HerOutlandishStranger (15 page)

Chapter Twelve

They trudged over the hills into Lisbon with no trouble,
attracting only the attention of a few British and Portuguese riflemen standing
on the hillside defending the city, although it looked very much like most of
their attention was directed toward some sort of game playing with dice. When
Eliza called out a cheery, “Good morning” to the group, the men stared at her,
but waved them on. A dark-haired one came strolling over to greet them. She
examined him. No of course he wasn’t the man from the cave. But she pressed
close to Jas and shuddered. He looked down at her with a curious frown.

As they made their way through the city, Eliza watched Jas’
face as he gaped at the elaborate houses with their wrought-iron balconies
perched on narrow streets.

“Never seen anything like this before,” he muttered.

“Hmm,” she said and wondered what cities he had visited. She
thought of asking, but she was not in the mood for his evasive answers.

Jazz managed to book passage for them less than an hour
after they made their way down to the
Doca de Alcântara
.

“I shudder to imagine how much you paid to get such a quick
response,” Eliza whispered.

“Not as much as I’d expected. Bribes and fares are low these
days.”

At the dock, an official snapped out a demand to see
documentation.

“A sec,” Jazz said to Eliza. She looked at him, bewildered.

“Please wait here for one moment,” he explained and guided
her to a low stone wall. “You can admire the view for a few minutes.”

He started to walk off when a pair of ragged sailors
strolling by stopped and ogled Eliza. She ignored their suggestions and,
sighing, wrapped her shawl around herself. During her travels with her father
she had run into men such as these.

Jazz growled and narrowed his eyes at the ragged men. Eliza
hid her smile when she saw him put a menacing hand on the pommel of his sword.

His stance reminded her again of the portrait of the French
musketeer. Really, how had she managed to lead life without her own guard?

The two men swept her a tipsy bow then lurched on.

“You good?” Jazz asked.

“Fine. I shan’t budge from this spot,” she reassured him,
and twisted away to grin and look out over the water.

Jazz trotted around the corner of the shed, giving a pile of
rotting fish guts a wide berth. The smells of the fish and a bucket of nearby
tar mixed with the dirty harbor’s stench. How could the natives stand it? He
pulled a few sheets of folded grimy, blank paper from his bag.

He’d frequently used this system at home, so it really would
only take seconds. He pulled the CR out of his pocket and for a moment looked
down at it with chagrin, remembering how he’d told Liza he got his information
from the CR.

What a dim-bonk he’d been with her lately. He’d spent so
much time with her and had opened too far. He’d forgotten there were any closed
subjects left. There were plenty of facts he could not touch, he reminded
himself. The old refrains sang through his head. Do your mission and nothing
more. For the sake of civilization. Wouldn’t do to have civilization fall apart
just because some idiot agent fell in love, would it now?

He quickly found the copies he needed in the archives and
made a few changes. With a reasonably steady hand, he pulled the CR across the
blank paper, its beam made a duplication from the archive. The handheld copy
method was a bit wobbly—not as good as the ones made with better equipment,
which would be impossible to distinguish from the original. But these would do
the job. He made one set of papers for himself and another for Eliza. Mr. and
Mrs. Peasnettle, he decided, had an absurd ring that would amuse Liza.

“How did you come by these?” she asked, folding her new
papers as they moved past the waving guard to the dock. “I know you are
resourceful, yet sometimes I feel you must be a wizard.”

He grinned. “Strictly white magic, Liza.”

She seemed ready to ask more questions so he pointed to the
man with a smoking bowl on the end of a stick, which was thrust in his mouth.

Jazz’d seen a few of these weird things in Spain. “What is
that man doing?” he asked her in a low voice.

He immediately knew that he’d once again shown the side of
the ignorant stranger.

Yeah, he was stupid to display his vast ignorance, but all
the same, he enjoyed watching her delicate eyebrows fly up in amazement. Her
training as a polite and tactful young lady and her avid curiosity clashed when
he said or did something odd. He could see the whole enchanting battle on her
face now.

“He is smoking a pipe, Mr. White.” Her mouth twitched and
she began to laugh. The tactful lady lost the battle for she blurted, “I cannot
believe you do not know what a pipe is.”

