Scandal (15 page)

Chapter Eighteen

As it was, they didn’t catch a good wind until they were far down the Thames, and so by the time they’d tested the old sails, Anna felt ready to toss her accounts all over the pristine deck of the duke’s brig. Time to test her sails.

“Triangular,” she heard one of the crewmen say as they unrolled them.

“Unusual shape,” said another as the sails drooped above their heads, empty of wind now, as were all the sheets, the gray shadows of the canvas shielding Anna’s view.

“Are you certain ’tis the way they go?” a yardman asked.

Anna called up to them, “Aye,” her hand cupped to her mouth so that her warm breath made her realize how chilled she’d become.

Chilled? Or frightened?

Frightened, she decided. She was too nervous even to glance at Rein. Too nervous to do anything but watch as the crew put everything in place. The captain gave a nod and a call. The anchor was lifted, the bow of the ship pointed downstream. Anna watched, breath held, as the mainsails filled with air, the staysails behind filling, too. She’d worried there’d be too much play, that the mainsails might spoil her air, but she needn’t have. The shape fit exactly as it should, the dimensions she’d been given of most mainsails exactly right. Thank the Lord.

“Steer her course,” the captain cried.

And all Anna could do was wait, Rein standing by her side as they ran the same path they had three times before, three tedious times, just to be sure they could get a fair average. Only this time they used
her
sails.

“It feels like we are moving faster, does it not?” Anna asked, clutching the rail as if she could push on the thing and make the ship go faster.

“’Tis too soon,” Rein said honestly.

And it was.

She waited as they approached a grove of trees that sprouted up from the shoreline. The ship groaned, leaned to the left a bit.

It felt like they were going faster.

“It feels… smoother,” Rein said.

It did. She closed her eyes. There was no wind when one sailed with it, but there were other things: the near musical melody of water falling away from the hull as they sliced through the water. The vibration beneath her feet as the ship strained. The low murmurings of crew members as they spoke to one another.

Silently, she ticked off seconds in her head, only she must have started late because all too soon the captain called for a stop. She turned to the man, her heart beating so hard she worried it might stop altogether.

“Ach,” Captain Jones murmured. “Must have caught us a good wind.”

“How much better?” Rein asked.

“Near three full knots faster, but we’ll need to do it again. The wind might’ve picked up.”

Three knots? Out on an ocean, those three knots might add up to more.

“Steady, Anna. He might have a point,” came Rein’s calm and steady voice. “We knew the wind would be a factor in the test. We need to wait for the average.”

She nodded, swallowing, though her tongue felt thick near the back of the throat.

And so they keeled the ship to the right and tacked back to the starting point, the whole process so tediously long Anna felt ready to jump overboard again by the time they started at the same point.

“Steer her course,” the captain cried out once more.

And they did it again, only this time it felt faster. Anna was certain of it.

“Avast heaving,” the captain called.

Anna looked over at him. His hair had come completely free of its style, mussed as it lay around his puzzled face. “Four knots faster,” he said.

Her heart began to slap in her chest like the hands of gypsies when they did their dance down at the market for coin. She met Rein’s gaze. They shared a look.

It was working.

“Let’s do it again, lads,” Captain Jones said. And so they did, only this time before they set off the captain threw a bit of string in the air to gauge wind speed.

“Doesn’t seem any faster,” the first mate said, looking past his captain and giving Anna a slight smile that reached his eyes. A tall man with a long, angular face, that smile seemed to be just for her.

“It doesn’t, but it must be,” the captain said. But when they flew down the Thames a third time, Anna began to realize that she might—just might—have done it.

She looked at Rein.

He thought she’d done it, too.

She could tell in the way his whole face had relaxed, the look in his eyes one of such pride, of such happiness for her, Anna felt her heart melt.

It took two more tries to convince the captain, and then a run with the old sails, but by then Anna knew. So did everyone else on the ship. Anna could tell, the eyes of the crew smiling at her even if their faces did not.

She had done it.

“My congratulations,” the captain said grudgingly.

