What the Duke Doesn't Know (8 page)

As the evening wore on, James would forget that Kawena was present for a stretch of time. Then the sight of the “lad” would startle him. He would become intensely aware of her legs in rough breeches and thick stockings, of the delicacy of her hand emerging from an overlarge sleeve. His heart would pound at the thought of what would happen if she was discovered, and what she must think of the profane expressions and coarse sentiments of common sailors in their cups. When the hour grew late and amorous tales began to lace the talk, becoming more graphic as one man tried to top another, he used her youth as an excuse to depart, softening the blow by paying for a final round of drinks.

“That wasn't any help,” said Kawena as they walked back to their inn. She seemed unaffected by the hours in the din and smokiness of the alehouse.

James felt a spark of resentment. It hadn't been an easy thing, to act such a part with his former crewman. Simmons, certainly, had seen many of his remarks as out of character. Others had looked startled as well. Kawena had no notion of the discipline of a navy ship, and the distance and standards a captain must maintain. So she couldn't conceive of the humiliation he'd suffered by pretending not to care for these things. Still, she might have thanked him.

“I shall have to speak to some men alone,” James told her. When she started to object, he held up a hand. This had become more and more evident to him as the night unfolded. “To one man on his own, I can suggest that there was a problem on the voyage and promise to keep his name out of it. In those circumstances, he will say things he wouldn't reveal before others, including an unknown ‘youth.'”

Kawena had to admit there was sense in this. And so, on the following day, James visited Simmons again, and then the rest of the men on his list, one by one. But he discovered nothing useful. Indeed, all he accomplished was to rouse concern, and some suspicion.

Back at the inn that afternoon, sharing a dinner of roast chicken and peas, they took stock, and had to acknowledge that they had made no progress. Kawena, gowned as his “sister” again, seemed thoroughly discouraged. “It did not seem to me that any of the men were lying,” she said. “This task is far more difficult than I imagined.”

“When you showed up waving a pistol and offering to shoot me,” James replied, hoping to raise her spirits.

She didn't smile. She scarcely seemed to hear him. She sat with bent head and slumped shoulders, eyes downcast, looking more like a mournful old painting than the spirited lass who'd nearly blackened his eye. James hated to see it. His gaze followed the exquisite line of her cheek, the flutter of dark eyelashes against honeyed skin. It was like seeing a creature of leaping flame dimmed down to embers. He wanted to reignite that brightness nearly as much as he wanted to sweep her into his arms. “There are other crew members I can speak to, in London,” he suggested.

She looked up. The budding hope and trust in her eyes nearly stopped his breath. What wouldn't a man do to earn such a look? To prolong and intensify it?

“We could stop there on the way back to Oxford,” he offered. “Have you been to London?”

“I passed through. It was huge and very noisy. And dirty.”

He couldn't argue with her. He'd often felt the same. “The rest of my old crew is there, however.” He tried to speak bracingly. “We'll head for London tomorrow. The roads will be better, at least.”

She pushed a bite of chicken around on her plate. “Do you really think we will find out anything?”

“It's the only other thing to try.”

Kawena nodded gloomily. James cursed himself for a clumsy fool. Why hadn't he been more optimistic? The difference between this melancholy young woman and the lively creature he'd come to know on their journey was unbearable. A memory struck him. “Do you still want to try riding a horse?”

Kawena looked up.

They'd already seen her in boy's clothes here, James noted, aware that she would insist on wearing that garb for riding. He didn't want her doing that at Alan's house, on streets and lanes where his brother's friends might see them. But here… “I'll see about some mounts,” he said, rising.

“I'll get ready,” she replied, color back in her cheeks.

When she came back downstairs and was directed to the stables, Kawena found Lord James discussing the merits of available horses with the hostler. One was already saddled. The debate appeared to be about the second choice. “Merry's a bit of a plodder,” the hostler was saying, indicating a gray horse in a nearby stall. “But Rex”—he pointed to a brown animal farther down—“is overfond of a run, if you know what I mean.”

