Читать книгу Summer's Bride - Catherine Archer - Страница 11

The arrival of the first creeping light of dawn just happened to coincide with her entering the town of West Port, and Genevieve did so with her head down. She knew that her horse would mark her a young nobleman, but she did not wish to press fortune by hoping that her face would not give her away.

The narrow streets were not busy at this early hour of the morning, but she knew they presently would be. This was a fishing, shipping port. Men who worked the sea did not linger long abed.

After stabling Kendran’s stallion at a reputable hostelry she made her way to the docks. The heels of William’s oversized boots clumped noisily upon the wooden walk, and she tried to go more quietly while keeping in mind her need for haste. She had no trouble locating the Briarwind It was a large three-masted merchant ship with a wide belly that she had seen on more than one occasion since coming to live at Brackenmoore. Along with the usual clutter of sailing paraphernalia, the deck bore a large structure at one end and what she knew was the captain’s cabin at the other. Genevieve was sure that once she got on board she could find a place to hide.

The sounds of male voices told her that at least a portion of the crew was up and about. A stack of barrels and wooden crates rested along the dock near the stern of the ship. She ducked in amongst them.

As she looked up over the side of the ship, she began to grow more nervous and uncertain, for there were more people up and about than she had at first thought. Several men were milling about the deck, exchanging jests and conversation as they worked, braiding ropes and stitching sails.

There was no way she could simply step across the gangway without notice. What would she say if someone attempted to stop her from going aboard?

As the question ran through her mind, a man came toward the gangway. With a silent groan of frustration she ducked behind a barrel.

She had delayed too long in making sure Kendran’s horse was taken care of. Now what was she to do?

Marcel left Brackenmoore with a heavy heart. He rose long before dawn, saying good-bye only to his brothers, who were clearly saddened by his leaving. Marcel could not help seeing the way Tristan watched him the whole while that he was making ready to go. He was fairly certain that after they had sought their beds only short hours ago, Lily had revealed what she had seen in Genevieve’s chamber.

Thankfully, Marcel was spared from having to explain what had happened between him and Genevieve. Tristan, in spite of his steady regard, kept his opinion of the matter to himself.

As he left the keep alone, the Scot having refused to return by sea, Marcel told himself he was glad that he had not seen Genevieve. Another meeting would serve neither of them, for he had nothing to say that could possibly improve the situation.

He had gone a short way down the road when he found himself pausing to look back at the castle in the distance. He could not deny his sadness—not entirely due to his leaving his family.

That kiss. His body burned at the memory of it. It had been more powerful, more shattering than anything his wayward imagination had been able to conjure in his waking hours or in his restless dreams.

Squaring his shoulders, he went on, determined this time to leave his feelings for Genevieve behind for good. She would be much better off with Lord Roderick Beecham. A more honorable and suitable man could not be found.

Unfortunately, this thought did not bring the peace he sought. He felt only an aching emptiness.

With a growl of frustration, Marcel prodded his mount to a gallop. All he needed was an invigorating ride to clear his mind.

Marcel was still riding at a gallop when he entered West Port some hours later, having made the journey in far less time than he’d expected. He moved through the port without paying much attention to the bustling activity around him. He had to see to the outfitting of his ship, and in short order.

He was not sorry for the pressing haste of his mission. He only hoped it would help keep his mind from thoughts of Genevieve and the way she had felt in his arms as the hard ride from Brackenmoore had not.

Resolutely he went about the business of ordering supplies. Although the journey to Scotland was not a long one, he never set out without enough rations to see them through untoward circumstances. It cost him extra to have his goods delivered with such speed, but he was assured that all would arrive at the Briarwind within the hour.

Leaving the horse at the establishment where he had hired it, Marcel then made his way to his ship. As he approached, he experienced the same rush of pride that he felt each time he saw her.

She was a fine vessel, which his father had purchased from a Venetian shipbuilder. In her he’d sailed throughout Europe and the Holy Land. They’d carried English wool and Arabian spices, and Chinese silks in the hold. The captain’s cabin was visible from where he stood and forward of that on the starboard side was the galley, and the pen for the livestock that provided fresh meat for the crew. In the forepeak was a small chamber for the bow watch. In between was an ordered jumble of spare sailing parts, benches, spars, casks, chests and so on.

