What a Duke Dares (16 page)

“Is the doctor here?” Cam shouldered his way through the packed taproom. Gently he placed her on a padded bench near the fire.

“Aye, sir.” A thickset middle-aged man appeared behind Cam. “I’ll see to the lady.” Although she missed Cam’s arms, Pen sat quietly while the doctor took her wrist to check her pulse.

“She’ll want a nice cup of tea. And you’ll have brandy, I’m sure, my lord.” A woman who must be the innkeeper’s wife bustled forward with a brimming glass that she shoved at Cam. “I’m Mrs. Skillings. Welcome to the Leaping Mackerel, Ramsgate’s finest inn.”

Cam looked like a ragamuffin, wet and filthy in his tattered clothing. But Mrs. Skillings hadn’t mistaken his accent or bearing. Cam could stand naked surrounded by polar bears in Greenland and he’d still appear exactly what he was, an English nobleman of the highest standing.

“Thank you.” He accepted the brandy, but instead of drinking it, he offered it to Pen.

“You’re too kind.” How true that was.

Wincing, she extended one hand from under her blanket to take the glass. She felt like she’d been through twelve rounds with Tom Cribb. And the boxer had won. Now that she was safe, she felt the sting and ache of innumerable scrapes and bruises. Despite the fire in the hearth, she shivered. The chill extended to her bones. When she drank, the spirits settled in her belly and stirred her sluggish blood.

“My lady needs a coat,” Cam said to the room at large.

“So do you,” Pen said softly. Cam looked magnificent
with his bare chest and torn breeches. Like a marooned pirate king. But he’d been immersed in cold water as long as she had.

Mrs. Skillings addressed the man behind her, obviously the innkeeper. “Take the lady to our best chamber, John. I’ll bring her one of my dresses to tide her over.”

Pen caught a flash of quickly hidden amusement in Cam’s eyes as she returned the brandy glass. Three of Pen would fit into anything that went around the woman’s ample figure.

“I haven’t finished my examination,” the doctor protested.

“Aye, Frederick Wilson, and what sort of lady would she be to let you fuss over her in the middle of a public taproom? Can’t you see she’s quality? Do your poking and prodding once she’s upstairs, away from nosy parkers and resting in a nice featherbed.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Skillings,” Pen said gratefully, clutching her blanket. “Is there any word of our crew?”

“Oh, dear me, you wouldn’t know, would you?” the woman said. “The other boat came in before yours with three men. They’re in the private parlor waiting for Dr. Wilson.”

“Thank God,” Cam whispered. He addressed the stocky sailor who had steered them to safety. “Two more men went missing when the ship sank.”

“I’m sorry, laddie. The sea was bloody cruel today.”

Cam was still “laddie.” She noticed that he was careful not to reveal their names. Here in England, the Rothermeres were so well-known that the Pembridge title would provide no protection. After just escaping death, Pen found it difficult to care about scandal. But Cam had so much more to lose if word emerged about their travels. The thought soured the brandy in her stomach.

“Hiram Pollock, watch your language. There’s a lady present,” Mrs. Skillings snapped.

Remembering that two good men had perished made Pen want to cry. “Mr. Pollock, after what you did tonight, you can say anything you like.”

The man laughed. “Well said, my lady.” He shifted closer. “May I carry you upstairs?”

“That’s my privilege.” Cam passed his empty glass to the innkeeper and bent to lift Pen.

Gratefully she turned her face into his chest. The crowded room, stinking of wet wool and people of dubious cleanliness, made her feel faint. That, and her pummeled, aching body.

Cam hitched her higher and followed Mrs. Skillings. The crowd parted reluctantly. Pen had visited enough small towns to recognize the hunger for excitement that infected people who led generally uneventful lives. The
Windhover
’s wreck and the rescue of these well-spoken strangers would fuel conversation for years.

“I’ve had word of a yacht lost in the bay.” A pompous tenor cut through the babble like a knife through butter. “I demand a report. I take it most amiss that I am the last person to learn of this disaster.”

