The Reckless Bride (7 page)

The instant Esme set foot on deck, cabin boys appeared and she, Loretta, and their maids were escorted below with all due ceremony. Leaving Hassan on watch, Rafe followed, but as soon as he’d confirmed the women were safely ensconced in their stateroom, he climbed up, not to the main deck where they’d boarded and Hassan stood on guard, but further up to the observation deck at the prow of the ship.

All the other passengers were still below, settling into their cabins. Rafe found a wooden chair, pulled it to the rail, and sat. He could see out between the wooden rails, but the high side of the boat largely hid him from view, and while he was seated it was difficult to tell that he was tall.

The sights and sounds of the river embraced him. He watched, but saw no sign of cultists near the ship, or anywhere on the docks, not even keeping watch over the docks and the boats putting in and out. Sloppy picket work on the cultists’ part; the Black Cobra wouldn’t be pleased.

He, on the other hand, was quietly delighted.

A heavy bell clanged, and with a flurry of activity from the crew, the
Uray Princep
‘s gangplank rattled aboard, theanchor chain clanked and groaned, then a rear sail was hoisted, and oars extended from the embankment side and pushed the heavy boat out into the current.

Rafe felt the river take hold. He scanned the shores as under the steady thrust of oars, the
Uray Princep
pushed steadily on, and the roofs of Buda slowly fell behind.

When the river mist obscured the town, he stood, stretched, then ambled around the upper deck, taking note of the various ladders and doors, then headed down the wooden stairs he’d come up.

The
Uray Princep
carried both passengers and goods. The boat had three decks above the waterline. The upper deck contained the passengers’ observation deck, which extended from the prow to the front of the centrally located raised bridge; other than the bridge which overlooked it, the observation deck was the highest part of the boat.

The next deck down was the main deck, half of which was given over to the passengers; Rafe found an elegantly appointed salon in the prow, with a narrow bar between it and the dining salon beyond, where cabin boys were setting tables with white cloths and cutlery.

From the clatter of pans and the smells issuing forth, the galley lay beyond the dining salon. Opposite the bar, the staircase, a solid, well-polished wooden stair, not a narrow ladder, led up to the observation deck and down to the passengers’ cabins.

Only the main deck had an outer walkway on which one could circle the ship. After chatting to the purser and confirming that the rear half of the main deck was the domain of the crew and out of bounds to passengers, Rafe returned to the stairs and went down to the cabin deck.

There, a single corridor ran down the boat’s center, from the main stateroom in the prow, the one Esme’s party now inhabited, to a door toward the rear of the vessel. Rafe strode down the dim corridor, hearing voices behind most doors he passed. Reaching the end door, he tried it, and found it locked and bolted. Most likely the captain’s cabin and crew’squarters lay beyond, reached from a stern companionway.

Satisfied he’d established the general layout of the vessel, Rafe strolled back up the corridor to the first single cabin on the starboard side, immediately alongside the stateroom door. His bags sat on the narrow berth inside.

According to the purser, the passengers’ first event was a gathering in the salon in half an hour to meet with the captain and their fellow travelers.

The captain, a jovial man, welcomed them with a toast to a pleasant voyage, then remained to chat as in a soireelike atmosphere, the passengers exchanged names, home cities, and destinations. All the other passengers, four couples, were German or Austrian, and all were making for Vienna to enjoy the festive season there.

Their various attendants hung back, chatting among themselves near the stairs. Rafe exchanged a glance with Hassan, but doubted there was any danger lurking among either the passengers or their staffs. Leaving Esme chatting avidly to a German couple from Frankfurt, with Loretta supporting her, he made his way to the captain’s side.

After introducing himself as Esme’s courier-guide and exchanging various innocuous comments, he asked, “Your crew—have they been with you long? Or do they change frequently, take work on different boats to see different countries?”

The captain laughed. “Not my crew. We’ve been together for years.”

“No newcomers?”

“I haven’t had to find a new hand in years, for which I thank the gods. It can be difficult when one has a solid team used to each other’s ways.”

The captain turned as another passenger approached. After shaking hands and exchanging names, Rafe excused himself and moved on.