He was not at all surprised to see the amazement on the face of his first mate, Harlan, as he stepped up onto the gangplank. Harlan dropped the rope he was repairing and came toward him, that tall, deceptively slender frame seeming poised for action as always. He spoke with no small measure of surprise. “Captain, why are you returned so soon?”

Marcel shrugged, explaining the situation hastily. When he was finished, Harlan asked, “So we will set sail immediately?”

“As soon as the supplies I ordered arrive.”

The first mate frowned. “Some of the men are not aboard. They have gone into town as you said they could.”

Marcel rubbed his forehead. “See that they are found and told to come back now.”

Harlan nodded his sun-streaked blond head. “Very well. Jack and Harry are aboard and none too worse for wear. I’ll send them out to look for the others.”

Marcel nodded with approval. He knew the men would not be pleased, many of them very likely nursing sore heads this day. It could not be helped. He would make an effort to see they were compensated next time they put into port.

Without wasting another minute, he turned and addressed all within earshot. “We leave as soon as the ship is seaworthy. I’ll be in my cabin mapping our course.”

Genevieve watched Marcel arrive, approaching the ship with a confident stride, and felt the uncontrollable pounding of her heart. After he was aboard ship, she heard the deep and achingly familiar timbre of his voice as he spoke to another man.

It felt so good just to be near him. She told herself that she was glad she had come, even if she had spent the past hours huddled behind a barrel. The fact that she still had no idea about how to proceed did not completely quell her anticipation at being with Marcel soon.

She was weak limbed at the possibility that he might soon hold her—kiss her again.

Abruptly she tore her mind from that distracting and all too stirring prospect. There was much that must fall into order before such an event could ever take place.

Her desperate gaze scanned the dock for some answer to her difficulty, and she saw a man approaching, pulling a cart laden with crates much like the ones that were piled near her. He stopped and ran an assessing eye over the Briarwind He lifted his cap, scratching his head as his gaze then went to the heavily loaded cart.

Before he had moved from this position an even larger cart loaded with barrels moved up behind him. The driver bellowed, “Delivery for the Briarwind Move out of my way.”

The first man spun around scowling. “And what do you think I’d be doing here?”

The second man frowned in return and said, “Get yourself unloaded and out of my way then. I’ve other work this afternoon.”

The first man looked back toward the ship. “I’d be happy to, if someone would only come to help me.”

Genevieve watched a tall and undeniably handsome blond man come to the side of the Briarwind and look out at them, and an idea came into her mind. The blond man left the ship and, along with the carters, began to discuss the unloading of the goods. When he turned and called out, “Come, the wagons must be unloaded,” two other men left the ship and moved toward the carts.

Hastily, before she could lose her courage, Genevieve slipped out into the open, moving quickly to take one of the crates from the cart. It was so heavy that she gasped in surprise. Yet she forced herself to hold it, breathing carefully.

She had to appear to be a laborer. Hopefully, the carters would think her part of the ship’s crew. The crew would imagine her to have come with one of the carts. Thus would she get onto the Briarwind After that, it would simply be a matter of finding a hiding place.

The two roughly dressed sailors went to the first cart and took a crate each. Genevieve fell in line behind them. To her utter amazement neither the carters nor the blond seaman paid her any attention at all. She was able to follow the seamen, right to a hatch in the middle of the deck.

Genevieve knew that she would not be able to carry the heavy crate down the ladder that rose up from inside, though the men seemed to have no trouble as they went down ahead of her. Holding her breath with terror, she dropped the crate on the deck and ducked behind the mast, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest.

One of the men came up, saw the crate and scowled, looking about as if perplexed. Then with a shrug, he shouldered it and disappeared down the ladder once more.

Soon both of the sailors emerged from the hole and went back across the deck. When they reached the gangway, Genevieve cast a careful look about. The carters and the other man were still talking, but they were turned the other way, obviously discussing the goods that had been brought.

