Pleasures of a Tempted Lady (35 page)

It had been her last hope. And it had left her here.

Of course, no one would have heard her whistle. She’d been stupid to even try it.

She lay back, shivering, as lethargy crept, syrupy thick, through her veins. She’d been too long in this frigid water. She closed her eyes and waited for the exhaustion to overtake her.

Chapter Twenty-one

W
ill stared over the bow of the
Endeavor
, his heart sinking. The Irish Sea was a big damned ocean. Not as big as the Atlantic, or even the Caribbean, but bloody big. Finding a single ship in the fifty-mile-wide channel between Holyhead and Dublin—hell, he might as well have been trying to find a needle in a haystack.

And where would Caversham be taking Meg and Jake? Back to the Caribbean, where he could keep them hidden among the traders frequenting those ports? Where he could continue his rum-running activities for the benefit of his half brother?

Or somewhere else? Somewhere having to do with that warehouse full of explosives in London?

“Papa?”

Thomas had quickly grown bored with the endless study of the sea, so Will had given him his spyglass so that he could “practice” for his future role as captain of his own ship. “Yes, son? Do you see another bird?”

Thomas had been so excited upon making his first sighting of something besides the rolling sea that Will had thought for a moment that he’d found Caversham’s ship. His hopes were dashed when Thomas’s discovery proved to be a pair of puffins.

Thomas lowered the spyglass to frown up at his father. “No, Papa. There’s nothing out there anymore but waves. But Mr. Halliday is calling for you.”

With one last glance out over the bow and seeing nothing besides water clear to the horizon, Will sighed and turned toward the stern to see Halliday at the wheel, gesturing and calling out, “Captain!”

Will had been so focused on his search for Caversham’s ship that he hadn’t heard him. Not to mention the fact that he was unused to being hailed over the sound of the engine.

He took Thomas’s hand, and they trudged to the stern, where Thomas stood at the rail and lifted the spyglass again while Will turned to Halliday.

“Wind’s picking up, Captain,” Halliday said. “I suggest we shut down the boiler and proceed under sail. We’ll progress at the same speed under full sail, and we’ll save the coal.”

Will hesitated, glancing out again at the sea. It had been a calm morning, but now the wind was indeed rising, kicking up whitecaps on the tops of the waves at intervals. Turning back to Halliday, he gave a jerk of a nod. “Agreed.”

Halliday tipped his cap, then turned to issue an order to a midshipman.

Will went to stand beside Thomas, his eyes grazing the horizon once again.

“Papa?”

“Yes, son?”

“There’s something shiny out there.” Holding the spyglass to his eye, Thomas pointed behind them and to the north.

Will squinted at the horizon for a long moment, and then he saw it. A flash of silver. A flying fish, perhaps?

“Do you see it?” Thomas asked excitedly, standing on his tiptoes now, with the spyglass still trained on the same position.

Will stared at the ocean’s surface where he’d seen the glint. He couldn’t see anything there but a bit of white—could be a whitecap, or…

“Thomas, hand me the spyglass, will you?”

The boy pressed the brass instrument into Will’s hand, and he raised it to his right eye.

There it was, the glint again, as if the sun was refracting off some shiny surface…

“Good God,” Will murmured as the form came into focus. “Halliday!” he bellowed at the top of his voice, still not moving his gaze from the woman floating in the water, her skirt billowing around her, her body limp, her arms outstretched. She wasn’t moving, but something glinted again—it looked like something she held in her hand.

“Aye, sir?” Halliday asked from directly behind him.

Will pointed. “Turn this ship around immediately. There’s a woman in the water back there.”

Meg, Meg, Meg,
his mind screamed. Caversham, that rotten bastard, had tossed her overboard. He’d tried to kill her.

Please, he begged. Let me not be too late.

Halliday and the rest of the crew flew into action while
Will kept the spyglass trained on her limp, floating body, making sure they didn’t pass by her again.

The ship was turned, the boiler kept running even though half the sails had been raised, and they bore down on the woman.

Meg
.

When they were close and he could see that it was indeed Meg—an unmoving, half-sunk Meg, he lost all patience with the men struggling to get the boat into the water. He tore off his coat and waistcoat, kicked off his boots, and dove off the side of the
Endeavor
, leaving Thomas with his eyes wide, asking, “What are you doing, Papa? Where are you—?”

