Kiss From a Rogue (24 page)

Nick laughed. “The widow kicked you out of her bed!”

Alistair shook his head. “No, no, no, that can’t be it. That widow wasn’t going to let him into her bed in the first place.”

“Thank you both very much for your vote of confidence.” Tony was spared any further ribald comments by the appearance of the serving wench with their food and drink. He dug into the roast mutton, though he had no taste for it. He just wanted to eat enough to settle his stomach.

Alistair ordered a tankard of ale for himself. “So, does this mean you’re going to continue on around the coast with me on my journey, or head back to London?”

Tony chewed and swallowed. “Haven’t decided yet.”

Nick gave a sad, slow shake of his head. “Looks like our boy here still doesn’t have a direction for his life, despite our best efforts.”

Tony tried to dredge up the energy to be angry or upset with his friend. But Nick was right. He thought he’d discovered his direction, but Sylvia had corrected his mistake.

“I thought you said he wanted to be a rake? Here he is, ignoring a perfectly willing, not to mention buxom, maiden.” Nick pointed at the departing serving wench.

Alistair shrugged. Tony realized he had no interest in the serving wench beyond the meal she’d brought. He hadn’t even noticed if she was blonde or brunette, young or old.

“What did the pretty widow think of your seduction technique?”

Tony considered giving Nick an anatomically challenging suggestion. Instead he finished his mutton.

“He’s not going to tell us.” Alistair slapped his palms on the table and leaned forward. “This must be serious.”

“You’re right, he won’t even look up to stare daggers at me. Serious talk calls for serious drink.” Nick waved down the serving wench and ordered a bottle.

“No brandy.” Tony never wanted to see or smell brandy again.

“Whiskey it is. And since I’m guessing there’s to be no talk of brandy, either, we better take this conversation up to Alistair’s room or down to my ship. Too many ears in here.”

“We’re not going to take him down to your ship. Poor lad’s barely had time to recover from the last time he was on board.” Alistair gave Tony a reassuring thump on the shoulder.

They didn’t know the half of it.

“Upstairs, then.” Nick pushed his chair back and stood. “Shall we?”

Alistair led the way up to his room, Nick pushing Tony from behind. Every step felt like walking on broken glass. At last they reached Alistair’s room at the end of a hall that seemed to go on for miles.

Tony ignored the two large chairs in front of the fireplace in favor of sprawling on the big bed. He tossed his haversack aside and lifted one booted foot up. “Somebody mind giving me a hand with these? I seem to have left my valet behind in London.”

Nick stared at Tony’s water-stained, ruined boots. “What did you do to Hobson’s lovely boots?”

Tony almost laughed at the look of abject horror on Nick’s face. “Would you believe I went for a swim in the cove?”

Nick’s jaw dropped. He closed it with a snap. “In June? Don’t you know you’re supposed to wait until August? It’s much too cold this early in the year to swim in the ocean.”

“Ignore the dandy.” Alistair bent to the task of assisting Tony out of his boots. “By the way, you look like hell. And you smell like…” He took another sniff. “Is that lavender?”

Tony untied his cravat. Even his linen smelled like Sylvia. A sense of loss washed over him, unexpectedly strong. “Liniment.”

Alistair folded his arms over his chest. “Liniment smells harsh and nasty. This smells like m’lady’s eau de toilette.”

“M’lady made the liniment, and she’s partial to lavender.”

Nick and Alistair exchanged glances.

Tony shrugged. “Said it has medicinal properties.”

Alistair tugged on the boot again. “Right. If you say so.”

“
I
don’t say so, she—”

“Enough with the damn lavender liniment.” Nick ran his fingers through his hair. “Did you forget that you’re supposed to strip down before you go swimming so you don’t get waterlogged and drown?”

Tony grabbed on to the bedpost to keep from being dragged off the edge of the mattress by Alistair’s enthusiastic tugging. “I was a bit tied up at the time, and didn’t have much say in the matter.”

Alistair finally managed to get the left boot off. “Tied up, as in, with rope?”

Tony nodded. He pulled his knife from his right boot before raising it for Alistair to remove.

“Oh, this is going to be good. Tell all, and I do mean all.” Nick poured three glasses of whiskey.

“Why didn’t you give me the knife before? Should have just cut them off in the first place, because I’m telling you now, you’re never going to get these boots back on your feet.” Alistair pointed to the bloodstains on Tony’s white stocking.

Ah. That explained the broken-glass sensation.

“Don’t let him distract you. You were tied up, and went for a swim in the cove. Go on.”

