A Rendezvous With a Rake, page 2
All around her, sailors called to each other, ropes snapped, and men bustled about. No one paid attention to the woman crossing to the hatch. Likely, she was one of many to bring in goods.
Working her way down the tight ladder, she headed for the galley, knowing precisely where it ought to be. But once she arrived, she kept going, finding the storage hold easily. The stomping above made her pause for just a moment. Had she brought enough food? Water?
Where were they going?
It didn’t matter. Anywhere was better than here.
With that in mind, she opened the door and stepped inside. She’d find a nice spot to hide herself away. She’d slip off the boat again at the first stop they made, no one the wiser.
What she’d do next was still grey. But it wasn’t as though Sophie didn’t have skills. Surely, someone would hire her. She was an excellent cook, knowledgeable about wines and how to produce them. She’d find work.
At least, that was the emerging plan.
CHAPTER TWO
Fulton drew a deep breath of sea air where he stood wide-legged on the deck. “Nothing but blue,” he murmured to Jack, who stood next him.
“Deep and endless,” Jack rumbled, and Fulton cocked his brows as he looked back at his longtime friend.
“Poetry?”
“Just a thought.” Jack shrugged. “Any sign of our quarry?”
“None,” Fulton said, scanning the horizon again, as though he might suddenly see another ship. “I felt so sure that south was the route we should take, but we left France three days ago, and as of yet, we’ve not heard a whisper of our villain.”
Jack shrugged. “Not even you can be right all the time, my friend.”
Fulton frowned. He was wrong far more often than he cared to admit. “I thought I’d fooled everyone into thinking I was perfect.”
Jack chuckled. “Your luck is better than any man’s I’ve ever met but you can’t always have Lady Luck at your side.”
Fulton laughed too, despite his irritation. “Are you certain? The women really like me.”
Jack shook his head. “I’m aware. It’s almost unfair the way they fall effortlessly into your bed.”
Fulton didn’t think it unfair. Not in the least. He never lied to them. Never made them promises he wouldn’t keep. He offered them a bit of fun and they often took him up on said offer. If they thought he might give them more, that was their problem, wasn’t it? “It’s not without effort, Jack. I can assure you that.”
Jack harrumphed and then went silent for a bit. When he finally spoke again, they had returned to their original topic. “What will you do if you can’t find him?”
Fulton shrugged again, pretending he didn’t care that he might fail. “Pick up my wine. Check on my grapes. See what can be done.”
“Tell your brothers about the trouble with the winery yet?”
Fulton looked at Jack. They didn’t do this—get involved with each other’s lives. And he didn’t want anyone poking around the winery. He had more problems there than he could count. “Why are you reading those books at night?”
Jack’s face turned hard as stone. “Mind your business. You know the rules.”
That only made Fulton smile. “And so do you.”
Jack grunted in acknowledgement and Fulton pulled out a spy glass. Three days of open water and they were making excellent time. The wind had been fair, but the weather stable. Still no sign of Gyla.
Which meant he’d be returning to Italy to look at his dying vines and his shriveled grapes.
The club his family ran back in England would support Fulton. And he had savings. But he didn’t like to fail, and he’d be damned if he told his brothers that he’d ruined their source of wine. He’d never hear the end of it.
Fulton always insisted on solving other people’s problems. He didn’t create them.
“My lord,” Preston called from the hatch. Fulton turned in time to see the man’s head just peeking out of the hole in the deck. The man was a new hire, only sailing with them for a fortnight. His thick mustache hid his mouth, and his bushy brown hair covered his eyes. The man was competent enough, but Fulton had the distinct urge to take shears to all that hair. When one couldn’t see a man’s eyes, he had to wonder about his intent. “There is something you need to see.”
Fulton’s brows drew together as he assessed Preston. Tall and gangly, Preston was new to the crew, having been picked up in London just before departing. He’d come to Fulton as they were about to sail with a note written on stained paper, listing several boats the man had worked on.
Quiet, he worked hard and said little, and Fulton had been pleased with the new hire. But a problem below deck while already out to sea was never a good omen. “What’s the matter? Broken cargo?”
Which was unlikely. The sea had been relatively calm, and he’d have heard shifting in the hold.
“No.” Preston frowned, the corners of his lips appearing below the overgrown mustache. “Much worse.”
Fulton pushed the spy glass closed and started toward the hatch. “A hole in the boat?” But Preston had already disappeared.
“Did rats drink the wine?” Jack asked, following just behind him, chuckling at his own joke.
“They might have eaten the cheese,” another man guffawed, slapping his knees. “What we need is more cats.”
“A ship can always use more pus—”
Fulton ignored the crew, jumping down through the hatch without bothering to use the ladder. They made their way past the kitchen and toward the hold, where Fulton noted the door was propped open.
He heard muffled voices from inside the space, one gruffly male and the other…his eyes closed. Female.
There were no women on his ship.
Ever.
First of all, women liked to talk, and smuggling wine required secrecy. But second, men often lost their senses when women were about and their work required them to remain sharp. For both those reasons, no women on board was rule number one.
