Gallant Rogue (Reluctant Heroes Book 3) (19 page)

“Not to,” she said with a smirk, refusing to allow him to spoil this moment for her. “May I see my father's homeland, please?” She held out her hand expectantly.

Jack Rawlings did not comment. Nor did he refuse her. The long, cool cylinder was placed in her palm.  “Don’t drop it.”

She lifted the lens to her eye and squinted against the sun. It was morning, an hour before noon. The sun was still rising before them. “Oh, I can see towers.” There were majestic towers rising from the island city and a shiny dome. “Is that a cathedral?”

“Yes, and to the right of the city is San Sebastian, a medieval fortress. And if you move the glass an inch to the left of the city, you’ll see the other battlement ..."

“Don’t tell me, St. Shawn?” Shawn and Sebastian were the Beaumont twins.

“Santa Catalina.  Both heavily guarded by a garrison of British soldiers, I’ll wager.”

Chloe studied the fort through the spyglass. There were rows and rows of pale stones lining the quay, and more rows of heavy stone of the same composition making up the walls of the fortress. There was a fortress on the island of St. Kitts, the old stone fort that overlooked the harbor at Basseterre. That one had dull grey stone and was drab. This one, with the sun shining on it just so appeared to be a pale golden castle rising above the sea.

The city was surrounded by a high stone wall. It was an island, just off the shore of Spain. Her father had spoken of this city often. Chloe wished she could remember more of his stories.

“May I have that back?” Jack asked with brusque impatience. He held out his hand. “I’m trying to determine which ship to approach. There must be an admiral on board one of them, unless he’s in the city. If so, I need to speak to his second in command. We must approach slowly and not give them any reason to suspect we might not be an English ship.”

Chloe reluctantly surrendered the spyglass. She shielded her eyes with her hand and studied the array of ships flanking the harbor. “What happens if they believe we are not a British vessel?”

Jack’s scowl was profound. He was frowning at the fleet before them, his jaw set, his expression grim. “They could fire upon us, blow us out of the water. Since Trafalgar, the British have guarded these waters. I did not realize they would hold the port of Cadiz. Trafalgar is several leagues south of us. These ships are all that stand between Napoleon’s fleet. If they suspect that we are French, they may attack, take us hostage and take the
Pegasus
as a prize.”

Chloe didn’t understand his concern. She turned from the rail to frown at him. “Captain, you speak riddles to me. I am coming to my homeland. Why would the English suspect the ship that I am on is not truly English? It seems silly to worry.”

“Does it?” He leaned back from the rail and dropped the spyglass. His look made her shiver, even before he answered her question. “Who owns this ship, my dear.”

“Why, the count. Count Rochembeau.”

“Count Rochembeau,” Jack repeated. “
A Frenchman
.”

“They would think us spies?” Her voice rose with alarm.

“It's possible. We must proceed with caution. I have ship’s papers stating that Donovan R. Beaumont, Count Rochembeau, is the owner of this vessel. We fly English colors, but a man with a French surname and title owns this ship. England is at war with France. They will be leery of us, unless . . . unless we can find a way to change Donovan’s name on the ownership paper or create a new one---damn it. If only I had something of his with the name O’Rourke. Donovan O’Rourke, it would be so easy to claim an Irishman owns this rig.”

Chloe nibbled on her forefinger. The nail was ragged. She chewed around the rough edges, attempting to smooth them. “I’ve a letter of introduction from Lord Greystowe. He’s an English earl, a member of parliament.”

Jack was gazing intently at the sea. He whispered something under his breath---a prayer, a curse, she couldn’t tell---it was too low to hear and the breeze carried it away. He turned suddenly. “We must act quickly. Bring your letter from Lord Greystowe to my cabin.” He hurried down the stairs, calling for Mr. Jinx to attend him immediately.

Chloe followed him down the steps but could not keep up the same pace, as her skirts hampered her descent to the main deck. Mr. Jinx went below and started shouting orders to the crew. A flurry of activity ensued as men rushed to carry out their captain’s wishes.

By the time she found the letter from Lord Greystowe and knocked on the captain’s cabin door, the room was full of his officers. A scalpel—she recognized the tool having seen it many times before this in the count’s home—was being held in a flame by Dr. Lewis, the ship’s surgeon. Mr. Jinx sat at the table with an official leather packet in front of him. He was quickly unfolding the papers, seeming to be searching through them for one document in particular.