Anna could afford to be magnanimous. “Thank you for hoisting my sails,” she said, her lips and chin and cheeks twitching as she fought back a wide smile.

“Where did you get the idea to change the shape from trapezoid to triangular?”

“Mathematics,” Anna replied.

The man’s brows lifted. “Mathematics?”

“A triangular shape allows for more mass, more mass allows for more air, more air allows for more speed. By my calculations, I reasoned that the ship
should
pick up three or four knots.”

And that was when the captain smiled, as if privately applauding her very unladylike skill.

“Like to take her a bit down the Thames, if you don’t mind, just to see what she can do.”

Anna smiled. “I would like that, too.”

The captain turned away. Anna faced Rein.

He opened his arms. She needed no second urging. Laughing, she flew into his embrace, Rein picking up and spinning her around as he said, “Anna, my love, you are the most clever woman I know.”

He stopped. She leaned back and before either of them knew how it happened, they kissed, but it wasn’t a kiss like the other—a vortex of passion that spun out of control. This kiss was one that shared a joy and a happiness unlike any either of them had known.

She drew back, her heart and mind seeming to soar with the gulls that followed their ships. “Thank you,” she said, placing her hands against his cheek, a day’s growth of hair making his chin a prickly surface of masculinity.

“For what?” he asked with a soft look in his lovely green eyes.

“For believing in me,” she said.

He smiled and the warmth of camaraderie changed to desire. A crew member called out to another and brought her back from the brink, but only barely. Goodness, but her body ached beneath the heat of his gaze. It remembered, Anna realized, what it was like to be held in his arms.

“Excuse me, miss, but cap’n thought you might like a tour of the ship afore we set off.”

Anna turned to see a cabin boy of no more than twelve looking up at her through wide, light gray eyes, his black hair ruffled by the Thames breeze.

“And might I say that your sails be mighty fine, miss? Mighty fine.”

Twelve or so. About the age she’d been when her parents had died.

I did it,
she silently told them.
I did it.

“I believe we’ll wait until after we sail down the Thames.”

The boy nodded. Anna and Rein turned to face the front of the ship.

They sailed for an hour or more and when the ship turned, the lad returned and said, “C’mon, then. ’Tis a beauty of a ship, she is.”

Exhilarated by their trip, Anna followed, the joy over the success making her cheeks ache from her smile. She hadn’t been calm enough to notice the details earlier, but now she noticed the craftsmanship of the woodwork around her. The end posts of the railing were carved to look like mermaids, two brass rings breaking the other rail posts into thirds. The deck beneath their feet looked smooth enough to use ice blades upon. And everywhere she looked, instruments were made of brass. The clock near where the captain steered, the bell nearby, too. Even the boy before her wore a blue half jacket with brass buttons, his white trousers pristine and new.

That was the word to describe the ship. It all felt new, and luxurious, and likely something she’d never see again.

“Lead the way.”

“The officers’ quarters are astern, crew sleeps below,” the cabin boy said. “Would you like to see the stateroom?”

“I should think that would be private,” Rein said.

“Ach, gov, the new duke ain’t even been on board yet. There’s no privacy to disturb.”

Which was why when the young man moved forward to lead the way, Anna decided to follow. She thought for a moment Rein wouldn’t. Indeed, he hung back a few paces.

They were led toward a door tucked beneath the poop deck. Here, too, were accents of brass, the door as ornately carved as one that would be found in a fine home, brass hinges to match the knob. Beyond the door lay several other doors, captain’s quarters and the like, a big door at the very end. A double door, no less, also carved, but this one painted with a gold leaf pattern.

“Here we are.”

Anna felt excitement thrum in her veins. The boy swung the doors wide.

“Oh, my goodness.”

“Amazin’, ain’t it?” he asked. “Go on in,” he encouraged when they both hung back. “Ain’t no one been in ’ere in a while, the old duke bein’ sick, and now gone. Used to love this ship, he did.”

“I can see why,” Anna said, and it was odd, for while her immediate impression was of gold leaf and dark furniture, it wasn’t until she paused in the middle of the room that she began to notice other things, ordinary things—at least ordinary in the duke’s world, and once upon a time, hers.

