What a Lady Craves (3 page)

“Independence I have long considered as the grand blessing of life, the basis of every virtue.” She muttered the words of Mary Wollstonecraft like a litany.

The voices came closer. If she was caught, she might have to yield her prize. It was simply too valuable to leave behind. With any luck, she still had time to stash it in her quarters before her employer called. She turned toward the steep path that wound its way back to the manor, the coffer hidden beneath the folds of her cloak.

The village was farther from the manor than he remembered. Alexander straightened his spine and limped along the downward slope to where a few houses huddled against a cliff face overlooking a rocky beach. One step followed another despite the protest of his aching muscles. Despite the residual pounding in his head and the sharp pain in his ribs that came with each breath. He would make it to the village if it killed him.

And likely it would, at least if he heeded his aunt’s physician. But then, the deuced man had wanted to bleed him. After an entire morning of being poked and prodded, Alexander had protested that treatment. Likely he’d bled enough from the various cuts that peppered his body. Satya’s concoctions would have to do him for strength, at least until he reached his goal. How he’d make it back home was another matter, one he preferred to ignore for now.

He passed the first buildings, their once bright colors faded by the relentless, salt-laden winds to dull browns and grays and ochers. Nearly enough to blend them with the rock and pebbles strewn over the beach. Almost the hue of the broken timbers of his ship. If he didn’t miss his guess, some of the larger shards of wood down there had once belonged to him.

The locals already swarmed the shoreline. His childhood days spent along this coast ought to have prepared him for the sight. When a ship went down, the villagers all profited as best they could. Only this time they were combing through his ship, his cargo, the remnants of
his
life; he couldn’t bite back the bitter taste of disgust that coated his tongue.

Of all the rotten luck.

His fortunes could damned well change now, thank you very much. He could have sworn he’d cast the pall of ill chance from his shoulders the moment he sailed from Calcutta. Yet he
had
been more fortunate than others. He was still alive.

Good God, was he the only one, along with Satya? What had happened to his crew?

He hobbled past a pair of housewives in the middle of the village’s main street, arguing over a length of bedraggled fabric, if it could be termed such. Red silk from China. It would have fetched a pretty price in London. Gone now—ruined and stained with salt water and seaweed—and he could do nothing about it. Yet for these women, the rag was worth the fight.

Ignoring the pair, he made for a tiny, mud-colored building. Tilly’s Flotsam and Jetsam, a mainstay of his boyhood jaunts to the village, crammed in all manner of oddments to entrance a young imagination, from glass beads that might double as precious stones to a glass bottle containing a frigate. As a child, he’d spent hours contemplating that model ship, its lines distorted by the hand-blown container.

A bell tinkled as he opened the door. The shop still resembled his memory with its hodgepodge of oddities jammed onto shelves and into corners, from floor to ceiling. If Tilly could find anything in the mess, he was the only one. The glass-encased frigate still held pride of place on the counter at the perfect level to catch a boy’s eye. The scent of dust mixed with the musk of mildew reached Alexander’s nostrils. No, not a thing had changed.

“Good day to ye.” Tilly grinned, showing off a fair few gaps in his teeth. The passing years had left the proprietor as unchanged as his shop, except the wrinkles and lines on his face had deepened.

Through a painful breath or two, Alexander inclined his head. “It’s a better one than yesterday, that’s certain.”

“Quite a storm we had, and that’s a fact.” Tilly chewed out the words slowly, as if he had all day to ruminate over the weather—and doubtless he did.

Alexander, on the other hand, could not tolerate such a leisurely pace. Not with his head feeling as if it were stuffed with cotton wool and his vision unsteady. “Bad enough for a ship to go down.”

Tilly nodded. “Arr, it was at that.”

“So happens it was my ship that went down.” Not that Tilly could have told, since Alexander had borrowed some decent clothes this morning. Unless Tilly came up with his trunk, and that trunk had miraculously escaped the wreck unscathed, he’d have to replace his wardrobe on top of everything else.