It was now or never. Taking a deep breath, Genevieve raced toward the hatch. Holding that breath and knowing she dared not pause to look behind her, she took a tight hold of the sides of the ladder and scrambled down it.

Spinning around, Genevieve could see that she was in the hold. The inside walls of the ship were lined with all manner of goods that would be needed to make long voyages—extra ropes, canvas, even extra lanterns hung from the posts. There were also all sizes of containers besides the three wooden crates that had been brought from the carts.

Hearing the sound of voices approaching above, Genevieve raced down the center aisle and lodged herself behind a pile of goods at the front of the ship. This was accomplished none too quickly for the men brought more supplies down into the hold.

Several others had now joined the two, who had begun the unloading. They formed a sort of line as they transferred the cargo into the hold.

The next hours passed in an agony of frustration and anxiety. Her frustration stemmed from being inactive for so very long, and anxiety from her fear that one of the sailors would come too close and discover her hiding place. In spite of her agitation, she was somewhat awed at their efficiency as they packed the space so tightly there was no more than a narrow walkway down the center when they were through.

When finally they had finished and closed the hatch above her, Genevieve heaved a great sigh of relief. Yet when the boat began to move some time later, she knew a renewed sense of trepidation as well as relief, her stomach clenching at the realization that she had succeeded.

She was aboard the Briarwind, and it was moving. Just what might happen now she was afraid to even contemplate.

Genevieve grew cold as the day wore on. It was very damp down in the hold. She was afraid, though, to leave her hiding place for fear of being discovered should someone open the hatch unexpectedly. She did not believe they had gone far enough to make Marcel believe that he must go on to Scotland rather than take her home.

Surely all they needed were a few days together to work out whatever was making him hold back. Surely when he learned that she loved him…

The pure happiness she felt at the possibility of his returning her affection in even a small measure, at the notion of his letting go his reservations and completing the lovemaking they had begun at Brackenmoore was incentive enough to stay where she was. She could not reveal herself yet.

But after another interminable stretch of time, the cramping in her legs and lower back grew unbearable. She bit her lip with indecision. The hold was empty of all save her. Surely it would hurt nothing to walk about a bit.

Slowly, listening for any sound from above, Genevieve stood. The tingling in her lower limbs told her just how badly she had needed to move. Gingerly she exercised each muscle until the sensations eased.

Cautiously she stumbled about in the darkness until she found a lantern, and the implements to light it, hanging at the bottom of the stair. With a sigh of relief, she looked about. As she had seen earlier, a narrow pathway ran down the center to the stair, which led to the upper deck.

Genevieve began to pace this trail. Then as time passed and her body felt more itself, she began to be aware of another form of discomfort. That of hunger.

It had been many hours since she had thought of eating anything. Her stomach growled, as if now demanding its due. Putting a hand over her belly, Genevieve looked about the hold.

She knew that many of these containers would hold food. Why should she go hungry when surrounded by such plenty?

Sometime later, she leaned back against where she had sat down to eat and sighed. She had pried open a barrel with a bar she found hanging nearby. It had offered only salted fish, but her hunger had improved the taste.

Though she had no idea how much time had passed since she had come aboard the Briarwind, Genevieve was fairly certain that it must be well into the night. The tiredness she felt told her that she had been down there for many hours.

Again she sighed. What a day it had been, and after no sleep the previous night. Surely there would be no harm in closing her eyes for just a few moments. If none of the crew had come down to the hold in the evening hours, it was quite unlikely that they would do so at night.

She extinguished the light. Then using her arm to cushion her head, Genevieve lay down at the far end of the path…

The next thing she knew she was looking up at a heavily lined masculine face that contained a bulbous nose and a pair of watery gray eyes. He spoke roughly as he scratched his wiry gray head. “Now, what have we here?”

With a gasp of shock, Genevieve sat straight up, her own voice husky with sleep and horror as she cried, “Who are you?”

The man laughed gruffly. “It’s me who’ll be asking the questions, lad. What are you doing here?”

“I…” She hesitated, realizing that she was still wearing her masculine garments and this fellow thought her a boy. For reasons she could not name, she did not disabuse him of his mistaken notion.