Jack turned to her at her entry. She offered him the letter signed by Lord Greystowe and marked with his official wax seal.

Jack took it from her with one hand and kissed her fingers lightly. The quick, soft, thrilling sensation of his lips upon her flesh made her start. Before she could respond with a smile he had turned away and was offering the paper to his first mate. Jinx took the letter and opened it. He took the scalpel from the surgeon’s hand, and began carefully slicing the underside of the wax seal from her official letter.

“What are you doing?” she asked, rushing toward the man. “You’re ruining my letter!”

“It cannot be helped, Mrs. O’Donovan,” Jack put out his arm to forbid her to interfere with Jinx’s exacting work. “O’Donovan!”  He said, gazing at her. “
O’Donovan
!”

“Bloody hell.” Dr. Lewis exclaimed. “We’ve an Irishman’s widow aboard our vessel.”

Chloe was not amused by their odd banter. They were acting like idiots. “Yes, my husband was half Irish. What does it matter?”

“We cannot reveal the ship’s owner is of French origin in the presence of the English navy,” Jack informed her. “We must make full use of your husband’s name and Lord Greystowe’s. Your letter will serve a greater purpose in getting us through that blockade.”

The thick wax seal came away from the parchment as Mr. Jinx carefully cut the underside with the heated scalpel. Chloe mourned the desecration of her letter from Lord Greystowe that would introduce her to her Spanish relations. It held more power than that of the count's, as an earl was higher in rank than a count or viscount. She watched as Jinx gently laid the seal on the table on a small metal plate, the impression from his lordship's ring facing up.

He studied her letter for a few quick moments, and then began to copy Lord Greystowe’s fancy script. It was incredible. The letters he put on the parchment before him matched Lord Greystowe’s. The cabin was silent, as all the officers watched the forger’s progress. 

Dr. Lewis lifted the silver plate and held it over the candle flame while Jinx worked on the fake document. The bottom of the wax seal began to slide around the silver plate like a half melted pat of butter on a warming pan. “Here we are, Jinx.” The doctor handed the plate to the school master. “Careful, it’s hot on the edges. Just warmed to lift off easy, it is.”

“That’s it.” Jinx handed the quill to the fellow waiting at his elbow and took the plate from Dr. Lewis. “Not too hot or you corrupt the seal imprint. Just enough to keep the back soft.” He took a silver serving spatula and gently coaxed the implement beneath the softened seal. He lifted the seal and expertly slid it onto the parchment.  Being careful not to disturb the seal as it cooled and adhered to the new document, he continued to write a few more lines on the parchment, and lastly, he copied Lord Greystowe’s signature.

An ink pad was at the ready, brought to him by another man, along with an official stamp. Jinx placed the stamp imprint on the paper to make it appear official. Jinx put the tools of his craft away, sighed, and sat back in his chair. He gazed about at the gathering watching him with solemn eyes. “Congrats, mates, we’re in Lord Greystowe’s employ now. We’ve a new title of ownership with his lordship’s personal seal.”

“Yo, ho! Hurray for Lord Greystowe and for Mrs. O’Donovan!” the men chanted.

Jack was laughing, and so was Jinx. Chloe was incensed that they would destroy her precious letter from the earl to create a forged document to get past the English navy.

“What am I to do now?” she wailed, beyond tears, beyond screaming. “That was to introduce me to polite society as Lord Greystowe’s protégé, his dear friend. How am I to go to my uncle and present myself as a lady without Lord Greystowe’s letter?”

Jack came to stand before her. She glared up at him. “You forget the greater difficulty here.” His large hands cupped her shoulders, squeezing, comforting. “If we cannot get past the British blockade, there is no getting to dear old Uncle Miguel. We have to disguise the ownership of the
Pegasus
by using Lord Greystowe’s seal and Jenkins’s skilled penmanship to create the illusion of being owned by an English lord instead of a French one.  You have the letter from the Countess of Greystowe to use with your uncle, and from Count Rochembeau as well as the countess. And you’ll have my sworn word that you are the great friend of the high and mighty Earl of Greystowe.”

