Lord Trent: Love's Price Part 10

Helen swept by her and stomped up the stairs.

James stared at Miranda, his glower informing her that he'd brook no argument.

"I've asked her to stay," he explained, "and she's agreed that she will."

"Isn't that grand?" Miranda fumed, her fury barely contained.

"Yes, it is. It's quite grand."

CHAPTER SIX.

Harriet came awake gradually, and a wave of confusion swept through her before she remembered where she was. She stretched, stifling a groan at how her body ached from lying in a curled position on the hard floor of the longboat.

The s.h.i.+p seemed to be rocking more than it had been when she'd first boarded. The sensation was peaceful and soothing, and it made her want to fall asleep again, but she had to get moving.

She had no idea if it was still night or if morning had arrived. If it was full day, what would she do? What if the crew had returned? How would she escape without detection?

She listened for activity or conversation, but all was quiet, so she was encouraged. Perhaps she'd be able to sneak off after all.

She sat up and lifted the tarp to peek out. The sun was up, the sky a riveting blue, so it took her a moment to focus. As she did, she realized that another pair of eyes-just a few inches from hers-stared back.

"Ah!" she shrieked, lurching away.

The other person shrieked, too. From the sound of it, he was a young male, and he muttered, "Blimey. Now we're in for it."

He yanked at the tarp to expose Harriet where she was huddled next to an oar.

"All right, you, out you go."

She didn't see any choice but to obey. He steadied her as she climbed onto the deck where she was dismayed to observe nothing but water on all sides. The s.h.i.+p had sailed, and she'd slumbered through the casting off, through the journey down the Thames and into the open sea.

"Oh, no..." she breathed.

"Miss," the sailor said, "I don't know what you think you're doing, but you'd better tell me a good story and make it quick."

Another sailor approached, a grizzled old man with bowed legs and a scraggly beard.

"Well, well, what have we here, Mr. Bristol?" he asked.

"A stowaway, Mr. Riley," Bristol explained.

"d.a.m.n!" Riley cursed. "There's going to be h.e.l.l to pay."

"Don't I know it."

Harriet's pulse thudded with dread. She'd heard many horrid tales about sailors who often went months without setting eyes on a woman. They weren't inclined to mind their manners.

She raised her chin, struggling to look imperious. "I demand to speak with the captain."

"Do you now?" Riley retorted. "And who shall we say is calling? The b.l.o.o.d.y Queen of England?"

"You'll see the captain," Bristol warned, "but you'll wish you hadn't." He turned to Riley. "Will you take her below, or shall I?"

"Weren't you supposed to have the watch last night?"

"Yes. It was very quiet, and I was...exhausted."

Riley smirked. "So you had a bit of a nap."

"Uh...yes." Bristol flushed with shame.

"Fool! I'll take her then. Maybe I can soften him up before he names your punishment."

"Punishment!" Harriet cried. "Why would he be punished?"

"He wasn't guarding the gangplank when he ought to have been. The captain isn't too keen on carelessness. He's fussy that way."

"What will he do?"

"Flog the lad, probably."

Bristol paled, but said nothing.

"But...but...that's barbaric," Harriet complained.

"This ain't Covent Gardens, Miss. This is a sailing s.h.i.+p. Lives can be lost through shoddy behavior. Let's go."

He led her to a ladder that descended into the dark hold. She'd never been on a s.h.i.+p before, and it conjured visions of rats and fetid water, of disease and shackles.

She hesitated. "What will he do to me?"

"I can't say for sure, but it won't be pretty." He motioned to the ladder. "Go on, you. Best to get it over with."

Harriet gulped and started down, arriving at the bottom after six rungs. As she worked to maintain her balance, Mr. Riley followed. The only illumination was from a ray of suns.h.i.+ne wafting down the hatch, and she could see that they were standing in a narrow hall. He escorted her to the end of it and knocked on a door.

"What is it?" someone barked from the other side.

"Sorry to bother you, Captain," Riley said, "but we have a...situation."

"Enter!"