“Well?” he prodded.

Now that she was found out, Genevieve could only think of getting to Marcel. “Take me to your captain.”

The man took her by the arm and hauled her roughly to her feet. “That I will, young man, but I’m not thinking he’ll be glad to see a stowaway. Especially one who refuses to answer the questions put to him.”

Genevieve did not care for this mauling in the least but decided to let it pass, for the man did not know who she was. When he nudged her ahead of him up the stairs, she pushed his hand away and went up with her head held high.

It was not yet full light on deck and a dark bank of cloud on the distant horizon seemed to make the light even dimmer. As she peered about she did not see any other signs of movement on deck. Her captor jerked his head toward the cabin at the stern of the boat and said, “Go on, no dawdling. You wanted to see the captain. Get to it then.”

Genevieve did not acknowledge him but moved in the direction he had indicated. As soon as she had spoken with Marcel, this lout would mind his manners.

When the sailor pounded loudly upon the closed door, Genevieve felt a momentary anxiety. There was no question in her mind that Marcel would be surprised to see her. The possibility of his being angry was very great, as well.

Hopefully he would not remain so for long.

The heavy oak door opened abruptly. Her heart turned over with a sudden and unexpectedly deep yearning as her gaze came to rest on the man she had come so far to be with. Marcel’s midnight-dark hair was tousled from sleep and the long white shirt, which was all he wore, lay open to expose his muscular bronze chest. Her heart thumped and her fingers itched to touch the smooth flesh.

Having never seen so much of him before, it was a moment before Genevieve was able to raise her gaze to his shocked and disbelieving blue eyes.

Before he could say a word, the sailor spoke. “Sorry for disturbin’ you, Captain, but I found this lad stowed away in the hold when I went down to get some supplies for breakfast.”

For a long moment Marcel did nothing, then without warning, he grabbed her arm and jerked her inside the cabin, telling the other man, “I will see to this, Charley. Go on and get the meal ready for the crew.”

Although she had not expected his reaction to be welcoming, Genevieve did not care for this manhandling, especially as she had taken far too much of the same from the sailor. As Marcel slammed the door, Genevieve said, “Although I understand your surprise, please refrain from grabbing me that way, Marcel. And you will have to tell that man he must mind his manners in the future. He was somewhat rough with me, though I must allow him some measure of leeway as he does not know who I—”

Marcel interrupted as he swung around to face her, putting his hand on his lean hips. “What are you doing here?” His shirt parted even further, exposing the smooth bronze flesh of his chest.

She could not deny that it was very difficult to phrase a reply when her eyes seemed to be riveted to that golden flesh. With a great force of will she raised her gaze to his angry one. “I…I can explain. But give me a moment.” She found she had great need to collect herself. She had not expected him to be quite so enraged. After the kisses they had shared, she had thought…He seemed a stranger again.

His voice was raised to an angry pitch. “I am waiting!”

Marcel had never spoken to her in such a tone and her surprise began to give way to irritation. She frowned. “I will thank you to have a civil tongue in your head, my lord.”

Marcel moved toward her, his brow creasing in a fierce scowl. “A civil tongue in my head? You are not in the position of giving orders here, Genevieve. You will answer me now. Why are you aboard this ship?”

Genevieve stared up at him, knowing that though Marcel was certainly overreacting, he had some justification for wanting to know what she was about. Deliberately she took a deep breath. “Please, let us calm ourselves. You have every reason to expect a reply. Only let me think of how best to explain.”

She was glad when he seemed to ease back somewhat, though the determination was not gone from his countenance. She took another breath, for it was not easy to speak of what had passed between them, especially in the face of his anger. “I…after the way you ki—”

A feminine voice interrupted her from the fore end of the cabin. “I think it best if I do not overhear this conversation, Marcel.”

Genevieve swung around to see a dark-haired woman peeking out from the edge of a wide folding screen. The bed, which lay directly behind her, was not completely hidden.

Spinning about again, Genevieve faced Marcel with what she knew were shocked and disillusioned eyes. In spite of her wish that he would not know how very hurt she was over finding him with another woman, she could make no effort to hide it.