Cam’s breath caught in dismay. The muscles beneath Pen’s cheek turned hard as stone.

“Sir Henry.” Mrs. Skillings’s lack of welcome was audible. “We were about to settle his lordship and his lady in their rooms where they can recover in peace. I’m sure you’ll agree that was our first duty.”

Mrs. Skillings stood firmly in their path. Pen couldn’t see past her bulk, although she had a suspicion that Cam knew the man.

“Your first duty was to inform the local magistrate. Just who are these people you call lord and lady?” Sir Henry’s doubt of the castaways’ status was clear.

“Why, here they be.” Mrs. Skillings made a triumphant gesture.

“Who, sir, are you to claim the privileges of the peerage? You might gull a parcel of ignorant fisherfolk, but I’m a member of parliament and a regular visitor to London. I’m familiar with our ruling classes.” Rudely Sir Henry shoved Mrs. Skillings aside.

After his blustering claims to know the great and good, Pen had expected to recognize him, if only from sketches in the papers. But the red-faced, rotund man dressed too fussily for a country inn was a stranger. She sucked in a relieved breath.

Until she saw astonishment then delight transform his expression. “Your Grace!”

“Good evening, Sir Henry,” Cam said coolly. Only Pen, held close in his arms, knew how his heart raced. “I owe my life to the brave men of Ramsgate and Mrs. Skillings has been the soul of hospitality. If they delayed notifying you, they had due cause.”

“Your Grace, this is an unexpected pleasure. But what odious circumstances bring you to our humble town! I’ll make immediate arrangements to transport you to Kellynch House. The Leaping Mackerel doesn’t befit your dignity.” His eyes sharpened on Pen, who struggled to hide her sick apprehension.

After weeks of subterfuge, their efforts came to nothing. They were trapped in a scandal. Cam’s grand plans lay in ruins and she loved him enough to regret that to her soul. He’d spent his life compensating for his parents’ notoriety. Now, he’d face public disapproval as a man who, at the very least, kept a mistress even as he launched his courtship.

“I hadn’t heard that you’d married, Your Grace. May I wish you and the new Duchess of Sedgemoor every happiness?”

“Thank you.” Cam’s arms were like steel. There wasn’t a chance in Hades of containing the news that the Duke of Sedgemoor had survived a shipwreck. Not only that, but he’d gallantly rescued a female companion.

Pen waited for Cam to deny the marriage, until she saw that Sir Henry’s glittering eyes focused on the gold signet. Strange that so much had been lost in the wreck, yet that lying proof of their union remained.

“Or have I mistaken the situation?” Sir Henry’s voice lowered as no introduction to the new Duchess of Sedgemoor eventuated. “If so, you may rely on my discretion.”

Pen had no idea how he meant to fulfill that promise. Fifty people must have heard Sir Henry identify Cam as the Duke of Sedgemoor.

“Not at all, Sir Henry,” Cam said as coldly as she’d ever heard him speak to anyone. Then words that rendered her dumb with horror. “My wife has undergone a terrible ordeal. She requires quiet and privacy. I’ll take her upstairs and tend to her. Should you require details of the wreck, you may call tomorrow.” He marched past an openmouthed Sir Henry. “Mrs. Skillings, pray direct us to our rooms.”

The throng fell completely silent to witness Cam at his most ducal, although curiosity swirled around them as powerful as the lashing sea that had nearly drowned her.

“Cam—” she began, uncertain how to avert catastrophe.

“Later, my dear.” His words sounded more reprimand than endearment. “Your servant, Sir Henry.”

Cam bowed to the magistrate with insulting brevity. Carrying a quaking Pen, he followed the innkeeper from the taproom.

Chapter Fourteen

I
won’t marry you, Cam.” In the three days since the shipwreck, Pen felt like she’d repeated those words a thousand times.

She stared uncompromisingly across the small parlor that linked their bedrooms at the Leaping Mackerel. Cam lounged against the windowsill, the mullioned window open to the busy street below and the salt-laden breeze ruffling his thick dark hair. Morning light shone on him, as though heaven itself informed the unworthy Miss Thorne that this man was completely out of her sphere.

