Louise Allen – Regency High Society Vol 2: Sparhawk's Lady / The Earl's Intended Wife / Lord Calthorpe's Promise / The Society Catch (страница 34)
The beggar nodded dramatically, relishing the moment. “True enough, guv’nor. What reason would I have for lyin’, eh? You can jus’ forget your ransom an’ redeemin’ your friend an’ chattin’ all cozylike with Hamil Al-Ameer. There’s no Yankees goin’ into Tripoli, an’ even fewer comin’ out, an’ that’s God’s own truth.”
When he returned to the inn, Jeremiah ordered supper for two, then went to his room to change and shave. Because of Caro’s uncertain relationship with her mother-in-law here in Naples, she had swiftly agreed to end their disguise as husband and wife, and take separate rooms. Perhaps too swiftly, thought Jeremiah gloomily as he scraped the razor across his jaw. Although he knew he had no real hold on her, he could feel her putting distance between them, preparing herself to rejoin her husband.
He’d known from the beginning that it would be this way. All too well he remembered sending her on her way that first night, how determined he’d been not to involve himself with a married woman, despite how lovely or lonely she might appear. Too bad for them both that he hadn’t kept to his resolve.
Wiping a cloth across his face, he stood at the open window. Like nearly every building in Naples, the inn had a clear view of the bay, and in the setting sun Capri and the other, smaller islands were tipped rosy red against the deepening blue water. Cutting in and out among the islands were the striped sails of the last fishing boats straggling home, while fishermen who’d returned earlier and their wives spread their nets on the beach to dry.
Closer to the inn, a woman sang to herself, her language unknown to Jeremiah but the sadness in her song a match to his own mood. A vine with white, trumpet-shaped flowers framed the window, the tendrils weaving in and out of the red shutters and the heady fragrance of the blossoms more intense with the end of the day.
Caro, with her open, eager enthusiasm and delight in anything new or beautiful, would have loved the scene spread before him. Through her eyes he had once again come to appreciate life in a way he’d forgotten, and he hated how she wasn’t here now to enjoy this.
He turned his back to the window and reached for his shirt, sliding it over his head. Tonight he would tell her nothing of what he’d learned at the waterfront, not only from the English beggar but from the port’s officials, as well. Tomorrow would be soon enough for her to learn how the odds against their mission had increased. For Davy’s sake and her husband’s, he still meant to go to Tripoli, but now he could no longer offer any assurances that he’d return himself. With a sigh he pulled on his coat and went downstairs to wait for her.
The inn was owned by an Englishman married to a Neapolitan woman, and the establishment was a curious blend of the two cultures. While the rows of hanging pewter mugs and the keg of rum behind the grated bar in the common room could have been found in any shire, there were also little portraits of sad-eyed saints tucked into odd corners near the hearth, and the rich, spicy smells that wafted from the kitchen had no equivalent in an English cook’s sturdy repertoire.
Jeremiah found an empty chair near the window, choosing the comfort of familiar rum and water over the house’s customary red wine. Impatiently, he ran his fingers back through his hair, glancing down the street in the direction Caro’s hired coach had gone. She was late. She’d sworn she would return by five, and by his pocket watch it was half-past.
“Has Lady Byfield sent word for me?” he asked the innkeeper’s daughter as she refilled his tankard from a sweating crockery pitcher. “That she’s been detained, or some such?”
“The English lady what came with you, sir?” asked the girl, and Jeremiah nodded. “No, nary a word, sir. But if she does, I’ll be certain to bring it to you at once.”
“Thank you.” He swirled the rum in his tankard, no longer interested in drinking. Alone he watched the shadows lengthen and merge into dusk and then darkness, punctuated here and there by the wavering flame of a linkboy.
Perhaps, he thought morosely, she would choose to end it like this. She would patch things up with the old countess, become her guest in the villa, send a servant to bring a scribbled note of regret for him and collect her things. At least he would leave knowing she’d be safe here in Naples.