“We'll take M—”

“Rex,” interrupted Kawena. “I want to run. Like flying.”

James tried to intervene. “You want a gentler mount for your first—”

“Rex,” Kawena insisted. She'd seen plow horses in the fields. She knew what plodding looked like. And she wasn't going to be stuck shuffling along the roadway like a sack of meal slung over a donkey. After the disappointments of the interviews, she felt an urgent need to throw herself against the world.

“He ain't dangerous,” said the hostler. “Just a little…frisky on occasion.”

“Perfect,” she pronounced. She liked the word. Frisky was exactly how she wanted to feel—the opposite of the increasing pessimism that burdened her. She met Lord James's eyes. She would
not
be fobbed off with a plodder. Fortunately, he sighed and gave in.

Rex was saddled, and Kawena lifted onto his back. As the hostler adjusted the stirrups to her feet, Lord James explained the reins and how to communicate to Rex what she wanted. Then he sprang onto the other mount and led the way out of the stable and into the lane.

It was an odd way of sitting, Kawena thought as they made their way through the streets of Portsmouth. The horse seemed much wider when you straddled him than he had looked from the ground. And his movements caused her to sway back and forth. Lord James had told her to grip with her knees, she remembered. She tried, and Rex jolted forward, nearly colliding with a woman carrying a market basket.

“Hold up,” Lord James said as the woman glared at her. “We'll keep to a walk until we're farther from town.”

“Walk, Rex,” said Kawena. She recalled then that he'd said you tightened your knees and leaned forward when you wanted to go faster. So she did the opposite, and was pleased when the horse settled back into a walk. Riding was really quite simple, she concluded. She didn't know why people made such a fuss about it.

Lord James guided them toward the seaside, leaving the bustle of town behind. Kawena welcomed the sight of the water, even though it was not her ocean. This one was gray and edged with small stones instead of sand. The waves hissed and clattered in quite a different voice.

“You're doing well,” Lord James called.

Kawena knew that. How could she not when all she had to do was sit there? “I want to go faster,” she replied.

“The trot's a bit more difficult…”

She was deathly tired of things that were difficult. Indeed, nothing in life seemed easy, just now. Surely a ride along the beach was a simple matter? All sorts of people rode, all over this country. She'd seen tiny children atop huge farm horses. Perhaps she should stay just above the beach, however, if you could even call a field of pebbles a beach. She would not have wanted to run in those stones. Rex would probably not care for it either. Kawena pulled on one of the reins, as instructed, to turn her horse parallel to the shore. “Let's go, Rex,” she said, leaning well forward and pressing her knees into his sides.

He went.

And in an instant, the ride changed utterly. Rather than an easy seat, the saddle was now a precarious, jouncing perch, threatening to jerk out from under her, first one way, then another. The stirrups wanted to fly out to the side. Pounding hooves replaced her smooth progress, and the landscape streamed by in a breathless blur.

“Kawena!”

Lord James's call seemed to come from far away. She did not dare turn to see where he was. It was all she could do to hang on.

“Pull up! Pull up!” he shouted.

The reins—one pulled on them to slow down, she remembered. But her reins were clutched in her two fists, above where her fingers were twined in Rex's mane. She would have to let go to pull on them, and she wasn't going to do that. Nor did she dare loosen her knees and sit back. Crouching over Rex's neck seemed by far the better, indeed the only, choice.

Rex veered onto sand. Water splashed around them, thrown up by his pounding hooves, and for a moment, Kawena feared that he was carrying her right into the sea. Then she saw that they were on a long spit that stretched out to a great rock rearing up from the sea far ahead. Shallow waves fanned across the sand. As they passed through a dip, their passage threw up sheets of salt water, soaking her from head to foot. Stinging seawater lashed into her eyes. All Kawena could do was duck her head and cling.

