Compromising the Marquess Read online

  She could sense Lord Denby watching her, but he didn’t speak. Leah ought to have felt apprehensive, boldly allowing herself to be swept into his world. Instead she felt free. Free of obligation, responsibility and the perpetual need to chase scandal in order to survive. Perhaps it was her disguise that made the difference. She didn’t know the precise reason for her state of mind, nor did she much care. She trailed her fingers through the torpid water, her earlier feeling of excitement and anticipation roiling inside her. Something significant was about to happen to her—she could sense it and didn’t fight against it. For once, she would place her well-being in the hands of fate.

  Fate and the brooding sophisticate sitting as still as a statue beside her, casting her long, considering looks through unsettlingly intelligent eyes.

  Leah was disappointed that it took the small boat just a few minutes to reach The Celandine. She could have sat in the bow of that tiny boat and had those two men row her about forever. She supposed their arms would have got tired eventually but she wasn’t about to let such practicalities intrude on her fantasy. Today she wasn’t Leah, the realistic older sister, holding her family together by wit and guile alone. For the moment she was Leon, would-be cabin boy, with no responsibilities other than his own welfare, about to embark upon an adventure.

  As they approached The Celandine, a rope ladder was lowered over the side. Lord Denby grabbed it with one hand and held it steady.

  “Up you go, lad,” he said, offering Leah his other hand and pulling her towards the ladder.

  Leah glanced up. It seemed like a very long way. A man at the top of the ladder was waiting to help her, but she wasn’t sure if she could make the climb. She’d never admit it, but she was afraid of heights.

  Before she could decide what to do, her mind was made up for her. Lord Denby must have passed the ladder to one of the other men in the wherry because he bodily lifted her onto the first rung and gave her backside a hefty push. She could either stay where she was, swaying about on the bottom of that flimsy ladder, with Lord Denby’s hand assaulting her bottom, or she could climb.

  She expelled a long breath. And climbed.

  * * *

  A bolt of hot lust shot through Hal as his hand made contact with Leah’s derriere. He cursed his stupidity beneath his breath. He was an idiot to have brought her here and only had himself to blame. He now knew why she’d been at the mill so ought to have dismissed her from his thoughts long since and left her to her harmless scribbling. He would have done so too, except that he could hardly send written word cancelling their assignation—if indeed, that’s what it was. It certainly felt like it. Mrs. Wilkinson would be in alt if she got wind of a note from him to an unmarried lady. It was just the sort of thing she lived in expectation of discovering so she could discredit him.

  Hal had no intention of playing into her hands, which presented him with a problem. He couldn’t leave Leah unattended, open to all sorts of inappropriate propositions as she waited for him at the Boar. Every gentlemanly instinct he possessed balked at the very idea. His only hope was that she would decide against coming, even though he was fairly certain that her innate sense of curiosity would overcome any misgivings. It was the only reason he’d been watching for her from the poop deck of The Celandine, unsure whether he was more pleased or disappointed when she put in an appearance.

  Alone.

  No good could come from exposing her to the workings of The Celandine, especially since she relied on gossip and titillation to survive. He ought to have gone ashore, told her he’d had a change of heart, and escorted her home. Except, given her inquisitive nature, denying her access to his ship would only have made her more curious about it and set her to asking questions. That was the last thing he needed. Better to give her an abbreviated tour of the ship, take a short trip out to sea so she could admire the stars, and be done with it.

  It seemed so cut-and-dried before she got here. But now? He thought of all that was at stake, the trouble he’d taken to protect the visitor sequestered in the best cabin—his cabin—below, and decided that he must indeed have run quite mad. He was a meticulous man, a slave to duty, so there could be no other explanation for his totally out-of-character behaviour.