His brow creased as his gaze met hers and he reached toward her. “Genevieve, I…”

She forestalled him with a raised hand. “Nay, do not touch me.” Hastily she turned to the other woman. “Please, come out. I am very sorry for disturbing you. I did not know you were here.”

The other woman moved cautiously out from behind the screen, and Genevieve could not be blind to the fact that she was exotically beautiful. And that she was dressed in no more than a white nightgown, which though admittedly not revealing, was nonetheless a nightgown. Her long dark hair fell in a tangled mass to her hips and her liquid dark brown eyes were filled with unhappiness, her gaze going from Genevieve to Marcel and back again.

Genevieve was unable to meet the other’s eyes. The white nightrail did not completely disguise the pleasing shape beneath it.

A piercingly painful emotion made her chest tighten and she could not look at Marcel. Had she actually convinced herself that she loved him? Obviously that was nothing more than an excuse to come here, an excuse to ease the ache of longing he had awakened in her body. For even now, knowing that she was disgusted by him, she could not help realizing that he was so very tall, so very undeniably and compellingly masculine. The cabin seemed far too small to contain his powerful presence as he stood with his shoulders back, his feet planted wide to accommodate the rolling of the ship. She was also aware of her body’s reaction to his all too fascinating masculinity.

And she hated herself for it. All this time she had waited for him—longed for him.

He had found another. Even when he had kissed her, this woman was here waiting for him. Genevieve felt a wave of sympathy for the other woman. It was not her fault Marcel was a blackguard of the worst order, for she was most likely completely unaware of his perfidy.

Marcel could not quite believe his eyes. Genevieve. It only made matters worse that, for a brief moment, as his gaze had first alighted on her that his heart had raced with joy. Immediately it was replaced by irritation.

He forced himself to concentrate on the fact that she had, as yet, not explained what in the world she was doing here aboard the Briarwind.

He was just getting ready to reiterate this fact when there came another pounding at the door. With a grunt of irritation, Marcel strode across the chamber and jerked the door open a crack. “Yes.”

Harlan stood in the opening, his hazel eyes filled with apprehension. “A storm is brewing, Marcel. It’s coming up behind us quickly. You can see it on the horizon.”

Vexation and concern filled him. The summer storms along the coast could be horrendous and were not to be underestimated. Now that he paid attention, Marcel was aware of the rising sound of the wind.

This was the last thing he needed now. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I trust preparations are under way.”

“Aye.”

Regretfully Marcel changed the subject abruptly. “I am in the midst of a little problem. I will attend you shortly.”

Harlan’s gaze searched the chamber behind him, though Marcel knew he would see little through the narrow opening. The first mate said, “Charley said there was a stowaway.”

There was, indeed.

Marcel answered as evenly as he could. “Aye, a lad. I have decided to make him my cabin boy. Now as I said, make the ship secure.”

If the man who had become his friend in the past two years thought there were anything unusual in Marcel’s tone or actions he gave no indication of it as he nodded, then turned and made his way across the deck.

Grateful for this small favor from the heavens, Marcel closed the door firmly. He did not wish to try to explain anything in detail at the moment. The first mate was far too perceptive and Marcel first had to think of precisely what he was going to say.

This whole nightmare would be far clearer when he knew the reasoning behind Genevieve’s mad act. One thing was unfortunately and undeniably obvious. With a storm rising, there was no way they could turn around and take Genevieve back to Brackenmoore at the moment.

It was ever in his mind that his parents had died in such a storm. Angry as he was with Genevieve he would not risk her safety.

Marcel looked at Constanza where she stood. Her brown eyes fixed rigidly on Genevieve’s back, and he saw the unhappiness in her brown eyes, her unmistakable pallor. It was obvious that Genevieve believed they were lovers. Marcel knew how embarrassing this must be for Constanza, who was a still-grieving widow.

He was ashamed to admit that he had, until the moment she stepped from behind the screen, completely forgotten her presence in his shock at seeing Genevieve. The lovely and infuriating Genevieve, who had occupied his every waking thought since seeing her again at Brackenmoore.

