Читать книгу Regency Debutantes: The Captain's Lady / Mistaken Mistress - Margaret McPhee, Margaret McPhee - Страница 9

‘Master Robertson, no man or boy on this ship is exempt from the line of command. To disobey an order from an officer is an offence, and one that merits disciplinary action.’ A chill wind blew hard across the deck, carrying in its wake the damp smell of rain. Darkness was closing in fast, and the lanterns were being lit. Nathaniel felt a pang of sympathy for the lad; nevertheless, it was the first direct contravention of an order and his response was likely to set a precedent amongst the men. ‘Lieutenant Pensenby has instructed you to bathe and bathe you shall. See to it, Mr Holmes.’

‘Aye, aye, Captain.’ The boy was so pale he looked as if all the blood had left his body. Holmes quelled the thought, he had a job to do. ‘You ain’t got nothin’ different from the rest of us, lad. Let’s get on with it.’

Panic constricted Georgiana’s breathing. ‘No! Wait!’

Holmes’s hand clamped upon her shoulder and Captain Hawke made to walk away.

‘Captain Hawke, please wait, sir. I can explain.’ Her usual hushed mumble was forgotten. She lashed out at the man beside her. ‘Leave me be!’

It was imperative that he remain indifferent to the boy’s pleading voice. Such scenes were always difficult for Nathaniel, but he could not back down. He continued towards the forecastle.

‘You will not address the captain, Robertson, it is not your place to do so,’ Pensenby interrupted.

Her jacket had been removed and Holmes was tugging at her culottes. Georgiana bellowed as loudly as she could, and tried hard to maintain the slight edge to her accent. ‘I must speak with you, Captain, sir. Please, sir!’

Still she saw only the receding view of his deep blue coat, his shoulders squared, his golden epaulettes glinting in the lantern light.

‘It concerns Farleigh Hall, sir.’

Nathaniel ceased his measured steps and swung round. Surely he had misheard? ‘What did you say, boy?’ He drew his brows together in perplexity and walked slowly back to where the gunner’s mate held the boy in a neck lock.

‘Farleigh Hall,’ Georgiana managed to choke the words out.

Something was most definitely amiss. How did a simpleton third-rate ship’s boy know of his brother’s house? An uneasy feeling was gathering in his gut. ‘Release the boy, Mr Holmes. I would hear what he has to say.’

With considerable relief Georgiana lurched forward, her hand pressed to the bruising on her throat. ‘It’s private, Captain, sir. I must speak with you alone, sir.’

If Nathaniel observed that his previously tongue-tied ship’s boy had suddenly developed a clear and coherent manner of speech, he forbore to mention it.

Pensenby’s countenance was growing tarter by the minute. ‘How dare you?’ he spluttered with the indignation of a man who could not quite believe what he had just heard. ‘I’ve never seen a more audacious manner in a boy.’ The second lieutenant’s temper was wearing dangerously thin. ‘You will be punished for this insolence.’

‘Make ‘im kiss the gunner’s daughter,’ a coarse voice added from the background.

The prospect of being bent over one of the long guns and caned on the backside was enough to make Georgiana’s hair to stand on end. ‘Lady Mirabelle,’ she squeaked in defiance, and, ‘Lord Frederick,’ just for good measure.

Nathaniel’s mind was decided in an instant. ‘I’ll interview the boy in my cabin. Have him brought down immediately.’

Georgiana’s knees almost gave way with relief as Holmes dragged her along in the captain’s wake.

‘But …’ Lieutenant Pensenby’s jaw dropped.

‘Thank you, Mr Pensenby. Continue with your duties.’ Captain Hawke’s clipped tones floated back to reach him.

The captain’s cabin, positioned at the rear of the gun deck, was incredibly large in comparison with the cramped conditions endured by the rest of the crew, and furnished well, if not luxuriously. As well as a desk, captain’s chair, dining table, six dining chairs and a small chest of drawers, there was a large and very fine oil painting depicting Lord Nelson’s victory against the French Admiral Brueys at the Battle of the Nile. Amidst the elegance of the décor were two large eighteen-pounder long guns, shone to a brilliant black finish. Nathaniel Hawke leaned back against the desk, stretching his legs out before him. The cocked hat was removed and positioned carefully on a pile of papers to his left. An errant lock of hair swept across his forehead and his eyes glowed deep and dark.

‘Well, young Robertson, tell your tale.’

Georgiana felt the tension mount within her, and quickly slipped on the torn jacket that Holmes had replaced in her hands. An extra layer of protection against what was to come. And what was to come? She had no notion what Captain Hawke’s reaction would be. No notion at all. She licked her dry, salt-encrusted lips and began. ‘Thank you for agreeing to my request for privacy. I’m sure that you’ll agree to its necessity once you’ve heard the truth.’

‘Indeed?’ One winged eyebrow raised itself. ‘You suddenly have a most eloquent turn of phrase, Master Robertson. The prospect of a bath seems to have overcome your tendency to the whispered mumbling of a simpleton.’