“Is that a fact?”

“It is. I don’t suppose you’ve had any sailors slog through since yesterday?”

Alexander held his breath while Tilly contemplated a spot somewhere past him. Perhaps out in the street, those two ladies had come to blows. “Can’t say that I have. Ye and me both
know they like as not made for the pub. For all that, they probably went straight to Falmouth.”

Damn, damn, and damn.
Alexander was in no condition to travel the ten odd miles down the coast to the nearest deepwater port and verify that bit of information now. Frustration gnawed at his gut, eclipsing for a moment or two the pain of his injuries. Stumbling as far as the local pub was chancy at best. Falmouth was out of the question until he felt up to the jouncing of a carriage. Days might pass before he could learn of anyone’s fate.

“Then if not the men, I was hoping you may have found something.”
Please God, let it be something valuable and salvageable.
He’d already witnessed what had happened to the shipment of silks. Salt water wouldn’t have done the tea and spices much good, either. A complete loss, all of it. As for the gold, that would survive the sea but disappear quickly enough into the pockets of anyone who happened upon it and no questions asked.

Really, he had only one hope left of saving anything from this disaster.

Tilly leaned an elbow against his counter, and watched Alexander out of the corner of one eye. “Find lots of t’ings, I do.”

Just as he thought. The old man was going to be cagy about this, and the cagier he got, the higher his price rose. And considering the value of this object, the price might go very high, indeed. Damnation, Alexander didn’t have much coin on him, possibly not even enough for a down payment. “Yes, well, I’m inquiring after a particular thing.”

Very specific, very particular. And if it had survived the wreck, that would be an even bigger miracle than his trunk.

“Might help if I knew what ye was on about.” Still that sideways look. Did he know something? Did he suspect?

“It’s a box.” Or it had been a box—unless it lay dashed to bits on the rocks out there, in which case, Tilly would be practically dancing a jig over its contents. Enough for the shopkeeper to retire on, if he knew how much those contents were worth to Alexander. Unless someone else had come across it first.

“I see lots of boxes in my line of work.”

“This is a very special box. I brought it back from India. I’ll wager you’ve never seen another one like it.” He’d wager, in fact, that another like it didn’t exist.

Tilly shook his head. “Haven’t seen anyt’ing out of th’ ordinary, no sir.”

A spot just behind Alexander’s left eye pulsed. Damn it all, now was no time to fall ill, not when he might still have made it as far as the pub. Neither was it the time to appear weak. He rubbed his hand over his forehead and strove to ignore the pain. If he concentrated, he still might
determine whether Tilly was telling the truth. With his other hand, he reached into his coat for a few coins. “You certain about that?”

Tilly’s fingers didn’t so much as twitch in the direction of the money. “Aye, that I am.”

Blast it all, what was he to do now? Alexander’s head throbbed, hard enough for a trickle of sweat to make its way down his cheek. He pushed two guineas across the counter. “Why don’t you keep an eye out? I’ll leave this as a hold on the item. If you see it, you’ll let me know? I’m staying up the hill with Lady Epperley.”

Before Tilly could reply or even pocket the coins, the bell rang once again. “Mr. Tilly, thank goodness.”

That voice. Alexander’s vision wavered, like a shimmer of heat in the jungle, and his knees threatened to buckle. He hadn’t heard her in years, unless it echoed through his dreams. And of late, he’d done his utmost to suppress even those. But what in God’s name was she doing in this lost little corner of Cornwall? She ought to be in London.

She ought to be married; hell, she might even be married.

That thought sobered him, but still he didn’t turn. He couldn’t face her, not after everything he’d put her through. In an ideal world, she would be married. To him. Impossible now, quite impossible. His skull gave a warning pang, as if some dwarf were inside pounding its way out with a pickaxe.