A dark cherry wardrobe closet.

Mama, what dress should I wear?

A beautiful writing desk with the fine parchment, quills and ink resting in a special holder so they wouldn’t slide in rough seas.

Mama, may I draw?

And the bed.

Sleep tight, my dear.
Her mother’s voice, her pretty brown eyes staring down at her with love.

Anna moved forward. A red tapestry coverlet lay over the bed, gold tassels hanging off the corners. A big bed, one that stood beneath a panel of windows that revealed the V of the ship’s wake.

A bed. A real bed.

She reached out, the world seeming to drop away as she admired the coverlet, then pressed on it. Soft. Feathered.

A childish giggle.
The feathers tickle my nose, Mama.

Then do not breathe them in.
Her mother’s smile had been one that teased.

“Anna?”

It was only then that she realized Rein stood next to her. She looked up. “I’d forgotten what a feather mattress felt like.”

She saw Rein turn, heard him say to the cabin boy, “Leave us,” in an autocratic tone that left no doubt that he was used to giving orders, and that was just as well because suddenly Anna felt a keening sadness that nearly brought her to her knees.

She’d forgotten. Forgotten what it was like to have things, normal things like tables that weren’t held together by twine or rusty nails, beds that weren’t filled with straw that always poked through and stabbed at a person when one needed one’s rest. Closets that held clothes. Lots of clothes, not the three dresses Anna owned: two brown, one gray.

Once upon a time she’d had dresses…

“Anna?” he said again as the door closed behind them.

The ship shifted a bit beneath them, but Anna hardly noticed. “I’d forgotten,” she said.

“Forgotten what?”

“All the things that come along with wealth.”

He’d moved to her side. “You will have them again, one day soon.”

She looked up at him. “Will I?”

“Of course you shall. Your sail is a success. You shall win the naval competition, and the money that goes along with it. And let us not forget that I have promised you twenty pounds when all is said and done.”

When he left. When her handsome, kind and noble Rein left.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“I—What?”

She turned into his arms. “I don’t want you to leave. I want things to stay as they are, with you as just you, not…”

A nobleman. Please, god, don’t let him be that.
Such a thought filled her with uncontrollable, irrational fear.

“Anna, I shall always be who I am today.”

No. He would not. He would be above her. She would have to be his mistress. But even the mistresses of noblemen suffered a public life. It was one thing to be the mistress of plain Mr. Hemplewilt, but quite another to be the mistress of a baron, or a viscount, or, God help her, an earl.

She drew back, her gaze as imploring as she could make it. “Please, Rein, tell me who you are.”

“I cannot.”

She lurched away from him. “Damn you.”

“Anna, please,” he said, gently pulling her back around again. “Don’t ask this of me. Not now. Not here.” He wrapped his arms around her. “As you said, let us remain as we are.”

She pulled out of his grasp again, going to the window and placing her hands against the smooth surface, looking out. The panes she stood behind suddenly made her feel like a caged bird, one that looked out on the world through bars, a world she knew she would never join.

“Anna,” he said softly, turning her again.

“Your name’s truly not Hemplewilt, is it?”

He shook his head.

“I’d thought not,” she said, wondering if it mattered what his name was. To her he was Rein, always Rein, and for today that would be enough.

She slid her hands up the front of his coat, then the side of his neck.

“Anna,” he said softly. “Do not tempt me.”

“But, you see, I want to tempt you. I want you to kiss me. To touch me the way you’ve touched me before.” Her other hand reached from beneath the cloak, finding his manhood, gliding her palm up its already hard surface.

“Anna,” he hissed, his eyes closing.

“Touch me again, Rein. Touch me now because when you do, I forget what it is that you’re keeping from me. I only want you to touch me, to kiss me in that way you have of kissing me that makes me moan—”

His lips covered hers so swiftly she gasped. His tongue found hers. She answered his thrusting warmth with a heat of her own, her hand still stroking him, going to his waistband, slipping in between the catches and down to the solid length of him.