His Secret Heroine (15 page)

The pair of brown brows rose high, waiting. Castlebury folded his arms over his chest.

"Let's just say I have committed myself to an occupation some would consider less than
gentlemanly, but which has the potential of providing me with independence from my parent."

"The devil, you say. And what might that be? Would it have anything to do with your mysterious and lengthy disappearances, and possibly those smudges you never quite get off your hands?"

The harder Reggie tied to keep the heat from invading his face, the hotter he got. "All right, but you must not tell anyone. I wrote a book and sold it. Signed the contract this morning."

"Devil a bit, Reggie! Something terribly risque, I hope!"

"Seafaring story. I've got to get it into print before my father discovers it. Then it will be too late for him to stop it. And if I am fortunate, I shall eventually have a modest income my father cannot touch."

"And can marry whom you please."

Reggie nodded. "Do not mistake me, Castlebury. I am resolved I shall not marry Portia under any circumstances. If I never see a farthing of my inheritance, and if it causes a complete break from my father, I will not. But it remains to be seen if I can persuade Miss Englefield to marry me. She will not sacrifice the well-being of her sisters for me. Nor would I wish it. And if she does not, then I have grave concerns that Vilheurs will win her hand. I cannot allow her to make such a mistake."

"Surely not. Is she so desperate?"

"I suspect she is. You know Cottingham. Would you want any child left in his care? Let alone twins barely above childhood?"

"So what do you want me to do? I am not at all set to spring the parson's mousetrap, and would find it particularly odious to marry a lady so enamored with my close friend."

"Don't marry her. Just keep her occupied. Too busy for Vilheurs to get his hooks into her. He is too determined."

"He cannot know of her lack of fortune, then, else he would lose interest entirely."

"Nor can we let it be known. It would humiliate her and ruin any chance she might have to make an amiable marriage."

"Then you mean to give her up so easily?"

"Not at all. Of course, if she should find someone she desires to marry, I would not stand in her way. But I shall not stand aside for anything less."

"What will you do, then?"

"I will find a way. I have promised it to myself."

Castlebury's eyes roamed over the marshy shoreline on the far side of the Thames as if he found them of immense fascination. "A dicey proposition. A man could find himself leg-shackled from a single false move."

"You're up to the challenge. You have been successfully side-stepping maidenly swoons for some time."

"Beauhampton, you are asking a great deal."

Reggie nodded. But at least if anything went awry, Chloe would be in good hands.

"When is the race?"

"Thursday. Tilbury to Sheerness."

"I believe I shall organize a party to drive down to
Sheerness. I'll wager we arrive before you. Bibury's uncle has a property down that way, I believe. Perhaps a picnic at seaside, and a side trip to the estate."

"We shall be at the dock waiting for you. Mind you, no racing, with the ladies along."

Castlebury's lips twitched as if tempted to make a smile. But that would have been beneath his dignity.

Chapter Ten

"She's dragging her arse, sir," said Russell.

Reggie knew that, and he also knew he didn't have twenty quid to lose. But from the moment the tugs had pulled them into the
Thames' main channel to Tilbury, he had felt something wrong, and he couldn't puzzle out what it was.

The
Xanthe
lay about, poised, sails ready to drop at the signal. The wind was strong and gusty, favoring the more skilled sailor. But luck could play a part, depending upon who caught the right wind.

"She acts like her hull is covered with barnacles," Reggie replied, frowning. He searched the larboard side, but everything there looked sound. He crossed the deck and checked out the starboard side, not even knowing what he ought to find, but saw nothing.

He checked his watch. "Almost time. To your posts, lads."

"Aye, sir," said Russell with a worried frown.

Reggie climbed the ladder to the poopdeck to take his position by MacDevie.

From ashore at
Tilbury, the crack of a pistol split the air. The
Xanthe
's crew hoisted the triangular sails, and they billowed in the stiff wind. Reggie had picked this very spot to catch the wind he wanted.

The
Xanthe
hardly moved. The canvas strained, but she was almost dead in the water. Dismayed crew watched as the
Argonaut
lurched ahead. It was almost like something had them tied to the riverbed.

"Devil a bit!" Reggie shouted, dashing to stern. "Where the devil is it?"

"Sir?" called MacDevie, still at the wheel.

"We've been spiked! Where the devil is it?"

"Get me a cutlass and a line." It had to be below the waterline. He squinted down at the dark water and saw an odd linear shadow. "There!"

Russell dashed up and
secured a line barely before Reggie swung himself over the stern and shinnied down the thick hemp, balancing his feet against the wooden sides. Not until he was almost upon it could he see a spike driven into the planks just below waterline. Beneath it trailed a taut rope. Whatever it was they were dragging, it was big and heavy.

He planted both feet against the planks of the stern, leaned out, and swung the razor-sharp cutlass, hacking at the water and the rope beneath it, cursing to himself at the resistance of the water that weakened his strokes. The third blow cut it loose. The
Xanthe
pitched forward so suddenly, Reggie lost his footing and dangled from the line, swinging and thumping against the planks. The cutlass dropped into the river. As the boat steadied to its newly found speed, Reggie climbed like a rat in the rigging, and pulled himself back aboard.

Now she was moving. But the
Argonaut
had a good lead. She'd be hard to catch before Gravesend.

MacDevie's low, calm voice called out orders as if nothing untoward had occurred. The crew dropped the
square topsail, then raised stun sails on either side of the topsail. The yards shifted and they ran before the wind. A full sail day-the best of all possible worlds. The
Xanthe
still had a chance, for she had more sail power and could outmaneuver the competition.