Georgiana cleared her throat and clutched her hands together. How did one go about imparting such a revelation? ‘Quite,’ she muttered softly.

The silence stretched between them.

Nathaniel’s hands stretched flat upon the desk and he leaned forward. ‘I believe that you have something to tell me.’

Such long strong fingers, so representative of the power within the man himself. An image of those fingers stroking her cheek popped into her mind and she flushed with guilty anger. How could she think such a thought, and at a time like this? A warm blush rose in her cheeks and she rapidly averted her gaze.

Nathaniel did not miss the emotions that flashed so readily across the boy’s face, nor the telltale rosy stain beneath the dirt-stained cheeks. He waited, curiosity rising.

‘I…You …’ She paused, unable to find the words. Oh, heaven help her! Taking a deep breath, she launched into the story. ‘There’s no easy way to say this, Captain Hawke, so I’ll strive to be brief and to the point. Please remember throughout that I…that I never intended the position in which I now find myself. Such a possibility never entered my mind.’ She looked up at him suddenly, her eyes wide and clear, her voice elegant and polite. ‘The fact of the matter is that I’m not who I appear to be.’ She paused, her breathing coming fast and furious, almost as if she had ran the length of the ship.

‘I’d gathered that much. And you’re now about to do me the honour of revealing your true identity.’ His tone was dry, but there was an encouraging gentleness in his eyes and Georgiana knew that Nathaniel Hawke was a fair man. The knowledge gave her the confidence she so desperately needed to continue.

‘Yes.’ The single word slipped softly into the silence of the cabin.

Nathaniel experienced a reflexive tensing of his muscles and an overwhelming intuitive certainty that the next words to be uttered by the ragamuffin boy standing so quietly before him would change his life for ever.

The boy’s chin forced up high. The grey-blue eyes met his without flinching. The narrow chest expanded with a deep breath. ‘I am Miss Georgiana Raithwaite, recently of your acquaintance at Farleigh Hall.’ Still the breath held, tightly squeezed within her lungs. She waited. Waited. And never once did her gaze wander from those dark eyes that were staring back at her with an undisguised disbelief.

Silence.

The blood ran cold in Nathaniel’s veins and a shiver flitted down his spine. It was not possible. The ragged boy, Miss Raithwaite. ‘You cannot be Miss Raithwaite. You’re a…’

Georgiana endured the roving scrutiny of his eyes without moving. ‘Now you understand why I couldn’t comply with Lieutenant Pensenby’s command.’ She raised her eyebrows wryly and bit her bottom lip.

‘Hell’s teeth!’ Nathaniel cursed and stood upright. A horrible sinking sensation was starting within his stomach, for beneath the grubby urchin face he could see what had previously eluded him—the fine features of the young woman he had pulled from the River Borne. ‘Your hair…Have you—?’

‘Naturally,’ replied Georgiana. ‘It wouldn’t have been much of a disguise otherwise.’ She whipped the cap from her head to reveal her sheared and matted locks.

‘Dear God!’ Nathaniel could not suppress the exclamation.

‘Yes, quite. It’s in a horrible filthy state, as is the rest of me. How ironic that my present trouble has arisen from my refusal to bathe when that is one of the things I’ve longed so ardently to do these two weeks past.’ She smiled then, a smile that lit up her face.

Nathaniel stared, and stared some more. Inadvertently his eyes dropped lower, as if he would see what lay beneath the torn blue jacket. ‘You show no external signs of…of, um…’

‘Bindings. Terribly uncomfortable things to wear, if you must know,’ she said stoutly.

Captain Hawke’s swarthy complexion flushed. ‘Yes, quite.’

‘But it wouldn’t have done at all for Burly Jack or the others to have discovered otherwise.’

‘Burly Jack?’ Nathaniel’s brows knitted.

‘Able Seamen Grimly, sir.’ She sighed. ‘He’s been looking out for me, you see, since we became acquainted on the mailcoach to Fareham.’

There was a definite pain starting behind his eyes. The tanned fingers rubbed at his forehead. ‘No, Miss Raithwaite, I don’t see at all. I think you had better explain all that has happened since I saw you last.’ He gestured towards a wooden chair and said politely, as if they were both in the drawing room of Farleigh Hall, ‘Please be seated.’ He then lowered himself into the red leather captain’s chair and prepared to listen.

Georgiana started to talk and, with only the occasional interruption from the captain, continued to do so for some considerable length of time.

‘So let me check that I have understood you correctly, Miss Raithwaite.’ He watched her with a quizzical expression. ‘Following a disagreement with your father, you ran away from home, by mail, to seek refuge with a friend who lives near Portsmouth, and were mistakenly taken by the Press Gang?’

‘Yes.’ She folded her hands before her and tried to look composed.

He wasn’t fooled for an instant. Nathaniel Hawke knew guilt when he saw it. ‘And may I enquire as to the nature of your disagreement?’