He knew a great sense of sympathy for Constanza at having been placed in this position. Yet he suddenly realized that he could possibly use Genevieve’s misinterpretation of their being here together to his advantage. Her mistaken belief that he and Constanza were lovers had clearly angered her. This brought him a sudden revelation as to what Genevieve was doing here. What woman would not be angry at finding a man with another woman when he had kissed her, touched her the way he had at Brackenmoore?

For that must be why she was here. He would be daft to pretend that their embraces had been anything but compelling. But it was obvious to him that even a physical reaction such as they had shared could not be acted upon. Their lives had gone in opposing directions.

Did Genevieve understand this?

Clearly she did not, but she could not jeopardize her coming marriage for such madness. Nor he his peace of mind.

Aye, he would use her anger to protect her. It created a boundary between them he would not easily cross. And her coming marriage would act as a deterrent to him, for he had a distinct feeling that he would have need of one. But how his gaze lingered on the slender line of her back, her hips, and he recalled how good it had felt to run his hands over them…to have her…

Roughly he pulled his thoughts back to the present. He must get hold of himself.

Marcel regretted that Constanza would be involved in his deceit. He determined to explain all of this to her when they had a moment alone. Though who knew when that moment would come as he would need to keep Genevieve close by, for fear of her giving away her disguise. He genuinely did not wish the men to know he had two women aboard.

Though the crew were a good enough lot, it was highly unlikely that the roughest of them would think it fair for him to have two of what they had none of. Especially when he had abruptly cut short what they had believed would be several days of shore leave.

He spoke with resignation. “Unfortunately, the storm has postponed our discussion. But make no mistake, we will continue, however unpleasant it may prove.”

Genevieve looked at him with chagrin. “I can tell you in this moment that I am sorry I have come here and I wish to go home.”

He shook his head. “It is impossible. You heard what Harlan said. A storm is coming. We will have to go on. You, Genevieve, will stay in this cabin with Constanza until I have time to sort this out.”

She sputtered, “But—”

He cut her off with a motion of his hand. “Nay, I will not discuss it now. You have gotten yourself into this. You will not even consider doing aught but obey me. You will continue to wear your disguise, for I will not explain my having two women to my men. They do get lonely aboard ship.”

He saw color stain her cheeks as she realized just what he was saying. “They would not dare.”

“No,” he informed her immediately. “They would not dare. But I prefer not to be forced to confront the matter. I have enough to occupy my mind.”

He was moved by the relief she tried to hide. He was aware of the fact that Maxim Harcourt had tried to force himself upon her when she was in his care, though she had refused to reveal any details of that ordeal. He had no wish for her to fear being in such a position again and was, in fact, sickened by the very idea that she would feel such anxiety.

But he did not wish her to know the degree of his reaction. Quickly he turned to Constanza. “Genevieve will stay with you in the cabin this day and share the bed with you each night. I cannot have her sleeping out on deck.”

Genevieve spoke up hurriedly. “I could not—”

His brows arched. “You certainly could and you will. It was your decision to come aboard, Genevieve. You will simply have to accept the consequences of that.” He looked at her for a long moment and saw the displeasure on her face. “Unless, of course, you do prefer to sleep on deck.”

She scowled at him fiercely. “Nay, how could I possibly prefer that? But—”

“Then it is done.” He moved to the table where he had been going over his charts when Charley first pounded on the door—before his life had exploded in chaos with the arrival of the very woman he so desperately wished to put from his mind.

He could feel the seething anger of Genevieve at this very moment, but he did not acknowledge it. He must show an appearance of indifference no matter how difficult it might be. She must return home and marry Roderick Beecham, leaving him to the life he had worked so hard to make his own.

He was glad that he had already folded his own blanket and tucked it in the chest beneath his padded bench. There was no sign that he had not spent the night in the bed with Constanza.

His regretful gaze went to Constanza’s unhappy face. Again he resolved to explain his reasons for putting her in such an awkward position as soon as possible.

Now he had to go out and secure his ship against the storm that had begun to rage as loudly as the one in his heart.