"Warrenton?" MacDevie asked, not bothering to look at Reggie.

Reggie shook his head. "He loves to race too much. It's no contest to run a race against a crippled ship."

"Who, then?"

He'd probably never know. "Maybe someone with a healthy wager on the
Argonaut.
"

Across the river on the south, a line of carriages sprang to action, away from the river to follow the main road between
Gravesend to Sheerness. Reggie scanned over the lot of them until he spotted Castlebury's distinct blue and gold. With him, two women, unless he missed his guess, Chloe and her aunt. Castlebury would probably lessen his risk for their sakes, but he'd go for speed on the less traveled route.

The carriages would race the
boats all the way to Sheerness, no matter what Reggie had asked, a good race in and of itself, for while Reggie couldn't sail faster than good teams could run, his wind wouldn't tire. The vessels were forced to follow the river's winding course, but the carriages had to tackle rough and winding roads. But he knew Castlebury, who would have taken the trouble to have his own pairs stationed at the hostelries along the route, and his own men to make the changes, to assure himself of the best fresh horseflesh.

Straight down the channel and around the bend, the
Xanthe
sailed with masts and booms creaking, rigging snapping and humming. Adjusting to the larboard turn, they slowed and the sails rippled, lacking the full force of the wind with the sails canted. But the
Argonaut
slowed too.

Reggie's task was partly to keep track of the competition, and he watched as the
Argonaut
sought her favorite channel, safe, but crowded. The river's shifting mud could make a passage treacherous, wiping out yesterday's channel as surely as if it had never existed, and most boats stuck to the surer routes. But this was a time for daring, not safety.

"MacDevie, that new channel you found last week. Can we take it?"

MacDevie grinned. "Done, sir. The wind's right, but it's a shallow one. We could run aground."

And be a laughingstock. "It's happened before, and will happen again. But we have to make up time."

MacDevie stuck to his business. At the bow, the pilot called out, and MacDevie answered. Booms swung, shifting the sails. Tricky business, this. They had to sail farther south than the straightest line, and would lose time, and draw jeers from the
Argonaut
for their foolishness. But if the channel worked, they'd cut half a mile off their route, and keep the best wind, while the
Argonaut
, secure in its lead, would have to slow and maneuver against traffic from the oncoming slower full-rigged ships.

If it didn't work
,
Xanthe
would be high and dry till next high tide. Reggie would be twenty quid poorer, and Chloe would lose her faith in him as a crack seaman.

MacDevie held the helm as
sails shifted. They lowered the mainsail and jibs, slowing, nudging their way along an unknown river bottom, which could have shifted even since yesterday.

Rigging creaked and lines hummed with a turn to starboard. The pilot called out. MacDevie answered, sharpening the turn.

"Aye, there's a girl!" shouted the pilot, plumbing the depths and keeping his eye on the narrow channel as if he could see through the murky water to what lay beneath. "Full sail, MacDevie!"

They'd made it into the narrow channel. Far to larboard, the
Argonaut
still struggled in the main channel, blocked by big square-rigged merchant ships. Once again the jibs and mainsail rose to full height and caught the wind, and the
Xanthe
surged ahead. She ran a clean course through the deceptive channel back to the busy river, while Warrenton clipped close behind, tacking and wearing past the lugging merchantmen until he, too, had a clean shot down the river. The heavy traffic wouldn't hit the river again until the next tide turned to carry them upstream to the docks.

The carriages kept pace, racing about a mile in from the river
, where they could only be seen sporadically. There were fewer of them now. Castlebury's phaeton was still in the lead, but Reggie couldn't make out its occupants.

The channel once again narrowed before the
Argonaut
caught them. She couldn't come up behind and overtake them here. She'd have to sail too close, and risk tangling her rigging in the
Xanthe
. Warrenton wasn't that kind of fool.

As the channel widened again, the
Argonaut
pressed them, all sails flying. But MacDevie was on to that, and tacked to larboard, blocking the larger vessel.

It was a clean shot into port. The
Xanthe
tied up first.

Over a little sandy hummock came the first of the carriages as it raced through the streets of
Sheerness. Castlebury's phaeton, with the women holding on for dear life. Reggie would ring a peal over him for that, but it would change nothing.

Ship secured, Reggie swung over the side and
leaped to the dock just as the carriages pulled up.

Warrenton dashed up, his brown eyes shining. "Damn good race, Lord Reginald!" he said, slapping twenty quid into Reggie's hand. "How'd you find that little channel?"

"Already knew about it," Reggie replied. "We would have beaten you by ten minutes if we hadn't been spiked."

Warrenton's face paled. "I didn't do it."

"I know that. Who was betting?"

Warrenton looked back over his shoulder, warily assessing the round of gentlemen behind them. Reggie caught the drift. It could have been any one of them. But he caught Vilheurs' eye and saw fury. So that was it.
Vilheurs had a higher stake in the race than money. He meant to make Reggie look a fool to Chloe, and make a bit of blunt in the process.

"Let it go, then," he said.

"I'll be going, then." Warrenton nestled his dark brown beaver hat tightly on his scalp. Any other time he would have stayed around, but the cit didn't have much use for the upper crust. His own friends collected around the
Argonaut
, ready to recharge their hero with rounds of ale in the local inn. Sadness hung like a lump in Reggie's throat, thinking of the man who was as good a man as any he knew. Warrenton had a sister who had married a baron, but Warrenton himself would be forever a cit. The world had a strange way of measuring a man's worth.