Deverell's Obsession: A Risqué Regency Romance (15 page)

Chapter Sixteen

In fact, the journey was not as arduous as Dev had expected. Although cloudy, the weather stayed dry for most of the time, sprinkling now and again but never developing into much of anything in the way of true rain.

For which Dev was grateful. He paid attention to such things and would have called a halt if the conditions had been miserable. His coachman and the footman who accompanied them did not deserve such punishment.

But their luck held and with only two changes of horses, they reached their destination.

He hoped Léonie had found the trip enjoyable, since they had both napped for a while, she leaning into his arms, he with his head leaning back against a cushion in the corner of the carriage.

Sleeping thus for an hour or so definitely restored their temperaments and the rest of the journey passed in a variety of discussions on some wide-ranging topics.

Dev was continually amazed by the depth of Léonie’s political perception and found himself challenged to debate by some of her opinions. His brain sparked to life when in such situations and it was a lively exchange of opinions.

After politics, they turned to books, learning that each had a fascination for Shakespeare, Léonie enjoyed Byron and Dev confessed his appreciation of the newest sensation, Miss Jane Austen.

And so the time passed, more quickly than he realized.

As the bustle of the hotel surrounded them, and he watched his fiancée put on what he was coming to call her “society” face, he wondered if it had been a fluke, or if the rest of his life would be spent enjoying her company the way he’d done today.

But the business of settling in and seeing to Léonie’s comfort took precedence over any deep contemplation. It wasn’t too long before they were separated and shown to their suites; they would dine in those rooms and not meet again until the next morning.

Léonie wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement, but understood the necessity of maintaining a proper appearance. Dev had told her that they could breakfast together in the hotel dining room at the manager’s reserved table since it was daylight and the room would be busy, thus adding another layer to the façade of propriety.

She’d wrinkled her nose at that word, but complied, bidding him good night with a look of resignation.

Satisfied that she was in the capable hands of the Dolphin Hotel’s superior staff, Dev left his bag in his room and then returned downstairs. He had to meet a friend and arrange transportation for tomorrow.

Ale would doubtless be involved, which was why he felt more comfortable attending this meeting by himself.

It was a short walk from the hotel down past the Bargate and into a side street where the Rusty Anchor inn was located. Night had fallen and with it a light fog smelling of salt water and all the trappings of a busy port.

He was thankful for the bright lights shining out from the inn as he opened the door onto warmth, noise and a different smell—pipe smoke and rich ale. Along with wet wool and sweat.

Yes, this was an honest-to-God seafaring inn. And there, waving to him from a corner table, was his old friend Crispin, as grizzled and wrinkled as the last time they’d met.

“Evening, Cap’n.” Dev walked over with a grin. “Fair winds tonight?”

The old man rolled his eyes. “Ye’ll never make a sailor, lad. Might as well stop tryin’ and buy me a drink instead.”

That was easily accomplished and within moments Dev was sitting not too far from a roaring fire, and enjoying a mug of the fine local ale.

“So ye be changin’ yer mind about buyin’ a boat then?”

Dev recalled his last trip to Southampton. He’d turned down the boat he’d looked at and tumbled into a great adventure with Charles Fontaine and his future wife. He sighed.

“No. I’m not cut out to be a seafaring man, as you so correctly pointed out. But I do need a boat. Someone to take me over to the Isle of Wight tomorrow.”

“Easy trip.” Captain Crispin took a swig of ale. “There’s many as would get ye there in a couple hours. Less if the wind’s right.” He looked at Dev, his gaze shrewd. “But ye know all this. Ye know there’s even a big ferry that runs that trip once a day. Ye’re a smart lad even if yer ain’t a sailor. So what is it that yer want?”

Dev grinned. “You know, if you were in politics the world would run more smoothly, I swear. You’re a sharp old tack who misses nothing.” He shrugged. “I need someone trustworthy who will manage to forget the two passengers he took on this trip. Someone who knows the island and the waters around it and won’t mind staying there overnight so that he can get us back here the next day.”

“Ahhh.”

“Would you do it?”

The old man produced a small pouch of tobacco and a pipe, and focused his attention on putting them together. Then he lit the bowl and puffed away. At last he looked at Dev. “I could, but what yer wantin’ is someone who’ll not be noticed much.”

“Yes.” Dev nodded. “Exactly.”

“I got me a pretty solid reputation, both here and in Cowes. I’d be hailed walkin’ down Castle street by ten o’my friends.”

“You owe money to that many people?” Dev inquired without a blink.

“Watch it, lad. I can still beat the livin’ daylights out o’yer if I choose to.”

“I’m sure you can. My apologies. But I get your point. You’re well known. And yes, you’re quite right. We need someone who can slip us in, probably somewhere near West Cowes if we have to go overland. We need to get out to the Needles and Scratchell’s Bay, and would love to do it in the same trip if we could.”

Crispin frowned. “Now fer that yer gonna need a good sailor, not just a ride. There’s many’ll do it there in Cowes, but it’ll be talked about. Bit of a rough ride, like. And the shoreline’s none too fussy about who it’ll sink jes’ for fun.”

“Fuck.” Dev swore. He’d not taken into account this particular aspect of the trip.

“Yer up to somethin’ against the law, lad?”

“Good God no, nothing like that.” Dev finished his ale. “I simply wish to keep our presence there as quiet as possible. We have to be at Scratchell’s Bay at sunset tomorrow. After that, we’re done.”

“We?” A white eyebrow rose in question.

Dev looked at the old man. He’d known him for years and nearly bought a boat off him last winter. He trusted him implicitly, but still he hesitated. He ordered them two more mugs of ale and finally reached a decision.

