Scoundrel (Lost Lords of Radcliffe Book 4) (20 page)

They trudged onto the sand, the moon dangling in the east, casting their surroundings in silvery tones.

“I can’t bear to go,” she said.

“To England?”

“Yes, but I have to, don’t I?”

“I think so.”

“This place is so magical. It makes me certain a different path is possible.”

“You can pick any path you want, Faith.”

He didn’t actually believe that. She was a female, so she couldn’t work or travel or take off on her own. She couldn’t journey across Africa unless she had a fortune to spend on guards, servants, and a companion.

She didn’t have any of those, so her choice was the convent or home to her father and her cousin, Lambert. Chase was surprised to find himself disliking Lambert very much. A woman who was out of options might reach any foolish decision. Her father could demand she wed her horrid cousin, and she’d relent rather than continue to fight about it.

If Chase had lured her away from her nun’s vows only to learn that she stumbled into a tedious marriage instead, he’d never forgive himself.

“How about with you, Chase?” she asked. “Could I pick the path you’re on?”

Though it hurt, he had to firmly apprise her, “You couldn’t walk any path with me, Faith. Don’t forget, I’m a cad and a bounder.”

“You always say that, but you’re not. Not really.”

“I
am
. I’m completely unreliable.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You should. If my old friend, Bryce Blair, was here, I’d have him tell you what I did to him in Cairo.”

“What did you do?”

“I’m too embarrassed to give you any details, but be aware that it was hideous. If I would betray my best friend, the man I’ve known since I was a little boy, imagine what I might do to you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

He shrugged. “I can’t be your savior, Faith. I don’t have it in me.”

She stared at him, then chuckled, but it was dejected and miserable. “It was worth a try, I guess.”

“It was.”

“You might have said
yes
and all my problems would have been solved.”

“Trust me, there’s no problem I could solve for you.”

“Well, you
are
taking me home when I couldn’t figure out how I’d ever manage it.”

“I’m taking myself home—and Ralston. He’s simply too decent to leave you ladies behind.”

“It was all Mr. Robertson’s idea to pay our fares and take us with you?”

“Yes. He was an absolute beast about it. I grew tired of listening to him so I agreed.”

She snorted. “You liar.”

He turned away, not wanting her to look too closely, not wanting her to see any more than she already did. She grasped facts about him he didn’t like her to understand.

“Let’s get you up to the villa,” he said.

“All right.”

They started up the trail, and at the last bend before they reached the verandah, she stopped and peered out at the sea.

“I think my African adventure is officially over,” she said.

“I think mine is too.”

“Mine was much too short.”

“Mine was much too long.”

She laughed, the sound making him grin, making him happy. He drew her to him for a final kiss.

“May I visit your room tonight?” he asked. “After everyone is asleep, I could sneak in.”

“No, you may not sneak into my room.”

He shrugged, saying as she had earlier, “It was worth a try.”

They walked up the rest of the way, and as they stepped onto the verandah, Sister Rowena was passing by. She studied their damp clothes and hair, the guilty expressions on their faces.

“Faith!” she scolded. “You’ve been gone for hours. I was worried.”

“There was no need,” Faith replied.

“Where have you been?”

“Swimming.”

“Swimming!”

“Yes. With Mr. Hubbard.” Brazenly she winked at Chase where Rowena could see. “I enjoyed myself very much too.”

Rowena gasped. “Faith! What’s come over you?”

Faith glanced at Chase and smiled a sly, feminine smile that left him weak in the knees. “I was pretending I was someone else, Rowena. Just for the day. But I’m back to being myself now. Goodnight.”

She whirled and sauntered off, and as he watched her go, he was desolate over their parting. He might sneak into her room after all. He never listened to women, so he just might.

“Mr. Hubbard!” Rowena snapped, yanking him out of his reverie.

“What?”

“What were you doing with Sister Faithful?”

“Swimming—as she told you.”

“You can’t…
swim
with her.”

“Why can’t I?”

“She’s hardly wearing any clothes and she’s all wet.”

“Don’t fret about it. She’ll dry quickly in the desert air.”