Rex raced on. Time seemed to both stretch and contract, a muddle of jolts and spray and thudding hooves. He would have to stop when they reached the crag, Kawena thought. But he did not. The horse's hooves clattered onto a stony path slanting upward, and he kept right on going. The sound seemed to echo. Then Kawena realized it was another horse. Lord James was pounding along just behind her.

He didn't catch up, however, until they both emerged on top of the crag and discovered a small house tucked into a flat space there, facing the sea. Kawena had just time to glimpse it, and marvel, and then Lord James was beside her, his horse shouldering Rex to a standstill, his hands grabbing for her reins. In a quick tussle of hooves and teeth, he brought them to a halt. “Have you lost your wits?” he shouted.

She'd been about to thank him. She changed her mind.

He jumped down, and then practically dragged her from the saddle while keeping hold of both sets of reins. Kawena felt the jar of the landing through her feet and knees. The horses danced nervously. Lord James loomed over her, pressing her back against Rex's flank. He looked furious. “Why didn't you pull up?” he said.

Kawena realized that her cap was gone. Her hair was coming loose from its tight braids; wet tendrils trailed along her cheeks. She was soaked and cold, except where Lord James's chest rested against hers. That part of her was warming. His angry face was inches away. She was interested to find that she wasn't the least bit afraid of him, despite his fit of temper. In fact, she was very much inclined to kiss him. She wondered what he would do if she did.

Rex tossed his head and stamped. Lord James jerked away, looking nearly as wild as the horse. A large wave hit the crag, shattering blue-white and throwing spray high into the air. Wisps of damp drifted over them. “We need a place to get dry,” he said.

James looked to the house. It appeared to be vacant. Spotting a small stable on the right, he led the horses toward it. “Come with me,” he commanded. He was still so angry with Kawena he could scarcely speak to her. Did she have any idea how close she'd come to serious injury? He had watched her almost bounce out of the saddle a dozen times. Of course she didn't. She was a heedless, headstrong hoyden.

He led the horses out of the wind and sea spray, Kawena obediently at his heels, at least. The small stable was empty and smelled of ancient manure and sour hay. “They need a rest or they'll be blown,” he said. “And you can't run horses so hard and leave them wet. I'll look for something to rub them down.” James thrust the reins into Kawena's hands. “Hold 'em,” he commanded, biting off the words.

He strode around to the front of the house. The door wasn't locked. Indeed, it wasn't quite shut; the sea air had warped the panels. Pushing it open, he called, “Hello?” The word echoed back to him from bare walls. “Is anyone here?”

Answered by silence, he went inside. The place was clearly abandoned. There were bits of broken furniture here and there. An armchair exuded tufts of padding and a scent of mold. In a back parlor overlooking the sea, he found heavy draperies still hanging at the windows. He pulled two of them down and carried them to the stable.

Kawena had tied up the two mounts and managed to remove their saddles, which cooled his temper. He handed her a curtain and showed her how to tend to Rex. “It was very foolish of you to try a gallop,” he pointed out.

“I wanted to go fast,” she replied.

She appeared unrepentant. James knew it was his duty to make her regret her recklessness, but he was diverted by how appealing she looked in the dim light. Her dark hair was straggling down her back. Like his, her hands were filthy from the dusty cloth. She had a smudge of dirt across her forehead, and yet she was lovely. Her wet clothes clung to her, outlining every lithe line of her body. Her piquant face was charmingly intent as she worked away at the rubdown without complaint. “You're shivering,” he said.

“I've often been wet, but never when the water was so cold,” she replied.

James was swept by a need to take care of her. “I'll see if I can make a fire, dry our clothes a bit before we head back.”

“There's no one in the house?”

He shook his head. “Not for a long time, I'd say.”