Her fingers pressed to each other. ‘I cannot reveal that, my lord. It regards a personal issue.’

‘Such as your betrothal to Mr Praxton?’ he asked softly.

Her eyes met his, then dropped to scan the mahogany surface of his desk as colour flooded her cheeks.

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

A small silence elapsed.

‘Then I’ll write to your father and at least let him know that you’re safe.’

‘No!’ Georgiana was out of her seat and facing him with a look of pure horror. ‘No, I beg of you,’ she pleaded. ‘If you have the smallest consideration for me at all, my lord, please do no such thing.’

He felt her distress as keenly as if it were his own. ‘Very well, but if I’m to help you I must ask that you tell me the truth, all of it.’

The moment had come. She swallowed hard and squared her shoulders. The truth, whatever it was, had affected her dearly. He watched her gather her courage, watched her sweet lips open in preparation. ‘When I said that my father approved of my betrothal to Mr Praxton, I was not telling you the whole story. He…he and Mr Praxton …’ It seemed that she could not find the words. ‘After what happened in Hurstborne Park with Mr Praxton’s…plan, Papa was so angry with me, and I with him. I just couldn’t believe what he meant to do. Papa knew how I felt and still he didn’t care. He was determined to have his own way, wouldn’t even listen to me. In my heart I knew that I couldn’t do as he bade, so…so I decided to run away.’

A horrible sensation was settling on Captain Hawke. He thought he could see exactly where Miss Raithwaite’s tale was leading. And that somewhere was in the direction of a disapproving father and an elopement. There would be no friend near Portsmouth, of that he was sure, only Walter Praxton waiting at their chosen place of assignation. Damn the scoundrel! He schooled the emotion from his voice. ‘Your father’s response to Mr Praxton’s actions in the park is understandable. No man would condone such treatment of his daughter. It’s hardly surprising that he won’t have you wed Praxton. The man is a knave.’

‘No, you misunderstand. Mr Praxton—’

‘Is no gentleman to behave as he did. I cannot think you would believe anything other. Think, Miss Raithwaite, what kind of gentleman would have encouraged you to such actions? Deserting your family, dressing as a boy, travelling across country alone, and on the mail of all things. Why, anything could have happened to you!’ He raked his fingers through his hair with mounting exasperation. Hell, but did the girl have no inkling as to what sort of man Praxton was? Little idiot! The thought of Miss Raithwaite allowing Praxton liberties made his blood boil.

‘Captain Hawke, you’re mistaken in what you think. Mr Praxton is indeed a—’

Nathaniel knew exactly what Praxton was. He didn’t want to hear the woman before him plead the wretch’s case. ‘I suppose you mean to tell me next that you love him and that is excuse enough.’ It was a brutal statement, brutal and angry and disappointed.

Her mouth gaped open and beneath the dirt he could have sworn that her skin had drained of any last vestige of colour. She gripped the edge of his desk, leaned forward towards him and said in her most indignant voice, ‘I beg your pardon, sir!’

‘If you speak a trifle louder, Miss Raithwaite, you need adopt your guise no longer, for every man on the ship will have heard a woman’s voice from within my cabin.’

The grey-blue eyes closed momentarily before fluttering back open. ‘I’m sorry, Captain Hawke. I’m trying to tell you that your beliefs concerning Mr Praxton are quite wrong. The incident in the park was not how—’

But Nathaniel had no intention of listening to Miss Raithwaite defend the scoundrel. It was hard enough knowing that she had feelings for him. ‘I do not wish to hear your thoughts on Mr Praxton. Whatever your plans were, they can be no more. We must concentrate on the situation we now find ourselves in.’

Those clear fine eyes stared at him with such wounded disbelief as to render him the cruellest tyrant on earth.

‘It seems that you have made up your mind on the matter and nothing I can say will change it.’

There was a melancholy in her voice that he had not heard before. Why did he have the sudden sensation that he had just made the worst blunder of his life? Damnation, the truth was harsh, but it was kinder than letting her believe Praxton’s lies. And she was right, nothing would make him warm to the rogue. ‘The Atlantic Ocean lies between you and Mr Praxton now. You had best forget him, Miss Raithwaite. He cannot reach you here.’

When she bowed her head and did not answer, he knew that nothing he could say would affect the girl’s affection for the villain. He battened down his own feelings and moved to deal with the practicalities of disguising a lady’s presence on board his ship, all the while oblivious to the relief that his last comment had wrought in Miss Raithwaite.

Quite why Nathaniel was so adverse to hearing the truth about Walter Praxton escaped her. If only he had let her explain. But perhaps it was better this way, for heaven only knew what a man like Nathaniel Hawke would do if he understood exactly what Mr Praxton and her papa had been about. And that was sure only to make matters worse, for them all. Let him think the worst if it would prevent him becoming embroiled with Mr Praxton. Besides, he was right. That she had set out to seek Mirabelle’s advice no longer mattered, for she was far beyond any help that lady could now offer. On a social standing, even Mr Praxton’s loathsome attentions paled in contrast to the circumstance into which she had now stumbled…well, thrown herself. She was under no illusion as to exactly what she had done to her reputation just by running away. And then there was the small matter of being pressed aboard a naval frigate…as a boy.

