But that wasn’t who he was.
‘We will get up now,’ he told himself sternly, as well as informing the maid of his intentions. ‘Bring her ladyship a can of water and get Cadogan to take some to my room. And have a light breakfast ready for us when we come down.’
Nancy bobbed a curtsy and left.
And since he wasn’t the type of man to let the world know when he was hurting, he smacked Clare playfully on the bottom, before rolling out of bed.
‘You heard, sleepyhead,’ he said. ‘We need to be down at the harbour to catch the tide within the hour.’
‘Do we,’ she replied crossly, sticking her head up above the covers, ‘really want to catch the tide?’
‘If you want to go and visit your brother, we do.’ And then, because it might be the last time she would ever be this receptive to him, he bent down and kissed her, one last time, with every atom of his being. Bidding her farewell in the only way he could, without words.
And then, since the tide waited for no man, not even a marquess, he tore his lips from hers, and strode to the door.
To face whatever the day had in store.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Clare looked at the small ketch he’d hired to ferry them along the coastline to Peeving Cove as though she suspected it of plotting to leap out of the water and bite her at any moment. He was experiencing a similar feeling. Not about the boat itself, but what was going to happen once it had brought them to their destination.
‘I regret the boat is only a simple craft,’ he said. ‘But I have been led to believe it is the most suitable one available.’ The only one available, in point of fact. No other fisherman in the area was prepared to take strangers into the lair of ‘The Gentlemen’, which was the way they spoke of Peeving Cove. They were afraid of reprisals.
Only the captain of this boat, who was now standing on the deck wringing his cap between his gnarled and weather-beaten hands, had been willing to take the risk. And that only after having been paid one hundred pounds.
‘For that amount,’ he’d said, ‘I c’n buy myself a new boat, if’n the gennlemen scupper this old wreck. So long’s as I’m not on it when they sink it,’ he’d added gloomily. ‘And as fer going fer me family, as a warning to others, well, I’ve only the wife and the lad left. And the lad’s damn near useless and I’m sick on the owld shrew’s nagging ways, anyhow.’
And so the deal had been struck.
‘Won’t find a better craft to take you up Peeving Cove, ma’am,’ said the fisherman. Or at least, that was how Rawcliffe interpreted the assortment of strangulated vowels that emerged from the whiskers obliterating the entire lower half of the man’s face.
Clare apparently thought so, too.
‘Oh, I’m sure it is a very fine ship,’ she said earnestly. ‘It is just that I have never been on one before, and I am—’ she gave a little laugh ‘—a bit nervous.’
‘Aar,’ said the captain, with a shake of his head. ‘Have reason, I reckon. Warned his lordship ’ow it’d be, only he would hire ’un.’
The captain had actually warned Rawcliffe about the inadvisability of attempting to sail any sort of craft up the inlet which led to Peeving Cove, without first gaining permission from the smugglers whose lair it was. Clare, however, not knowing the first thing about the kind of company her brother was keeping these days, naturally assumed the captain had been talking about her own reaction to going on a ship.
Which annoyed her so much, she stopped dithering on the quayside, lifted her chin and stepped onto the gangplank. It bowed under her weight, the boat bobbed lower in the water and Clare shot forward, fetching up inelegantly in the captain’s arms.
Which clearly made the old fellow’s day, judging from the grin that slashed a gap through his whiskers and the length of time it was taking him to let go of her.
‘Ooh,’ she said, as he stepped into the boat behind her and relieved the captain of his post as chief propper-up of his wife. ‘It feels so peculiar! It’s like…just as if I’m standing on the water itself.’
‘T’will be better if you sit yourselves down,’ said the captain. ‘Over yonder—’ he indicated, with a jerk of his head, a bench upon which Ponsonby had just finished strewing as many cushions as he’d been able to find in their lodgings ‘—while me and the lad cast off. That is, if you’re still sure you want to sail today.’