Love's Price (Lord Trent Series) (9 page)

She scoffed. “You can’t be that naïve. It’s not the kind of secret that can be kept.”

“Fine then. Be my mistress.”

He hadn’t realized he was about to make the offer, but with the prospect having been broached, he was elated to have proposed it.

His mistress! Yes! It was the perfect solution.

She was beautiful and educated and graceful. He could set her up in a cozy house, could buy her a stylish wardrobe and carriage, could hire her a cadre of the best servants. Every man in town would be green with envy.

“Your...your...mistress!” she stammered. “I swear, with each word you utter, I’m more shocked.”

“It’s what I want. Say
yes
.”

“I can’t.”

“And what is your alternative? Will you scamper after Miranda, suffering her invectives and disdain?”

“You could just let me go to Mrs. Ford so I can find another position.”

“Never,” he vehemently asserted. “I will never let you go.”

The coach halted in his driveway, and when the door was opened, James handed her out to a waiting footman, then he followed her inside.

As they entered, Miranda was hurrying toward them, assuming he’d returned alone.

“Miss Stewart!” she snapped, obviously stunned. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come back—like a bad penny.”

Helen swept by her and stomped up the stairs.

James stared at Miranda, his glower informing her that he’d brook no argument.

“I’ve asked her to stay,” he explained, “and she’s agreed that she will.”

“Isn’t that grand?” Miranda fumed, her fury barely contained.

“Yes, it is. It’s quite grand.”

CHAPTER SIX

Harriet came awake gradually, and a wave of confusion swept through her before she remembered where she was. She stretched, stifling a groan at how her body ached from lying in a curled position on the hard floor of the longboat.

The ship seemed to be rocking more than it had been when she’d first boarded. The sensation was peaceful and soothing, and it made her want to fall asleep again, but she had to get moving.

She had no idea if it was still night or if morning had arrived. If it was full day, what would she do? What if the crew had returned? How would she escape without detection?

She listened for activity or conversation, but all was quiet, so she was encouraged. Perhaps she’d be able to sneak off after all.

She sat up and lifted the tarp to peek out. The sun was up, the sky a riveting blue, so it took her a moment to focus. As she did, she realized that another pair of eyes—just a few inches from hers—stared back.

“Ah!” she shrieked, lurching away.

The other person shrieked, too. From the sound of it, he was a young male, and he muttered, “Blimey. Now we’re in for it.”

He yanked at the tarp to expose Harriet where she was huddled next to an oar.

“All right, you, out you go.”

She didn’t see any choice but to obey. He steadied her as she climbed onto the deck where she was dismayed to observe nothing but water on all sides. The ship had sailed, and she’d slumbered through the casting off, through the journey down the Thames and into the open sea.

“Oh, no...” she breathed.

“Miss,” the sailor said, “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you’d better tell me a good story and make it quick.”

Another sailor approached, a grizzled old man with bowed legs and a scraggly beard.

“Well, well, what have we here, Mr. Bristol?” he asked.

“A stowaway, Mr. Riley,” Bristol explained.

“Damn!” Riley cursed. “There’s going to be hell to pay.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Harriet’s pulse thudded with dread. She’d heard many horrid tales about sailors who often went months without setting eyes on a woman. They weren’t inclined to mind their manners.

She raised her chin, struggling to look imperious. “I demand to speak with the captain.”

“Do you now?” Riley retorted. “And who shall we say is calling? The bloody Queen of England?”

“You’ll see the captain,” Bristol warned, “but you’ll wish you hadn’t.” He turned to Riley. “Will you take her below, or shall I?”

“Weren’t you supposed to have the watch last night?”

“Yes. It was very quiet, and I was...exhausted.”

Riley smirked. “So you had a bit of a nap.”

“Uh...yes.” Bristol flushed with shame.

“Fool! I’ll take her then. Maybe I can soften him up before he names your punishment.”

“Punishment!” Harriet cried. “Why would he be punished?”

