Loving the Earl: A Loveswept Historical Romance Page 2

  It felt good to be above deck for the first time since setting sail from Dover. She’d spent the day in her cabin to give credence to the fib she told the crew that her maid was seasick. It would raise eyebrows and cause whispers if it were discovered she was traveling alone at a time when she needed to be inconspicuous. Besides, she didn’t want to run into Lord Blythe.

  When she landed in Calais she would find another lady’s maid before she set off for Paris. There had to be some young girl willing to travel with her. Of course Claire couldn’t pay her much. When she first entered her cabin and found that her bag wasn’t there, she realized the man she had given it to wasn’t a seaman but a thief who’d absconded with it and now she didn’t have her letters of introduction or the notes to Sebastian’s banks.

  She could hear Sebastian’s voice in her head. You need a keeper, Claire.

  No, what she needed was to live her life her way. So she lost one piece of luggage. It wasn’t the end of the world. She’d figure it out. The important thing was that she was free.

  “Good evening.”

  She nearly jumped out of her skin at the greeting and swung around to find him standing next to her. Nathaniel Ferguson, Lord Blythe. The man she’d nearly run over on the dock. The notorious rake and scoundrel of London society. Richer than Midas himself, but with a reputation no matchmaking mama could overlook and an appearance no debutante could ever forget.

  And Sebastian’s friend.

  “Good evening.” She swept a windblown lock of hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. The action drew his dark gaze to that spot before it slid down her neck, leaving her suppressing a shiver of apprehension.

  She’d almost forgotten how big he was.

  “How are your knuckles?” he asked. “Not too bruised, I hope.”

  Nervously her gaze flickered to his hands. Big hands. Big fingers. Just like the rest of him.

  “A bit sore but nothing to worry about,” she said. “Were your papers terribly ruined?”

  “I managed to salvage the important ones.” He looked around, his sharp gaze searching the empty deck.

  Was he supposed to meet someone? Had she unintentionally stumbled upon an assignation? Rumor had it that Lord Blythe was always holding a deck of cards in his hands, a glass of whiskey or a willing woman. Sometimes even two out of the three.

  “If you’ll excuse me.” She tried to sidle past him. He didn’t seem to remember her but she feared if she stayed longer, he just might. Of course she’d been out of society for so long, and the last time they saw each other she had been a young girl, so maybe this time luck would be on her side.

  He stepped out of her way and at that moment a gust of wind sent her shawl slithering down her arm, whipping the end toward Blythe. He caught it in his large hand.

  He watched her intently with a focus that made her heart skip a few beats.

  His other hand came up and seemed to hang between them until it finally descended lightly upon her shoulder.

  He adjusted her shawl, then released the end he was holding.

  “Is there someone I can fetch to take you back to your cabin? A chaperone, perhaps?” The deep, scratchy sound of his voice tickled her spine.

  She thought of Alice and swallowed a spurt of anger at her maid for leaving her in such a predicament. “My companion took ill. I needed to get out of the cabin for a bit. It’s been a long day. Nursing her.” How easily the lie rolled off her tongue.

  “I hope she is on the mend.”

  “Oh. Well.” She waved a hand in the air. “It’s the ship. Seasickness.” Good Lord, could she at least speak in a complete sentence? “It’s unfortunate we had to drop anchor for the night.” Just her luck. If they’d docked this evening like they were supposed to, she wouldn’t have had to escape her cabin for fear she’d go mad with the walls closing in on her. And she wouldn’t have encountered Lord Blythe.

  “I hope the delay doesn’t affect your plans.” He folded his hands behind his back, and Claire found it a little easier to breathe.

  “Not at all, Lord Blythe.”

  She froze. Damnation! They’d yet to be introduced, at least that he remembered. She should never have addressed him by his title if she wanted to remain anonymous.

  His look sharpened, his eyes seeming to glitter in the reflection of the moon. “You seem to have me at a disadvantage, I’m afraid. It appears you know my name but I don’t know yours.”

