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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СКАЧАТЬ when we’ve more time, I’ll show you properly. Mind, if you don’t have time or the willingness to fire, just grab the barrel and use the brass part of the butt to rap your man on the head. Does well enough.”

      Her smile was lopsided with uncertainty, and his heart lurched at what she might have to face. “I’ll do my best, Jeremiah.”

      “I know you will, love, though I pray you won’t have to. Now hide that away in your pocket, beneath your skirts. Most likely this will all come to nothing.” Overhead he heard shouts and calls, though no alarms. He probably was overreacting, yet better that than the same complacency that had cost him the Chanticleer.

      Caro smoothed her petticoats over the pistol, and her grin widened. “I’m glad I’m not in Naples,” she said, and he realized she was breathless with excitement, not fear. “And I love you, Jeremiah, oh, so much!”

      Quickly he swept her into his arms to kiss her one more time. No, not the last time. He wouldn’t even consider that. Yet as they embraced, the pistol’s weight beneath her petticoats thumped against his thigh and his conscience, too.

      “I love you, too, Caro,” he said gently. “Whatever else you think of me, remember that. Now we’d best go.”

      The horizon was red with the coming dawn, and the passengers who had slept on deck had already awakened and gathered in little groups for makeshift breakfasts. But every eye now was to the east, to the black silhouette of a large, sharp-nosed xebec riding easy on the waves not one hundred feet away. Staring into the rising sun, it was impossible for Jeremiah to make out much about the xebec, but he saw enough to fuel his uneasiness. Xebecs were the choice of pirates and corsairs, and he’d never known one used for honest trading.

      There was no flag flying to announce the xebec’s nationality, and none of the usual good-natured calling back and forth when two vessels fell in together at sea, despite the boat that was being rowed toward the Colomba. He strained his eyes for the black squares of gun ports in her side, or a glimpse of a gun on her deck. He’d bet a hundred pounds they were there, and another hundred that the xebec’s captain had purposefully set her into the sun to hide her.

      With Caro’s hand tight in his, he made his way across the deck to where Tomaso stood talking with his mate. Despite the early hour, the Colomba’s captain was newly shaven, the ribbon in his queue freshly tied, ready for the company he obviously expected.

      “What the devil’s going on, Tomaso?” demanded Jeremiah. “What’s that ship?”

      “Buon giorno, Capitano, Contessa,” said Tomaso, his smile more of a smirk. “I am surprised to see you from your sleep so soon. Most especially you, ma donna. Did you not rest well?”

      There was no mistaking what he meant, and Jeremiah’s first impulse was to knock Tomaso down where he stood. But Caro’s hand was on his arm, and it was she who spoke first.

      “Why, thank you, yes, Capitano Tomaso,” she said graciously, a countess even in rough homespun. “How kind of you to ask.”

      Unsettled by her demeanor, Tomaso belatedly lifted his hat to her, and another time Jeremiah would have laughed out loud. Caro as Lady Byfield could be a formidable creature indeed.

      Languidly she waved her hand toward the xebec. “Why have we stopped for this other ship?”

      Tomaso’s face reddened beneath his tan, and he glanced uneasily at Jeremiah. “A bit of business between two merchants, Contessa. Nothing out of the ordinary, eh?”

      “You tell me, Tomaso,” said Jeremiah curtly. He wished the man still smirked; this guilt and lying were sure signs of worse things to come. “Is it ordinary for you to trade at sea with a ship that doesn’t dare show its flag?”

      Tomaso shrugged elaborately. “I am not a wealthy man, Capitano. This war between you English and France, eh, it has ruined Napoli. I must trade wherever I can.”

      Sheer will alone kept Caro from ducking behind Jeremiah’s back. Jeremiah had been right: there was something very wrong here, more than just Tomaso’s insolence. Did Jeremiah too see how only the captain stood near them, how everyone else, passengers and seamen alike, had inched away and left them to stand alone on that crowded deck? The pistol weighed heavily in her pocket, and she wondered if she’d have to use it after all.

      The xebec’s boat bumped alongside the felucca, and with obvious relief Tomaso hurried to larboard to meet it.

      Jeremiah squeezed Caro’s hand for reassurance. “Stand firm, love,” he murmured beneath his breath for her ears alone. “You couldn’t be doing better.”

      She turned to smile her thanks to him, and froze. The six men from the xebec’s boat were climbing on board the felucca, and even in her inexperience she knew these were no ordinary merchant sailors.

      All six were tall and broad shouldered, fierce, dark-skinned men with white turbans on their shaved heads and black beards that curled to their bare chests. Instead of shirts they wore short, brightly colored vests over their bronzed arms and chests, and tucked into their sashes and belts were pistols and curving sabers. As each one slung his leg over the felucca’s side, his gaze swept the deck with the practiced air of a warrior, and though none of them drew the weapons at his waist, those looks alone were enough to silence every idler and sailor on board the Colomba. In spite of her resolution to be brave, Caro shrank closer to Jeremiah’s side.

      “God in heaven,” she prayed, her voice barely audible. “Whatever can they want?”

      Protectively Jeremiah pulled her close to him, his arm circling her shoulders. “Steady now, love. We’ll find out soon enough.”

       But he already knew. From the instant he’d seen the first man, he’d known. How could he not? He’d played his nightmare over so many times in his mind that every sound, every smell, every last detail was engraved forever in his memory. But dear Lord, what had he done in his life until now to have fate deliver such a dreadful coincidence to him?

      The last man over the side was the leader; from his almost princely bearing alone he could be nothing else. To Caro’s surprise he was European, perhaps even English, his long beard reddish gold and his eyes bright blue, and he surveyed the deck before him with a haughty stare down his long, arched nose.

      His vest was richly embroidered with gold and silver thread that glittered in the dawn’s light, and beneath it he wore a white silk shirt, also heavily embroidered. Tucked into his scarlet sash was a pair of beautiful silver-mounted pistols. A saber in an enameled hilt hung at his waist, and in the center of his turban was pinned a large cut amethyst. Unlike his barefoot men, he wore soft boots of red leather, and he stood with his arms folded and his legs widespread, well aware of the impression he was making.

      As he glanced their way, one of the passengers let out a wail of uncontrolled terror and folded to the deck, shaking and sobbing, his outcry the only sound on the silent felucca. Around him, the others shuffled away, afraid to share in whatever horror the man felt, but the red-bearded man didn’t deign to notice. Yet Caro felt Jeremiah’s fingers tighten into her shoulder, and she heard him swear softly beneath his breath.

      Tomaso rushed forward, bowing so low over his outstretched leg that his forehead touched his knee and his black bow flopped forward from his neck. “I am honored, vostra magnificenza, vostra superiorita, vostra—”

      “None o’ your ass’s prattle, Tomaso,” СКАЧАТЬ