“He wasn’t guarding the gangplank when he ought to have been. The captain isn’t too keen on carelessness. He’s fussy that way.”

“What will he do?”

“Flog the lad, probably.”

Bristol paled, but said nothing.

“But...but...that’s barbaric,” Harriet complained.

“This ain’t Covent Gardens, Miss. This is a sailing ship. Lives can be lost through shoddy behavior. Let’s go.”

He led her to a ladder that descended into the dark hold. She’d never been on a ship before, and it conjured visions of rats and fetid water, of disease and shackles.

She hesitated. “What will he do to me?”

“I can’t say for sure, but it won’t be pretty.” He motioned to the ladder. “Go on, you. Best to get it over with.”

Harriet gulped and started down, arriving at the bottom after six rungs. As she worked to maintain her balance, Mr. Riley followed. The only illumination was from a ray of sunshine wafting down the hatch, and she could see that they were standing in a narrow hall. He escorted her to the end of it and knocked on a door.

“What is it?” someone barked from the other side.

“Sorry to bother you, Captain,” Riley said, “but we have a...situation.”

“Enter!”

Riley shoved the door open, then he pushed Harriet through. She stumbled into what had to be the captain’s cabin. She’d imagined it would be grand and lavish, but it was actually small and tidy, with everything in its proper place. There was a bunk along one wall, bookshelves along another, and a table in the middle that was strewn with maps.

A man—who she guessed was several years older than she—was sitting at it, writing in a journal.

“This had better be good, Mr. Riley,” he said without glancing up.

“Oh, it’s
good
all right, Captain. Look what I’ve brought you.”

The captain peered up, and he glared at her with eyes that were very, very blue. With long black hair and skin bronzed from laboring outside, he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Given her predicament, it didn’t seem fair, and she was greatly annoyed.

He was wearing a loose, flowing white shirt that was unbuttoned part way down the front so much of his chest was visible. It was covered with a thick matting of hair, as black as the hair on his head.

He hadn’t shaved, so his cheeks were stubbled with beard. In the dim light of the cabin, he appeared sexy and dangerous, and she wondered if he was a pirate. While on deck, she hadn’t noticed if he was flying a skull and crossbones, but if he
was
, she wouldn’t be surprised. It would be just another misfortune in a long line of bad luck.

He gaped at her as if she was a ghost, as if he’d never seen a female before, and if she hadn’t been so terrified, she’d have laughed at his stunned expression.

“Mr. Riley,” he finally said, “there’s a woman in my cabin.”

“That there is, sir.”

“What’s she doing here?”

“Stowaway.”

“Who had the watch?”

“Young Bristol, sir.”

The captain sighed. “Ten lashes, Riley. See to it.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

Harriet gasped. “You’re having him flogged? Because of me?”

“Have you a problem with my order, Miss?”

“Yes. It’s all my fault. He shouldn’t be punished for something
I
did.”

“I agree,” the captain replied. “Flog her too, Mr. Riley.”

“What?” she snapped. “Are you mad?”

Riley grabbed her arm as if to drag her out and whip her, and she wrenched away.

“I won’t go,” she insisted.

“You won’t?” The captain scowled.

“No. Are you a pirate?”

“No.”

“A smuggler?”

“No.”

“Then I throw myself on your mercy as a gentleman and an Englishman.”

“You do, do you?”

“I didn’t mean to stowaway. It was an...an...accident.”

Both men guffawed.

“Has she been searched?” the captain asked Riley.

“We just found her. We haven’t had time.”

“
Search
me!” Harriet protested. “For what?”

“Weapons,” the captain responded. “Contraband.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

The captain nodded at Riley, and he slipped out and closed the door so she and the captain were alone. He rose from his chair and sauntered over. He was very tall, so tall that his head nearly brushed the low ceiling. His shoulders were broad, his legs long, and he simply occupied too much space.

He seemed very angry, and she worried that he was about to strike her. She cringed, her eyes squashed shut as she waited for the blow to fall.

