Regency High Society Vol 2: Sparhawk's Lady / The Earl's Intended Wife / Lord Calthorpe's Promise / The Society Catch. Miranda Jarrett

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      The Frenchman’s face softened with pity, and Jeremiah realized that with those few sentences Caro had done more to save the Raleigh than all the other English on board put together. She was good at such deceptions, almost too good, and uneasily Jeremiah wondered yet again which side of her was the real one.

      “Ah, mademoiselle, I did not know,” murmured Delafosse. “The misfortunes of war are never kind, eh? But I marvel that an American like your brother was willing to serve the English cause.”

      “Madame,” insisted Jeremiah tersely. “Marrying me made her American, too, but my wife’s English-born, same as her brother was.”

      “Of course, of course. So simple, eh?” With a little nod, Delafosse at last took the packet of papers from Jeremiah. Though he scanned the bills of lading and customs quickly, he lingered on the altered Raleigh’s certificate of ownership, tipping the sheet up to the sunlight.

      “Everything in order, Lieutenant?” asked Jeremiah, anxiety making him testy. The longer the Frenchman fidgeted with the certificate, the more likely he was going to question it. “This wind’s in our favor, and we’ve hauled too long enough.”

      “Patience, monsieur, patience. I must be able to satisfy my captain, as well as myself, that your affairs are as they should be.” The wind thumping through the furled sails overhead was the only sound on the deck as Delafosse studied the paper more closely and Jeremiah held his breath. He’d used Bertle’s own ink to change the sloop’s origin, and to his eye the addition was indistinguishable. “It is most curious to me, monsieur, how when establishing colonies in your land the English so often chose to give names of their old towns to the new ones. There is no Paris or Marseilles in New France, yet here we have a Portsmouth in America, doubtless named for the Portsmouth in England.” Delafosse ran his fingertip lightly over the town’s name. “Your Portsmouth is in Rhode Island, is it not? Near to your capital city of Providence?”

      Jeremiah answered warily. It was unusual for any European to know Rhode Island was a state, let alone the name of its capital, and he worried that perhaps, somehow, with this particular Frenchman, he’d been too clever. “Aye, it’s in Rhode Island, but closer to Newport than to Providence.”

      “Ah, my confusion!” The Frenchman’s dark eyes watched Jeremiah closely, ready for weakness. “But it is Portsmouth, is it not, that is home to that most excellent library of one of your citizens, a Monsieur Abraham Redwood?”

      “That is Newport, too, Lieutenant.” In return, Jeremiah studied Delafosse shrewdly. “As you know well enough yourself.”

      “Am I so obvious, then?” The Frenchman smiled wryly and refolded the papers for Jeremiah. “I was stationed in Newport with General Rochambeau during your country’s war for independence. Though I was no more than a boy at the time, of course, I remember Rhode Island and its people with great affection and regard.”

      Jeremiah tucked the leather packet beneath his arm. “But still you’d question my word and test me?”

      Delafosse shrugged. “A lying Anglais would not know of Mr. Redwood’s library. I wanted to be sure. Your sloop would have made an excellent prize.” Once again he glanced over the Raleigh, this time with obvious regret, and motioned for his men to return to the boat. “Bonsoir, monsieur, madame, et bon voyage!”

      They were barely over the side before Caro’s arms were around Jeremiah’s neck. Giddy with relief, she giggled and hugged him tightly.

      “I told you you’d fool them!” she exclaimed gleefully as she tossed the veil back from her face. Balancing on tiptoe, she darted up and kissed him quickly, retreating before he could kiss her back. “You were perfect, Jeremiah. No, you were better than perfect, and so vastly clever, too, to know all about those places in Rhode Island!”

      “It’s my home, Caro,” he said, steadying her with his hands around her waist. “I should know about it. But your own performance wasn’t so bad, either.”

      “Oh, pooh, I didn’t do anything compared to you,” she scoffed. She didn’t dare kiss him again, but she couldn’t resist laying her hand gently on his rough cheek for a moment. “But at least this time I won’t have gotten the magistrate to put a price on your head.”

      He scowled dramatically. He wasn’t ordinarily playful by nature—far from it—but Caro like this was hard to resist. “I should be thankful, then, for small graces.”

      “I’d call them quite large.” She thumped his chest with her fist. “Who wants to be locked up in some dreary French prison?”

      He grinned, letting himself enjoy the rare sensation of unexpected happiness. It had been like this before when they’d done something bold together, the camaraderie of a shared adventure bringing them close. He had been trying so hard these past weeks not to look at her in any way that might be misconstrued that now, in this moment when it didn’t seem to matter, he drank in her beauty as if he’d never have enough.

      Little gold tendrils escaped from the brim of the severe black bonnet, matching the pale gold of her lashes. Despite her bonnet and veil, the sun off the water had scattered more freckles across her nose and cheeks that, to his satisfaction, she didn’t bother trying to hide with paint or powder. But most of all she looked happy, blissfully, joyfully happy in a way that he was sure must mirror his own feelings, even if each of them knew it could not last.

      With the crew hurrying to get the sloop under way and Bertle once again the captain, they stood alone in the center of the quarterdeck, a two-person island of idleness in the rush of preparation. For the first time on the voyage, Jeremiah didn’t mind being a passenger. How could he, with Caro once again in his arms and her laughter rippling merrily across the water?

      “You seem to have routed them Frenchmen well enough, Sparhawk,” said Bertle sourly behind them, and swiftly Caro separated herself from Jeremiah. “I suppose now I must thank you.”

      “Only if you wish it, Captain,” said Jeremiah, determined not to let this one disagreeable man spoil his mood. “I saved my wife and myself, as well, so I wasn’t being entirely selfless.”

      Bertle spat over the side. “It’s how you did it rankles me. All that bowing and scraping and pretty talk to that Frenchman! I never thought I’d live to see a bloody French bastard treated so nice on my deck.”

      “You kept your deck, didn’t you?” demanded Jeremiah. Bertle grunted, unconvinced. “Seems to have improved your wife’s spirits, though, didn’t it? Seems like by being all lovey-dovey with the Frenchman, she’s forgotten clear about her poor dead brother, and mighty fast, too, for an Englishwoman.”

      Caro gasped, her hand fluttering to her mouth, and retreated behind Jeremiah’s broad back. He’d seen the agitation in her face, and whether it came from fear or surprise, he wasn’t going to let the other captain’s rudeness pass any longer.

      “You’ve upset my wife,” he demanded, his expression black. “What are you trying to say, anyway?”

      “Not a word, Sparhawk,” said Bertle, his grizzled chin still raised belligerently and his eyes filled with hatred. “Not against you or your little French-speaking wife. Not a blessed word.”

      He stalked to the rail before Jeremiah could speak again. Shaken, Caro watched him go, her hand pressed to Jeremiah’s back for comfort. She’d heard the emphasis Bertle had put on the word СКАЧАТЬ