Wicked (24 page)

"Couldn't mistake that golden hair or . . . that face with those ..." Dufferin's voice came to a faltering sto
p
as he realized the room had suddenly gone still. Glancing around, he quickly took note of the shocked, rapt audience crowding near, their expressions expectant like those of spectators at a public hanging.

"I met Miss Blythe for the first time tonight." Beau's voice was entirely without expression, his posture overwhelmingly one of menace.

"I see. . .," Lord Dufferin whispered on the merest breath, terror numbing his mind.

"So you couldn't possibly have seen her with me before," Beau softly murmured, pronouncing each word with a measured delicacy.

"Yes, yes, indeed, Lord Rochefort, as you say," Dufferin agreed in a rush. "The error is completely mine . . . completely, and I most humbly beg your pardon," he added, his voice quavering, for Rochefort's reputation for dueling was notorious.

"And that of Miss Blythe."

"Yes, of course, Miss Blythe's pardon too, of course," he quickly concurred, sweat beading on his forehead. "Yes, indeed, yes . . . certainly hers above all." He swallowed hard. "I daresay I've had too much to drink tonight. If you'll excuse me now . . . that i
s
—
i
f you find my apology to your satisfaction sir ..."

For a short, silent interval Beau's gaze drilled into the trembling man and then he nodded.

Lurching clumsily to his feet, Lord Dufferin pushed away from the table and, stumbling in his haste to escape, he half fell, only to be shored up by the press of the crowd. Righting himself, he shoved his way through the spectators and fled the room.

"The entertainment is over," Beau casually remarked, his dark gaze sweeping round the gathered guests. "Someone should take Lord Duf
f
erin's winnings to him," he tranquilly added, rising from his chair, picking up his own markers and a bottle of brandy. The crowd melted away before him as he strolled toward the ballroom, the buzz of comment erupting in a wave behind him.

If the scandal hadn't preceded him, he knew gossiping soon would apprise everyone of the events in the card room. Which necessitated telling Serena. Weaving his way through the dancers, he cut in on Serena and her partne
r
— accosted him, the young officer later said. But it all depended on how one interpreted a lazy brush on the shoulder with a brandy bottle.

"You could be more polite, darling," Serena pleasantly murmured as he swung her out onto the floor. "I think you frightened young Lieutenant Mallory."

"Let's leave," Beau bluntly declared, never having been so long a model of restraint, his civility badly strained.

"We can't leave together."

"And particularly now, I suppose," he replied with a sigh, understanding she'd have to be told soon, with the curious already beginning to stare. "I just frightened the liver out of Dufferin in the card room." At her questioning glance, he added, "The dolt made an oblique reference to seeing us at the York Hotel."

"How oblique?" Serena slowly inquired, suddenly aware of the avid interest of numerous guests.

"Not oblique enough, damn his stupidity," Beau replied, grimacing faintly. "But he apologized up and down and sideways after I pointed out his error."

Despite his casual assessment, she could read between the lines. "You threatened him."

"No, actually I didn't. I just told him he must have been mistaken."

"That's all?" Her relief was obvious.

"Something along those lines," he noncommittally said. "It's over. No one was hurt. But lord, Serena," he exasperated
l
y complained, "the tedium is unsupportable. Pray this party breaks up soon because I'
m
about to carry you off and damn the consequences."

"Why don't you go? I understand; I'll come when I can."

"And leave you fair game to all these lecherous men? Not likely." This from a man who had previously considered sharing women a pleasant diversion.

"You
could
dance with me until the band disperses," she suggested, her expression diverted.

He groaned.

"Or you could keep Da
m
ien and his cronies company over there." She indicated the group of men deep in discussion in the alcove near the door. "And when it's possible, we'll make our escape."

"You're going to have to pay, you kno
w
—
f
or this dull foray into respectability. I'll expect due compensation," he sardonically murmured.

"And I'll give it to you gladly," Serena indulgently replied. "I'm having enormous fun."

He was startled enough to stop dancing for a moment, the possibility
 
of such
 
sincere
 
enjoyment
 
in this
 
most commonplace evening beyond his comprehension. "Really," he said.

"Go," she retorted, smiling at his bewilderment. "You couldn't possibly understand."

And he chose Damien's circle as the lesser of two evils, spending the remainder of the evening half listening to talk of war. He added a comment occasionally, his awareness of events au courant with his informal role as courier for the Foreign Office. The debate over Napoleon's sincere interest for peace was hotly contested. Some blamed Austria's intransigence, others Napoleon's ambitions. Pitt came under attack on several points as well.

Mention of the recent controversy in the card room never came up, although everyone in the room had heard of Lord Dufferin's remarks. No one was foolhardy enough to touch on the subject in Beau's presence.

So disaster was averted.

And Miss Blythe's first dance in society was a huge success.

When they returned to the hotel, Beau found himself wishing they could leave Lisbon immediately so he could have Serena to himself again without all his numerous acquaintances interfering, gossiping, asking questions he didn't care to answer. But Serena's wardrobe wouldn't be ready for another day yet, so he consoled himself with sending a note to Mr. Berry, instructing him to have the
Siren
ready to cast off at dawn one day hence.