“You call me strange,” he retorted. “Why would anyone want
to breathe noxious fumes?”

“I do not understand either. Pipes and cheroots are a male
habit. My father enjoyed snuff.” Her smile disappeared; he supposed because she
thought of her father. “He swore it gave him a sense of calm. When he allowed
me to sample some, I sneezed so often and violently I thought my poor nose
would fall off.”

She shook her head again. “But truly, Jas, I don’t know how
you could not know that.”

“I’ve led a sheltered life.” He firmly led her toward the
docks. That proved to be a distraction. She uneasily eyed the creaking ship.

“Ah. Did I tell you that I was very seasick on the journey
to Spain?”

He fought the urge to curse. “And you weren’t carrying a
babe then. Thank you for the warning.”

“My goodness.” She gave an uncertain laugh. “I believe you
have seen me be sick even more than my old nurse did. Oh, I am sorry I shall
once again be a burden to you. If only there was some way—”

“We will both be fine, Eliza. I’ll make sure of that. Don’t
worry.” No point in fretting if he was the type to be seasick too. If she
needed help, he’d give it even if he was on the edge of death.

* * * * *

The sail to Coruna was a pleasant surprise. Eliza stood on
the deck and breathed in the thick salt air. Despite the steady breeze, the
boat plowed though a gentle ocean.

She beamed at Jas. “Wonderful.”

He leaned against the deck rail. The color of the sea looked
dull in contrast to the blue of his eyes. The breeze stirred his impossibly
fair hair.

“Yes, it is,” he said solemnly. “Your cheeks are pink, your
eyes are sparkling. You look like a-a mer-whatsit. Mermaid.”

“Are you flirting with me, Mr. White?”

The corners of his mouth turned up in a slow grin. “A bit, I
suppose.”

She laughed. “You are not certain? We are both sadly out of
practice.”

“Huh. So flirting is something you have to practice? Like
music?”

A lock of her hair had gotten loose from the braid she had
pinned to the back of her head. She twisted it around her fingers coyly. “Of
course, sir.”

“And you learned during your Season in London?”

She tensed at that falsely casual tone. He wanted to know
more of that dreadful time.

He must have sensed her discomfort, for his own smile
vanished. He pushed away from the railing and walked to her side. His fingers
reached out and he tucked the lock of hair behind her ear.

“Tell me the rest of it,” he coaxed.

“The rest of what?” She stalled.

“Tell me why you look haunted when I mention your country.
Did you agree to marry the Brian jerk?”

“No, I didn’t. I could not bring myself to say yes to him
once I knew I was not going to have a baby.”

“Good.”

“No. That is not what most people believe. My poor uncle
almost had an apoplectic fit. My aunt called me a selfish minx, and though that
is perhaps the truth, I could not be swayed to change my decision. I thought
that it was only a matter that affected my life, I did not…” Her voice faded
for a moment then she said, “I did not know how much I had hurt other people. I
implored my Papa to not disrupt his plans to go to Spain, even though the worst
came to pass.”

His brow furrowed. “What could the worst be? Other than
marrying the rotten Brian?”

“Word leaked out—I daresay Brian had a hand in that—and my
reputation was ruined.”

“So that was the end of it?” Jazz asked.

Eliza made a strangled noise then bowed her head. She walked
down the deck away from him. He followed and made a small sound of
encouragement.

After a moment Eliza continued. “That was not the end of it.
My poor sister, poor Jane. Her suitor could not stand the chagrin of being
associated with a tainted family. I am certain her fiancé persuaded her to
break off their engagement. As a gentleman he couldn’t cry off, of course, but
he applied such pressure to her she released him.”

“You’re flipping joshing me,” Jazz said.

“I assume your words signify that I exaggerate? I wish I
were lying. No, I brought my sister’s good name down with mine into the muck. I
do not know what went on between Jane and her young man, because she would not
confide in me. She never forgave me, you see. She didn’t have a chance.” Eliza
seemed to have trouble keeping her voice steady. “My father tried very hard to
persuade Jane to go back to London and face her suitor.”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t she talk to the idiot?” Jazz
blurted without thinking. He’d probably slipped about some sort of primitive
rule of society manners. He’d already figured out her cultures didn’t think
much of their females.

