slight figure and smooth cheeks. Too smooth, he decided, for the rough and tumble of life at sea. Had he been forced into it by an impatient parent in order to make a man of him, or was he running away to sea and thinking better of it? His clothes were very loose fitting and years out of date, but they had once been of fine quality. He was from a good family then, fallen on hard times perhaps. The seamen were obviously intending to have some sport with him and he was looking decidedly nervous.
He strolled over to them. ‘Let the young shaver be.’ It was said quietly, but with such authority he was instantly obeyed. ‘Go about your business.’
The men strolled away laughing, and the boy turned towards him. ‘Thank you, sir.’ The voice was high-pitched, not yet broken. ‘Am I too late to go on board?’
‘Not while the gangplank is still in place, though you need to be quick. You will probably get a roasting for being late.’
‘Roasting?’ she said, remembering to deepen her voice. ‘You mistake me, sir. I wish to speak to someone on board before the ship sails.’
‘Oh, I see.’ He looked closely at the oval face, the troubled brown eyes fringed by long silky lashes, the slight heaving of the bosom as he looked upwards. By God! It was not a he but a she and a very beautiful one. How could he have ever imagined that figure belonged to a cabin boy? Running after a lover, was she? Was the lover intent on escaping?
‘Is it permissible to go up there?’ She nodded in the direction of the deck.
‘I wouldn’t risk it if I were you,’ he said, thinking about the crew who, like the sailors she had already encountered, would undoubtedly have some fun with her, not to mention the humiliation of discovering her lover did not want her. ‘Tell me the name of the party and I will go and bring him to you. There might yet be time.’
‘Oh, would you?’ The smile she gave him was all woman. ‘His name is Toby Kendall. He is sailing as a passenger.’
He sprinted up the gangplank and had a word with the sailor who stood at the top, ready to give the signal for it to be hauled away. Beth watched him disappear. She kept her eyes glued to the rail, expecting to see Toby come running. Nothing happened. The activity on deck reached a crescendo as seamen swarmed up the rigging and spread themselves along the spars and someone ran to the last mooring rope, ready to cast off. Now she began to wonder if the man who had gone on her errand would be trapped on board and carried off to sea. Her heart was in her mouth.
She saw a movement, but it was not Toby running to greet her, but the man returning. Did that mean Toby was not on board? Had he boarded some other ship? Had he not gone at all? She was beginning to feel a thorough ninny.
‘Was he not there?’ she asked as the man rejoined her. Too late she forgot to lower the tone of her voice.
‘Oh, he is on board, Miss Harley, but he declined to come out to you.’
‘I don’t believe you!’ In her agitation she had not even noticed he had addressed her by name. ‘He wouldn’t refuse to see me.’
‘I am not in the habit of lying, Miss Harley.’
The emphasis he put on her name made her realise Toby had given her away. ‘You know who I am?’
‘Indeed I do.’ Behind him he heard the shouted commands, was aware that dockers were freeing the mooring rope and pulling the gangplank free. ‘The question is, what am I to do with you?’ The crack of sails being let down almost drowned his words.
‘What do you mean, do with me?’ The sails were filling and the ship was beginning to move. Sailors were scrambling down from aloft and, almost hidden behind a stanchion, she saw a familiar face. ‘Toby!’ she shouted, waving like mad.
He waved back. He was saying something, but she could not make out what it was. It was then she realised the predicament she was in. Toby had refused to see her, she was miles and miles from home, alone with a man who knew she was a girl. And he had said, ‘What am I to do with you?’ She had been nervous before, but now she was truly frightened. She looked about her. On one side was the river, murky and full of flotsam, on the other the warehouses, customs shed and chandlers that lined the docks. Dockers and seamen hurried back and forth, men driving lumbering carts, shabby women, ill-clothed barefoot children, a few better-dressed gentlemen, but not a single well-dressed lady. Certainly no cabs.
He must have realised she was considering flight, because he took her arm. ‘You had better come with me.’ And, though she resisted, he propelled her towards a carriage that stood a little way off, calling to the man by his wagon, ‘Simmonds, I’ll leave you to finish loading that and I’ll see you at home in due course.’
‘Let me go!’ Beth shouted, struggling with him so that her hat fell off and her long dark hair cascaded around her shoulders, making those around grin with amusement. Still holding her, he picked the hat up and crammed it back on her head.
‘Come on, I haven’t got time to argue.’ And with that he bundled her into the coach and climbed in behind her. ‘Back to town, Jerry, as fast as you like,’ he commanded his coachman.
Chapter Two
‘What are you going to do with me?’ she asked, trying to push her unruly hair under the hat again as the carriage moved off. It was a luxurious vehicle, its seats padded in red velvet. The man who occupied the opposite seat was fashionably dressed in a well-cut tail coat of green kerseymere and coffee-coloured pantaloons tucked into polished Hessians. His cravat was tied in a simple knot. He was handsome too, fair haired and bronzed from living in a climate warmer than that of England. It seemed to emphasise the blueness of his eyes, which were looking at her with something akin to amusement. She wondered how old he was; nothing like as old as her Uncle James, who must be forty, or as young as Toby, who was only a year older than she was. Twenty-seven or eight perhaps.
‘Oh, do not fret, I have no designs on your person,’ he said.
‘Then let me go.’
‘That, I think, would be considered unchivalrous.’
‘No more unchivalrous than holding a lady against her wishes.’
‘If the lady has no idea of the danger she is in, then a gentleman has no choice.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘Whatever made you think you could pass yourself off as a boy? A more feminine figure I have yet to meet.’ His eyes roamed appreciatively over her coat and breeches as he spoke. The only slightly masculine thing about her was her cut-down fingernails and the brownish stain along the cuticles. He was intrigued by them. ‘It is a good thing I intervened when I did.’
She remembered the sailors and shuddered. On the other hand, just because this man was well dressed, did it mean he was to be trusted? ‘I have already thanked you for that. If you really are a gentleman, then you would convey me to the nearest coaching inn where I might take a stage back home.’
‘Can’t do that, I am afraid.’ The last thing he wanted was to act the unwilling escort to a spoiled young miss not long out of the schoolroom. He liked his women mature and experienced, so that they both knew where they stood. They could enjoy each other without the complication of broken hearts and dreams of weddings. It was how he had survived since leaving England seven years before. Silently he cursed young Kendall for landing him with this one. He had been at the wrong place at the wrong time. Half an hour’s difference and he would have come and gone, or she would have gone on board and spoken to Kendall herself. The young
