find the Colonel patiently holding aside the curtain, and she quickly stepped behind the curtain, and again was met with the unexpected.

She found herself in what appeared to be a gentleman’s dressing room. The space was fitted out with an array of campaign furniture, from fold-out camp bed that was made up with a down-filled coverlet and pillows, to a collapsible polished mahogany toilette stand with patterned porcelain shaving bowl. This stood in a corner by a caned mahogany chair which had a dark velvet frock coat draped over its back. In the opposite corner were a number of travelling trunks, one stacked upon the other, and by the head of the camp bed was a folding campaign table which had upon it an opened stationery
nécessaire
, the fold-out green felt writing surface strewn with the implements necessary for the sealing of letters with wax, of which there was a bundle neatly stacked by the capped silver inkwell.

Selina took all this in with one sweep, but failed to notice Alec standing by the window where his valet was threading a silver stickpin into the folds of his cravat, because her gaze remained fixed on the shaving bowl. It was full of soapy water, with an ivory-handled open razor propped over its rim. For some inexplicable reason the sight of these everyday but most personal of gentleman’s accoutrements made her throat constrict. She turned her head into her shoulder, face flushed with heat as her thoughts flooded with images of making love with Alec in a Parisian bed. Suddenly her fur-lined black wool cape was too heavy and too hot.

“Thank you for bringing Mrs. Jamison-Lewis to me, Colonel,” Alec said, coming away from the window, where he had been staring out at the view across the canal. He was still in his shirt sleeves over which was a fine black wool sleeveless waistcoat which matched his breeches, black curls neatly dressed and plaited and tied with a white satin bow. He picked up the bundle of letters and held them out to the soldier, continuing in German, “This is the last of them. All the souls needing safe passage to Holland are now accounted for. I assume there was little difficulty in returning their confiscated property?”

“No difficulty, Herr Baron,” Colonel Müller replied evenly and with a small bow. “The Customs officials here in Emden are exceptional record keepers. Everything has been accounted for, except perhaps for foodstuffs, which went into the collective stores to help feed the extra mouths of having a garrison quartered here for the winter months.”

“Their small contribution to the war effort then,” Alec said, tossing aside the towel which he had used to pat dry his shaven skin. He was momentarily distracted by his valet who scurried about collecting up discarded towel and shaving apron, before tidying away razors, toothbrush, and tooth chalk, and all this while juggling the shaving bowl without spilling a drop of the soapy water over the lip. “I don’t expect to see you for several hours, Mr. Jeffries,” he said firmly in English. “Find yourself a corner to curl up in and get some sleep.”

“I don’t need—”

“Yes. You do,” Alec said stridently. “Now go.” He waited for Hadrian Jeffries to leave by the back steps, then addressed the Colonel, again in German. “I require a private word with Mrs. Jamison-Lewis. In the meantime, the other passengers may board, but fix one of your men at the curtain. We are not to be disturbed, failing a full-scale attack by opposition forces. And when you deem the convoy and your soldiers ready, you may order our departure.”

He gave the Colonel a brief nod of dismissal and the soldier saluted and left, letting the folds of the damask curtain drop back against the wall, effectively shutting out the world.

It was the first time Selina and Alec had been alone in months.

Inexplicably, she was suddenly shy in his company with no idea of what to say. This was despite nights spent pacing before the fireplace in her dressing room, rehearsing the exact words she would say to him when this moment arrived. Now her tongue seemed unable to help her lips, and with no satisfactory outlet, her head ached with all the thoughts she wanted to put into words building up behind her eyes, or so it seemed to Selina.

It did not help that Alec remained by the table silently watching her, fiddling with the intaglio ring, turning it this way and that on his long finger, which surely underscored that here, in this place, in this foreign country, he was first and foremost the Herr Baron—a foreign title bestowed upon him and kept secret from everyone in his life who mattered, and with no satisfactory explanation given to her or anyone else how this circumstance arose. Thus he still had as much explaining to do as she did, possibly more.

When he caught her glance at the ring and frown he slipped it off and set it aside on the green felt blotter, without taking his gaze from her. He then put out his hand and it was enough to draw her further into the room, and to place her hand in his. Yet, she still could not find the right words, though she was able to find her tongue and blurted out in a rush,

“I’ve disturbed you!”

“Not at all, Mrs. Jamison-Lewis.”

The use of her married name snapped her out of her self-consciousness, which was Alec’s intent. He suppressed a smile when she unwittingly sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Oh, when will you stop calling me by that
hateful
name?” she complained.

He pulled a face of unconcern and lifted a shoulder, knowing this would further infuriate her, adding as casually as he could manage, “Today. If you wish it.”

Her gloved hand in his flinched and she pouted.

“I do wish it! I wish it
very
much!”

Her pout almost undid him. She was quick to rile. He put this down to her youth. She was after all, just four-and-twenty, eleven years his junior. And then there was her marriage to a wife-beater; a quarter of her life spent with a monster had left scars, physical and mental, and a mistrust of others, even with loved ones, and even of him who loved her. But he had been absent and preferred to remain in ignorance of her marriage for those years of abuse, so it was only natural she resented him for that, even if she had yet to acknowledge this to herself. He believed time and patience would pull them through this. Time for her, patience for him.