At least her papa’s evil plan had been foiled. No man, not even Mr Praxton, would wish to wed her now. Even so, she could not help but be glad at Nathaniel’s words: the Atlantic Ocean lies between you and Mr Praxton…He cannot reach you here. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Somehow, she doubted that she had heard the last of Walter Praxton.

The door opened to reveal Captain Hawke’s head. ‘Morris, organise that a large tub of warmed sea water be brought to my night cabin. And also a jug of warmed fresh water.’

‘Aye, Captain.’ As the captain’s head disappeared once more the young marine sent a look of bewilderment to his opposite sentry, shrugged his shoulders and scurried off to do as he was bid.

Neither did the captain’s steward or his valet blink an eyelid when he requested fresh bedding and clean clothes of a size to fit Master Robinson. But it did not take long for the news to spread far and wide aboard the Pallas. Indeed, in a matter of hours, both Lieutenants Anderson and Pensenby had heard the rumours.

‘I cannot credit that he’s treating the boy in such a way.’ The tip of Mr Pensenby’s long nose trembled at the very thought. ‘There is no doubt some unsavoury motive at play. Robertson openly flouted my command and what does he receive in return? A flogging? Reduced rations? Crow’s nest watch? Oh, no. Master Robertson is treated to a private warmed bath within the captain’s own cabin. There’s something very much amiss.’

John Anderson’s brow furrowed. ‘I’m sure that there must be some perfectly reasonable explanation for what has happened. We shouldn’t jump to conclusions. No doubt the captain will inform us of anything that we should know.’

‘Mark my words, Mr Anderson, only trouble will come of this. Trouble and nothing else.’ His wide thin lips compressed. ‘We both know the direction the men’s thoughts will take.’

Lieutenant Anderson said nothing, but turned his attention once more to the log he was writing.

The water lapped warm and luxuriant against Georgiana’s naked skin. She sighed and relaxed back within the captain’s personal hip bath, bending her knees until her soapy head submerged beneath the surface. When the worst of the lather had been removed, she reached for the jug and poured its freshwater contents over her cropped hair. The ebony locks squeaked clean, and Georgiana marvelled at Nathaniel Hawke’s generosity. Freshwater was precious; she did not know how long it would be before they would have an opportunity to replenish the supply. And yet he had not expected her hair to suffer the coarse drying effects of seawater. As she stepped dripping from the tub and wrapped the cloth around her, she looked with curiosity at the small room around her, marked so clearly as belonging to Captain Hawke. Besides the furniture she’d already noticed, there were a case of books, a small table and chair, a heavy sea chest, a basin, shaving accoutrements, a mirror fixed upon the wall…and the cot. A shiver ran down her spine and she dried herself briskly, stepping into the clean clothes that Nathaniel had provided for her.

She folded the cloth and could not resist inspecting her reflection in the mirror. A pale face with short dark hair stared back at her. There was a purple bruise to the side of her right eye and a cut upon her lip. Now that the dirt was gone, she felt naked, exposed, as if anyone who looked at her would know who she really was, what she really was. She arranged the straggle of hair as best she could using only her fingers, then stepped away with deliberate care towards the flimsy connecting door, and paused. He believed that she loved Walter Praxton, that her father had forbidden her marriage to the man. As if anything could have been further from the truth! How could he even think that she would let that rogue so much as touch her? Her gorge rose at the memory of Walter Praxton’s roving hands, his greedy mouth. She swallowed it down, pushed the shame and disgust away, determined never to think of it again.

Nathaniel Hawke was a good man, a man that attracted her in a way she’d never felt before. She’d tried to tell him, wanted to shout the truth when he’d misunderstood. But she couldn’t, not if she wanted to stop him challenging Mr Praxton and her papa. She was nothing to Captain Hawke save a problem, a thorn in his side, turning up at the worst of times, like a bad penny. It was bad enough that he’d already risked drowning to save her. And now here she was, on his ship, in the middle of the sea, alone, and in the guise of a boy! Little wonder that he was angry. Best to remember her place, quell such inappropriate feelings for the man and get on with surviving the consequences of her own foolish actions. With this resolution in mind, she knocked softly upon the wooden panels and passed through from Captain Hawke’s night cabin to the one that he used during the day.

The man himself was sitting at his desk, a glass of brandy held loosely in his hand. Grey winter light from the large windows behind the desk contrasted against the stark outline of his broad shoulders. He appeared to be deep in thought, a distant gaze in his eyes. Georgiana’s resolution wavered at the sight of him. The errant curl still dangled temptingly on his forehead and her fingers itched to smooth it back to its rightful place. She suppressed the urge, blushed that she should have thought such a thing, and sat down in the chair across from Captain Hawke.