Not even he brought women here, though, to be honest, he was more of a “go to their place” sort of fellow. It allowed for easy exits after.
“I don’t need you to take me any further,” he said to Preston.
“But sir, don’t you want me to explain—”
“Dismissed,” he cut the other man off. Only Jack got to argue with him and only sparingly. Much as he liked all his crew, he was the man in charge here. Hell, even at home with his brothers, he took orders from no one, even if he might be the youngest.
He walked into the hold, where Norton, their cook, stood with his arms crossed over his wide chest, glaring down behind a pile of crates. Norton never glared. The man was always smiling and laughing even in the worst of circumstances.
“My lord.” The man flicked his gaze to Fulton’s before he looked back down. “Found this when I was pulling supplies for tonight’s dinner…”
Norton eased back, his large belly still filling the narrow path, but Fulton managed to just squeeze by. And that’s when he saw the wine-colored skirts spilling out from behind from the cargo of crates.
“Sophie,” he growled as he stepped closer. He couldn’t see more than the foot of fabric, but the woman who wore that dress had left an impression.
She gasped. “How did you know?”
Squeezing between another stack of crates, he entered a little area barely big enough for a small person to lie down in, but there she was, sitting on the floor, legs drawn up, chin tilted to stare up at him with those ridiculously large blue eyes. She looked so vulnerable and small like that. Less of the Venus he’d imagined and more like a lost soul.
“I’m asking the questions. What are you doing here?”
Her brows lifted and despite the fear that danced in her eyes, her chin hardened. “Is it not obvious?” Her lilting English, tinged with her French accent, was as lovely as the rest of her.
Had she really just asked a question in response to his question? He glared down at her. “Stowaways are fed to the fishes.”
She planted her hands on the floor, pushing up to standing. She’d been a step above him that last time they’d met, and here, on level ground, the top of her head didn’t even reach his chin. Still, she managed to give him a hard glare back. “You’ll toss me over the side?”
Was she calling his bluff? How dare she? “We have rules. You being on board breaks one of the most important.”
“Is that a yes?”
He was tempted to toss her over his shoulder and prove how serious he was, but he wasn’t certain they’d fit through the narrow gap in the crates. “Yes. I will.”
He meant the words. Well, he ought to mean the words. Rules were rules and they were in place for a very good reason. But staring at this beauty, he could already hear how his voice lacked grit.
“Will you kill me first or am I to drown?”
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, searching her face. He should just tell her to be quiet. Why didn’t he? Was it because the trembling of her lip belied her strong words? Or was it the attraction that pulled at him both times they’d met.
His gaze swept down her face. He’d not imagined her beauty. She was exceptional. If anything, clear-headed as he was today, she was even lovelier than his memory. A memory he’d called up the past few nights.
“Nothing is wrong with me.” She fisted her hands at her sides. “Kill me if you must.”
“I will repeat, and this time, you had better answer…why are you here?”
She twisted her hands into her skirts, her chin high even as her mouth trembled. “I am running away.”
He snorted. “You don’t even know where we’re going.”
She shook her head. “I don’t care. I wasn’t running to anything… I was running from—”
He snorted then, shaking his head. “I guarantee you, whatever you left, it was better than here.”
“You don’t know what I escaped.”
Sophie tried to keep her chin high. But the man’s hard and dangerous eyes sent thrills down her spine. He’d seemed like a silly sailor when she’d met him at home. Well, not her home anymore. He’d been whistling and miming. But here…
He looked every inch the man in charge.
“Start talking and make it good,” he growled and then he grabbed her arm, pulling her a touch closer. She cried out, fear finally getting the best of her. Rough touches frightened her like nothing else in this world and she began to tremble.
“They were going to sell me,” she whispered. “I…”
“Sell you?” He searched her face. “As a slave?”
She lifted a shoulder. Was marriage slavery? It would have been to Pierre. “As a wife.”
He rolled his eyes as he let out a long breath. “You’re running away from a marriage.”
Why did he make it sound as though that was ridiculous? “Would you willingly marry?” She didn’t even bother to add “to someone who was cruel.” To someone who touched her with hands that hurt at every opportunity.
But it would do no good to share that with this man. He wasn’t her friend or her ally. Why tell him what scared her more than anything else so that he might use her fears against her? She needed to escape, be her own island, away from everyone and everything. Well, likely not an actual island, but that was how she wished to live…as an independent woman.
He grimaced. “I’m not the marrying kind.”
“Fair enough,” she whispered. “As difficult as this might be for you to believe, I’m not, either.”
“You have a choice?” His hard, dark eyes stared back at her, almost daring her to admit that she didn’t.
But escaping had been her choice. Leave and never return. Stow away on a boat. And she’d make the most of this opportunity. Using her free hand, she reached into her apron pocket. Then she pulled out the bag of coins—his bag of coins that he’d used to purchase the barrels.
She’d meant to use these funds to live on until she could find work. Her abilities with her father’s grapes were exceptional. Surely, some vineyard would have her. But she’d need money until she could find that position.