“Then it will be done—tonight,” he said evenly, features perfectly composed, but with a twinkle in his blue eyes.

Selina had no idea what he was talking about. His even tone and her curiosity took all the fight out of her. “Tonight? What will be done?”

“I will tell you. But first we need to talk, and before I fall asleep.”

Selina frowned, her petulance evaporating with concern for him.

“Yes. Yes, you do need sleep. I can see it in your eyes—the-the tiredness. Perhaps it would be best if you slept first and we talked afterwards…?” she suggested.

When he nodded but made no reply, seemingly wholly absorbed in her gloved hand in his, she swallowed hard. He had turned over her hand and was nudging back the soft leather from the mitten covering her forearm to expose the bare skin at her wrist. He then raised her hand and gently pressed his lips there, and she spoke in a whisper, oblivious to her words, distracted by the pressure of his mouth on her warm skin,

“I dare say you’ve been up all night sorting through those petitions so the men waiting down by the tall ships are able to leave this place unhindered?”

“Yes,” he replied with the ghost of a laugh, looking up into her dark eyes before kissing her wrist a second time and saying gently, “And all that time I was writing and signing notes of free passage, I was waiting for dusk to bring you to me. All so we could talk.”

“Yes, talk,” she added, slightly breathless and giddy. “We must talk because… because…”

She lost her train of thought completely as he slowly stripped off her glove, peeling back the kid leather, revealing the soft chinchilla lining and exposing first her wrist, then the soft pad at the base of her thumb, then the undulation of her palm, and finally inching the glove all the way to her fingertips, giving the task his undivided attention. He could very well have been stripping her bare, such was the evocative nature in which he divested her of her glove. She stared at his bowed head of blue-black curls pulled back off his forehead, and then down the thin line of his long boney nose to his mouth; it was all she could do to stop herself from fainting. And all he had done was kiss her wrist and remove one glove! Mustering all her self-control she said more severely than she intended,

“It is most important that we talk!”

“Yes,” he said evenly. Still holding her glove, he told her to put up her chin so he could undo the silver button and clasp of her cape. “It’s much too warm in such a confined space for gloves and a cape, as fetching as they are. Perhaps you would care to sit to have this talk?”

He turned away to drape the cape over the back of the caned mahogany campaign chair beside his frock coat. He next dropped the glove on the seat, putting out his hand for its twin, which Selina roughly pulled from her fingers and gave him. He then sat on the edge of the camp bed, hands on his knees and a nod at the space beside him.

“Do you wish to speak first?”

Selina sat where directed and they faced each other.

“Thank you. Yes. Though you will have to forgive me because it is all a bit muddled in my head. I’ve been waiting an age to tell you this.”

“Please, take your time. We are not expected at Aurich until nightfall, though I hope we are fed and watered along the way.”

Selina nodded, the frown between her brows indication enough his attempt at levity had fallen flat, such was her preoccupation. So he said nothing further and patiently waited.

How was she to start this confession—for that was what it was. What precisely did she want to say? she wondered, lips pressed together, dry in the mouth, and brushing aside her desire that he pull her into his embrace and give her a proper kiss. But she did not move, keeping her hands in the lap of her quilted cotton petticoats, back straight and body twisted to face him sitting next to her.

That he was regarding her with something other than tiredness in his blue eyes was disconcerting. There was a gleam—or was it a twinkle?—that reminded her of times past, such as the first time he had told her he loved her, wanted to marry her, and would be hers and hers alone. Or when they had first made love in the Grove and he again declared he loved her. But this was different. This was arrogance. Or was it confidence? Or both? It was a knowing-and-getting-what-he-wanted sort of look. For a moment she wondered if it was the Herr Baron and not Alec Halsey who sat across from her, but quickly dismissed this. Instinct told her that it was Alec, the man she loved, and that if ever there was a time to unburden herself, this was it, and he would listen and not judge her.

And because that kiss to her wrist and the look in his blue eyes had the power to make her thoughts whirl and her heart race, she just burst into explanation, rattling on, hardly knowing what she was saying but knowing her thoughts were leading her to a subject that had not been broached between them since they had parted in Bath, when he had not permitted her to explain herself or her actions. And as she spoke the gleam in his eye intensified, and his features softened, so that a smile hovered and played upon his lips that left Selina uncertain whether he was smiling in understanding, or smiling at her as if she were talking complete drivel. She had no idea what he was thinking, but what she did know was that he was listening, and listening intently. At that moment in time, there could have been cannon fire and soldiers engaged in sticking bayonets into each other on both sides of the canal, and he would not have heard any of it, just the sound of her voice. And so she allowed herself to confess to him what she had confessed to no other. And she knew that by this confession, she was laying her soul bare, that there was no turning back—her future was wholly in his hands.

“You are owed an explanation,” she said. “About the accusations leveled at my head in Bath by the odious Lady Rutherglen. They came as a shock to you. I saw it in your face, and in your subsequent manner toward me spoke volumes about your distress. I now realize had I confided in you when you first came to me in Paris, and not allowed my-my
selfishness
to convince me otherwise—that all explanations could wait for another day because I wanted your visit to be a joyous one—then this predicament we now find ourselves in would not have occurred.