The Countess' Lucky Charm (11 page)

It burned in his throat, a satisfying sting that he knew from experience would dull his mind and veil unwanted thoughts. He slammed down the empty bottle with a bang that rattled the planks.

His face must have said what his words didn’t, for the woman gestured him up the stairs that leaned haphazardly against the back wall. Fearing they would collapse beneath his weight, he nonetheless climbed up to find several curtained partitions.

A brassy head popped out from behind one and beckoned to him. “Ooh,
yer
a fine one,” she cooed through crudely rouged lips. “Let Sally take care of
yer
troubles.”

“Please do,” he choked out as the woman—he hardly dared refer to her as such—fumbled with his waistband.

He tried to lose himself in the harlot’s willing flesh but the solace he sought escaped him. An image of blonde hair and angelic blue eyes stuck in his mind and try as he might, he could not dislodge it. “Sorry,” he mumbled as he pulled his trousers back on.

“That’s not what ye want, is it then,” the whore said shrewdly. She pulled out a bottle of gin from the chest beside her bed and passed it to him.

Defeated in his attempt to convince himself Simone meant nothing to him, he sat on the edge of the cot and held out shivering hands to the beckoning bottle of sweet oblivion.

The sun pushed up feathering rays of pink and gold by the time he stumbled back up the hill toward the hotel.

Much to his disgust, the trip to the brothel had done nothing to settle his thoughts; it had only succeeded in making him feel ill.

Bloody hell, the only way to find peace of mind again would be to part ways with the alluring Simone Dougherty. He would take her up on the offer of a map for his missing package and then send her on her way.

* * *

Through slitted eyes, Simone watched Temple flounder with his boots, barely managing to pull them off before flopping, fully clothed, onto the patchwork quilt-covered iron bed that was his. He lay on his back, arms tucked behind his head, staring at the ceiling through red-rimmed eyes.

“I know you’re awake,” he said at length. His voice was indistinct, rough, as if he hadn’t spoken in some time.

“How did you know?” Simone sat up, pulling the bedding up under her chin to lean against the headboard.

“By the sounds of your breathing. It’s different when you sleep. And after six weeks together,” he rolled on his side, head cradled on one arm to look at her, “I know exactly how you sound.”

The torment in his eyes frightened her. She knew he had private demons for at times he would cry out in his sleep, but it looked as if he had given them full battle.

And lost. His gin-laden breath filled the room. The gin. That had to be it. Cheap gin changed a man.

“What happened to you, you look….” She stopped, trying to find the right words. She couldn’t so she changed her tack. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” His voice was curt. He rolled back onto his back before next he spoke. “I shall take you up on your offer of a map. And,” his chest heaved as he said it, “I think it best to send you back to London.”

Her head reeled at his words. London? What notion was that? She couldn’t return to London.

“I should like to stay here,” she said defiantly. She must try and dissuade him, even if it meant telling him the real reason she had taken refuge in his trunk that long ago evening.

“No. You will return to England. I could give you a letter of reference. That should help you find another form of employment.”

“I can’t go back.”

“Why not?” His voice was weary, as if he had expected an argument from her.

“Because I wasn’t entirely honest with you. About why you found me in your trunk.”

“Would you care to enlighten me then?”

How would he react if he knew the truth? Her heart started to pound; her mouth grew dry.

“I was on my way to Newgate prison. Constable Miller had me collared. Davy and the boys distracted him and I managed to slip away. I chose your trunk because I knew the constable would never look in the trunk of a lord.” She stopped to look at him, gauging his reaction. She couldn’t tell for he still lay on his back staring at the cracked plaster ceiling. “Constable Carstairs is one of Miller’s mates. He’ll not be pleased knowing he had me and let me get away because of you. They’ll both be looking for me. I can’t go back or it’s certain prison and the hangman.”

Her hands started to tremble as she waited for his answer. She wanted more than anything to stay with Temple, to revel in his company as long as she could, to face the consequences of shattered dreams later rather than sooner.

She studied his profile, looking for a clue, anything to indicate his thoughts.

The silence stretched out to one minute, then two and still she waited, nervous and uncertain.

Bloody hell, Temple thought. In all good conscience, he couldn’t send her back to certain incarceration, death even. She’d become a pickpocket for survival. Survival, the most basic human instinct.

His gentlemanly upbringing wouldn’t allow her to stay alone in Montreal—she’d already displayed she would revert to what she knew best. Sooner or later it would be her downfall.

His pilfered heart be damned, she would have to stay with him still. And, he consoled himself weakly, if she stayed with him, at least he wouldn’t have to renege on his vow to teach her to be a lady.

He rolled over at last to face her. “Well then, it seems you continue to be my companion.” Resignation sat heavy in his voice. “Companion, mind you, not wife. We are no longer on the
Annabelle
and I see no need to present you as Lady Wellington. I’ll ensure in future we each have our own accommodation.”

He couldn’t see her reaction in the grey light. He hoped his words had not been too harsh.

Truth be told, continued close contact with her would, quite simply, drive him mad.

Chapter Ten

That afternoon, while Temple visited the offices of the North West Company, a relieved Simone strolled further up the slopes of Mount Royal. Relieved because her role as Lady Wellington had come to an end and she no longer had to live a lie. Relieved she would no longer be in his company every waking moment.

And relieved she no longer had to worry about disappointing Temple with her shortcomings.

 
The busy street churned with finely dressed men and women, as fine as any in London, along with roughly clad tradesmen, sailors, and even men dressed in furs. A wagon rumbled past, piled high with roughly hewn logs and she stopped to watch it, smiling so brightly at the driver that he almost toppled from his seat.