‘Thank you, sir, I feel so much better now that I’m clean. And I’ll no longer be a cause of offence to Lieutenant Pensenby.’ She smiled and felt suddenly shy.

Nathaniel could have groaned aloud. How could he have ever thought that the girl before him was anything other? The delicate bone structure, straight little nose and full pink lips. Her eyes twinkled blue washed with shades of grey, and her eyelashes were sooty and long. How could any man fail to see what was right in front of his very eyes? The dirt had camouflaged her well and now that it was gone he wondered if the rest of the crew would see what he did. And that wasn’t all the dirt had hidden. He frowned and, reaching forward, gently clasped his fingers to her chin.

‘How did you come by these marks?’ His voice was gruff, belying the careful touch of his fingers as he tilted her face to view the bruising near her eye. He couldn’t help but notice how white her skin was next to the brown of his hand. And soft…so very, very soft.

Her skin burned beneath his touch, and a strange lightheaded feeling came over her. For some inexplicable reason she found herself unable to reply, unable even to think of anything other than his strong warm fingers that touched like a feather to her face. The pulse leapt to a frenzy in her neck, so that she was sure that he would see it. But still she could not move, frozen by her own response to the man sitting before her.

Nathaniel looked down into Miss Raithwaite’s shimmering eyes and experienced an urge to pull that slender body into his arms and kiss her. And not in the least chaste or polite manner. The kissing that he had in mind was of an extremely thorough nature. He watched as her lips parted, almost as in invitation. His fingers caressed her chin, moving up to capture the smoothness of her cheek. His heart thumped loudly within his chest, he lowered his mouth towards hers and—’

A short sharp knock sounded at the door.

Brandy splashed on to the captain’s desk. Georgiana jumped so high that Nathaniel’s hand brushed against her breast. Even through the depth of her bindings she felt his warmth. She gasped. Blue eyes held brown in confused horror.

‘Quickly, slip into the night cabin and don’t make a sound,’ Nathaniel whispered in her ear. His large hand covered hers, gave one brief squeeze of reassurance and was gone.

She reacted instinctively, moving quickly and quietly to the connecting door.

When Lieutenant Anderson entered, it was to find the captain engrossed in some charts, and no sign of ship’s boy Robertson.

‘First Lieutenant Anderson.’ Nathaniel’s voice was laconic and mellow, betraying nothing of the turbulent emotions simmering so recently in his breast.

‘Captain Hawke, sir. I beg your pardon for the intrusion, but my hourly report is due.’ The young man’s face appeared a trifle flushed.

Nathaniel leaned back in his chair and surveyed his lieutenant. ‘Indeed, it is, Mr Anderson. Please proceed.’

John Anderson cleared his throat and recited his list. ‘All stations have been checked. The first dog watch passed without event and the first watch proper commenced. All is in order. Ernie Dobson’s tooth has been extracted and he’s been allocated an extra quart of grog. There’s no change in the weather and we are continuing on course as per your instructions. That is all I have to report, sir.’

‘Thank you, Mr Anderson. That will be all.’

But the first lieutenant stayed firmly rooted to the spot, an awkward expression plastered across his face.

‘Was there something else, Mr Anderson?’ Nathaniel had a fairly accurate idea of what was causing John Anderson to linger.

‘No, Captain…Well, perhaps …’ Mr Anderson appeared to be finding a spot upon the cabin floor of immense interest.

Nathaniel decided to put the officer out of his misery. ‘Would you care for a brandy, Mr Anderson?’

The first lieutenant looked up in surprise. ‘Yes, thank you, sir.’

‘There’s been talk of my dealings with ship’s boy Robertson.’ It was a statement, not a question. He passed the glass to Anderson.

‘Yes, sir.’ His cheeks were glowing with all the subtlety of two beacons.

Nathaniel’s jaw clenched grimly. That the captain had ordered a private bath for the boy within his own cabin would be known by every man on the Pallas by now. He was under no illusion as to what the common interpretation of his action would be, and that was something that would have to be dispelled as quickly as possibly. Nathaniel was thinking and thinking very fast. John Anderson’s green eyes had raised to his in quiet anticipation. Whatever Nathaniel told him, it could not be the truth. ‘It’s a delicate matter over which discretion is required. I trust that I have your complete confidence in the matter?’

‘Of course, sir!’ Lieutenant Anderson had drawn himself up to his full height and was regarding his captain with more than a little curiosity. He sipped at the brandy.

‘The boy, Robertson, is not who he seems.’

Anderson’s eyes were positively agog. ‘No?’

‘No.’ Nathaniel’s tone was conspiratorial. ‘Indeed, Robertson is a pseudonym he’s used to his own ends.’

John Anderson nodded triumphantly. ‘I knew that all wasn’t as it appeared, sir.’

