Enticing the Earl (13 page)

It was almost a shame that the distance was not longer. The sky was blue, the breeze light and off the sea, and they had a good road so they could canter side by side.

He was happy to see his companion's eyes sparkle and her manner freer than he had so far observed. Her diffidence was not in evidence today, and he relished the easy laughter that greeted his attempts at humor as they rode through the countryside.

Watching her open countenance, her bright eyes, her unguarded mien, for once he could picture her as she was surely meant to be—the genuine person, Marcus thought, beneath the counterfeit. He only wished he could observe this side of her more often. How could he convince her that he could be trusted?

As they neared the town, they had to rein in their horses and proceed more slowly as they encountered other riders and vehicles on the roadway. And to his regret, Mrs. Smith reclaimed her facade of discretion, even as she slowed her steed to a more manageable gait.

The more crowded roadway also made them now unable to ride side by side, instead moving into a single file procession, so they could no longer talk, and they made their way down to the harbor without any more pleasantries being exchanged. When they came to the harbor, Marcus helped his companion dismount, then located the office of the official he needed to speak to. He found someone to look out for their mounts while they went inside.

The local official was ingratiating but hardly a fount of information. “Aye, me lord, the Viscount Tweed was on 'and almost before the '
Ampton Court
docked, the ship carrying the recovered cargo from the ship ye lost—what was it, the
Bonnie Lassie
? All the recovered cargo 'as been taken to the company's warehouse. We 'ad a look, and ye can see it there, as well. It all seems in order. Quite remarkable that such a quantity of it 'as survived. Amazing that it should turn up from the depths of the ocean, eh, yer lordship?”

“Yes, quite a surprise,” Marcus agreed. He knew that his tone was dry, and that Mrs. Smith glanced at him from beneath her eyelids, but he didn't think that the Harbor Master detected anything singular in his tone.

“I'll write out an order giving ye permission to get past the guard and visit the warehouse, me lord.”

“Thank you,” Marcus said. He took the paperwork, and after a few more courtesies exchanged, they were bowed out of the office and could remount their steeds and proceed down the docks toward the warehouse where the remains of the recovered freight were stored. The air was redolent of dead fish and brine and filled with the noisy shouts of seamen busy as other ships at anchor nearby were emptied of their own hauls of barrels and boxes or else being resupplied as their crews prepared for new passages to faraway countries.

Mrs. Smith's eyes were wide as she watched the hustle and bustle. Once her mare danced to the side as a burly sailor came too close, his vision obstructed by the bulky crate whose weight he balanced on one shoulder. But she tightened the reins and pulled the horse back into line, avoiding the seaman and controlling her mount.

He nodded in approval, and she flushed slightly at his sign of praise.

Lauryn had been relieved that she still remembered how to sit a horse. They had been away from Yorkshire for some time, and she had not had the funds to ride while staying in London. It was a great pleasure to have the opportunity to ride today, and earning the earl's look of commendation gave her more private delight than she cared to admit.

They reached the warehouse without further incident and dismounted again. When the guard said, “No admittance, gov,” the earl presented the Harbor Master's documents.

“Oh, sorry, me lord,” the man said.

The big building stank of mildew and rot. Lauryn drew out her handkerchief and held it to her nose, but she followed the earl as he approached the stack of water-stained boxes and bins stacked unevenly at one side of the structure. He cautiously lifted the top of the nearest crate to inspect its contents.

Unable to contain her curiosity, Lauryn came closer to see what he found.

As he raised the lid, the wood—soft and rotted by its long exposure to water—came apart in his hand. What could have survived the years beneath the sea?

But it seemed what was inside the crates had indeed fared better than the rotten wood. When the earl pushed aside soggy sawdust, she saw beautiful sculptures of what appeared to be green or bluish stone. The next box held vases and urns of delicate china, in Oriental patterns of white and blue. She bit her lip, wondering if these were as precious as they appeared. He continued to check box after box, and although the crates were close to falling apart, the contents seemed in good condition.

So why did the earl frown?

She waited for him to speak, and when he did not, finally asked, “Are you not pleased that they are mostly undamaged? Are they costly?”

“Yes,” he said. “They are most valuable, Ming vases and urns, and good quality jade sculpture of some age. But…”

“It's amazing that they are intact,” she said when he paused, thinking of these delicate pieces tossed about in a storm, then sinking with the ship to the ocean's depths.

“They were packed in sawdust, and the vases had beeswax melted inside them, to help cushion them against the rolling of the waves,” he pointed out, but his thoughts still seemed far away.

She saw that the vase that he lifted to inspect for cracks still had wax clinging to its lip, though someone seemed to have scraped it mostly clean. The earl tried to brush aside the wax that clung to his fingertips.

“How much of the original cargo survived?”

“I'm not sure, likely about half. I will have to see if Tweed has made a list of the salvaged goods and compared it to the original,” the earl told her.

He glanced about them and seemed to be counting the boxes and barrels. She was silent, in order not to interfere with his concentration. They had worked their way back toward the entrance of the warehouse. The earl turned back toward the guard at the entrance.

“Do you know if Viscount Tweed made a list of the cargo?' he asked the man.

“I don't rightly know, me lord,” the other man answered.

“How long was he here?” the earl asked.

The guard looked a bit harassed. “Not so long, yer lordship.”

The earl gave up his questions. “I shall have to write to Tweed,” he told Lauryn. “I believe he has gone back to London. I think we've done all we can do here. Let's get out and get some fresh air.”