When she returned to the hotel, she encountered a dour-faced Temple in the lobby, top hat in one hand, leather folder in the other. He didn’t wait for her to speak but led her outside and pointed to the weathered straight bench on the veranda of the hotel.

“Sit.” His sombre voice brooked no argument. He jammed the hat on his head and tucked the folder under his arm.

Filled with apprehension, she sat, stomach roiling at his stern visage.

“I spoke with the gentlemen of the North West Company. They informed me unmarried women are not allowed on trading expeditions.”

“Oh.” Panic swept through her. She wouldn’t be able to accompany Temple after all. But that was best for her wilful heart, wasn’t it? She sucked in a breath of air, filling her lungs all the way to her stomach. “Then I shall stay here,” she answered bravely.

“No, you shall not. The French Canadian voyageurs bring their women. We’ll continue the charade.” He eluded her gaze as if he was unwilling to witness her true reaction.

“What?” Incredulity cascaded through her breast and her jaw dropped. “The charade is over.” She made her voice firm. “You told me only this morning that Lady Wellington is no more.”

“I’ve changed my mind.” He swivelled his head to pierce her with his gaze. “If you wish to remain with me, you must agree to continue as Lady Wellington. If not—” He shrugged.

She tried to gauge his mood but his face was immobile, his mouth a thin line, his eyes evasive. The relief that had made her light-hearted earlier today dissipated in a “poof”. She frowned. It would seem she must maintain the role of his wife, whether she liked it or not.

“Very well.” She felt lightheaded as she said it. The sham marriage continued. The question was, would she be able to convince herself her growing love for him was a sham as well?

“It’s not an easy journey,” he warned her. “There are no roads. No inns. None of the creature comforts of civilization.”

“Then why should I go with you? I already said I could stay here. In Montreal.”

“Out of the question, Simone. Your talents will only find you swinging from the gallows.” He scowled. “You wouldn’t evade capture here. Montreal is simply too small a city for you to hide. And if I could remind you.” He slanted a serious glance her way. “Unmarried ladies of quality are never without a chaperone.”

The serious look on his face worried her. She hadn’t given much thought to the journey itself and what lay in store for her.

“Tell me about the North West Company,” she said suddenly. “I should like to know more about it.”

“It’s a fur trading company. I’ve agreed to be a wintering partner at Stuart Lake Outpost. It’s a relatively new fort, in an area still rich with beaver. However, it is isolated.” Enthusiasm coloured his words; apparently, Temple Wellington’s new position excited him.

“Perhaps I could start an ale house there.” She ignored the surprised look on his face and nodded. “You’ve said you’re going to New Caledonia to find your fortune. Well, couldn’t I find mine there?”

Yes, that would make worthwhile any difficulties encountered on the trip. Once in New Caledonia, she could help him with the map to his package and then they could go their separate ways, she to run her ale house and he to work in the fur trade.

Best of all, she need not return to London any time soon.

An animated Simone jumped to her feet to pirouette in front of him. Her skirt lifted with the motion, exposing two shapely calves before it fell into place again.

Temple
licked his suddenly dry lips and ignored the pounding heat of his arousal. How would he keep his mind off her delectable attributes? The six weeks in her company on board the
Annabelle
had been one thing, but the trip ahead loomed long and arduous.

“It won’t be easy, Simone. We’ll be travelling by canoe and horseback and sleeping under the stars for months.” Bloody hell, it also wouldn’t be easy trying to keep intact his heart from the lovely “Lady Wellington”.

He groaned inwardly. His idea to continue the sham perhaps wasn’t the wisest for his peace of mind, however he couldn’t renege now.

What in blazes had he agreed to?

* * *

Simone held herself erect on the edge of Stuart Lake and fought the disappointment threatening to burst forth in a torrent of tears.

This was it? Stuart Lake Outpost? The administrative centre of the Northwest Company in New Caledonia? The perfect place for her ale house?

The bustling village she had expected hadn’t materialized. Instead, situated on the shores of a vast lake, another wooden palisade greeted her. Inside, several small houses, a store and a warehouse.

She stripped off her boots, throwing them aside to let her bare feet sink into the tiny line of sand and gravel that passed for a beach. Cold and crystalline clear, the water lapped at her toes, refreshing them after being jammed into boots night and day.

She leaned down to splash some water on her face then lifted her gaze to look ahead over the shimmering, tranquil water, surrounded by verdant mountains cascading into its very shores. So vast the lake, the mountains at the far end were misty and indistinct.

Oy
, there was a lot of water in this country. The roads of the fur traders, she had been told, rivers and such being much easier to navigate than fighting through impenetrable woodlands.

What lay in store for her now? Would they even have a roof over their heads and a place to call their own? How would she pass the days, for plainly there was no call for an ale house there. What a silly notion that had been.

She swiped her fingers across her cheeks to dry them and then sucked in a huge breath of sparkling fresh air to steady herself.

“Why are we here?” she blurted when Temple moved to stand beside her.

He tapped her on the tip of the nose. “You’re here to hide, remember? From the constables. And I’m here to earn a living.”

“Couldn’t we have found somewhere closer?” A wave of homesickness rolled over her and she squeezed shut her eyes. “How long do we have to stay here? I want to go back.”

“Not long, Simone. I’ll fulfil my obligations to the North West Company then we’ll go.” He dropped a hand on her shoulder.

A brotherly gesture, nothing more, but she took comfort in it and lifted her hand to her shoulder to cover his. They stood silent for a moment, gazing out over the silken water reflecting the pristine clouds and blue June sky.