‘Master Robertson—we’ll continue to call him that for reasons that will soon become apparent—should not be aboard the Pallas or any ship. Mr Anderson, the boy is my nephew.’ He paused for effect. ‘My brother, Viscount Farleigh, has strictly forbidden George a career at sea. The boy, naturally, wants nothing else. He has therefore run away from home to pursue his dream. He didn’t, of course, anticipate a brush with Captain Bodmin’s men. I don’t need to impress on you, Mr Anderson, exactly what my brother’s response would be should any harm come to George while he’s in my care. It’s bad enough that I failed to recognise the wretched boy beneath his disguise of filth and rags and halfwit trickery.’ Nathaniel sighed and took a gulp of brandy. ‘I suppose Henry’s overprotectiveness is understandable, given that George is his oldest son and therefore ultimately heir to the earldom of Porchester.’

‘Dear Lord!’ Mr Anderson exclaimed with feeling.

‘Puts me in a bit of a quandary and no mistake. Until I can deliver the boy back to my brother, I’ll have to keep a very close eye on him. If Henry knew that his son had been sleeping in a hammock squashed amongst those of the midshipmen, he’d have a fit!’

The lieutenant saw an opportunity to solve the captain’s problem. ‘The boy may share my cabin, sir, and I’ll see to it that he’s kept safe.’

The thought of Miss Raithwaite sharing a cabin with the most personable First Lieutenant Anderson brought an uncommonly disgruntled feeling to Nathaniel Hawke. If he had not known better, he would have thought it reminiscent of jealousy. ‘An admirable offer, Lieutenant, but quite unnecessary. I mean to have the boy as my personal servant. He shall sleep within my own cabin.’

Georgiana, whose ear was pressed firmly to the wooden connecting door, almost fell against the supporting structure at Captain Hawke’s words. She had to admit that the story Nathaniel had concocted at such short notice was reasonably believable; in fact, she’d been admiring the gentleman’s quick wits and imagination—up until his last utterance.

Nathaniel continued, blissfully unaware of Georgiana’s rising indignation at the other side of the door. ‘This apparent favouritism is bound to lead to supposition by the men. And it will be all the worse if the true nature of our relationship is not known.’

Mr Anderson’s sharp intake of air at Captain Hawke’s remark led to an inhalation of brandy and a subsequent plethora of coughing and spluttering. ‘Quite so, sir.’

‘Perhaps I could rely on you to see that the men are informed, by covert means, of course. A chance remark in Mr Pensenby’s ear should suffice.’

The first lieutenant smiled. ‘I’ll see to it right away, sir.’ He finished the brandy without coughing. ‘It’ll be all round the ship by lunchtime tomorrow.’

Captain Hawke raised his glass in salute. ‘That will do nicely, Mr Anderson, very nicely indeed.’

By the time First Lieutenant Anderson exited Captain Hawke’s day cabin, Georgiana was adamant that there was no way on earth that she would share a cabin with Nathaniel Hawke. She had even rehearsed a polite refusal of his offer, for undoubtedly he thought it the gentlemanly thing to do. Thank you, Captain Hawke. You are most kind in your offer, but I cannot comply. It would be quite unseemly behaviour for a lady. But then, Georgiana reflected, hadn’t the vast majority of her behaviour of late come under that description? She sat down on the bed, touched her left hand to the lobe of her ear and worried at it as she set about thinking what her best course of action should be. In truth, there were not a great many options available. She was still mulling over various scenarios when Captain Hawke entered. Georgiana jumped up from the bed.

‘You didn’t knock,’ she said, and her voice sounded breathless within the small confines of the cabin.

Nathaniel’s eyebrow lifted and a tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you, Miss Raithwaite—or should I say George? Now that I’ve revealed to Mr Anderson that you are in truth my nephew, Lord George Hawke, it’s advisable that we stay in our respective roles at all times. Just think what he would say if I mistakenly referred to Miss Raithwaite!’ Nathaniel pulled such a comical expression that the ponderous burden of anxiety eased itself from Georgiana’s shoulders and she laughed.

‘Should I then call you Uncle Nathaniel?’ A mischievous light shone in her eyes.

Nathaniel grinned provocatively, as he stepped forward. ‘Only when we’re alone.’

She was so close that he could smell the clean soapy aroma arising from her jagged riot of ebony locks. She was still laughing as she turned her face up to his. Long sooty lashes swept up to reveal those magnificent eyes. Quite suddenly the laughter had gone and an arc of tension leapt between them. Georgiana was not a small woman, but the top of her head only met with Nathaniel’s shoulder. He experienced an urge to pull her into his arms. It was absurd and completely unreasonable. And no matter his father’s thoughts to the contrary, Captain Hawke was too much of a gentleman to take advantage of a lady in any situation. Calmly, deliberately, he moved back and looked away, pretending to examine the books lying open upon his table. ‘But as you are pretending to be my nephew, and my nephew is pretending not to be my nephew …’ he twitched his brow comically ‘…then it should suffice to call me Captain Hawke.’