From the corner of her eye, Loretta watched him. Realizing the captain had been his goal, she’d followed him acrossthe room and stopped to chat to another group of passengers nearby—near enough to overhear his conversation with the captain.

On the one hand she was relieved to know he was taking guarding against the cult so seriously, while on the other she was insatiably curious over what he did and why. Curious about his mission, its mechanics and logistics.

She told herself it was her investigative streak—that she was gathering information that might, at some later date, prove useful for her writings. An excuse she refused to examine too closely.

Biding her time, she eventually spoke with the captain, finding him a sane and sensible man, then continued her examination of the other passengers.

It was nearing time for luncheon when she paused in the prow, where the salon narrowed to a point. To her surprise, Rafe joined her. She had until then kept a sensible distance, continuing to tell herself that her reaction to him would eventually fade and die.

Clearly that eventuality had yet to occur; as the space between them shrank, her lungs seized and her nerves flickered, then sparked.

Thankfully oblivious, he halted beside her, glanced over the other guests, then turned to her. “Do you sense any threat from any of the other passengers or their staffs?”

She blinked. “No.” She frowned. “Why do you think I would?”

“Because you observe everyone and everything so closely. If there were anything amiss, you’d sense it.”

An unaccustomed feeling blossomed inside her; she felt chuffed that he’d noticed and considered her observations useful. She glanced at the other passengers. “They are what they purport to be—just travelers looking forward to enjoying a short cruise.” Then she frowned. “Do you think it possible—”

“No. I don’t think anyone here is a cult hireling. I just thought to get another opinion.” He inclined his head. “Thank you.”

With that he wandered off, leaving her staring after him. Telling herself there was no need to feel so thrilled.

He stopped to chat with one of the Austrian couples. Loretta’s gaze shifted to Esme. She was pleased to see her great-aunt deep in conversation with two of the other ladies. With any luck, the other couples would distract Esme from her latest scheme. Her certain-to-be-doomed latest scheme.

Rafe Carstairs was too dashing, too handsome, too daring, altogether too adventurous for Loretta’s taste.

Or, more to the point, for her to suit his.

She was determined to do nothing to further Esme’s purpose, but when Loretta entered the dining salon that evening she was woefully aware that her attire did not support her aim.

Between them, Esme, Gibson, and Rose had managed to “lose” every demure gown Loretta had brought with her. If she didn’t want to appear in her chemise, she had to wear one of the gowns Esme had delighted in purchasing for her in Paris and Rome. Each a unique creation, the gowns showcased her figure, highlighted her eyes, and made the most of every asset she possessed.

Accepting the inevitable, she’d chosen the most severe of the evening gowns, a creation in midnight blue silk that by its very severity made her, in it, appear more softly feminine. As she stepped into the salon, she hoped Rafe and everyone else would see only the severe style and ignore the overall effect.

He was seated with Esme at a table across the room. He glanced up before she was even halfway there.

If his reaction was any indication, her hopes were doomed. He stared, his gaze locked on her; he was patently no longer listening to Esme.

Who had noticed, and looked smug.

As she neared the table, Loretta started to frown. At him. She didn’t appreciate the effect of his attention. It sent warmth stealing through her; not a blush, but something that reached deeper.

She halted at the table as he rose. Slowly, his gaze very slowly rising to her face.

She inclined her head curtly. “Sir.” She looked across the table vase at Esme. “Ma’am.”

Feeling as if his head had been struck by a mallet, Rafe pulled out the chair opposite Esme’s, held it while Loretta sat.

The captain chose that moment to join them, taking the last seat at the table, opposite Rafe.

Resuming his seat, Rafe felt torn by contradictory reactions—annoyed to have the captain vying for Loretta’s attention, while simultaneously immeasurably glad that he was.

He needed to exorcise his feelings for Loretta Michelmarsh. This was neither the time nor place to be overcome with lust.

Ruthlessly suppressing his inclinations, he gave his attention to Esme, and strove to keep it there, sadly with mixed results.

Next time, he vowed, he’d seat Loretta opposite him. That way, their hands would have no chance to brush, to touch—however inadvertently, however innocently—as they passed this and that.