“To your health, Crispin. I’m going to tell you a story.” He lifted his mug and bumped it into the old man’s drink. “So sit back and pay attention. And if a word of this gets out before we’re gone, I will belay you with a gunnel.”

The Captain winced. “Nay lad. I’m silent as the grave. Or I will be as soon as yer stop murderin’ the maritime language.”

So Dev spent the next hour buying ales and telling the story of Léonie and her predicament to a grizzled old sailor in a cozy inn. By the time he was done, both men were grinning at each other, sharing the delightful feeling of one too many, but not enough to completely lay them flat on their faces.

“I’ll take care o’ye, lad.” Crispin attempted a brisk nod and had to grab the edge of the table. “Be at the Shady Wharf, ‘bout a mile from the Royal Pier. Noon tomorrer.”

“You know someone then?”

“Aye.” Crispin managed a more effective nod without falling off his chair. “The boat’s called The Whisper. Blue, she is. Can’t miss ‘er. She’ll take yer and yer lass, and bring yer both home safe.”

Dev held out his hand across the table. “I’m going to have a helluva headache in the morning, Crispin, but right now you’re looking more like an angel than any man has a right to.”

Crispin shook his hand. “Yer babblin’ lad. Get yerself back to the Dolphin. Check on that gal o’yours. And good luck to yer both.” He lifted his tankard and drained it.

Then he rested his head on his arms…and fell asleep.

“Right then.” Dev heaved himself up and staggered to the door, wondering if he would make it home without disgracing himself by losing his ale into a gutter.

But the weather lent a hand…the cold salty fog was akin to a slap in the face with a wet towel to a not-quite-drunk man, and he found his way back to the hotel without incident.

He was more than a little disgusted with himself in the morning however, since he apparently had developed a gift for prophecy.

He had one
hell
of a headache.

Léonie was going to be merciless if she found out. And she would find out because she was too observant for her own good. He sighed. Time to surrender, take a powder like an ancient dowager, and put on his best face.

After all, today was a big step in their efforts to solve this mystery. And the Isle of Wight awaited.

*~~*~~*

There was a pretty view of the ocean over the rooftops and the front area of the hotel from Léonie’s room, and the next morning, while waiting for Dev, she sat in the convenient chair and watched the comings and goings.

Coaches bustled back and forth, the clopping of the horses’ hooves a nice accompaniment to the muted chatter of the guests. Many chose to embark on a walk, since rain looked less likely today.

One figure caught her eye. A tall woman, elegant, but dressed modestly. Something about the turn of her head perhaps, or the gesture of a hand.

Léonie frowned, trying to place a memory. She couldn’t see the woman’s face, since the brim of her bonnet was pulled low. She walked alone down the hotel drive to the main street, a firm stride with purpose.

Then it clicked.
The woman from the ball
. Lady Jean something or other. Could it be?

She laughed at herself. No. It couldn’t possibly be her. That was ridiculous. Her heartbeat quickened as there was a knock at the door.

“I thought you were never coming.” Léonie stared at Dev. “It must be past ten o’clock already, for goodness sake.”

Dev winced. “It was a late night. I had to arrange for transportation, you know.” He took her arm as they walked down the hotel corridor. “Not easy at a moments’ notice.”

“You said you had contacts here,” she frowned. “Could you not reach them?”

“Oh I reached them, all right.” He led her to the restaurant. “Let’s have a little breakfast and I’ll tell you about Captain Crispin.”

She headed for a table by the window where a little sunshine was working its way through the clouds.

“Not there. The reserved one.” Dev steered her to a table further inside the room, and seated her without another word.

She looked at him across the table. “You are not quite yourself this morning, are you.” It was a statement rather than a question. “A wee bit too much
arranging
, might I guess? Still a trifle disguised, are we?”

His look spoke volumes.

She leaned back and managed to suppress a chuckle.

They ordered simple fare, neither inclined to fill up on food at this hour, although both aware that it was going to be a challenging day.

“Shall we be able to get a cup of tea when we get to the island?”

Dev nodded. Carefully, she noted. “I hope so. But then again, we have to be in Scratchell’s Bay at sunset. I’m not sure what time that is, but I hope our sailor will be able to tell us.”

Léonie remained silent after that, letting Dev get his thoughts together, and indulging in her own. She was a good sailor, she knew, since her life had included more than a few sea voyages, several of which were stormy. She’d been glad to find she had what her father had called “stout sea legs”. It meant she didn’t feel the need to empty her stomach over the railing as so many other passengers did when the seas were rough.

So that was one worry out of the way. However, she had others. Was this sailor trustworthy? If they found something at sunset, the stars her father had spoken of in his clue—was it a treasure? And if so, would they be pushed overboard so that whatever the loot might be would end up with their boatman rather than themselves?

It was all very worrying and she could not really reassure herself, since she would bear the scars of a vicious attack for the rest of her life. She now knew that such things could indeed happen to her.

It was unsettling, to say the least.

“Stop fretting.” Dev put down his teacup with a sigh. “All is well in hand. I trust Crispin; known the man for many years. He was the first to take me out on a boat and he taught me everything I know about sailing.”

“Which is…”

“The pointed end is the front and you get a bucket of water thrown over you if you call it anything but the bow. Likewise the stern.”

“I’ll make a note.” She grinned. “I see your maritime expertise is undeniable.”

“Have I mentioned you can be quite droll in the mornings?” His lifted eyebrow robbed his comment of any complimentary intentions.

“And you are quite charming in the mornings, Mr. Deverell. Even with a hangover.”

“I do not…” Dev subsided. “Damn.” He put both hands to his forehead and rubbed it. “It’s getting better. Please don’t mention it again. I’m embarrassed.”

“Understood.” She folded her napkin and stood. “Let’s be on our way then, shall we? I’m sure some fresh air and a good walk will do you good.”