Rowena scowled at him, her interested gaze roaming down his bronzed torso and—like a petulant nanny—she asked, “What precisely is happening between you two?”

“Nothing that’s any of your business at all.”

He kept on too.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Faith stood on the dock, the boards of the wharf rough under her feet.

Chase, Mr. Robertson, Rowena, and the girls were standing with her, and she supposed they painted an odd picture. Two dour, frumpy nuns. Three pretty little girls, their blond hair curled, their petticoats swishing. And two dashing gentleman who might have been bandits.

They were dressed in trousers, flowing white shirts, and were both heavily armed, appearing much as they had when they’d burst in to rescue Faith from slavers. Chase in particular looked very lethal. He had a pistol on each hip, a long sword and a short dagger in a sheath slung over his back. She couldn’t imagine there was a miscreant in the world who would dare to cross him.

Once Chase had decided to leave Africa, plans had quickly fallen into place. A ship had been found, though it was taking them to Portugal. They’d hire another ship there that would convey them all the way to England.

Their exit from the villa had been heartbreaking, with the servants actually crying over Chase’s exodus. Even Akmed, the terrifying man with the tattoos, had shed a few tears. They’d liked Chase very much, much more than the prior owner who apparently had been a brute.

The parting had left her distraught, the girls too, so the trip to town had been stressful. The girls had bickered, and it was unbearably hot. Mr. Robertson and Chase had ridden on horseback so they’d been spared the children’s quarrels in the carriage. Rowena had done her best to placate them, but nothing had worked.

“All right, ladies,” Mr. Robertson said, “let’s board, shall we?”

He was always such a happy fellow, but his overture had no effect. No one moved, so he said, “We just climb this plank. It’s easy.” He smiled at the girls. “You’ve been on a ship before, haven’t you? You’re old hands at this. I shouldn’t have to show you.”

He turned and marched up, pausing occasionally to wave at everybody. The children watched him warily, but none of them commented.

Rowena jumped in with, “Come, girls. Who’ll be first?” Still, none of them moved, and she chided, “Well, I’m not staying here. I’m going with Mr. Robertson.”

She marched off too, expecting them to follow, but they didn’t.

Faith scowled at Mary and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“We don’t want to ever travel on the ocean again.”

“Why not? Are you afraid?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you afraid? If it’s because of what occurred when we—”

“It is!” Mary vehemently replied. “What if people get sick again? What if
we
get sick?”

“You won’t.”

Martha added, “What if bad men find us? Last time Mr. Hubbard sailed, pirates attacked him.”

Faith frowned at Chase. She hadn’t realized the girls were aware of that dangerous story. She glanced down at Martha. “Where did you hear that?”

“Everyone at the villa talked about it.”

“They shouldn’t have,” Faith griped.

“What if they chase after us too?” Martha asked. “What then?”

“Mr. Hubbard will protect us. You know that.” She gestured to the ship. “You’re being silly. Now let’s go. Come on.”

The three girls spun and flung themselves at Chase, wrapping themselves around his legs as if they could never be pried away. They began to cry, even Millicent who hadn’t uttered a word in days.

“Ho! What’s this?” Chase said. “Waterworks? Who’s crying?”

“We all are,” Mary wailed.

Chase picked up Millicent and propped her on his hip. She put a hand on his cheek, and they were nose to nose, studying one another.

“Do you think I’d let anything happen to you?” he inquired, and Millicent shook her head. He swiped a thumb across her cheeks, drying her tears. “Then there’s no reason to be upset, is there?”

She shook her head again.

“So you’re to stop crying this instant.” She calmed immediately, and he shifted his attention to Mary and Martha. “How about you two? Do either of you think I’d let you be harmed?”

“No,” they said in unison.

“That better be your answer, for if you have no faith in me, I will be heartily offended.”

He squatted down so he was eye to eye with Mary and Martha, Millie still balanced on his hip. “What if I carry each of you up myself? Would you like that?”

All three nodded.

“We’ll have to go one at a time though. You’re getting so big. I’m not strong enough to carry you together.” He stood. “I’ll take Millie up first”—he grinned at her—“because she’s my favorite. You two wait here with Sister Faithful.”