  Hal paused halfway up the ladder, ignoring the enticing view of Leah’s posterior as he endeavoured to assess the situation in a more rational manner. The minx had been a guest at his house but presumably knew better than to write about anything that occurred there. If she was foolish enough to be tempted, she must realise that her identity would be exposed and she’d be ostracized by local society. With the exception of Mrs. Wilkinson, the villagers were fiercely loyal to Hal’s family and wouldn’t take kindly to its secrets being exposed, or to its members being the focus of ridicule.

  The same restrictions applied to The Celandine. Hal breathed a little more easily. Provided he kept her well clear of his visitor, who was to keep to his cabin on Hal’s specific orders, he could enjoy her lively company without fear of reprisals.

  Leah reached the top of the ladder and his bosun pulled her aboard with ease. Hal followed her over the gunwales. The rest of the crew disappeared and the two of them stood facing one another on the swaying deck, completely alone. Her eyes were bright with curiosity as she observed the neatly furled sails, the scrubbed decks, everything tidy and shipshape.

  She glanced over her shoulder at him, her expression appreciative and just a little reckless. “It’s not a bit like I imagined.”

  “What did you expect to see? Drunken men rolling about, lack of order and discipline?” He quirked a brow. “You’ve spent too much time in Mrs. Wilkinson’s company and are starting to believe the stories she puts about.”

  “I’m not sure what I expected exactly. I’ve never been on a large ship before.”

  “This isn’t a large ship, but what she lacks in size, she more than makes up for in speed. There’s a lot to be said for that.”

  “That rather depends upon your purpose, I would imagine. If you were running from the French, then speed and stealth would indeed be an advantage.” She ran a hand across the painted guardrail, her eyes on its smooth surface rather than on him. “I can quite see that.”

  “We are no longer at war with the French.”

  “Nor are we entirely comfortable with their society. Wars create deep resentments, national pride often triumphs over political dictates, and people have long memories.”

  He smiled at her simplistic philosophy. “Then it’s fortunate that I have no business to conduct with the French.”

  “If you say so.”

  Hal, unwilling to continue that particular line of conversation, took her arm. “Come, I’ll give you a guided tour.”

  She followed him around the main deck, listening to his explanation of the sails and their individual purposes. He showed her the bowsprit, the fore and aft rigs and the topmast. She asked intelligent questions, nimbly climbing the steps to the spar deck, from which the crew dealt with the rigging when the ship put to sea. They explored the forecastle, where the crew quarters were and then lifted the hatch that led to the main accommodation below. She peered into the sparsely furnished cabin he currently occupied whilst on board.

  “It’s very much a man’s world.” She had clearly forgotten that she was currently posing as a member of the male gender herself. “I would have expected the master’s quarters to be much larger.”

  “We men don’t need the same creature comforts as the fairer sex, Leon, you know that.”

  “No, I suppose we don’t.” She returned to the companionway and pointed to the door at the end, the one that led to his actual cabin. “What’s in there?”

  “Stores,” he said, steering her firmly back towards the main deck. “Come, there is more for you to see yet.”

  She followed him without demur but kept looking back at that closed door. Damn the girl, why did she have to be so intuitive? Hal nodded to his bosun as soon as he stepped on the deck, and his crew sprang into actio
n. Sails were hoisted and the anchor weighed. The small crew worked in harmony with one another, few verbal orders necessary. They had done this many times before, often under circumstances that required both speed and stealth.

  “We’re going to sea?” she asked.

  “I promised you a sight of the stars at night from the deck of my boat.”

  “Yes, so you did. I’d quite forgotten about that.”

  A sharp breeze blew off the land, filling the sails almost as soon as they’d been set. Bold and beautiful, The Celandine moved gracefully towards the open sea.

  “Come with me.” He led her towards the bridge and nodded to the helmsman. He vacated his position with a cheerful wink for Leah.

  Hal took the wheel and steered the ship out of the bay. He was conscious of Leah, face turned into the wind, looking surprisingly at home. And not the least bit seasick.

  “Do you want to try?” he asked her.

  She didn’t hesitate. “Yes, I’d like that.” She stepped up to him. “What must I do?”

