Silk Is For Seduction - Loretta Chase [39]
Had Marcelline brought Frances Pritchett with her, they’d still be in Paris.
She examined her pendant watch. “We should depart soon,” she said. “I’m going up to take a turn about the deck.”
“I should have thought you’d want to fall into bed,” Jeffreys said. “I certainly do, and I had a great deal more sleep than you did.”
“I need to breathe the salt air and calm myself first,” Marcelline said. “It’s very pretty at night, watching the lights of the town retreat. You ought to come. We arrived from London in broad day. It’s so different at night.”
Jeffreys gave a little shiver. “You’re a better sea traveler than I,” she said. “I hope to be asleep before we set sail. I was sick most of the way coming here. I should rather not be sick on the way back.”
“Poor girl,” Marcelline said. “I’d forgotten. It was dreadful for you.”
“It was worth it, madame,” Jeffreys said firmly. “And I should do it again. I shall pray, in fact, to do it again.” She laughed. “But you go, and enjoy yourself.”
Marcelline left her, and made her way to the deck. The officers and crew were preparing to set out, and the passengers were settling down after the flurry of finding their places and seeing about their belongings. There was a good deal of noise, and a great many people. Night had fallen but the stars were out en masse, along with a bright half moon.
She had no trouble making out the tall figure at the rail, and even before he turned, and the moonlight and starlight traced his features, her heart was racing.
Chapter Six
Between the first week in April, and the last in November, Steam-Packets run daily, weather permitting, from their Moorings off the Tower of London to Calais, in about twelve hours; and likewise from Calais to London, in about the same time. Carriages, horses, and luggage, conveyed by Steam-Packets, are shipped and relanded free of expense.
Mariana Starke, Travels in Europe, 1833
She stood completely still, but for the feathers and lace of her bonnet shuddering in the wind. Outwardly Clevedon was as still as she was, while his heart leapt with an excitement growing all too familiar.
He strode toward her. “Surprise,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed. They were deeply shadowed, and he doubted that was merely the moonlight’s effect. She was fatigued, and no wonder. He was amazed at the speed with which she’d quit Paris. She couldn’t have slept at all after the party. Then, to reach Calais so soon, she couldn’t have stopped for more than the change of horses on the way.
He wondered how she’d done it. Getting all her papers signed in the middle of the night must have cost a fortune in bribes—paid, no doubt, from the money she’d won at roulette and cards.
Even he, for all his great rank, had not had an easy time getting through officialdom, and he’d set out hours after she did, when the bureaucrats were awake at least, though not all of the offices had been open.
Had he not been the Duke of Clevedon, and furthermore, had he not thrown his full ducal weight about, the packet would have sailed an hour ago, and he’d be in Calais watching it retreat across the Channel while he cursed himself for a fool.
He was a fool, and he was cursing himself now, but to little effect.
In any event, she was angry enough for the two of them.
“Surprise?” she said. “There’s an understatement. Have you taken leave of your senses?”
Yes.
“I was worried about you,” he said. “When you left Paris so suddenly, I thought a catastrophe had occurred. Or a murder. Have you murdered anybody, by the way? Not that I would dream of criticizing, but—”
“I left Paris to get away from you,” she said.
“Well, that didn’t work.”
“How in blazes did you do it?” she said. “How did you know? How did you—but no, I won’t ask how you got through French officialdom. You’re a duke, and they haven’t cut off any noble heads this age. Still, one would