He still looked like a pirate, although a better dressed one than the drenched ruffian fished from the Channel. Cam had managed to borrow some clothes that almost fitted, but Pen still got a surprise whenever she caught sight of the elegant Duke of Sedgemoor wearing the rough shirt and trousers. Strangely the cheap clothing made him look even more aristocratic. She’d never been so aware that he was born to be a duke.

At a disadvantage sitting, Pen rose from the table where
she’d been reading last week’s London papers. She had a nasty feeling that Sedgemoor’s shipwreck and mysterious bride featured in more recent editions.

Cam had just come in from checking on Oates, the injured crewman. Captain MacGregor and Williams had left yesterday. Tragically this morning they’d received news of the missing men’s bodies washing up further south.

“The world believes we’re married,” Cam responded implacably. He must be as sick of this subject as she was. But gentlemen accepted the consequences of their actions. Not for the first time, Pen wished she’d been shipwrecked with a man of fewer principles.

She squared her shoulders, sensing the difference in Cam. She’d seen his face when he learned about the two dead sailors. She’d read guilt, anger, regret—and ominously for her, immovable determination. They had no further reason to linger in Ramsgate. They were both close to recovered, barring a few bruises. He knew this was his last chance to convince her to marry him.

“Nobody has identified me. A glower down that long nose will quash any impertinent questions. You can blame the misunderstanding on the chaos after the wreck. The world will shrug its shoulders and assume that you traveled with a mistress. A small scandal. A diamond or two will smooth Lady Marianne’s feathers. No harm done.”

He slumped on the windowsill, looking uncharacteristically defeated. “But harm is done, Pen. You’re ingenuous to suggest otherwise.”

“It will be a five-minute wonder at best,” she said desperately, because somewhere at the back of her mind, a voice insisted that he was right.

“You forget that I’m a child of scandal.” She hated when Cam looked at her as though he needed her help. “Now I’m
caught in a compromising situation, all the old stories will resurface.” His eyes sharpened on her. “And if you imagine your role will remain secret, you underestimate the press. You forget we were seen together near Genoa.”

“When I’m back in Italy, tattle in England won’t bother me.”

“I’m staying here and it will bother me. The world wants me to prove myself as rackety as my forebears. Do you mean to throw me to the wolves, Pen?”

She whirled away to escape his grave regard. To gain her cooperation, Cam played upon her guilt. When he’d proposed a marriage to save her from ruin, she’d stubbornly resisted. With her father’s indiscriminate womanizing and Peter’s extravagance, there was already scandal aplenty in the Thornes. More, while unwelcome, wouldn’t make much difference, especially as Pen had no intention of marrying.

Now Cam deployed his final weapon—their long friendship. Despite his words, she knew he wasn’t selfishly concerned for himself. Although he should be. After his struggle to restore pride to the Rothermere name, he’d now undergo trial by gossip.

He was a manipulative devil to enlist her conscience against her. Fathoming his game made his tactic no less effective. She hated to think of Cam suffering because of her actions. He’d hurt and infuriated her when he’d asked her to become his mistress. Remembering that scene before the shipwreck, she was still hurt—and restless and embarrassed and wickedly curious about what might have happened.

“That’s not fair, Cam.”

“Isn’t it?” he asked softly.

The room fell so quiet that she heard a mother scolding her child on the street below and the creak of boats moored
in the harbor. Still she refused to answer. Knowing that if she did, she was lost.

When she was nineteen, she’d fought this agonizing battle. If anything, her reasons for saying no to everything her heart desired were stronger now. Except that Cam didn’t offer everything her heart desired. Whatever passion they mustered between them, there would be a coldness at the center of this marriage arranged purely to appease public opinion.

Pen couldn’t live with Cam day after day hungering for his love. She’d seen her mother become a bitter harridan through yearning after a man who didn’t return her affection once the first reckless rapture had passed. It was a terrifying example of the price of unrequited love.

With a grim sense of inevitability, she heard Cam padding toward her. Even in borrowed boots, he still moved like a cat.