Riley shoved the door open, then he pushed Harriet through. She stumbled into what had to be the captain's cabin. She'd imagined it would be grand and lavish, but it was actually small and tidy, with everything in its proper place. There was a bunk along one wall, bookshelves along another, and a table in the middle that was strewn with maps.

A man-who she guessed was several years older than she-was sitting at it, writing in a journal.

"This had better be good, Mr. Riley," he said without glancing up.

"Oh, it's good all right, Captain. Look what I've brought you."

The captain peered up, and he glared at her with eyes that were very, very blue. With long black hair and skin bronzed from laboring outside, he was the most handsome man she'd ever seen. Given her predicament, it didn't seem fair, and she was greatly annoyed.

He was wearing a loose, flowing white s.h.i.+rt that was unb.u.t.toned part way down the front so much of his chest was visible. It was covered with a thick matting of hair, as black as the hair on his head.

He hadn't shaved, so his cheeks were stubbled with beard. In the dim light of the cabin, he appeared s.e.xy and dangerous, and she wondered if he was a pirate. While on deck, she hadn't noticed if he was flying a skull and crossbones, but if he was, she wouldn't be surprised. It would be just another misfortune in a long line of bad luck.

He gaped at her as if she was a ghost, as if he'd never seen a female before, and if she hadn't been so terrified, she'd have laughed at his stunned expression.

"Mr. Riley," he finally said, "there's a woman in my cabin."

"That there is, sir."

"What's she doing here?"

"Stowaway."

"Who had the watch?"

"Young Bristol, sir."

The captain sighed. "Ten lashes, Riley. See to it."

"Aye-aye, Captain."

Harriet gasped. "You're having him flogged? Because of me?"

"Have you a problem with my order, Miss?"

"Yes. It's all my fault. He shouldn't be punished for something I did."

"I agree," the captain replied. "Flog her too, Mr. Riley."

"What?" she snapped. "Are you mad?"

Riley grabbed her arm as if to drag her out and whip her, and she wrenched away.

"I won't go," she insisted.

"You won't?" The captain scowled.

"No. Are you a pirate?"

"No."

"A smuggler?"

"No."

"Then I throw myself on your mercy as a gentleman and an Englishman."

"You do, do you?"

"I didn't mean to stowaway. It was an...an...accident."

Both men guffawed.

"Has she been searched?" the captain asked Riley.

"We just found her. We haven't had time."

"Search me!" Harriet protested. "For what?"

"Weapons," the captain responded. "Contraband."

"Don't be ridiculous."

The captain nodded at Riley, and he slipped out and closed the door so she and the captain were alone. He rose from his chair and sauntered over. He was very tall, so tall that his head nearly brushed the low ceiling. His shoulders were broad, his legs long, and he simply occupied too much s.p.a.ce.

He seemed very angry, and she worried that he was about to strike her. She cringed, her eyes squashed shut as she waited for the blow to fall.

When it failed to land, she peeked up to find him studying her as if he was a scientist and she a bug.

Without her realizing what he intended, he seized her, crus.h.i.+ng her to him as he ran a questing hand over her person, and though she struggled mightily, she couldn't evade his examination. His crafty fingers slithered down, and as he meandered across her bosom, he felt Bentley's purse where she had stuffed it between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

The rude oaf groped under the bodice of her dress to retrieve it. He peered inside, and on seeing the pile of coins, he whistled softly.

"My, my, would you look at that."

She'd raced onto his s.h.i.+p with only the clothes on her back. Bentley's money was her sole possession in the entire world, the sole barrier to her starving on the streets.

"Give me that," she hissed.

She began fighting in earnest, hitting him as hard as she could, but he had to have been made of steel. Other than a low grunt when she managed a fairly solid clout to his abdomen, he scarcely noticed the furious blows raining down.

He held the bag out of reach, and she jumped at it like a trained dog.

"I suppose," he taunted, "you're about to tell me that you found this purse."

"I did find it."

"And I also suppose you're about to tell me that it's rightfully yours."

It was hers as much as anybody's. "It's mine, and you can't have it."