He snorted in obvious disbelief, then hefted her up into the carriage without ceremony.
Victoria sank onto the soft cushions, stretching out her leg. Automatically her fingers went to the tortured muscles and began to knead them.
Rafael’s face appeared in the doorway. “Are you all right?”
“Certainly,” she said. “Go along. We still have some hours of daylight.”
He frowned a bit, but nodded. “Very well.”
She watched him stride back to his stallion and gracefully climb into the saddle. To be free like that, she thought. Never to fear others seeing your weakness, never to feel the ghastly pain.
Her fingers went back to the knotting muscles.
Three more days, she thought, three more days of riding in this bloody carriage. She wouldn’t be such a fool as to ride again. Well, perhaps in the mornings. Yes, until they stopped for luncheon.
If Rafael wondered why she rode her mare only until they stopped for luncheon each day, he said nothing. She was, after all, a lady, and ladies didn’t have a man’s endurance. He found her appetite for his adventures insatiable, and over dinner each evening he told her of places he’d visited and things he’d done. He told her about his grandparents and the immense parcel of cousins, aunts, and uncles who all lived in Spain. He told her of America, its vastness, its mix of people, from the Boston merchants and their whaling ships to the Virginia planters and their huge numbers of slaves. He told her of the Mediterranean and the incredible Rock of Gibraltar, and the pirates from North Africa who still preyed on unwary ships. He told her of Jamaica, of the Barretts and the Palmers, and how the sugar plantations were run. He always tired before she did.
“Enough,” was his invariable ending, and her invariable response was a disappointed sigh. Had she been so bereft of companionship, then? So very alone? Very probably, he thought, until Damien noticed that his little cousin-in-law had become a tempting morsel.
Victoria wasn’t at all stupid and she soon realized that the places he told her about in the most detail were where English soldiers and Napoleon’s men fought. He’d been much more than a simple sea captain, it was obvious to her, but she held her peace. Perhaps he was still involved in activities of a secret nature. If she pried, he might not tell her any more of his more innocuous adventures.
Their last night was spent in Basing. Rafael managed a private dining room, despite a boxing match that was being held nearby. Victoria, he quickly discovered, had become too quiet for his taste.
“You’re scared, aren’t you?” he said finally, pouring her another glass of wine.
“A bit,” she conceded. “And excited. I’ve never been to London before. What if this Lady Lucia isn’t there, Rafael? What if she takes me into dislike? Or you?”
“Don’t worry about it. Here, have some lamb. It looks quite nice.”
She ate little. Rafael began a tale of how he’d met his valet, Savory, who had remained with the Seawitch. “I met him when he was only fourteen years old. His nickname when I met him was Flash, and it still is what he is called. ‘Flash,’ because by his eighth year of life he was the fastest pickpocket in all of London, he told me.”
“Goodness, a criminal.”
“Well, I suppose so. He was quite good, only I was just a bit faster. While he was pinching my money, right out of my coat pocket, mind you, I just happened to sneeze. I shall never forget the look on his face when I had my arm around his neck.”
He was grinning in fond memory, and Victoria leaned forward, fascinated. “However did he become your valet?”
“I made him a deal. He agreed to be my valet for three months. If he disliked it, I would pay him twenty pounds and turn him loose again on the innocent of London. He liked it. He is an excellent friend, and thankfully, an excellent sailor. I do believe that’s what turned the trick, and not my sterling personality. I do wonder occasionally if he will leave me once I tell him I won’t be putting out to sea again.”
“Back to being the Flash of London?”
“I hope not. I think I might have him join us in London after I send Tom Merrifield back to Cornwall. I’ll tell him it is the ultimate test of his lawfulness.”
It rained only when they’d reached the outskirts of London. But Victoria was too excited to be forced back into the carriage. Rafael found himself smiling fatuously at her enthusiasm, but said firmly, “I don’t wish you to take a chill, nor do I wish to present you to Lady Lucia looking like a drowned rat.”
He bundled her back into the carriage, turned up his collar, and pulled his hat firmly about his ears.
He began to doubt his own judgment when, upon arriving in Grosvenor Square and asking directions from a soaked sweep boy, he saw the imposing facade of Lady Lucia’s town house. What if she wasn’t in residence? What if Lyon were wrong and she turned up her nose at him? He swore. He had all Victoria’s worries, then some.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it, Rafael?”
“I want you to remain in the carriage. I will speak first with this Lady Lucia. Don’t move, Victoria.”
“I shan’t play in the mud puddles, if that is what you are worried about,” she called after him.
His knock was answered by an imposing butler of advanced years and equally advanced dignity. “Sir?”
Rafael identified himself and asked to see Lady Lucia.