Marguerite Kaye - Date with a Regency Rake

The urge to tell the truth passed fleetingly across her mind, followed quickly by the urge to admit that she would be delighted to pay with her body. Both urges were suppressed. There could be no question of it, and she would deal with denying him later. But the lie that her tremulous agreement required sat heavy on her conscience.

Kit noticed, but ignored it. Time was against them. Checking his pocket watch, he rang the bell and demanded the bill. Clarissa, clad once more in her less than adequate spencer and gloves, was ushered out through the passageway and into a closed carriage. A hot brick was placed at her feet, and a fur rug tucked around her legs.

‘I will ride alongside. There are not usually highwaymen on this stretch of road, but I prefer not to take the chance. Try to sleep for a while, we have a journey of some hours ahead of us.’

‘Kit?’

‘Yes?’ The terse voice was intimidating. He was impatient to be off.

‘I trust you.’

‘What am I to take from that?’

‘To keep me safe. To share the experience with me—properly, I mean, don’t just bury me below decks. To leave me unmolested for the while. I trust you.’

‘Then you are a fool. Rakes, my purported innocent, are never to be trusted. But I will allow you to be right, just this once. You may trust me thus far. But no more.’

‘Yes, but you will keep me safe. For now.’

Leaning back into the warmth of the carriage, Clarissa was unaware of the anger she had aroused in Kit. And confusion. The urge to tell her he would keep her safe always had been unaccountably strong. Once more, Kit’s instincts warred with his mind, as he told himself she was merely a very clever actress playing him like a professional. ‘For now’, however, was the only reply he vouchsafed.

The door of the chaise was banged shut. The ostlers let go of the horses, and the carriage leapt forward into the dark of the falling night, the tall man astride his powerful black stallion riding alongside. Clarissa was left to her own reflections, but the long day and her lack of sleep the previous night took their toll. Exhausted, the gentle rocking motion of the carriage soothed her and, to her surprise, Clarissa drifted into a sound sleep.

The carriage was stationary when she woke, and she could smell the salty tang of the sea air. Rubbing her eyes and casting off the rug, she descended to a scene of ordered but frenetic activity. They were at a small quayside. The boathouse, doors open and an oil lamp blazing inside, was waiting to shelter their carriage. There was a stable at the back for the horses, but no other sign of buildings, and the track they had come ran through deserted marshland.

On the quay she could see Kit, wrapped in an enormous black greatcoat, barking out orders to two men, one on the deck of the sleek yacht, and one beside him on the jetty. It was a cloudless night, and the stars were bright, much brighter than they ever were in London, where lights dimmed them to a soft glow. Here in the middle of nowhere they glared like so many burning braziers lighting up the heavens.

Shivering in the cold wind, Clarissa picked her way carefully down the jetty, avoiding the coils of rope and boxes of supplies stacked ready to be taken on board. Calling out a final instruction to the man on deck, Kit came towards her smiling, his eyes shining with anticipation as he trod with cat-like grace on the boards. He was obviously in his element here.

‘Take care not to trip on those nets. When we’re not out on these night runs, John and I—that’s my captain, on the deck there—take the Sea Wolf out on fishing expeditions. You’d be surprised at what we catch. And, of course, fishing provides an excellent cover, should we meet a customs cutter. Are you rested?’

Shivering now, for the cold was biting, Clarrie looked up into Kit’s face, her own eyes reflecting his gleaming anticipation. ‘Yes, thank you, I slept almost the whole journey. Please, will you show me around? And tell me everything? I want to make the most of this trip, for it’s unlikely I’ll ever get the chance of another. Tell me about your yacht.’

Laying a small gloved hand on his arm and making to urge him forward, she was treated to one of Kit’s rare, genuine smiles. ‘Very well. But wait here for a moment. You are ill equipped for the cold; I have a cloak in the boat house.’ Returning quickly, he fastened the enveloping wool around her throat. ‘There, that should keep out the chill, although you must take great care not to trip on it, especially when we’re on board. I would hate to lose you to the sea!’

Laughing as the wind whipped her hair from under her bonnet, she snuggled the soft folds around her and turned back towards the gangway. ‘Since I can’t swim I would be lost indeed, and you would lose out on your payment. Even I am not such a prize as to risk a wetting in a rescue attempt.’

‘I’m beginning to think that you’re more of a prize than I realised. But rest assured I wouldn’t get wet myself. I would send John in. Or more likely I’d pull you back with the boat hook I use to haul less alluring catch on board.’

‘Well, I’m flattered indeed to be held more attractive than a fish, my lord,’ Clarrie said with a grin, but her words were lost in the sudden gust of wind that swept in from the sea.

‘Tide’s on the turn, Master Kit,’ John said, ‘we’d best be going.’

The Sea Wolf , riding high against the jetty, was straining at the ropes that held her. The constraining hawsers creaked. John was looking anxiously at Kit, keen to be away. He had a bad feeling about this trip, and it wasn’t just because of the close call with customs a few weeks ago. Someone was informing on them, he knew that. Bringing a woman on board, obviously one of Master Kit’s flighty pieces, was a new departure, and one he could well have done without. He didn’t hold with women on board unless absolutely necessary. They got in the way, to say nothing of bringing bad luck.

Standing at the foot of the gangway, Clarissa was shaken by a sudden attack of nerves, unable to move, one hand on the rail, but both feet still firmly on shore. Boarding this ship was madness. What was she thinking? The wind ripped across the bay, making the yacht pull, anxious to get away now that the anchor was up. The riggings creaked and moaned, and the gangway shifted, to Clarissa’s eyes, treacherously.

‘Last-minute qualms, brave Clarissa?’ Kit’s words were mocking.

The taunt was sufficient to urge her to action. With a defiant toss of her head and a silent prayer, Clarissa put first one foot, then the other on to the slippery walkway, and boarded the Sea Wolf . Feeling none too steady, for the deck rocked and swayed even though they were still berthed, she stood still for a moment, trying to find her balance. Aside from a curt nod, Captain John ignored her, making his resentment at her presence clear.

Carefully clutching the cloak around her, and taking care to avoid the plethora of ropes, boxes, and goodness knows what else that made the deck an obstacle course, Clarrie found her way to stand by Kit at the wheel. A distracted smile was all she received, for they were in the process of putting to sea. John was casting off, making the ropes safe, loosing the sails, and in an instant the yacht responded to her freedom and leapt towards the open sea, riding the waves effortlessly.

As they left the cove behind, tacking to catch the wind, the waves rose higher, the spray soaking their faces, the Sea Wolf tilting up, then down, in a rhythmic, lulling motion that filled Clarrie with a wild joy. Lifting her face to the wind, she looked up at the stars with a strange, exhilarated expression on her face. This was what freedom must feel like. Freedom from all the trammels of her mundane life. Freedom from her mama, from Amelia, even from her staid Aunt Constance. Freedom from her past and her depressing future. There was only here and now. This man. This open sea. These stars.