They finished tending their mounts. James looked for fresh water for them, and found none. He led the way back into the house, choosing the room with the largest fireplace. He gathered up some of the bits of discarded furniture. The wood was very dry. It broke easily into smaller pieces. “Pull some of the stuffing from that chair,” he told Kawena, and she went to do so. Soon, he'd assembled the makings of a fire. He pried a bit of flint out of the crumbling chimney and used it with his steel knife to strike a spark. It took several tries before the puff of tinder caught. After that, it was a simple matter to coax a blaze into life.

“How clever you are,” Kawena said. She held out her hands to the rising heat. Water dripped from her bulky coat onto the dusty floor. Seeing it, she slipped out of the garment and hung it from a protruding stone in the mantel. “It's true that riding makes you sore in parts you didn't know you had,” she said, rubbing one exquisite flank and smiling.

James found he couldn't tear his eyes away from that moving hand. With her coat off, Kawena's boyish costume left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Her damp linen shirt clung to a pair of the loveliest breasts he'd ever seen. Her breeches outlined a lissome waist and beautifully curving hips. He wanted to push his hands through the tangle of her hair and restore the raven waterfall she'd exhibited the day they met. Of course, that would be improper. And wasn't he thoroughly sick of thinking about what was improper? It wasn't his job. Girls were supposed to think about that, weren't they? They were drilled in it, meant to remind a fellow to hold the line, rather than stand before him like some glorious sea goddess, ripe for the picking.

Kawena turned her head and looked at him. Her eyes were as dark as the ocean depths. James felt as if she could read his mind. But if she could, why wasn't she frowning at him; why wasn't she turning away? “I'll…I'll get more wood,” he blurted out. Smashing up more furniture would be very satisfying.

“I will help you.”

“No!” The idea had been to get away from her. “Stay here and get warm.”

“You shouldn't have to do all the work,” she insisted.

James gave up. “There's part of a table in the back room,” he said, pointing. “I'll check upstairs.”

There was nothing on the upper level, which was one large space open to the rafters, but James spent a bit of time exploring anyway. He peered out the small windows at the ends and examined the dim corners. He wouldn't return until he was back in control, he decided. Kawena could have no idea how enflaming she looked in her wet clothing. It wasn't her fault he was seething with desire. Well, it was her fault because she'd insisted on choosing that deuced horse and then gone careening off on him like an idiot. And now she was sitting there in front of the fire, oblivious to the effect she was having on him. He had to go back down. It was freezing up there.

The object of his confused emotions sat on the floor, arms around her raised knees, contemplating a blaze that had grown with the addition of several table legs. She had released the pins and braids from her hair, and it streamed down her back in a midnight-black cascade, just as he had wanted. He stumbled over nothing, flooded with the need to bury his fingers in its silken length.

“I wonder why no one lives here,” she said.

“I think they ran out of water,” James replied, his voice sounding thick in his ears. He sat down on the far side of the hearth. “I saw a well from upstairs, but it looked as if it had gone dry.”

“Why would it?” Firelight washed her face, adding even more of a glow to her complexion.

“Springs shift sometimes.”

“They must have been sad to leave such a place.”

James looked around. There was nothing outside the windows but crags and the surging sea. “Do you think so? It seems rather lonely to me. And it must be bleak here during winter storms.”

Kawena appeared to consider this. “Yes, I see. It is far from the town. What sort of house would you like to live in?”

“A neat little manor, I suppose.” He answered without thinking. Indeed, thinking was nearly impossible with her so near. The wet linen of her shirt was next to transparent. Her breasts seemed to point at him, call his fingers to caress—

“Like your brother's?”

“What?” James blinked, tore his eyes away. He mustn't stare at her breasts. He would look at the fire. Yes. Flames. Yellow, orange, a hiss of blue.

“A house like Lord Alan's?” she added.

James turned automatically. Kawena's shirt had sagged open at the top, revealing a delicate collarbone and a stretch of pale skin that inevitably led one's eye downward—

She was gazing at him, waiting for an answer. What was the question? “Larger than that,” James replied, looking hastily back at the fire.

“It seems quite large to me,” she said.