“Here, sir, for you.” The girl bobbed her curtsy as she held the folded note out to him, and he snatched it from her hand. “The lady came in by the back stairs, sir, not wanting to cause a fuss on account of the hour.”
The seal was hers, the Byfield crest, and in an instant he had cracked it and scanned the short note within.
My Dearest Capn.: Forgive me I would be most poor pitiful company tonight the Morn will serve us Both better anon.
Yrs. C.
“How long ago did she return?” he asked, tracing his fingers over the raised crest.
“Not long, sir, a quarter of the hour. Would you like me to take a reply back up to her?”
“No,” he said with a sigh. “No reply.”
Poor, pitiful company, indeed, he thought. Well, if he chose not to share his afternoon with her, then she was equally entitled to keep hers to herself, too. But still he wished she’d come.
“Will the lady be joining you, sir?” asked the serving girl timidly. “Should I fetch out your supper now?”
“No, lass, on both counts. I find I’m no longer hungry, and neither is the lady.” He emptied the tankard and slowly headed back upstairs, taking a candlestick from the barkeep to light his way.
Searching for his key in his coat pocket, he noticed the strip of light shining from beneath his door and frowned. He knew he hadn’t kept a light burning when he’d left; besides, by now, any candle would have guttered itself out. Instinctively he drew the knife he always carried, and hung back to one side as he shoved the door open with his foot.
“Jeremiah?” called Caro warily.
“Caro?” Feeling foolish, he quickly tucked the knife away as he came into the room and set his candlestick on the mantel. “What in blazes are you doing here?”
“I was lonely,” she said. She was sitting on the bench near the window with her feet tucked up and her arms hugging her knees, her pale hair bright by the light of the single candle. Behind her the sky was full of stars, and the sliver of new moon was doubled in the bay. If he’d found the view beautiful earlier, now, with her in it, he found it downright magical.
She rested her chin on her knees, watching him. “Aren’t you going to ask again how I got into your room?”
He shook his head. “This is Naples, not my sister’s house. From the king on down, no one’s expected to behave with any sort of propriety. Most likely you have to bribe the servants here to be able to keep to your own room.”
She laughed. “Then I should have kept my money.”
“I like the surprise, anyway,” he said, shrugging off first his coat and next his waistcoat, tossing both onto his sea chest, followed by his neck cloth and his shoes and stockings. The room was warm, and like most sailors he felt more comfortable barefoot and with less clothing. After the weeks together in the tiny cabin, such casual familiarity before Caro seemed automatic. And yet because they now were in a bedchamber in an inn, an inn in Naples, he was aware of a new tension between them, a charged undercurrent swirling around them both. “And I was feeling a bit lonely, too.”
She smiled, thinking how he never would have made such an admission on that first night. She liked watching him move about the room, even his simplest gestures lithe and spare. He was so handsome, she thought with a little catch in her breathing, and she loved him so much, that what she was doing couldn’t possibly be wrong.
“I’m sorry about supper,” she said softly. “But I wanted to see you alone.”
She rose from the bench, and he stared. He couldn’t help it. She wore a dressing gown of deep blue silk, nearly the same color as the night sky behind her, that draped and slipped around her in rich, shimmering folds. Where the dressing gown fell open in front, he could see that she wore a night shift of palest blue, the linen so fine as to be almost transparent across the darker tips of her breasts and the shadowy triangle at the top of her thighs.
“You never wore that aboard the
“That’s because I bought it this afternoon.” The way he was watching her, his green eyes half-closed, made her shiver with anticipation. Before Jeremiah, she had found that raw, hungry look in men’s eyes disturbing, even frightening, but with him she felt only excitement. “The shops in Naples, it seems, respect the local sense of propriety.”
“Or lack of it. You couldn’t find anything like that in Providence.”
“Nor in Portsmouth, either.” She smiled shyly, daring to ask the question she knew was rhetorical. “You like it, then?”