In order to avoid meeting any more overly curious acquaintances, the following morning he offered to take Serena to the lush upland country north of Lisbon where the nobles had their summer homes. For centuries Sintra had been their retreat from the unpleasant heat of the cit
y
and the picturesque landscape was the stuff of
paradise.
⁴
Arriving at
l
unchtime, they chose a cozy inn beside a stream for their midday meal. The fire was warm inside, the view of the rushing water and dark greenery, the rugged terrain of peaks and valleys outside their window like a lush, evocative painting.

They ate leisurely, enjoying the solitude of the off season and the ministrations of the proprietress bustling about, bringing them all manner of delicacies from her kitchen. And later in the afternoon they toured the Seteais Palace, the most elegant of princely abodes, its staterooms so sumptuous it seemed incomprehensible that the structure was regarded as a rustic summer retreat. They admired the Quinta de Monserrate, a Moorish castle built eight hundred years earlier during the Muslim occupation, and several other of an infinite variety of summer retreats incredible for their beauty.

On the drive back to the city that evening, they watched the sun set behind the shadowed peaks, the display magnificent, and they were both touched by the delicate, shifting colors tinting the sky as if they'd not seen such a sight before. And perhaps they never had in precisely that way, with the rose-colored lenses of love adding radiance to the world.

They stayed in that evening, although Beau politely inquired whether Serena would prefer going out, resigned to a last evening in society if she wished. Jane Maxwell's note had been waiting for them at the hotel with an open invitation to visit them.

"I like being with you best," Serena had said.

And her simple statement filled him with contentment, a rare feeling occurring more frequently of late. He was glad to be away from England, he told himself, from all the ennui of the fashionable world, where nothing changed but the women in his bed. Freedom from those cloying amusements no doubt figured strongly in his content, he reflected.

Serena was less prone to rationalize away her feelings.

She knew she was in love.

******************

When the awaited message from Captain Berry arrive
d
— the supplies for Miss Blythe are aboard, he'd cryptically written to his employe
r
—
B
eau called in the hotel staff to pack their belongings. Serena oversaw the removal of her painting supplies while Beau attended to the gratuities for the staff, and after sending off brief notes to Da
m
ien and the Maxwells they were prepared to go.

The weather cooperated in the Atlantic, where winter gales could be hazardous, and they passed through the Strait of Gibraltar two days later without sighting any craft. But the crew had been on alert since their departure from Lisbon. The Spanish fleet at Cádiz and Cartagena, although preferring to sit out the war in safety, occasionally made forays along the coast, while the French navy base at Toulon, engaged in supplying the blockaded garrison at Malta, had all manner of craft in the Mediterranean. Either would see the
Siren
as a lucrative prize.

Their new course to Minorca put them well within French and Spanish waters, a fact Beau chose not to mention to Serena because they might well arrive in Minorca without problem. The position of enemy vessels was always a gamble and until the fourth morning through the Strait of Gibraltar, they sailed unmolested.

The sun had just begun to lighten the sky, the blackness turning to gray, the ships newly sighted on the horizon only hazy shapes to the
Siren's
lookout. But soon the stars overhead were invisible and the lookout's accustomed eye could pierce the dimness. Watching the ships' outlines emerge as the silver of dawn started showing the faintest hint of pink, he strained his eyes, trying to make out the shape of the topsails and staysails, knowing the French carried wider upper sails and triangular staysails. Waiting, he peered intently at the three vessels ten miles dead ahead. With Britain dominating the Mediterranean, it would be rare for the Royal Navy to proceed so lightly protected, he thought, observing what appeared to be a single ship of the line with two escorts making her way north. Impatiently he fidgeted on his lookout perch until the specks creeping toward them resolved into a low, fine-bowed French frigate and two fast corvettes.

"Enemy sails in sight!" he screamed.

Waking with a start, Beau leaped from bed. Grabbing his breeches and weapons he'd placed nearby for such an eventuality, he shoved his legs into his breeches, jerked them up, buttoned them hastily, and buckled on his sword belt with a few rough tugs. Striding to the door, he brusquely said, "Stay in the cabin." He was no more than a shadowed form in the half-light, his voice a stranger's voice, detached, distracted. "There's no time to watch you," he added as if in afterthought, as if the courtesy of an explanation had just occurred to him. And pulling the door open, he was gone.

"Clear for action!" Serena heard him shout, his cry echoing down the passageway, his footsteps racing toward the hatchway, and a flutter of fear quivered through her, all the lurid stories of Barbary pirates and bloody naval battles filling her mind as the drumbeat to quarters rolled through the craft. The harsh grating of the gun ports opening gave indication of the fight to come, the rumbling of the cannon being run out both comforting and harrowing. The creaking of sails as every centimeter of canvas was spread for their run resonated in Serena's ears, generating a clutch of fear in her stomach. And whoever the enemy, there was no question this time of involving herself. In a pitched battle at sea, she was helpless, her presence on deck a liability. Moving from the bed to Beau's large armchair, which was bolted to the floor near his desk, she picked up his jacket he'd tossed on the seat last night, and settling into the deep leather chair, covered herself with his coat. His scent enveloped her, calming for a second the tumult in her brain and then, like so many in extremity, she thought about praying for the first time in years.