He walked to the gangplank and climbed, handing Millie to Rowena when he arrived at the top. Mary and Martha had sidled over to Faith and were tightly clutching her skirt, as if terrified she might float away if they didn’t hold on.

Chase tromped down, and as he approached, he winked at Faith. She smiled back. In her sojourn at the villa, she hadn’t seen him interact with the girls in a personal way, and she was charmed by his easy manner.

“Martha is next,” he informed them, “because she’s the second oldest, and because she’s my favorite.”

At the comment, Mary scowled. “You said Millie was your favorite.”

“Can’t I have two favorites?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“Then I have two,” he firmly stated.

He picked up Martha and carted her off, lifting her off the ground so quickly that she squealed and laughed, her fear temporarily forgotten. He deposited her with Rowena, then returned for Mary.

“I saved the best for last,” he told her, “because you’re the oldest and because you’re my favorite.”

“You can’t have three favorites, Mr. Hubbard. I think you’re fibbing.”

“Let’s ask Sister Faithful if I am. She knows me quite well. What say you, Sister Faithful? Am I a fibber?”

“Absolutely not,” she said.

“See, Mary?” he responded. “I’m telling the truth. You’re my favorite.” He swooped her up and hurried off, and as he passed, he glanced at Faith. “Shall I carry you too?”

“No.” She blushed just from pondering how marvelous it would be.

“Come on then. The captain can’t dawdle all day. We’ll miss the tide.”

She hastened after him, the gangplank swaying slightly with their combined weight. As they stepped on the deck, they were whisked below and shown where they’d sleep and where to stow their belongings. They didn’t have many possessions, but they’d brought food and supplies.

It was a merchant vessel with Spanish sailors and Faith spoke the language. Not fluently, but enough to get her point across and to understand them. They were to confer with the captain so he could review the rules, but the meeting was hours away, so Faith went up on the deck. It was stifling in the hull, and she needed fresh air. She was also eager to watch Africa as it faded away. She was sure she’d never be back. After she was home in Britain, there’d be no reason to visit again.

If the convent ever mustered the funds for members to attend another convocation, they’d give others the chance to travel. Faith had had her opportunity, and she was conflicted over whether it had been worth it. The whole trip had been fraught with calamity, but then in the midst of disaster, she’d stumbled on Chase Hubbard.

She walked over to the rail, hiding behind a stack of crates so she could remain out of the way of the sailors. They were running about, orders being shouted, whistles blowing, bells ringing, which meant they were about to pull away from the pilings.

The gangplank had been hauled up, and a longboat with rowers had latched on with ropes and would help to maneuver them away from the wharf.

She observed with an odd detachment. She couldn’t focus on the moment—it seemed very unreal—and her thoughts were busy with different musings.

She didn’t want to be a nun, didn’t want to resume her quiet life of toil and service. She wanted to live freely, out in the open, as the daughter of the rich merchant she’d been born to be.

She wanted Chase Hubbard! There, she’d admitted it!

He did things to her she couldn’t describe. He delivered excruciating pleasure. He’d shoved her into a new world, and she was struggling to find her place in it—for clearly she didn’t belong where she’d previously been.

As was proper, she was dressed in her nun’s habit, her wimple firmly attached. She was extremely hot and anxious to get out on the water where the temperature would be cooler.

Her hair in particular was bothersome. Under her wimple, it was heavy and bulky in a fashion she hadn’t noted before. She kept remembering how it had floated in the waves when she’d been in the ocean with Chase. She kept remembering how he’d pressed his face into it, how he’d stroked his palm across it.

The convent never required women to cut their hair. It was up to each individual, but she imagined—once she was home—she’d shave it off. It reminded her too much of who she could have been if she’d made other choices.

It reminded her of Chase Hubbard and how he’d caressed it with such awe and affection. It would be impossible to ever forget that poignant, erotic memory.

Already he seemed very far away from her.

A few nights earlier, when she’d told him not to visit her room, she’d actually expected he would. But he hadn’t. Over the ensuing days, he’d been occupied with planning their departure, and she’d seen so little of him that she’d convinced herself he was deliberately avoiding her.