“Forgive me for interrupting your business.” She stood just behind him. He could practically feel the warmth of her body at his back. Another drop of sweat inched its way as far as his shoulder blades. “I won’t keep you long. Would you happen to have a recent London paper?”

Tilly stretched himself to his full height—he might have measured a whole five and a half feet, if he stood on his toes. “Now, let me t’ink about that, Miss Upperton. And why would ye be wanting the paper?”

Black spots swam before Alexander’s eyes. Damn and blast his head, not now! Let Tilly remember whether he had a paper and be done with it, so Alexander could describe that confounded box for him and die in peace. And please, God, before Henrietta Upperton discovered he was here. Carefully, he turned his face away and forced himself to study the ship in its bottle. Its lines swam, and he was afraid this was not due to the flaws in the glass.

“I absolutely need a recent one. I’m looking into a new situation, you see.”

Her last words barely registered as his tenuous hold on reality gave way and the counter rose to meet his face.

With a gasp, Henrietta stumbled back. The coin she held ready to pay for the paper slipped from her suddenly shaky fingers to clatter onto the floorboards. The man at the counter slumped earthward. Not just any man. Alexander. The dull light of the dusty shop was sufficient to illuminate his ashen face, just as sickly gray as last night.

“Good heavens.” She caught herself before something worse slipped out. Not—or so she thought—that Tilly would bat an eye. Still, she clapped a hand over her mouth as extra insurance. The gesture hid her quivering lips, if nothing else.

And what in blazes was Alexander doing out of bed, let alone here in the village? Clearly, he was in no condition to be up and about, and yet he’d managed the trek from the manor. Now he lay completely insensible—at best. Faced with the idea of the worst that could happen, her heart gave a painful thump. No matter what had passed between them, she couldn’t just leave him here.

But what was she to do with him? She couldn’t very well haul him back up the hill, not even with Tilly’s help. If he would help. Well, he would … for a price. No, she was going to have to awaken the scoundrel herself, whether or not she was ready to confront him. And she’d thought it a brilliant stroke of luck that he hadn’t caught sight of her when he was brought in last night, leaving her able to escape without him ever knowing. Ha! As if she had that sort of fortune in her life.

Nothing for it, though. She rummaged in her reticule, nearly dropping the bag before she withdrew the smelling salts her mother insisted she always carry. Uncapping the vial, she crouched and waved it under his nose. Too bad she couldn’t steal away before he came to his senses.

His eyelids fluttered. She eased back. No good. He merely heaved a sigh and remained stoutly insensible. She’d have to get the dratted bottle closer to his nose. Close enough for her to breathe in his masculine scent. Another wave of the salts, and he spluttered. “Good God, what is that vile—”

A fit of coughing cut him off.

Henrietta straightened, but not quickly enough. He opened his eyes, and their gazes collided. Locked. Hellfire. She’d forgotten how much so small a thing as eye contact could affect her. The years melted away and the intensity behind those gray eyes skewered her, bringing back
a flood of memories best forgotten. Waltzes, stolen moments, smiles. Touches.

Kisses most of all. Heated kisses in darkened corners of gardens. The dance of tongues, the press of a hard body against hers, the hollow ache deep inside that continued to throb long after they broke apart.

No, she couldn’t let herself think about that time. Shouldn’t remember.

“Miss Upperton.” His low murmur washed over her and settled deep in her belly. “We meet again.”

Good Lord, the man didn’t even have the grace to act surprised. Or contrite or sheepish or any number of other things that would indicate he was sorry for what he’d done to her.

“I really must be off.” She took a step backward. She really couldn’t remain here as long as he still had the power to melt her insides with a mere glance. Especially given all the pain that should divide them.

“You don’t have your paper.”

“My paper? Oh, yes. That.” Damnation, had he been eavesdropping? Worse, would he report to his aunt that she was planning on leaving her position? Not that she was planning on it, exactly. Only on consideration, she thought it best to keep her options open. “Tilly didn’t have one. Isn’t that what you said?”