By the end of the meal, his nerves felt rubbed raw.

It was little consolation that, he suspected, she felt the same.

At last the company rose and headed into the salon for digestifs and wider conversation. After drawing back Loretta’s chair, then following her into the salon, he thereafter strove to keep at least six feet between them.

Loretta circled the room, every nerve tight. If he touched her again, just tapped her arm, she was sure she would jump like a startled hare. She’d never felt the like, not ever, and could have done without feeling it now.

And the affliction was only growing worse. She’d been sure it would fade, but no. Even though he stood at the far end of the room and she was fighting to pay attention to Herr Gruber’s story about his and his wife’s excursion to Go-dolloCastle—a place she was actually interested in hearing about—she, her nerves, her senses, were much more acutely aware of Rafe Carstairs.

How she was going to deal with it—with him—she had no clue.

As matters stood, it was shaping up to be a very long journey home.

Shortly after dawn the next morning, Rafe climbed to the observation deck to relieve Hassan, who had kept watch through the small hours. After reporting no activity of any kind, Hassan retreated to his cabin to get some sleep.

Alone, Rafe paced the open deck, welcoming the chill breeze off the river, eyes scanning the largely flat fields rolling back from the banks to meet the foothills of the distant mountains. Snowcaps gleamed as the sun touched the peaks. The sky was a tapestry of shifting clouds, thick enough to block the sun. Waterbirds wheeled overhead, disturbed by the passage of the boat.

He fought to keep his attention on his surroundings, to engage his mind with evaluating the potential for ambush, likely hiding places, the chances of cultists getting close enough to board.

Anything to keep his mind from his dreams, from the increasingly explicit images that had taken root in his imagination.

To keep his thoughts from the woman of said dreams who he’d learned was sleeping in the cabin next to his.

“It is a fine morning, is it not?”

Rafe swung to see the captain coming toward him from the bridge. Rafe inclined his head, politely said, “I imagine the weather can turn nasty at this time of year.”

“Indeed, indeed.” The captain nodded sagely, halting two paces away. “However, Herr Jordan, I wished to ask why you and your friend are so watchful—even to standing guard through the night.” Shrewd eyes fixed on Rafe’s face. “Is there something I should know?”

Rafe considered, then said, “Two days before we left Buda, before she hired myself and Rivers, Lady Congreve was attacked in the street. We assumed it was merely street thieves, but … it seemed wise to keep watch. Lady Congreve has been a party to many diplomatic missions over the years. No telling who might decide they hold a grudge.”

The captain’s brows had risen; concern filled his eyes. “I would be very sorry were any harm to befall Lady Congreve while she was on my boat.”

Rafe said nothing.

The captain regarded him for several moments, then said, “If there is anything I or my crew might do to assist, you have but to ask.”

“Thank you.” Rafe half bowed. “I don’t expect anything to come of it, but should anything happen, that’s good to know.”

Late that afternoon, Loretta was forced to escape the salon to avoid responding too sharply to the pointed comments of the other ladies, artfully orchestrated by Esme, on the subject of one too-handsome ex-captain.

Exasperated, she climbed to the observation deck, certain that, with the brisk wind currently strafing across the river, it would be deserted.

It was. Except for the subject of the conversations she’d just fled.

She hesitated at the top of the stairs, wondering where else she could go, but then he glanced back and saw her dithering. Lifting her chin, she calmly—much more calmly than she felt—stalked forward to join him at the forward rail.

This couldn’t go on; she was going to have to get over her reaction to him. Perhaps heightened exposure would deaden her senses.

He was leaning on the rail. She was grateful that, as she halted beside him, he didn’t straighten, leaving his head level with hers.

He didn’t say anything, either, simply watched her for amoment, then, when she kept her gaze locked on the river before them, faced forward, too.

Irritation, frustration, a certain level of anger; she felt those emotions well and churn. A good foot separated them, yet her senses were rioting; she felt an insane, irrational, nearly overwhelming desire to shift to her right, close the distance between them and snuggle into his warmth, the warmth she could feel reaching for her, a seductive lure, protection against the wind, and something more.