A flicker of excitement exploded in Georgiana’s belly the minute she looked into those dark smouldering eyes. Eyes that seemed to enchant her will, so that she could not remain unaffected whatever her resolve. No. Sharing a cabin with this man would be positively dangerous. And as the night was drawing in they had best resolve the issue here and now. She moved the chair to the far end of the tiny cabin and sat herself down on it in a ladylike fashion.

Nathaniel tried not to notice her legs that looked to be long and shapely within the culottes.

She pressed her hands demurely together and began. ‘Captain Hawke, I couldn’t help but overhear your words to First Lieutenant Anderson.’

‘You were eavesdropping?’ He looked up with surprise.

Georgiana had the grace to blush. ‘It couldn’t be helped, sir. The wall is so very thin.’

Nathaniel raised a cynical brow in her direction.

‘It’s very clever of you to play a double bluff so that the crew think they have discovered that I’m your nephew.’

The deep dark eyes regarded her, but he did not reply.

‘I’d like to thank you for helping me. I’m aware of the difficulty my presence must present to you.’

He sincerely doubted whether Miss Raithwaite fully understood the precise nature of the difficulties that she presented, and he was not about to enlighten her. ‘It’s nothing that cannot be surmounted.’

‘Nevertheless, would it not be more sensible for me to continue as before? It would certainly be less problematic to you, and is the option that is least likely to attract attention.’

‘You’ve underestimated Mr Pensenby’s preoccupation with naval regulations. You’ve slighted him before the crew. Direct disobedience with no punishment. And all seemingly because you’re my nephew. The matter won’t sit well with my second lieutenant. Indeed, he’s probably worrying himself into a frenzy over the blatant breach in protocol. The man has a nose for subterfuge. Can sniff it out at twenty paces. Why do you think I want you under my command? Reverting to your previous role would be too risky, and I cannot allow it.’

She tossed her head in exasperation, even though she knew that he spoke the truth. Pensenby had the tenacity of an elephant, he would never forget and his curiosity had been roused. The prospect of such a man discovering her real secret was too dangerous, for who knew what Pensenby would do with the knowledge, being such a stickler for conformity and, according to Nathaniel, the nephew of Rear Admiral Stanley. ‘Yes. I believe you’re a good judge of character.’ She looked at Nathaniel shrewdly. ‘Then I’m to act as your servant?’

Nathaniel gave a brief nod of the head. ‘It’s the best I can think of to protect you,’ he said simply. ‘It will keep you close to me.’

A faint blush stole over Georgiana’s cheeks at his words. She cleared her throat and attempted to look nonchalant while not meeting his eye. ‘What of the sleeping arrangements? I know that you don’t wish me to continue in my place down in the midshipmen’s berth, but…’

‘Surely you must have heard my comment to Mr Anderson? You heard everything else.’ His eyes held a twinkle and his lips the glimmer of a wicked smile. ‘You will sleep here, Miss Raithwaite.’ He gestured towards the cot taking up most of the small cabin space.

It seemed that her heart lurched to a halt within her chest before setting off again at full tilt. She stared at him, shocked, horrified at the words he had just spoken, but beneath it all crept a tiny sliver of desire. And it was this that caused Georgiana to exclaim in a tone so frosty that it could have frozen the Thames, ‘I beg your pardon, Captain Hawke. I believe I must have misheard you.’ All thoughts of the polite refusal she had rehearsed were forgotten.

Nathaniel’s eyes glowed even more wickedly. ‘Your hearing cannot be faulted, nephew George. You will sleep in my bed.’ He tried hard not to laugh at the expression of fury that was forming upon Miss Raithwaite’s normally sweet face.

‘Captain Hawke—’ she stood up quite suddenly ‘—no gentleman would suggest such a scandalous arrangement. You cannot honestly expect me to. I assure you that it’s quite out of the question. What kind of woman do you take me for?’ Miss Raithwaite’s eyes flashed with the violence of the stormiest sea. With her head held high and her hands planted firmly on her hips, she presented an admirable sight.

Nathaniel’s fingers touched to his breast, and he feigned a look of total astonishment, which soon turned to one of most convincing wounded insult. ‘Miss Raithwaite,’ he gasped. ‘You cannot think…? You did not…? Heavens above, dear girl, what kind of man do you take me for?’

The hurricane dropped out of Georgiana’s sails. She looked suddenly very unsure of herself.

‘You will sleep in here, Miss Raithwaite, and I—I will sleep next door.’ Nathaniel was modelling his manner on the pompous Mr Pensenby. ‘Anything else would be most unseemly behaviour for a lady, most unseemly indeed.’

Her skin burned the fiery red of embarrassment. ‘Of course…Please accept my apologies, Captain Hawke, I thought—’

‘I know very well what you thought, Miss Raithwaite,’ replied Nathaniel with a grin. Something of Georgiana’s excruciating discomfort showed in her face and it tugged at Nathaniel’s heart. A pang of guilt smote him. ‘I have a confession to make.’