  He shot her an ironic glance as several inappropriate responses sprang to his mind. “Take a firm hold of the wheel,” he said gruffly.

  “Like this?”

  Her hands looked far too small on the large wheel and he placed his own over them, directing her movements whilst trying to ignore the indefinable something about her that so attracted him. God’s teeth, this simply wouldn’t do.

  “Do you feel the wind blowing from the land?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Keep it on your left cheek.”

  “All right.” She made a slight adjustment.

  “Watch the compass.” He pointed to the instrument directly in front of the wheel. “Ensure that the needle points directly north at all times.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  “I don’t feel as if I’m doing anything.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “It seems too easy.”

  “The Celandine knows what to do. You’re merely holding her on course.”

  “I hope she doesn’t object to a stranger taking charge of her.”

  Hal smiled. Like him, she appeared to think of his ship as a living, breathing entity. “She has a tolerant nature.”

  Hal moved a little closer and pressed his body against hers. She made no objection, apparently focused on her occupation. If she even noticed his state of arousal, she made no comment upon it. A strand of her long red hair had escaped her cap. He curled it round his finger and tucked it back in place. Much as he would like to feel the weight of all her locks cascading through his fingers, were Leah to shed her inadequate disguise, it would probably break the mood. She felt safe in her role as his cabin boy, and Hal was happy to play along.

  The ship majestically cleared the headland and conveyed them towards the open sea. It was full dark, entirely tranquil with just the sound of the wind rattling the rigging and the soft lapping of the water against the hull intruding upon Hal’s introspective thoughts. Even the stars appeared to be on his side since not a cloud dared to obscure them. He had seldom seen a better display. He signalled to the helmsman waiting a discreet distance away, who stepped forward to resume his duties.

  “Where are we going now? What are they doing?” She pointed to members of the crew lowering the mainsails as Hal led her towards the forward deck. “Why are we stopping?”

  “Look.” He pointed upwards.

  “Oh!” With a sharp intake of breath she stared at the starry sky. “I had no idea it could be so clear, so beautiful.” She turned to look at him. “Why is that?”

  “There’s nothing to obscure them out here.”

  “As there is in London?”

  “Exactly. Even in Denby, it’s not the same. Did I not tell you, this is the only way to view the galaxy?”

  “Yes, and I can see several constellations quite clearly.” She offered him a raffish grin. “But if I try to name them you will most likely correct me and spoil the moment so I shan’t attempt it.”

  She leaned back, resting against his chest as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Yea gods, what had he set in motion? He desperately wanted to kiss her but manfully restrained his impulses. If he started down that road, something told him he would never be able to stop, and despoiling inquisitive virgins was definitely not his style.

  “Are we at anchor?”

  “No, it’s far too deep here.”

  “How deep is it?”

  “As deep as a man’s soul, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  “Soul deep,” she said dreamily. “I like that.”

  “Come,” he said gruffly when she shivered and wrapped her arms round her torso. “It’s time to eat.”

  He guided her to the forecastle and a position in the lee of the wind. His crew, at a signal from him, hoisted the sails and turned the boat back in the direction of home. It wouldn’t take long to reach their anchorage. Hopefully Hal could restrain his impulses for that long and then this self-imposed madness would be over with.

  A simple meal had been prepared for them and was laid out on the table, a lantern casting an eerie glow over the fare on offer. Fresh bread, a cold collation, crisp wine to drink.

  “Please,” he said, indicating a seat on one side of the table. “Eat.”

  He expected her to demur but she set to with gusto.

  “You’re hungry?” he asked, smiling.

  “Sea air always gives me an appetite.”

  “Then perhaps you would not suit as my cabin boy after all. I wouldn’t be able to bear the cost of feeding you.”

  “Or control me, either,” she said, her eyes sparkling with laughter.

  “No,” he agreed softly, “never that. It would be such a pity to tame that wild, impulsive nature of yours.”

