Lady Caraway's Cloak, page 14
As it was, it was quite a few days later that Serena set out, for the picnic was postponed on account of Miss Weatherby’s aunt taking a chill. The seamstresses had also been postponed, for Lord Caraway had been persuaded to drive them the forty miles or so to show them the interior of The Albatross, a sight quite worthy of their interest, though Serena’s maid had felt seasick and Julia herself had turned a trifle pale at the high winds that had caused the anchored vessel to tug at its moorings.
Still, it had been a sight to behold, with the brightly bannered flag flying full mast (though not the flag of the notorious Robin Red-Ribbon, which Lord Caraway had circumspectly exchanged for the green Caraway crest upon landing). If indeed Lord Caraway had ever been a pirate, his demeanor did not reveal as such, for he was the perfect gentleman as he helped the ladies onboard, instructed the maids on the stowage of such items as cloaks and reticules and pelisses, and guided them through the cabins—though not, curiously, his own—Serena found him more scrupulous with their honor than she would have suspected.
When Lord Robin commented on Serena’s new periwinkle blue gown with matching fur tippet, kid gloves, and feathered bonnet, Serena blushed like a child and stammered rather foolishly that they were only bought so as not to shame Julia.
It was a remark that quite set his eyebrows on edge and caused that damnably quirkish smile to appear on his handsome face so that she had to clench her fingers not to hit him, for it was as though he were reading her very thoughts, and really, those thoughts were highly embarrassing and entirely her own, after all. Gracious, did not every young maiden not in their dotage wish to look passable? It was not as though she were committing some heinous offense, or wearing dampened skirts or rouging her cheeks, which she knew perfectly well was common practice among even the most genteel of ladies!
But Robin had not challenged her remark except by the appreciation in his eyes, so she was not so gauche as to fault him for it, but accepted her compliments at face value; and, after her embarrassment had worn off, felt rather pleased, for after all, she had gone to some considerable trouble and at least he’d had the civility to notice.
She had to take off and hold the delicious feathered bonnet, for though it was tied with ribbons it was not to be trusted in the strong northerly breeze that was now tossing the ship upon little crested waves, and causing some stress upon the landing ropes. Still, she rather liked the sea scent and the rush of wind through her hair, which was more than could be said for poor Davina, her trusty maid, who was looking green but determined.
Serena, eyeing her sympathetically, suggested they move inside, for though the breeze was refreshing, the sight of the waves was a trifle giddying for anyone of weak constitution.
Inside was Spartan but on the grand scale, if such could be imagined. There was not a stick of unnecessary furniture, and virtually no drapes at all, but everything that there was, was of the finest, and the floors were contrived of dark ebony and polished so highly that they shone. In the center of the room was a nautical chest, ornately carved in rosewood, and inlaid with ivory and gold. It had huge, heavy piano hinges and locks that gleamed in the light shining through the portholes. Serena noted that it, like everything else, was firmly bolted to the floor. Captain McNichols explained, with a smile, that in stormy weather the furniture could often do more damage than the cannons. Which led Julia, of course, to excitedly ask to examine these and whether the vessel had ever been boarded by pirates.
A peculiar smile crossed the captain’s features as he answered in the affirmative, and shot a laughing glance over to Robin, who frowned and shook his head ever so slightly. But not slightly enough for Serena, who already had a thousand questions in her head. Her sharp eyes had not missed a few vital points like the ship’s stowing capacity, its crew—a motley lot, quite unlike the sailors she had encountered in her past—and one or two other things that unsettled her slightly. Perhaps it was the presence of the dowager’s missive in her pocket that made her more aware than she should have been. Perhaps, au contraire, it was something more. There was an air of mystery about this vessel, and anticipation.
Even as The Albatross tugged at its restraints, it seemed almost alive, and certainly more than a pleasure craft. But she was simply being fanciful—she needed more than strange daydreams to convince her anything was amiss.
She reserved her judgment—for if my lord proved to be a pirate—or in league with pirates—she could not think that the matter would be any more serious than the smuggling of French wine, or the contravention of some trading right or other. Her correspondence with Robin had convinced her of this, for in everything, he had been guided by principle, had been rational beyond rationality. Even she had balked at the high costs the dowager had set against the estate while he had not murmured so much as a word against it.
The ladies examined the nautical viewpoints, the upper and lower decks, the large lounges with their woody leather furnishings, and exclaimed over the cannons—well, Julia had, Serena had merely regarded them with interest and inquired how often they needed maintenance, how many hands were required in their loading, and so on. Then lunch was served on deck, a surreal experience considering they were still docked and could easily hear the bustle of porters and pie carts and sedan chairs busy upon the pier.
An interesting afternoon, altogether. Serena was glad of the experience and suddenly overset with the longing to tell Lord Caraway to cast off anchor and carry her disreputably away, Something of her private thoughts must have been revealed, for she was startled to find the earl at her elbow, a deeply amused smile upon his annoyingly inviting lips.
“Feeling adventurous?” he asked softly.