She’d meant to use the stolen coin, but desperate times… She held out the bag, drawing in a deep breath. “I can pay you.”
He scoffed. “That’s my money.”
“No.” She raised a finger, forgetting her fear at his words. “That is your wine.” She pointed at the barrels in the far corner.
His mouth turned down. “Well. Let me qualify, then. It’s not your money.”
She looked him up and down. She’d heard enough in this hold to know that they were smugglers. Not that she wished to point out that she had evidence of their wrongdoing. But who was he to judge? “That is not your problem.”
“Fulton,” another man called out. He didn’t sound like the other sailors whose speech was rough, nor did he use the address my lord. His accent was fine and his baritone deep and rich. She peeked over the top of the crate to see a very distinguished-looking man staring back.
“In a moment,” Fulton answered, not taking his eyes off her and not taking the coin from her hand.
She lifted it a bit higher. He ignored her gesture. At least he wasn’t touching her, even if his eyes were hard and full of irritation. She forced herself to remain still and not flinch.
“Fulton,” the other man said again. “I’d like to speak with you.”
He still didn’t move. “Put your money back in your apron,” he said, dropping his hands. “And stay right here while we decide what to do with you.”
“Fine,” she answered, her shoulders slumping in relief as he turned away. She’d need those funds. But more importantly, he seemed like a man who didn’t wish to take advantage.
Which was helpful. Where would she go if he tried? Nowhere while at sea and on a ship.
CHAPTER THREE
Fulton stalked toward Viscount Northville, not amused. He might be a lord of the realm, but this was Fulton’s boat.
“What’s the matter?” Northville asked.
“I believe you’re already aware,” he barked, frustration making him even shorter than normal. Sophie’s presence on the boat only delayed this journey and broke one of the few absolute rules they possessed.
Northville gave a curt nod, running a hand through his hair, which exposed the faint grey at his temples. “I’ve interrupted.”
He didn’t answer. None was required.
Northville’s gaze drifted back over to the crates and the set of blue eyes peeking over the top. “She’s quite pretty. Which is a problem. I mean, it would be a problem either way, but having an attractive woman on board is definitely worse than an ugly one on a boat full of sailors…”
“Yes,” he answered, his jaw clenching. She was an unprotected, beautiful woman on a ship full of criminal men. “The best course of action would be to return her. I know precisely where she belongs.”
He heard her gasp, but he didn’t look at her again.
“But if we turn back now, we’ll never catch him.” Northville’s jaw turned to granite.
Fulton knew that Northville meant Gyla. And as motivated as he was, Northville was more so. He’d spent years working for the crown and investigating the illegal activities of the Eastern count. “I don’t think we’re going to, anyway.”
Northville straightened up. “This is our best chance. Your logic for heading south was completely sound.”
Fulton couldn’t argue with that. “She’ll wreak havoc with the crew.”
“I’ll see to her care and protection myself,” Northville answered. “If it will mean that we continue the pursuit.”
But for some reason, Northville’s offer to protect Sophie didn’t make Fulton feel any better. In fact, hot irritation lanced through his chest. “You share quarters with the crew. How would you manage that?”
Northville opened his mouth to speak but Fulton slashed his hand through the air. “Never mind. I’ll do it myself. You focus on finding Gyla.”
Northville gave a curt jerk of his chin in agreement while Sophie squeaked from her hiding spot.
Fulton turned back to her, pointing his finger. “You are not to cause any trouble.”
“I won’t,” she replied, shimmying through the crates with her chest and behind brushing against the wood, because, well, her curves were both delightfully round and didn’t fit easily through the small opening. But freeing herself, she came to stand in front of him.
“You’ll stay in my cabin and stay out of sight.” He kept his features stern, his gaze skimmed down her again.
“Promise.” She held up her hand as though making an oath.
“And when we make the return trip to England…”
“Yes?” Sophie asked, her eyes going wide.
“We’ll return you to France.”
“No,” she gasped, shaking her head. “You can’t.”
He looked at Northville then. “Runaway bride.”
She clucked her tongue. “You make it sound like I left a man at the altar.”
“Did you?” he asked, finding her comment amusing. Either way, it would sting a man’s pride if the woman he was about to marry would rather board a ship of strangers than stand next to him in matrimony.
“Of course not. It was the night before the engagement dinner.”
“Were you to marry a stranger?” Northville asked, cocking his head to the side in obvious interest.
Sophie shook her head. “No. I’ve known him my whole life.”
It was something in the way she said him. Her lovely mouth nearly sneered around the pronoun.
Northville winced. “Ugly or mean?”
“Both.”
Northville’s mouth pressed together, forming a hard line. Was he concerned for the woman who’d stolen from her family? Snuck onto his ship? If Fulton were being honest, a bit of unease slid down his own spine. She’d taken a great risk boarding this ship. He’d never hurt a woman, but she didn’t know that.
“Where did you meet again?” he asked Fulton.
Fulton let out a rumble of frustration. “She’s the daughter of the man we bought the wine from.”