  Hal ate little himself, content to watch his guest. Several times she reached for her cap, as though about to cast it aside, only to change her mind. She wouldn’t look at him, didn’t appear to feel the charged atmosphere, the expectancy that was so apparent to him. Or perhaps she did but didn’t recognize it for what it was.

  Sexual desire, damn it, swamped both his mind and his reason.

  As he watched her looking so at home on his boat, licking grease from her fingers, heat cascaded through him in unstoppable waves. There didn’t seem to be a damned thing he could do to control it so he gave up trying. What this woman had done to him, he was at a loss to explain. There was nothing remarkable about her. She wasn’t beautiful, nor was she particularly well-born. She certainly didn’t seem to set much stock by his elevated rank and wasn’t trying to impress him.

  Even so, or perhaps because of those reasons, she compelled him.

  “Sing to me,” he said quietly when she’d finally eaten her fill.

  He expected her to decline. Instead, without hesitation she opened her mouth and, unaccompanied, sang the opening bars of Fiordiligi’s aria from Così fan tutte, one of Hal’s favourite operas. Tingles ran down his spine as her voice soared, echoing across the deck. Eyes closed, she sang from memory and, clearly, from the heart. Hal’s own heart suffered a severe denting as he listened, allowing the music to seep into his core, astounded that her rare and special talent had not been exploited by those seeking to profit from it.

  So taken up was he that he didn’t realise they were no longer alone.

  “Mon dieu, Captain, where did you find such an angel?” asked an awed voice in French.

  Chapter Nine

  Lord Denby’s expression was thunderous, causing Leah to hit a false note and abruptly stop singing. She glanced over her shoulder as the marquess leapt to his feet, still looking furious, just as another man burst onto the deck. She caught the briefest glance of the young man who had spoken in French before he was bodily removed by Lord Denby and the stranger. She heard raised voices, speaking in French, as the intruder was escorted below.

  “Who was that?” she asked when his lordship rejoined her a short time later, still l
ooking grim-faced.

  “A member of the crew who ought not to have disturbed us.”

  Leah didn’t believe him. “But he spoke in French.”

  “His father was French.”

  She wrinkled her brow. “He wasn’t dressed like a crew member.” She was sure she’d observed velvet knee breeches and a fine linen shirt that had no place on the person of a common sailor. “And his voice was quite cultivated.”

  “He thought he was going ashore this evening, until I sprung this little outing on the crew, obliging them to change their plans.”

  “If that’s all it is, why are you so angry about the intrusion?”

  Lord Denby let out a long breath. “Because I was enjoying your singing and now the moment has been spoiled.”

  It had been, he was right about that. Leah stood, watching the lights of Denby come into focus as the ship slipped back into the bay, as stealthily and silently as a ghost. Her head spun and she had no idea what to think, other than that Lord Denby had a Frenchman on board—very possibly an enemy of the state—and was displeased because he’d shown himself.

  She hadn’t believed Mrs. Wilkinson’s exaggerated tales about his questionable occupations. According to her, the marquess answered to no man and hadn’t deigned to fight for king and country during the war. Leah had thought the vicar’s wife generated such rumours because Lord Denby didn’t show her the respect she felt was hers by right. She now had cause to reconsider.

  Even Mrs. Wilkinson hadn’t gone so far as to suggest that Lord Denby was a traitor and Leah, in her heart, didn’t believe that he actually was. She couldn’t possibly feel such a deep connection with an enemy of the state. She worried away at the problem, wondering what she ought to do with the information she now held against him and whom she ought to tell about it, only dimly aware of the crew lowering the anchor and furling the sails.

  “Come,” Lord Denby said, making her start violently as he took her arm. “I will get you home.”

  She shook off his hand and started the descent of the rope ladder without his assistance, too preoccupied to worry about the precarious arrangement. The journey to shore was undertaken in awkward silence, so different from a few short hours previously when she had gleaned such pleasure in making the outward trip.