  Words turned to dust in her mouth. She’d deftly stepped into that, hadn’t she? And she’d been so happy he hadn’t recognized her.

  He sketched a small, perfect bow. “Nathaniel Ferguson, Lord Blythe, my lady.”

  Claire’s stomach fell to her toes. She couldn’t possibly introduce herself to this man, yet what choice did she have? If she refused … Well, that just didn’t happen. It would be the height of rudeness. If she accepted, she ran the risk of him connecting her to her brother. Better to brazen it out and hope he didn’t know her married name. Hope that maybe he’d been drinking and wouldn’t remember this meeting.

  Except he didn’t look like he’d been drinking. In fact, to her great surprise, Lord Blythe looked very much in control of all his faculties.

  She managed a curtsy. “Claire H—” She paused, a shocking thought interrupting her. He doesn’t need to know your real name. “Claire Henderson, my lord.”

  No title. No connection to her deceased husband or her brothers. Laughter bubbled up inside her. How unbelievably freeing was this? She could be anyone she chose to be.

  “Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Miss Henderson.”

  Everything about him was proper and gentlemanly. It confused her, for this wasn’t the Lord Blythe she’d heard whispered about in ballrooms and drawing rooms.

  “Allow me to escort you to your cabin.” He held out his arm for her to take. He loomed above her, so close she could smell the dark, spicy scent of him mixed with the fresh air of the ocean breeze.

  Claire’s gaze went from his arm to his face and back. She couldn’t walk with him. Couldn’t take him to her very empty cabin where no maid was seasick.

  His brows lowered and his lips turned down at the corners.

  She licked her suddenly dry lips, tasting the salt from the air. “I—”

  “Lord Blythe!”

  Blythe’s arm dropped to his side and he stepped away as they both turned toward the voice of a man walking toward them.

  “There you are, my lord. You’d said you would be up for a round of piquet and I promised you some of the excellent whiskey from my personal stash.”

  The ship’s captain turned his gaze to Claire and his smile widened. “I see you’ve made the acquaintance of Lady Chesterman. My lady, I trust your maid is feeling better.”

  Claire’s stomach fell. She peeked up at Blythe. At first his eyes widened in surprise and she swore he jerked away from her. Then his eyes narrowed in suspicion and his lips thinned, making him appear angry.

  “If you wanted a stroll about the ship, I would have sent one of my trusted sailors to escort you,” the captain said.

  “It’s quite all right, Captain. I meant only to walk a bit to get some fresh air. My cabin, while nicely appointed, was becoming too stifling.”

  The captain’s smile never dimmed. “I can find someone to escort you back, if you’d like.”

  Blythe stepped forward. “Actually, I offered to return her to her chaperone. Isn’t that right, Lady Chesterman?”

  “Yes, you have, Lord Blythe. However, it seems you have a prior commitment.” She turned to the captain. “If it’s not too much trouble to find someone to escort me, Captain, I would greatly appreciate it.”

  “Certainly, my lady.” He turned to Blythe. “If you’ll excuse me a moment while I find my bosun.”

  Claire opened her mouth to tell the captain that she would gladly follow him in search of the bosun, but he bowed and walked away, leaving her alone with Blythe and his cool expression.

  “Lady Chesterman,�
� he said thoughtfully.

  She fiddled with the laced edge of her shawl.

  “Sebastian Addison’s sister?”

  “Yes.” Drat, drat, drat!

  “I believe you and I met a long time ago.”

  “Did we? I don’t recall.” Oh, the lies were just pouring out of her this night and it didn’t seem to be of any concern to her wayward mouth that she was getting caught up in them.

  “It was many years ago.”

  “Much can happen in the intervening years, my lord.”

  He settled his hip against the railing and crossed his arms, still staring at her in that thoughtful way that made her want to escape while the cool breeze ruffled all of that dark hair. “Sebastian is a good friend of mine. I spent a school holiday at your estate with your brother. It was a while ago. In fact, I last spoke to Sebastian a few days ago.”