Georgiana’s heart trembled a little. He was in earnest. She looked at the captain with escalating suspicion.

Nathaniel’s grin cracked wider. ‘I’m teasing you.’

Her mouth opened wide. ‘Why, you…That was a most un-gentlemanly thing to do!’ She stepped towards him.

‘I couldn’t resist it. You’re so very charming when you’re angry.’ He laughed aloud.

‘You, sir, are a rogue!’ announced Georgiana with force, but her eyes had calmed to a tranquil blue and her mouth turned up at the corners.

It was Nathaniel’s turn to look sheepish. He held out his hands towards her. ‘You’re right. I shouldn’t have tricked you. I do beg your pardon.’

‘I shall have to think about it, Captain Hawke,’ she said in her sweetest voice.

‘I fear the worst, sir, it’s as we thought. The hank of hair beneath her bed, the kitchen scissors within her bedroom, and the missing clothes belonging to Francis—all evidence points in one direction only. The wretched girl has brought disgrace on us all.’ Edward Raithwaite pinched the skin between his eyes and crumpled back in his chair.

The man seated opposite him rose. ‘If I may be so bold, Mr Raithwaite, as to suggest that some brandy is required.’ When Edward Raithwaite nodded limply, the man set out two balloon glasses and dispensed the tawny liquid. Passing the measure to the older man, he sat back down before resuming the conversation. ‘It’s not too late to discover her direction and halt her progress, but we must not delay our action, for every minute that we wait she travels further from the security of your home, and closer to danger.’

Mr Raithwaite’s heavy-lidded eyes had succumbed to the temptation to close. He sipped at the brandy without trying to open them. ‘How dare she do this to me? It’s just reward for the selfish pampering by her mother. Clara was always too soft with the girl. And now look where it’s got us. We shall all bear the brunt of her silly action. To be the subject of such petty gossip and infamy when all I am guilty of is living my life as a decent upstanding man of business. What have I done to deserve such a daughter, when I have struggled to do nothing but my best for her?’ He seemed content to wallow for a little longer in a quagmire of self-pity.

‘You’ve done nothing sir, save to act as a father. All of your actions have been only with Miss Raithwaite’s best interests at heart, even to the point of sending her to Mrs Tillyard’s Academy for Young Ladies. It seems that, despite your aspirations, all that she learned was to follow her own will.’

‘A stubborn and self-gratifying will at that,’ added her father.

The man inclined his golden head. ‘She is perhaps a trifle strong-willed, but, in the hands of the right husband, such a flaw could be remedied.’ He smiled, revealing a row of perfect white teeth to offset the pretty looks of his face.

‘Our plans fade to dust, Praxton. What desire have you for a woman whose reputation is tarnished? She has absconded, dressed as a boy! For all we know she’s run off with a lover!’ He clamped his large loose-skinned hands over his face. ‘Oh, heaven help us, for we’re soon to be a laughing stock throughout the town, and wherever else this story travels.’

Walter Praxton examined his nails before replying. ‘All is not lost, sir, for I have it on good authority that a young boy matching your daughter’s height and build was observed to take the evening mail to Gosport on the night in question. A boy that no one of the town knew, and who didn’t alight from any other coach. He was quite alone amidst the travellers, no sign of any possible lover. I rather think—’ his mouth twisted to a crooked semblance of a smile ‘—that the reason for Miss Raithwaite’s flight was due to her determination not to become my wife.’

Mr Raithwaite’s eyes opened at that. ‘Surely you’re mistaken, for, no matter what she thinks she feels, Georgiana would not disobey me so blatantly.’

‘I doubt that your daughter views the situation in quite the same way.’

The grizzled head shook once more. ‘I’ll put it about that she’s gone to stay with an elderly relative in Scotland. At least that may buy us some time with which to attempt to remedy this damnable mess. When I get my hands on her—’

Mr Praxton swiftly interrupted. ‘The betrothal is still binding. If I can discover her location, then the situation might be resolved if I were to immediately marry Miss Raithwaite. That way she could return here as my wife, with all threat of scandal avoided. Do I have your permission to force her to a speedy exchange of vows by whatever means are required?’

‘You would still wed her, after all she’s done? What if she’s dishonoured? A fallen woman? Would you take her even then?’ Edward Raithwaite’s tired eyes focused with a new clarity.

‘I would take her whatever the circumstance, provided that any threat of ensuing scandal could be extinguished.’

The older man leaned forward and with a deliberate and careful manner said, ‘Well, in that case, Mr Praxton, you must do whatever you deem necessary to resolve this matter satisfactorily. You have my full support.’ One fleshy hand thrust forward and clasped Mr Praxton’s in a firm shake. ‘I wish you Godspeed, Walter, and may you save the situation for us all.’

Mr Praxton glanced back only once at Tythecock Crescent, and as he did anyone close by would have heard him utter softly, ‘I will have you, Georgiana Raithwaite. One way or another, you are mine.’