The splash stung, but then the water washed over him and he could feel nothing but the painful pinpricks of cold. How long had she been in this? Hand over hand, his feet scissoring, he raced toward Meg.

He reached her just as her face dipped under a wave. Her eyes, those beautiful gray eyes, were closed, and her face was peaceful.

“Meg?” he cried, clutching her against him, kicking hard to stay afloat. “Meg, love, wake up. Please wake up.”

Something fell from her open hand. It shimmered through the water, tumbling, sinking deeper, away from them. He didn’t go after it, but whatever it was, he knew it had been what had caught the midday light and made Thomas see her.

A buoyed rope splashed into the water in front of them, and he grabbed on to it, thankful to have it hold some of their weight. There were shouts above him, someone on the ship, but he couldn’t make out the words over the sound of the rotating paddle.

Meg’s body was cold, her skin rubbery, and he couldn’t see her chest moving with breaths. “Please, Meg,” he whispered into her hair as he continued to hold her face above water.

“Please breathe. Please don’t die. I couldn’t bear it—not again. Please…”

He kept whispering to her, encouraging her, vaguely realizing the salt water running in streaks down his face was not from the sea. Eventually, hands were tugging at them, taking Meg first, and then pulling him into the boat. They rowed back to the
Endeavor
, which now drifted silently. Meg still hadn’t moved. One of the seamen leaned over her, taking the pulse at her neck.

“Is she breathing?” Will choked out.

“Aye,” the man said. “Weakly. Her pulse is weak, too”—he frowned—“and not quite right.”

“What do you mean by that?” Will asked, desperately clawing his way through the surging panic.

“It goes fast, then slow, seems to skip a beat every now and then.”

Will closed his eyes, forcing himself to think rationally. He didn’t dare touch her. He was dripping wet, and he’d only make her colder. “She needs to be warm. All of you, take off your coats and cover her. Wrap her in them. Warm her up.”

The four men in the boat complied instantly, and one of the seamen bundled her tightly in wool.

They struggled, as they had the first time on the
Freedom
, to get her limp form up the ladder and onto the deck. As before, Will had her laid in the captain’s quarters. This time, though, he ordered everyone, including Thomas, out. He stripped her clothes off completely, tearing the
delicate fabrics of her chemise and undergarments, and then he did the same to himself. He wrapped her hair in one of the blankets he’d had the cook warm over the fire.

By now, he was hot again. Sweating, actually, fear for her sending blood surging through him and making his heart race. Naked, he’d be a furnace next to her. If blankets couldn’t keep her warm, he would.

He climbed into the narrow bed and drew her slight form against his, touching her cold, clammy body everywhere he could. He lay there against her, half the blankets on board the
Endeavor
covering them. When she cooled one side of him, he switched her to his other side.

“Please, Meg. Please wake up. I love you. So much.”

I love you, Meg. You are my life. Please wake up, Meg.

Will’s voice. Her beloved Will. Was she dreaming? Was this heaven?

Her lids were so heavy, it was almost impossible to raise them, but through sheer force of will, she did it. Though if anyone asked her to move a limb, she’d fail. Was she paralyzed? A wandering spirit?

She squinted at the form in front of her, blinking until it came into focus.

Will’s face, drawn and haggard.

“Will,” she whispered. But no sound emerged.

Will blinked, too, and she saw moisture in his eyes. He moved the hair, tangled and thick with salt, off her forehead. “Don’t speak, Meg. Save your strength.”

He turned away, then back to her, holding a bowl. “Here’s some hot broth. Try it. You’re cold, inside and out, and it’ll help to warm you.”

She couldn’t speak to him, tell him she wasn’t sure if
she could open her mouth, and if she could do that, how could she possibly find the strength to swallow? But he pressed a spoon to her lips, cracking them open, and then the broth, warm and comforting, slid down with hardly any effort at all.

She had so many questions, so much to say to him, to ask him forgiveness for. But she ate without speaking, focusing on rebuilding her strength.

Caversham has Jake.