  Her mouth suddenly went dry. “Did you?”

  “I did.”

  “Here we are, my lady.” The captain returned with an older, stooped man in his wake.

  Blythe slowly straightened from the railing, never taking his eyes off her.

  Claire tipped her head toward the captain. “My thanks, Captain.” She glanced at Blythe. “Lord Blythe.”

  His lips twitched. What was going on in that mind of his? Just her luck that she caught him in a sober moment. She could only hope that when they docked in the morning, their paths wouldn’t cross and she could find a maid to accompany her to Paris.

  And that Blythe would be traveling in the opposite direction.

  The next morning Claire stood beside her luggage piled on the dock of Calais.

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, quelling the butterflies in her stomach. She made it. She was actually standing on French soil.

  People scurried about her, speaking in rapid French that she found wasn’t so difficult to follow. But most of all she reveled in the feeling of independence, something she’d only dreamt about just last year.

  The ship had docked an entire day late, so the sun was just about to set. Claire had heard enough horror stories from her brothers to know she needed to find an inn before darkness fell and the drunkards and thieves showed themselves.

  “Okay, then,” she muttered. “Find the inn.”

  Except she wasn’t positive on exactly how she was to get her luggage from here to the inn. And she didn’t quite remember the name of the inn. Hell and damnation. She should never have given her small bag to that sailor, or, rather, thief. It had all her information in it.

  She heaved a sigh and brushed at the pleats in her skirt. Standing around wringing her hands wouldn’t procure her lodging. If she wanted an adventure, well, she had an adventure. Just like Sebastian’s voice in her head said.

  She eyed her three trunks, which seemed awfully inadequate while she’d been preparing for her trip. At the time, Claire had been positive she hadn’t packed enough. Now that she was in charge of moving the pile from place to place she realized she should have been happy with one trunk.

  A man appeared in front of her, shorter than her by at least a foot and with a gaping smile that was missing more than a few teeth, but with a simple look about his eyes. Tipping a dirty cap at her, he spoke in rapid French, most of which she understood. He wanted to help her with her luggage and she was more than happy to have his help.

  “You may deliver them to …”

  What was the name of the inn? Something to do with sailing. Or a sailor. Or maybe it was a nautical term? Captain’s …

  The Admiral’s Inn. That was it. She gave the man the name, inordinately pleased when he bobbed his head and nodded vigorously. This traveling thing wasn’t so difficult, despite her brothers’ dire warnings.

  A sense of purpose rose up in her accompanied by a sense of accomplishment that spread a smile across her face.

  As she was reaching into her reticule to pay him, she recalled the other bag she naïvely put into the hands of a thief. Her eyes narrowed and she was about to tell him that he would get half her money now and half when the bags were delivered when a large hand, encased in soft leather, came down on hers.

  The little Frenchman’s smile fell and he backed away. He plunked his cap back on his head and glared at the owner of that hand.

  Claire quickly slid from beneath Lord Blythe’s shadow.

  Blythe spoke to the Frenchman in such excellent, but rapid, French that she didn’t catch a word of what he said. Whatever it was, it had the man scurrying away with muttered curses. In disbelief, she watched him disappear into the crowd, her stomach sinking that the blasted man beside her had taken control so easily.

  She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. “That was extremely rude.”

  “You would never have seen him or your property again.”

  “I wouldn’t have given him all the money up front. How naïve do you think I am?” Please don’t answer that.

  He raised his brows before looking around the bustle of people swarming the incoming ships. She couldn’t help but notice his attire. He was definitely not what one would term a fop, but neither was he out of fashion. His shirt was unruffled, which was odd since the more well-off the man, the more ruffles he wore. His black waistcoat was shorter than normal, a fashion Claire was seeing more and more of and the same could be said for his dark gray coat. The effect was that one’s eye was drawn to tight, dove gray breeches that hugged muscular thighs and calves—no padding of the calves here. She jerked her gaze away from his legs only to find it land on his crisp white cravat. Again unadorned with ruffles and tied simply.