But she didn’t sound shocked, only sad, as she answered.
“Pride. And shame. My uncle said it was impossible for me to show my disgraced
face in London unless I agreed to marry Brian, but Jane could go to the city. I
was so sure Jane could ride out the gossip. But she would not heed my father
and I did not even try to talk to her, for I knew she would not listen to me.”

She twisted to look out to sea. “Forgive me. I haven’t
spoken of this before.”

Jazz leaned over and touched her cheeks with one of the
small cloths she carried in her sleeve. He silently handed it to her. She gave
him a small, forced smile, took a shuddering breath, and went on.

“Jane refused to leave Sussex or even return to our old home
because she was afraid that everyone in our old village would have heard the
story. She did not want to risk our neighbors’ ridicule or worse, their pity.
And so…when I was taken ill from the influenza I probably contracted at the
inn, she and Papa were there with me. Jane would not forgive me, but she
insisted on nursing me. And she contracted the illness.

“I survived. But she was dead within a fortnight. When I was
well enough to care for her, to talk with her and beg her forgiveness, she was
gone.

“Papa. We were devastated. But Papa never, never blamed me.
He said—” She stopped suddenly and her brown eyes searched his face. “He said
that I was the victim of a cowardly man who used women. You said something much
like that in Spain. La, just imagine. I have heard nearly the same words of
comfort from the two men I’ve loved best.” She spoke lightly, but the word love
rang like a bell.

Jazz put his hands on her shoulders and met her gaze. He
must answer. “Never, never blame yourself, Eliza,” he said in a low, thick
voice. “You are far better than the two men who took advantage of you.” He
pulled her against him and murmured her name. He did not dare say anything
else.

* * * * *

The ship bound from Coruna to Southampton reeked of fish.
They set sail into a rising storm.

Eliza was sick almost before they weighed anchor. She was
sick until she wondered how her insides managed to stay inside her. Jas held
the basin and insisted she sip water. “If only to give you something to bring
up,” he told her cheerfully. He seemed unscathed by the lurching ship or,
surprisingly, the scents that filled the tiny cabin.

She turned away from him. “How can you jest with me?” she
moaned.

He smoothed a damp strand of hair from her cheek. “I wasn’t
giving you guff. Mag gave me one of her potions that has a bit of ginger. Turns
out not to be a great antiemetic for you, poor girl, but it’ll keep some fluids
in you, eh? You won’t get dehydrated on my watch. We’re trapped on the water
for too long. What I wouldn’t give for some real meds.”

She didn’t have the energy to ask him to translate his
nonsense.

When they at last landed in England, Eliza eyed the gangway.

Jas’ voice at her shoulder announced, “No, not worth the
risk.”

“I am not such a fainthearted ninny. I can walk—”

He interrupted by sweeping her into his arms. “I don’t want
to have to fish you out after you topple off the gangway.”

Occasionally on their long trek, Eliza had fantasized about
the moment she again stepped foot in England. Despite sad memories, she loved
her native land. But the long bout of sickness caused her spirit to falter. And
after the sunny warmth of Portugal, a gray, chilled typical English day seemed
a sad welcome to her. She buried her head in Jas’ shoulder and tried to draw
some comfort from his sturdy body and familiar scent as he carried her ashore.

He unceremoniously sat her down on top of a barrel by the quay.
Then he pulled out a flask he’d bought in Lisbon to replace their primitive
skins of water. From another pocket he produced one of the small squares. She
made a terrible face. “I thought those dreadful squares were gone.”

“I saved two. In case of starvation. C’mon now, Liza, you
only have to nibble it. Tiny bites.”

Just to stop him waving the disgusting thing in her face,
she took it from his hand. The first contact with her lips almost gagged her,
but after she managed to swallow an infinitesimal amount, she found it easier
to face the wretched square. By the time she’d slowly eaten her way through it,
and sipped at the water, the ground had stopped shifting beneath her. She was
tired and had the headache, but seasickness was just a memory.