Serena did not know how to respond, for once again her heart was beating so wildly she was certain Davina, her maid, would hear it. But Davina was either deaf or magnificently dumb, for she appeared not to notice the exchange. Moreover, after several agonizing seconds in which Serena could only respond with a nod, she curtsied and announced that “what wiv these chill winds an’ all she ’ad better go see about them pelisses” and she quite conveniently disappeared. Captain McNichols, on the other end of the deck, staring soulfully into Julia’s eyes, was no great chaperon either. And Julia’s maid was sticking to her like glue, a fact that Serena could only be thankful for.
“Relax, your chicken is really quite safe,” assured Lord Caraway.
“Captain McNichols is the soul of propriety. I was not really worried, only Julia is just out and a little impulsive at times ...”
“You think she might try to ravish my Adam?”
Serena laughed. “Now you are talking balderdash, but since I have undertaken to keep her from harm’s way ...”
“I thought we were agreed Captain McNichols is no harm? As a matter of fact, if I had chosen a suitable guard for her it would have been he.”
“Maybe so, but she could probably twist him around her little finger.”
“A woman’s prerogative, I believe. It will do him no harm.”
“Oh, you think so?” Serena’s tone was demure, but her eyes sparkled just a little.
“I said it would do him no harm. Me, well, that is another matter entirely.”
“I could not twist your arm?”
“Certainly not, but I could twist you in my arms!”
“An idle threat, for we are in full sight of the shore.”
“What care I for that? Beware how you tempt me, Mistress Serena! It is a simple thing to transform desires into action.”
“I am not tempting, merely arguing.” But Serena’s color was high at the thought of Lord Robin’s desires. She was not foolish enough to deny there was a strong attraction between them ... a dangerous attraction, for it grew stronger every moment and there seemed no natural conclusion for such a thing ... Serena was virtually positive, from certain comments he had made during their strange correspondence, that matrimony was not chiefest on his list of priorities.
She, on the other hand, was not brazen enough to throw caution to the wind and contemplate a connection with him on any other terms, despite such modern examples as Lady Caroline Lamb and even, more recently, the Countess of Trubrook.
But Lord Caraway was not listening, his eyes were too fixed on Serena’s lips. If she noticed, she said nothing, merely moistening them slightly, for they were unaccountably dry.
“You should not do that unless you wish to see the inside of my cabin.”
“Beg pardon?”
“You heard me, my lady.”
“You insult me!”
“Do I? Curse my wretched tongue. I never meant to, you know. I am simply not used to desiring well-bred young ladies. It is really very inconvenient.”
“I am glad I am well-bred, then, for I must shudder to think what becomes of the other young ladies you desire.”
A slow smile crossed Robin’s face. “They have not, to my knowledge, ever complained of their treatment.”
“This is a most improper conversation!”
“I am not very proper, you know.”
“I know.” This was almost a whisper, for Serena could not help wondering, in the midst of her own maidenly confusion, how much was truth and how much fiction in the dowager countess’s outpourings. Somehow, in this environment, on this deck, the notion of Lord Caraway as pirate chief did not feel quite as far-fetched as in the cozy comfort of York Crescent.
He touched her chin. “Tell me what you are thinking.”
“My thoughts are absurd, sir.”
“Don’t distance yourself from me. I am not ‘sir,’ I am Robin.”
“It is a lovely name.”
“Indeed, though unusual in a man. My mama was being whimsical. You would have liked her.”
“I would, if she had been like you.”
This, almost a whisper, for Serena was feeling unaccountably shy, though moved beyond words. She hardly knew why, unless it was the extreme intimacy that they were permitting each other. Not physically, for there was still the proper distance between them from anyone glancing from the bird’s eye, but emotionally.
“That is quite the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“Nonsense! You must be used to a thousand pretty compliments! I have heard them myself!”
“All brazen flattery, I despise it—or use it.” Serena did not miss the sudden hard inflexion in his tone.
“You are harder than you seem. I should be afraid, but I am not.”
“You are braver than you seem. If anyone should be afraid, it is I.”
“What a strange thing to say! What can you possibly be afraid of? When I am not slapping your face—and that, you must admit, is a rare occurrence—I am all that is charming!”
“Baggage! And that, my dear, is precisely what I am afraid of. Your rare charm.”
Serena wanted to press him to explain himself, but somehow, she could not. Maybe she was not as brave as he gave her credit for, or maybe she already knew the answer. It leapt at her from his eyes and left her quite speechless to reply.
She had never considered herself above the ordinary in looks—though she knew she was not an antidote—and she really had stopped thinking of herself as marriageable. She had a damnably fiery temper and impossibly high standards, and truly, the exchange of her independence for a spouse had never seemed quite as attractive a notion as everyone put about.
But when Robin, Lord Caraway, looked at her thus, all her well-ordered thoughts flew from her copper-stranded head and she felt like the most beautiful girl on earth, and yes, the most powerful.
“So tell me ... what were you thinking?”
“There are rumors ...”
“Yes?”
Serena swallowed. It was not as easy as one might think to ask a gentleman, with whom one is privately very much enamored, whether he was a pirate. One might be less dramatic and use the more genteel term “privateer,” but the notion was still the same and perfectly bizarre.
