Miranda Jarrett - Regency High Society Vol 2 - Sparhawk's Lady / The Earl's Intended Wife / Lord Calthorpe's Promise / The Society Catch

“I’m going below to the cabin,” she told Jeremiah, and turned toward the companionway.

But Bertle had heard her, too, and he jerked around to face her. “Didn’t mean to scare you off, Mrs. Sparhawk,” he called, almost whining, as much an apology as he’d probably ever give. “Didn’t mean for you to take offense.”

She didn’t believe him. She’d seen his kind of contempt all too often. “I’m weary, Captain Bertle, and should like to rest.”

His glance darted nervously from her to Jeremiah, and he rubbed his hand across his mouth. “It would be a shame, Mrs. Sparhawk, for you to spend such a pretty afternoon tucked away below.”

She hesitated, looking up to Jeremiah for reassurance. His mouth was tight, the expression in his eyes so daunting that she knew if Bertle made one comment against her Jeremiah would tear him apart. She didn’t want that to happen, any more than she wanted to admit that the English captain had driven her away, and so, with some reluctance, she stayed.

Bertle had drawn his pipe from his pocket and he stood puffing away as he struggled to light it, his hands cupped to shield the spark from the wind and spray. “You ever been to Naples, Mrs. Sparhawk?” he said at last, the stem of the pipe clenched tight in the corner of his mouth. “Kind of a fairy-tale place, what with that crazy mountain shooting fire all the time. A volcano, they call it. Not that you’d ever find me living in a spot like that.”

She glanced at Jeremiah again, praying that she might be able to repair some of the damage she’d caused. “I’ve heard—that is, my husband has told me—that the city is a most pleasant place for English-speaking visitors. That is why he has brought me here.”

“It’s a most fine place for mischief, if you ask me.” Bertle drew on the pipe hard and stared purposefully down at the bowl, and as if by his command the sparks flared brighter, even in the sunlight. “Look at the sorry goings-on there! Do you think as fine a gentleman as our Lord Nelson would have gone astray like he did on English soil?”

He narrowed his eyes at her over the pipe, and she felt herself grow pale. She knew what was coming next, saw it like her own fate before her, and still she was unable to make herself leave before she heard it. God help her, somehow this wretched man knew everything!

“It was all that wicked, trollopy Lady Hamilton’s fault, that and the volcano. She just had to dance for him like she was back in the brothel, and poor Lord Nelson came arunning with his breeches already unbuttoned. Two marriages that woman’s broken, and for what?” Bertle nodded sagely and shifted his gaze to Jeremiah. “A trollopy woman and a volcano—nothing good will ever come of either one or t’other.”

And with a strangled little cry, Caro turned and ran.

“Caro!” Jeremiah called her name again as he rushed after her, but she didn’t stop, bunching her skirts in one hand so she could run down the steps of the companionway. A lifetime at sea gave him an agility she’d never have, and bracing himself on the rails, he dropped down the narrow companionway without touching a single step, to her side on the deck below. “Caro, wait!”

Still she plunged on, heedless, with her head down, ignoring him, until he grabbed her arm. Briefly she fought him, still trying to pull free. Then, abruptly, she turned to face him, yanking the bonnet with the trailing veil from her head.

“Why did you follow me?” she demanded, her eyes wild. “Aren’t you afraid that I’ll tempt and torture you, too, just like Lady Hamilton did?”

He pushed her gently back against the bulkhead, trapping her there with his body so she couldn’t run again. Sunlight filtered through the grating of the hatch overhead, a checkerboard across her face like another, coarser veil. “If you’ve tempted me, it has nothing to do with volcanoes, or the indiscretions of some lords and ladies.”

She stared at him and slowly shook her head, her smile incredulous. “You don’t know what he meant, do you? Because you’re American, you really don’t know?”

“I know that weaselly little bastard managed to insult us both.”

“It was more than that, Jeremiah. Much more.” With a sigh, she slid wearily down the bulkhead to sit on the deck, her knees drawn up and her bonnet in her hand.

He crouched down before her. “How much more can there be, sweetheart?”

“Oh, there’s more.” To avoid meeting his eyes, she concentrated on the bonnet in her hands, touching the curving brim now stained white with salt spray and faded by the sun, and drawing the sheer veiling out between her fingers. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard of Lady Hamilton’s… career, though Captain Bertle is the first who’s dared to say so to my face. Most others have preferred to whisper it behind their fans, taking care, of course, that their words were loud enough for me to hear.”

She stopped, her head bent over her knees. He waited patiently, leaving it to her to tell him as he silently damned all the cruel, worthless gossips who’d made her life miserable.

Carefully, she smoothed the veiling over her knees, her voice detached. “Lady Hamilton and I are much alike, you see. She too was born quite common, and improved herself in the eyes of the world by marrying an older nobleman, Sir William Hamilton, who was kind to her.”

“Whatever else you are, Caro,” said Jeremiah softly, taking her hand in his, stilling her chilly, restless fingers. “You’re most uncommon.”

“You say that only because you’re American.” Her smile was fleeting, bittersweet. “The Hamiltons’ marriage was scandal enough, no matter that Lady Hamilton devoted herself to Sir William and his position as the English ambassador. But then Admiral Lord Nelson sailed to Naples to save the king and queen from General Bonaparte, and he and Lady Hamilton fell in love.”

She wove her fingers into Jeremiah’s, searching for strength in his large, work-scarred hand. “They weren’t— aren’t—terribly discreet, for he keeps her now in a house outside of London. They can never marry, of course, for both of them are married to others, and some say Lord Nelson’s career with the navy is quite ruined because of her. Sir William is sick near to death with a broken heart, and she—she will never be received again by anyone.”

Jeremiah swore, his fingers tightening around hers. “I should have throttled Bertle for saying such things to you,” he said angrily. “I had no notion that was what he meant, else I never would have let it pass.”

Her eyes widened with alarm. “No, Jeremiah, you mustn’t! No matter what Captain Bertle has said, he is still the master, and if you strike him the others will be on you in a moment. Let it go, I beg you. We’ll be in Naples tomorrow, and I would not have you suffer on my account.”

“After what he’s called you—”

“No, Jeremiah, it means nothing,” she said quickly, though the pain in her face said otherwise. “What worries me more is that somehow Captain Bertle has guessed who I am, or he wouldn’t say the things he has.”

“But you’re blameless, Caro!” The unfairness of it infuriated him. “You’ve done nothing to be faulted for!”

“Haven’t I?” She loved her husband, but she’d fallen in love with another man, and too late she’d learned the difference. Wasn’t that sin enough?

She reached out one finger to trace the firm curve of his upper lip, and her eyes filled with tears of sorrow and longing. What would her life have been if she’d met him years ago, if somehow fate had sent her Jeremiah Sparhawk in place of Frederick Moncrief?

“My poor Caro,” he whispered against her fingertips, kissing them lightly. “My poor, darling Caro.”