“The document is dry,” Jinx said, interrupting the captain’s lengthy speech. "It’s an exact replica of the count’s letter of ownership. I wrote a footnote at the bottom of the page explaining that his lordship bought the ship from a plantation owner in the Indies heavy in debt, in case they happen to have a recent copy of the
register
among them. Otherwise, if Count Rochembeau’s name is found as the ship’s owner in those pages we’ll have much to explain.”

Jack released Chloe’s shoulders and grasped her hands. He grinned at her, his excitement transparent. He squeezed her hands. “They won’t. Trust me. None of the naval vessels on active duty away from England's shore have an updated copy of the register on board. Only the old men at the admiralty in London will have access to that specific information of ship registers and by the time they send word to the admiralty in London inquiring about ownership, we’ll be long gone. Ships change ownership in the blink of an eye, Mrs. O’Donovan. In a game of cards, fortunes are made and lost, and ships find new owners.” He was referring to his own loss many years ago, she realized, but doing it in a joyful tone, not a dirge. He raised her hands and hugged them tightly with his larger ones, seeming to forget he was holding them in his glee. “Thank you for your quick wit, my dear.”

Feeling a little breathless amid his enthusiasm and the men watching them, Chloe couldn’t help but smile back at this conniving rogue. “You’ve done this before, captain."

“Many times. It’s what pirates do, my dear. Sail into a port under false colors and sail out again with a prize. We change flags, have a stack of ink at the ready to hide our true origins—or—at least we did, back in the good old days, aye, mates?”

The men agreed heartily with their captain. They seemed more animated than they had during the entire voyage. It was obvious these men loved the challenge put to them.

“We’re a bit rusty, my dear; been honest too long, we have.” Jack winked at her and released her hands from his captive embrace. “But, we’ll get you safely into port, won’t we lads! We’ll have one more adventure to tell our boys at home.”

“Aye!” the officers said as one.

An hour later, Captain Rawlings saluted the head of the British Naval blockade as they were brought aboard Captain Maxwell’s ship, the
Mercury
. Chloe stood beside Jack, doing her best to appear the grieving widow. She had a black lace mantilla over her head and wore her black silk mourning gown. She remained silent lest she undo the captain’s hard work at lying.

It wasn’t truly lying, she reasoned, it was just a disguise of the truth.

Captain Maxwell’s visage was lined with the indication of many voyages in service to king and country. He resembled a falcon with his wide-set, round eyes, bushy grey brows and rather hooked nose. He had no neck to speak of, adding to the illusion of being a bird. His formal attire, the blue uniform coat, milky white vest and breeches were familiar as she had seen British officers in port at St. Kitts. He kept questioning Jack while studying the forged ownership document and the ship’s papers with his monocle as they stood in his war room.

No, they were not aware of any French ships in the area, Jack told him.

No
sightings of any ships, English or otherwise, since they left London three days past.

Jack answered the commander's terse questions about their business in these waters by telling him
Mrs. Gareth O’Donovan
was coming to live with her paternal uncle, the Marquis del Amico, after the tragic death of her husband and infant son. She did not care about Napoleon or the British position at Cadiz. She merely wished to embrace the comfort of her father’s family after her staggering loss in the Indies. And he was carrying out the orders of his employer, Lord Greystowe, a relative of Mrs. O’Donovan’s who owned Jack’s ship and the plantation in the West Indies upon which she and her husband had resided for many years.

At the mention of Lord Greystowe, their interests in Spain were not questioned further. They were given permission to enter the city of Cadiz—just Captain Rawlings and Mrs. O’Donovan and their personal servants. the
Pegasus
would not be allowed to make port.

The British naval presence was here to keep the Franco-Spanish fleet locked up, and to keep a watchful eye on any movements at sea and attack if necessary. As he lectured them on the folly of their endeavor, he frowned continually at Jack. “I should not allow my wife or daughter to enter this powder keg, Captain Rawlings. I question the sanity of any man, earl or commoner, who would allow a female in his charge to make such a hazardous journey."

“Alas, sir, my lord is in the West Indies, visiting his cane plantation,” Jack explained with an apologetic shrug of his massive shoulders. “The earl has little news of the recent developments here. When Mrs. O’Donovan decided to travel to her homeland, it seemed an easy task, as I was scheduled to deliver the earl’s cane, nutmeg, and coffee beans to London this month. It seemed no trouble to simply drop our dear lady at Cadiz.”