She nodded. The atmosphere was noisome with the heavy stink of the rotten wood and the mildewed sawdust and other strong scents; it was almost hard to breathe.

It was good to step out into the open air. She saw the earl dust off his trousers, which showed traces of black spots from the mildewed and rotten crates.

“I think we could use a nuncheon,” the earl said, “after dealing with the dregs of Neptune's bounty. But first, there is one errand I would like to do.”

“Whatever you like, my lord,” she said.

He had noted a store with a window filled with lockets and jeweled necklaces, bracelets of gold, and silver chains. She gave it hardly a passing glance. He thought of the ribbon about her neck he had shredded when he had pulled off her clothes, and hesitated. He was no doubt asking for trouble, but still, fair was fair.

“Wait,” he told her, as she looked about her, ready to cross the street at the safest and least littered path.

“Yes?” She turned back to him. “Is this the errand you wish to attend to?”

He nodded. “Since I accidentally ruined your ribbon last night, it seems only fair that I should replace it. We might take a look in here for a trinket to go about your neck.” He motioned to her to go through the door first.

She raised her brows, and then, in a small gesture of independence that he found oddly alluring, her chin. “My lord, a ribbon is easily found at the notions counter of a ladies' shop. I think you are in the wrong emporium.”

“We can always look,” he repeated. Her lack of enthusiasm somehow strengthened his insistence. If she had jumped at the chance, he would have been sure that he had been wrong to suggest it—perhaps she was more canny than he knew—but no, he thought her reluctance was genuine. At any rate, he held the door for her until she relented and allowed him to usher her inside.

A clerk, no, more than a clerk—one of the partners himself, if Marcus didn't miss his bet—hurried forward, having taken a quick measure of the patrons who entered.

“Good day to you, sir, madam. How may I assist you?” he asked, giving them a deep bow.

“The lady would like to see something that would grace her lovely neck,” Marcus suggested.

Mrs. Smith flashed him a look of indignation. He had given the jeweler much too big a rein, and the man was going to run with it.

Perhaps he simply wanted to see what she would do. He couldn't help remembering that remark when they had first met about having permission to smother her with jewels…

The man was already pulling out one of the gaudiest and, no doubt, most valuable pieces in the shop, a diamond and ruby necklace that was likely worth a prince's ransom.

“Now, this, madam, is something truly spectacular—”

“No, no.” Mrs. Smith looked horrified. “You misunderstand. I wish only something small and simple.”

The jeweler's smile faded. “Oh, very well, then. How—um—simple do you wish to go, madam?”

“Very simple,” she said firmly, leading the way to the far end of the counter. “Now this is quite charming.”
This
was a single gold chain with a gold locket at the end of it.

The jeweler followed her with much less spring to his step. “No doubt, no doubt, but let me show you another locket with diamonds set around it, which would augment your charms even more,” he tried to tell her.

Marcus watched for the next few minutes, being no help at all as his companion fought back all the shopkeeper's efforts to talk up his more expensive wares. But she kept her gaze resolutely on the gold locket, and presently, they walked out of the shop with a paper-wrapped package and a slightly crestfallen shopkeeper left behind them.

“You are most generous, my lord,” she told him, smiling as if he had given her the crown jewels.

“I think I am a paltry fellow, actually, and you are a determined shopper,” he said. “I salute you.”

“Most of the other pieces were truly gaudy,” she said. “And I do like this locket, so I am well pleased.”

She smiled at him, looking satisfied with her small prize. He smiled back, and again wondered when she would tell more about who she really was.

He led them on to the small inn on a side street, which he had selected earlier.

“I think we can find a quiet meal here,” he told her. They gave the horses to an ostler, and the earl asked the servant who met them for a private parlor and a meal to be sent up.

“If you don't mind going on up, Mrs. Smith,” he said. “I just want to check on my mount; he seems to be favoring his left front foot. I want to be sure he's not picked up a stone.”

“Of course,” she said cheerfully.

The landlord himself came to greet her in the front hall, bowing and rubbing his hands on his apron.

“So happy to have ye. Mrs. Smith, is it?” he said, all smiles. “I've me kitchen working on your meal, and yer good man is in the stables, is he? He'll find all in good shape, there, too, though I don't fault him for seeing to his horses his own self. A good mount is worth a pretty penny, in't it?”

Trying not to smile at the idea of the Earl of Sutton being called her “good man,” Lauryn managed not to giggle as she was escorted up the stairs. Chatting all the while, he showed her up to a small parlor, assured her that all would be seen to it just as she would wish it, and then left her to find the facilities and return to warm her hands at the fire in the hearth, all before the earl returned.

“How is your horse?” she asked when he came into the room.

“A small stone under the shoe, but I had it out before there was any real damage, I think,” he told her. “Ah, this looks promising.”

Servants brought in the first of the dishes, and the smells would certainly tempt anyone with a stomach as empty as hers, Lauryn thought. Soon they could sit and eat, and for a few minutes, they gave their attention to their meal.

Presently, their landlord returned to be sure that all was satisfactory.

“I 'ope your beef is to your liking, Mr. Smith,” he said now, his smile broad. “We do our best to please, we do, for you and your good wife.”

The earl paused for a moment, and Lauryn blinked, waiting for him to freeze out their host with a haughty look and to apprise him of the earl's correct rank and name. But after one slightly startled moment, the earl said nothing, only nodding in acknowledgment.

“You've taken good care of us,” the earl agreed. “The dinner is excellent.” Nor did he say anything to correct the man's mistaken assumption about their marital relationship.