“What am I supposed to wear if you cut off my boot?”

“Never mind that!” Nick practically shouted. “There is a cobbler down the street, and I have a pair you can wear in the morning when we go see if he has something to fit you.”

Alistair tugged on the boot with such force that when it suddenly came free he staggered back two steps and sat down hard with a grunt.

Nick heaved a sigh of impatience as Alistair and Tony settled themselves, each with a glass of whiskey in their hand, Alistair in the other chair by the fireplace, Tony on the bed with his aching feet propped up on pillows.

“All right,” Alistair said. “How did you end up in the cove if you were tied up?”

Tony shrugged. “Apparently the impact from the pistol shot pushed me over the railing.”

“Railing?” Nick sat forward. “You were on a ship out in the middle of the cove?”

“Forget the ship.” Alistair set his glass down with a
thunk
. “You were shot at?” He pointed at the bandage wrapped around Tony’s head. “I thought the widow just hit you over the skull with a skillet.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Your confidence in my address with the fairer sex underwhelms me.”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen.” Nick refilled their glasses. “I want all the particulars, if you please, from the beginning.” He rubbed his hands together. “Leave nothing out.”

I
t required several hours, and the better part of the bottle, for Tony to relate his adventures of the last week and a half. His audience sat enthralled as he told them about the motley band of smugglers led by a plucky widow and her bantling brother-in-law.

“Bullets, blisters, bruises, and a make-believe bride.” Nick finished off his drink. “Tell me, was your wedding night make-believe, too?”

Tony threw a pillow at Nick’s head. He batted it aside, laughing.

“What do you think they’re all going to do now?” Alistair threw more coal on the fire.

“Sylvia’s plotting for them to steal Ruford’s ship.”

Nick stopped laughing. “Really?”

“What else can she do? Even the cheese is ruined.” And she wanted nothing more to do with Tony.

“Ooh, she has bottom,” Nick said. “I want to meet her.”

Alistair tilted his head to one side. “I’ve never tasted low tide before.”

Tony reached for his knife and his haversack. “I can fix that.” Before he’d left the manor house, Galen had given him a round of cheese. As the number of miles he’d walked increased, several times he’d almost tossed it into a ditch to lighten the pressure on his feet. But he couldn’t bring himself to part with any reminder of Sylvia, no matter how painful the memories. Or briny. Now he cut into the round and handed a piece to Alistair. He sat back and waited for the expression of disgust.

Alistair chewed, slowly and thoughtfully. He shook his head. “What do you mean, ruined? This is delicious.”

Nick reached for the cheese. “Give me a hunk of that.”

Tony obliged.

“Oh, my.” Nick’s expression could only be described as euphoric.

“It has a certain piquancy,” Alistair said.

Nick nodded. “Get a nice bottle of wine to go with it.”

“Perhaps some walnuts.”

“Pears. Pears would go well with this.”

Tony watched them, his brow furrowed.

Alistair took the knife from Tony’s lax hands and cut off more cheese for himself and Nick. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, old chum,” Alistair said around a mouthful of cheese. “This is the best I’ve ever had.”

Nick mumbled his agreement, as well.

Tony took a cautious sniff of the cheese. No hint of the harbor. He broke off a tiny piece and tasted it on the tip of his tongue.

Pure ambrosia, even better than anything he had tasted while in Lulworth Cove. This must have come from the batch that was ripening in Sylvia’s stillroom. As he took a bigger bite, he had to swallow past the lump that formed in his throat.

“Since you don’t want it,” Nick said, “I’ll be happy to take it off your hands.”

“Not a chance,” Alistair said. “I want it.”

Tony looked back and forth between the two in amazement. He sat back on his heels. “I’ll sell it to you,” he said to Alistair, “in exchange for my half of the lodging expense for tonight.”

Nick chuckled. “A little light in the purse, are we?”

“If she was feeding and housing you and tending to your various injuries, what did you possibly spend your coins on?”

Tony answered while he was digging through his haversack.

“Didn’t quite hear that.” Alistair cupped his hand to his ear.

“Roof tiles!”

Nick almost doubled over in laughter.

There was something heavy in the bottom of his haversack. Tony pushed aside his linen to get at it, with the idea of throwing whatever it was at Nick’s head.

“Other men buy flowers and fans and gewgaws for their ladies. Our friend here buys…building supplies.” Nick broke out in another burst of laughter.

Tony finally got his hands on the unfamiliar object at the bottom of his haversack and pulled it out. He turned it over in his hands, examining it from every side.

Nick finally stopped laughing. “I say, what are you doing with a mariner’s compass?”