She closed her eyes and swallowed another spoonful of broth. He fed her in silence, spoonful by spoonful, until the soup was gone.

Then, as the warmth swirled around in her belly, he set the bowl and spoon down and then turned back to her, drawing her close, skin to skin. For the first time, she realized he was naked. She didn’t question it. She rested weakly against him, taking in his warmth, his salty male smell.

Will Langley. The man she loved. The man she’d always loved but had forgotten, for a time,
how
to love.

“Will,” she finally whispered, her voice rough, cracking and breaking with every other word. “I am so sorry.” Bowing her head, she tightened her arms around him. “I was so stupid. I thought it was the only way to keep Jake safe… to keep you safe, and I ruined everything. Please forgive me.”

“Shh,” he murmured, stroking her tangled hair, the warmth of his fingertips dancing over her back. “Hush. It doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that you’re alive. That you’re going to be all right.”

“When I left you, I thought I’d never see you again. I thought I’d never be whole again.”

“You’re tired, Meg. Sleep now. Rest and get warm.”

She went limp, her muscles relaxing.

“But Jake…” Her voice was weak and whiny. She needed strength. She needed to find Caversham, fight him, get her son…

“I know. Caversham still has our boy. I’m going to find him, Meg. Trust me. Sleep now and get your strength back.”

She did trust him. For the first time, she thoroughly trusted him. Will would do exactly as he said.

“He wants to stay well off the coast of Wales,” she murmured. “But he’s heading for Bristol.”

“Good. Can you tell me anything about his ship?”

“It’s a brigantine—maybe eighty feet? Caversham equips all his ships with cannon—I think”—she scrunched her forehead, trying to remember through the thickness that seemed to have shrouded her mind—“this ship has four or six six-pounders.”

Warmth infused her forehead as he pressed his lips to it. “That helps me a great deal. We’ll find him, and we’ll get Jake back.”

Secure in the knowledge that he’d save her little boy—no,
their
little boy—she dropped into an exhausted sleep.

Late in the afternoon, there was a knock on the door. Will turned away from a deeply slumbering Meg and called out softly, “Who’s there?”

“It’s Halliday, sir. We’ve sighted a ship.” A short pause, then he added, “It’s a brigantine like the lady described.”

Gently, Will disentangled himself from Meg. After he quickly pulled on his trousers, he went to the door and opened it. “Is he flying a flag?”

“None that we can see, sir.”

“Very well. Set a course to intercept.”

“Aye, sir.”

Will dressed and slipped out of the cabin, going directly to the cook and asking him to watch Thomas and to give him more warm blankets to lay on Meg. He posted a man at the door to his quarters with strict instructions not to allow anyone but himself to enter.

Then he went to check on the ship they were overtaking. It was beating a southwesterly course, and since Will had chosen to continue running on steam after they’d retrieved Meg, they didn’t have to fight the wind to catch up to it. Halliday told him that on full steam, he thought they’d overtake it in less than half an hour.

Dusk was approaching, and they were losing light rapidly. But if this was Caversham, Will thought grimly, they’d sink his damn ship and everyone on it regardless of whether the sun lit their way.

He went to the galley to check on Thomas, who was happily playing a card game with the cook.

“Thomas,” he said, interrupting their game. “There’s going to be a battle.”

Thomas’s blue eyes widened. “A… battle? With cannons and—”

“Yes, son. And I want you to stay here with Gunnar, do you understand me?”

“But—”

Will looked at his cook. “Keep him safe, Gunnar.”

“Aye, sir,” the cook said soberly.

“Good. All will be well, Thomas. You do what Gunnar tells you to do, and everything will be all right.” Will kissed the boy’s head and left, trusting that his cook, who
had young sons of his own back in Liverpool, would take good care of him.

It turned out that Halliday had underestimated how quickly they’d reach Caversham. By the time Will was back on deck, he could see far more detail through his spyglass. He and Halliday watched the crew mobilize to prepare to fire upon the
Endeavor
, and Will ordered his own crew to do the same.

Caversham’s ship swung around, giving it the advantage of the wind. For the first time in his sailing career, that didn’t matter to Will. He could maneuver however he wanted under steam power, giving him the advantage regardless of which of them had the wind on his side.