When it failed to land, she peeked up to find him studying her as if he was a scientist and she a bug.

Without her realizing what he intended, he seized her, crushing her to him as he ran a questing hand over her person, and though she struggled mightily, she couldn’t evade his examination. His crafty fingers slithered down, and as he meandered across her bosom, he felt Bentley’s purse where she had stuffed it between her breasts.

The rude oaf groped under the bodice of her dress to retrieve it. He peered inside, and on seeing the pile of coins, he whistled softly.

“My, my, would you look at that.”

She’d raced onto his ship with only the clothes on her back. Bentley’s money was her sole possession in the entire world, the sole barrier to her starving on the streets.

“Give me that,” she hissed.

She began fighting in earnest, hitting him as hard as she could, but he had to have been made of steel. Other than a low grunt when she managed a fairly solid clout to his abdomen, he scarcely noticed the furious blows raining down.

He held the bag out of reach, and she jumped at it like a trained dog.

“I suppose,” he taunted, “you’re about to tell me that you
found
this purse.”

“I
did
find it.”

“And I also suppose you’re about to tell me that it’s rightfully yours.”

It was hers as much as anybody’s. “It’s mine, and you can’t have it.”

“Really? It appears to me that I’ve already taken it from you.”

He shoved her away, not forcefully, but it was a shove just the same, and he turned from her and grabbed a strongbox on the shelf. With horror, she recognized his plan. She lunged at him, leaping on his back and pounding on his shoulders, but to no avail.

He tossed the purse into the box and spun the key in the lock.

As if she weighed nothing at all, he shucked her to the floor and stuck the key in his pocket. When he whirled to face her, he was grinning. At his obvious humor, she was enraged.

He’d stolen all her money! All of it!

At the loss, she was so distraught that she could barely speak, could barely stay on her feet. Could one more thing go wrong?

“What is your name?” he asked.

A thousand calculations flew through her mind. Should she tell him? Should she not?

“What is yours?” she asked in reply.

Anger rippled off him in waves, and it occurred to her that people probably didn’t antagonize him as she was.

“I am Captain Tristan Harcourt, younger brother to the Earl of Westwood.”

“Oh.”

“Yes,
oh
. So let me be perfectly clear: I am captain of this vessel. Everyone on it is under my complete command and control. I can feed you and house you and escort you to an appropriate destination, or I can tie you to the mast and watch as the seagulls pick at your innards. Now I ask you again: What is your name? And don’t lie to me. I’ll know if you are.”

No doubt he’d carry out his threat. She’d learned—to her continual detriment—that men could do anything they wished. A female had no rights, no power. To top it off, he was an aristocrat’s brother. She’d met enough of them to grasp that she couldn’t fight him and win.

“Harriet.”

“Harriet...what?”

“Just Harriet.”

“Well,
Just Harriet
, why are you on my ship?”

“I told you: It was an accident.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I was...lost, and I was very tired. I fell asleep, but when I woke up, we were already at sea. I meant to debark before you sailed.” He was so incredulous that she felt compelled to add, “I really meant to!”

“What would you suggest I do with you?”

“Where are you headed?”

“To Italy.”

“Italy! I can’t go to Italy.”

She started calculating again. Mightn’t it be best to hide out in Italy? Bentley would never think to search for her there, yet she didn’t speak the language, and she’d never see Helen again.

“Are you stopping anywhere before then?”

“Why...yes, I am. France, Portugal, and Spain. Could I drop you somewhere on the way? Perhaps you could consider me your personal hackney cab.”

“I don’t know what to do,” she murmured.

“Maybe you’d like to stay aboard until we return to London. You could remain here in my cabin, like a pet. At the next port, I could buy you a collar and a leash.”

At the mention of London, she recalled those recent terror-filled days, and she shuddered.

“I can’t go back to London either!”

“Trouble waiting for you there, Harriet?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“Little lady, I’m predicting that
trouble
is your middle name. Why am I sure that I’ll regret this meeting for a very long time?”