“Robin, I do not think you would ever do anything dishonorable.”
“Your confidence in me is gratifying. No, do not look like that, I am not snubbing you! I mean what I say. It is gratifying!”
“Then the rumors ... they are untrue?”
“I would have to hear the rumors to give you my reasoned opinion!”
“Oh! It is a nonsense, really. I intend to scotch it at once.”
“What is nonsense?”
“That ... oh, it sounds absurd, now, in the light of day, with all this fine furniture about us and The Albatross bobbing so respectably on its mooring!”
“My dear Serena, at the risk of shaking your very lovely shoulders—and yes, I realize I am putting you to the blush but bluntness is a peculiar fault of mine—what in the name of heavens are you alluding to? There are lots of rumors about me.”
“Are there?”
“Indeed, and some are true and some, most decidedly, are not.”
“There are whispers ... My lord, there are whispers that you have been a pirate!” Serena blurted it out for all the world as though she were not five-and-twenty and well past her first blushes of youth.
He laughed. “Would it be so very bad if I have?”
“Have you?”
The moment grew intense. Slowly, without his gaze leaving her own for a moment, Lord Caraway withdrew from his hair a single red ribbon. Serena was too entranced by the manner in which his dark, silken locks fell to his shoulders and spilled beyond even these to realize, at once, the significance.
He put his hands to his lips then took her own hand, kissed her palm, and crushed his ribbon into the fist he had slowly created. A strange smile crossed his features, but still he said nothing. It was well, for Serena had forgotten all about her question. His eyes were devouring her and her demure bodice seemed to grow tighter with the intensity of his gaze.
He leaned forward a little, just slightly to cover that small distance between them. When his lips touched her own, it was like a smouldering ember. A mere brush of flame, but promising of much, so much more.
The contact was bittersweet in its duration, for Robin was aware of reputations and Serena—gracious, she was aware of nothing but his fresh scent, and the silken strands that just brushed across her cheek. The moment was so short, in fact, that Serena could not even swear it had occurred at all, save for the sweet taste on her lips and the sudden racing of her recalcitrant pulse.
“You are a danger to our sex, my lord.”
“No, Serena, I am a danger to you.”
“You say it simply to tease me.”
“I have never been more serious.”
“You are a rake!”
“I am not inexperienced, but neither am I a rake.”
“What, then?” The words were barely a whisper, for Captain McNichols approached.
“When I have solved all your mysteries, Serena, I shall tell you.”
Serena was about to deny she had any mysteries, then felt hot and flushed, remembering the fictional Mr. Addington who stood between them. She opened her mouth to confess—for after all, it was not so very great a crime writing to a gentleman, directing him how to spend his inheritance, joking about the neighbors, teasing about one’s family ... Serena swallowed. Not so bad, surely, that she had continued with a correspondence she should not have undertaken, meddled in affairs that were no longer hers—worse, treasured each letter, relished each one she had clandestinely penned, wondered for night after lonely night what the response, from miles over the sea would be ... oh! It was mortifying. And she could only guess at his lazy, knowing smile if she confessed ... oh, she couldn’t! Really, even for the sake of honesty between them, she really couldn’t!
She would hurry back to Caraway, pen him one more absurd letter, and hope and pray that that would be the end of it. Robin seemed to be waiting for something, for his regard never wavered from her, though he had stepped back a little, to preserve the customary space between them. He, more than she, was aware of certain grinning deckhands gazing down from the uppermost masts of his ship. He would have his revenge later, but for now, it was imperative that the lady’s reputation be properly preserved.
The silence between them was a little too long. Serena had struggled with her conscience to tell him, but somehow could not. She was sure she was imagining his slight withdrawal, the tightening of his handsome jaw as if in disappointment. She was so anxious about it, she quite forgot to press him with her own questions, or to ask him about the significance of the ribbon that now lay crushed in her palm.
Davina, far too late, reappeared from below deck with the promised mantles and pelisses. He selected Serena’s cloak from the pile and drew it snugly over her shoulders. The moment had passed. Serena could not help feeling relieved and anxious and ever so slightly miserable. How fanciful she was becoming!
As Julia approached, color high and a delightful smile upon her lips, the ribbon was slipped into a certain periwinkle blue pocket and laid to rest in the velvet folds. She had not been able to resist the purchase of such a cloak, so chic and smart, and perfectly blue, the precise color my lord admired.
The remainder of the breezy afternoon was spent in pleasant chitchat. If no one noticed that Julia’s maid had defected, on account of a very handsome member of the crew and a wink from Julia herself, it was all to the good. Captain McNichols had something of a serious nature to confess to Julia, for how, he wondered, could he sustain a proposal when she knew nothing of his colorful past?
If Miss Waring were to accept his heartfelt proposal of marriage, it must be with her beautiful eyes widely open, both to the dangers and to the reasons behind his youthful escapades. He was dreadfully nervous, and hardly knew how to broach such a topic. There was nothing about confessing to piracy in any of the common books on etiquette, and he had only his instincts to guide him.