  “Where is your companion?”

  Claire straightened her shoulders, glad for the interruption of her most unacceptable thoughts, but also irritated that he sounded exactly like Sebastian. Why did men feel the need to take control of her? And, more important, why did they simply dismiss anything she said to them?

  “I am perfectly fine, Lord Blythe. No need to worry about me.” She waved her hand in a shooing motion. “You may concern yourself with your own luggage.”

  His surprisingly clear-eyed glance landed on her, then moved away. He gestured to a man standing under the shadows of a storefront. Speaking in French, he instructed the man to collect her baggage. The tall, lean fellow looked askance at her three trunks, then shrugged and called for another to help him.

  Before she knew it, her trunks were loaded onto a cart, right next to Blythe’s smaller valise. Not only did he dress simply, he packed simply. “Where are you staying?” he asked.

  “Pardon?” She bit the corner of her lip, but immediately let it go when his dark brown gaze settled on that spot.

  “Where are you staying?” he asked again, his glance lingering too long on her lips.

  “Honestly, my lord, I am quite capable of getting myself there.”

  “How would it look if I were to leave my good friend’s sister standing in the middle of the docks in a foreign country? I will see you to your lodgings.”

  She’d heard the same steel in her brother’s voice to know there would be no arguing with Blythe. This was exactly what she wanted to avoid—this sense of responsibility he would assume when he realized who she was.

  Resigned, she told him the name of the inn. With any luck he would be staying somewhere else, or even better, he’d leave Calais altogether and continue on his journey.

  “A fine choice,” he said. “And the inn I’m staying at as well.”

  Curse it!

  “Now, where is your companion so we can be off?”

  Claire wanted to stomp her foot in frustration. Of course he would be staying at the same inn and of course he would ask about her companion. Any decent lady would never travel alone. Except, of course, a lady who lost her companion.

  “She still wasn’t feeling well so I sent her ahead to the inn.” She really was becoming quite the little liar. Sebastian would be appalled. On a brighter note, her sister-in-law, Emmaline, would be proud.

  Nathan’s brows w
ent down and those dark eyes contemplated her for the longest time. She resisted the urge to squirm under such a direct stare. Experience taught her that squirming would give her away.

  “Would you like to walk to the inn?” he asked. “Or do you prefer we ride?”

  She looked up the bustling street filled with carts and people, then at the wagon filled with not only her luggage but others’ as well. If she wanted to ride, she’d have to perch on top of the precarious pile. Unless he summoned a carriage, and she did not in any way want to be closed into a carriage with him. Her trepidation had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the London elite would swoon in mortification that she was consorting with the owner of a gambling hell. No, it went far deeper than that.

  “I’ll walk,” she said in resignation and started off without waiting for him.

  “My lady.”

  She turned to find him standing in the same spot she left him.

  He pointed to his left. “The inn is this way.”

  “Oh. Of course.” She turned on her heel and marched in the direction he was pointing.

  He kept pace beside her, taking the position closest to the street, close enough that the sleeve of his dark gray waistcoat brushed the sleeve of her russet-colored gown. She tried to move away but there wasn’t anywhere for her to go.

  Claire craned her neck to look up at the tall buildings sitting close to the cobbled road. They blocked what was left of the sunlight, casting everything in cold shadows. The brisk wind blowing in from the ocean had her pulling her cloak tighter around her.

  The towering specter of Lord Blythe blocked her excitement as much as the buildings did the sun.

  “So what brings you to France?” he asked.

  She stumbled, startled by the question. Immediately Blythe’s hand captured her elbow. Discomfited by his touch, she moved away. She certainly couldn’t tell him the truth. No one knew the truth, not even Sebastian and Nicholas. Not even Nicholas’s wife, Emmaline, who more than anyone would understand. Yet Claire couldn’t think fast enough to come up with an alternate answer because his overpowering presence was stealing her air.

  He cocked his head, eyeing her with those delicious eyes that seemed to know her every thought. “Are you visiting friends in France?”