Alistair sat on the edge of the bed beside Tony, and took the compass in its ivory case from his hands. He turned it over a few times. “She saw your tattoo, didn’t she?” he said quietly.

Tony didn’t answer.

Nick came over to take a closer look, as well. “Was this her husband’s?”

“I don’t know.” When had she placed this in his haversack? Must have been after he’d given her the spool of ribbon. He took the compass back from Alistair, feeling an unexplained need to hold it.

Nick placed his large hand at the back of Tony’s neck and gave him a gentle shake. “Someone else trying to give you a direction for your life, too?”

Tony thought he’d found his direction, but Sylvia had disagreed.

Fortunately Alistair broke the serious mood by grabbing for more of the cheese. He yawned before he could stuff it in his mouth.

“I best be getting back to the
Wind Dancer
before it gets too late.” Nick got up, shrugged into his coat, and gave them both a mock salute before he let himself out the door, with the promise to return in the morning.

“Don’t forget to bring the spare shoes!” Tony yelled after him.

Within minutes, Alistair had slid under the sheets on his side of the bed, and began snoring soon after that.

Tony lay staring up at the ceiling, hands behind his head, for what felt like hours. After trudging along the road from Lulworth for so long before getting a ride on a passing farmer’s cart this afternoon, not to mention the exertions of last night and this morning, he was beyond exhausted and should have fallen asleep immediately.

In the soft light cast by the fire, he glanced over at Alistair, whose expression was peaceful in repose.

This was not the bed companion Tony wanted. He’d hoped to spend every night for the rest of his life holding Sylvia. He’d had no idea she had other plans until she’d dismissed him this afternoon at the inn.

In time he would get over her, and look at other women with renewed interest.

That’s what a true rake would do.

He got up, retrieved the compass from his haversack, and limped over to one of the chairs before the fire. In the glowing light from the coals, he watched the needle spin and finally settle. Now he knew in which direction north lay.

What kind of compass could help him figure out the direction for his life?

Alistair sat up, stretched and yawned, and stared at Tony, who was sitting in the armchair by the fire. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Tony had the compass in one hand, a chunk of cheese in the other. “You know, land-based smugglers are really in a transportation and retail business.” He held up the cheese. “This is what they should be selling instead of brandy. No ships or lecherous captains required.”

Alistair cocked his head to one side. “And it’s legal.”

Tony stared at the cheese. “Yes, there’s that.”

They began to get ready for their day. Tony was just pulling on his only pair of clean stockings when Nick arrived and dropped a pair of dancing slippers in Tony’s lap.

“I had no idea we were to attend a ball.” Tony should have known the shoes would be much too large for him, since Nick towered over him by at least six inches. “Anyone ever tell you your feet are enormous?”

Nick gave a comical leer. “You know what they say about men with big hands and big feet.” He pointed at Tony’s dirty stockings. “Wad those up and stick ’em in the toes. You’re only going to wear them long enough to get to the shoemaker’s.”

Tony finished getting dressed, and stopped in front of the mirror, hairbrush in his hand. His hair was mussed, but Sylvia’s bandage was still neatly in place. He should remove it. It was just a piece of cloth, after all. But Sylvia had put it there.

He sighed.

“Boy’s got it bad,” Nick muttered from his chair by the fire.

“Beg pardon?” Tony looked at him in the mirror’s reflection.

“Take it off. Let’s see the bullet wound.”

Alistair paused in the act of pulling on his boots. “Yes, let’s see it.”

“You’re balmy, both of you.” But Tony unwound the bandage. He started to toss the cloth onto the coals, but wadded it up and shoved it into his haversack instead. He pushed the hair back from his forehead, revealing the jagged, torn flesh on his right temple. It was the dark pink of a healing wound, not the angry red of an infection. Sylvia’s herbs had done their work.

Alistair gave a long, low whistle. “A hair’s breadth to the other side, and they’d have put you to bed with a shovel.”

“You’re one lucky bugger,” Nick said.

Baxter had said the same thing, just two days ago. With Sylvia at his side, Tony had heartily agreed. Now, however…He quickly swiped the brush through his hair and shoved it into his haversack, eager to get going, to get away from memories that were still too fresh.

They went downstairs for breakfast, then headed out to the cobbler’s shop, with a detour to the bank. Tony had his packed haversack over his shoulder, to carry the spare shoes later.

Just as he’d asked, Ben had arranged for a draft to be waiting for him at the bank, the amount of his next quarter’s allowance.

His good luck continued—the cobbler had a pair of boots that fit as if they had been made expressly for Tony, and were nearly identical to his ruined pair.

The transaction concluded, Nick hauled them outside into the sunshine. “I need to check on my carpenter’s progress,” he said. “We lost one of our masts in that storm last week.” He began walking toward the docks, knowing the other two would be right beside him.

“You were out on the ocean in that mess? Several of our villagers lost their homes in that. I can’t believe you survived it.”

Both men stopped and gaped at Tony.

“What?”

“You said ‘our,’ ” they said in unison. “ ‘Our villagers,’ ” Alistair added.

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did.” Nick threw his arm around Tony’s neck in an affectionate gesture that threatened to suffocate him, and towed him toward the docks.

They were still several streets away from the waterfront, but Tony could see the tall masts of the ships above the roofline in the distance.

At last they turned a corner, and the harbor was laid out before them. Nick quickened his pace, practically dragging the other two along with him.

“You’d think we were going downstairs on Christmas morning,” Tony said to Alistair.

“It’s always gratifying to see a grown man so eager to see his toy.”

“Knock it off, you landlubbers.” Nick grinned from ear to ear as they drew abreast of his ship.

“Ahoy, Captain!” Jonesy, the first mate, let down the plank. “Carpenter’s mate says we’ll be ready to sail by the next tide.”

Nick rubbed his hands together. “Excellent, excellent.” He stepped onto the plank.

“You’re not expecting us to follow you up there, are you?” Tony eyed the ship with antipathy. Tied up at the dock, the ship’s movement was rather limited, but Tony had no wish to experience again the joys of being on board. The memories of Ruford’s ship, not to mention his method of departure, were still too fresh.

Nick just laughed and went aboard.

Tony looked away from the bobbing ship, at the people swarming around the docks. There was so much more activity and people here than in the cozy, calm village of Lulworth Cove. There was no Betsy making cow eyes at him, no Mrs. Miggins trying to pinch him, no Baxter trying to get him to taste the overproofed brandy.

No Sylvia.

He gazed at the other ships tied up at the docks—brigs like Nick’s, galliots, fishing smacks, barques, and more. Each was an anthill of activity as their crews and dockworkers scurried here and there, loading and unloading cargoes, restocking the ship’s stores.

Ships.

Sylvia needed a ship, and here was a banquet ofthem.

“I wonder how much it would cost to buy one,” he said, almost to himself.

Alistair followed Tony’s gaze to the rows of ships. “You can’t be serious. You hate ships.”

“It would have to be a fast one, to outrun the Revenue cutters.” He turned in a half circle, looking over each of the possibilities.

Alistair frowned. “Fast, like Nick’s brig?”

Tony stared at his friend. “Perfect! Alistair, you’re a genius.” Tony yelled for Nick.

He had to keep Sylvia from committing a foolhardy act, doing something that might get her or her men seriously hurt. Or worse. There was no way her motley crew could succeed in taking over Ruford’s ship.

But if Tony
gave
her a ship, there would be no need for her to steal one. She could still be a smuggler, a rogue, without having to turn pirate.

“You want to
what
?” Nick gaped a few moments later.

“Buy your ship. Name your price, and please hurry. We have to get it to Lulworth before they go after Ruford’s cutter.”

Nick folded his arms over his chest. “You want to buy my ship, but you want me to sail it to Lulworth?”

Tony nodded. “To deliver it to its new master.”

“And who would that be?”

“Sylvia, of course.”

Nick tugged on his earring. “Suppose I don’t want to sell. Maybe I want to transport brandy, and sell the cargo to your fair Sylvia.”

“You, become a smuggler?” Tony shook his head. “Your sisters would never forgive you for besmirching the family name.”

Nick briefly bowed his head. “There is that consideration, though it would be awfully fun. All right, I suppose I can find Lulworth Cove.”

Tony nodded. “Good. I’ll hire a horse and meet you there.”

“I haven’t agreed to sell, yet.” Nick glanced over at Alistair, and back to Tony, a calculating gleam in his eye. Tony braced himself. “Tell you what. I will consider selling you the
Wind Dancer
if you sail with us to Lulworth instead of riding there.”

Tony clutched his churning stomach. Nick stood with his feet apart, fists on his hips. “All right.” Tony nodded. “Deal.”

“I’ll be damned,” Nick said softly. “He’s really serious.”

Alistair stepped closer. “Let me make sure I understand. You, a man who heaves his guts out every time he steps on board any waterborne vessel, not only wants to own a vessel, but is willingly going to get on board it and sail for several hours? Out on the open ocean?”