Getting everyone settled on the boat, the passenger quarters of which were a scaled-down version of those they’d enjoyed on the Uray Princep, then watching for cultists as, the ropes cast off, the Loreley Regina slid down the channel around the isle that was Strasbourg to eventually join the much wider Rhine, claimed his attention. They’d been on the river itself for half an hour, and the spires of Strasbourg cathedral had vanished in the mists off the stern, when Loretta came to join him in the prow. There was no observation deck on the smaller boat.
He glanced at her. Grasping the rail, she was looking ahead, that disquieting smile still curving her lips. Wisps of hair had come loose from her topknot; she shook them back as she raised her face to the light morning breeze.
A memory of her hair sussurating like silk on his pillow as he’d pleasured her and she’d threshed in ecstasy burst across his inner eye. Silently clearing his throat, he clenched his hand more tightly about the rail and looked ahead.
Followed her gaze to where the river mists that had replaced Strasbourg’s fog were thinning to the merest haze. Beneath his feet, he felt the river currents catch at the boat’s hull, felt the powerful surge as they took hold.
“Do you feel impatient now you’re starting the last leg of your journey?”
He considered the question, consulted his feelings. They were a lot more complex than mere impatience. “There’s a lick of that, but just as much wariness. Anticipation, eagerness, and trepidation—an odd mix.”
A familiar if unsettling one.
“Perhaps a wise one given the Black Cobra lies somewhere ahead.”
She was right. He’d often felt like this in the moments before a charge.
Silence ensued, oddly comfortable even though he knewshe couldn’t possibly be pleased with him. That somewhere beneath her calm, irritation had to lurk.
Eventually, she murmured, “If anything, this vessel, with just our party on board, is even more private than the Uray Princep.”
He recalled all too well what had occurred, and had nearly occurred, on the Uray Princep. He straightened, grasped the reins. “Which brings me to a point I wanted to discuss with you.”
She looked up at him, arched a brow.
“I know I was the one who raised the issue, which was all very well, but in light of the questions you have, we’ll need to postpone any further discussions until we reach England and my mission is complete.”
The narrowing of her eyes had him hurrying on, “I can’t afford to be distracted, not with my mission entering a critical phase—the last leg of a long journey, as you observed. The closer I get to England, the more danger we’ll all face. And my mission, bringing it to a successful conclusion, means a lot to me.” He held her gaze. “You, of all people, know why.”
The thought of James’s death was still a raw wound across his soul.
She understood; the light in her eyes softened.
Suddenly perceiving a fate worse than any the Black Cobra might serve him, he hurriedly added, “However, while this is not the right time to be embarking on the sort of explorations you have in mind, that isn’t to say I don’t want to find the answers to your questions. I do.” The truth was he already knew the answers, at least with respect to him, but wasn’t ready to face them. Pushing the insight aside, he held her gaze, drew breath. Confessed, “I want to … court you, if that’s the way your decision goes. I want to have time to devote to you, to your questions—to learning the answers you need to know.”
A considering light had entered her eyes. She tilted her head, studying him.
“But from here on, my mission will take precedence over all personal matters. It’ll make demands—ones I won’t be able to put off or refuse. I’ll be distracted, and …” He hesitated, then said, “The truth is I don’t want us to make any precipitous decision and later have that rebound on you.”
By “precipitous decision” he meant making love to her, properly and completely. Loretta knew her calm acceptance of his derailing of her night’s intentions was confusing him, but this latest start of his only confirmed that her reading of him and his motives was correct. His behavior of the night and his latest declarations were all of a piece, all stemming from his apparently insatiable need to protect her, even from herself.
While she appreciated his tack, while she understood and to some extent agreed with his assessment of the relative importance of his mission, she was very far from agreeing with his conclusion. But now was not the right time to inform him of that, either; aside from all else, he was all but armored against her. Still holding his gaze, she inclined her head. “I understand.”
He smiled.
She blinked. That smile was the first time he’d intentionally set out to charm her, and it worked.
He took one of her hands, in a courtly gesture raised it to his lips. “Thank you. Once we’re safe in England, we’ll revisit your questions. I promise. Until then—”
“Loretta?”
They turned to see Esme climbing the narrow companionway up to the deck. They went to help her.
Once on deck, Esme glanced around, then smiled at Rafe. “I came to find you two to make plans for our first halt. Mannheim. According to dear Julius, we’ll be there by this afternoon.”
The innkeeper of the Beau Rivage was standing behind the high counter at the rear of the foyer, polishing spoons and wondering why his wife always saddled him with the chore, when the front door opened. The innkeeper looked up, surprised to see a well-dressed Prussian step inside, glance left and right, then close the door.
The innkeeper set down the spoons and his polishing cloth. He knew the man was Prussian—his harshly arrogant mien and the style of his hair bore witness to his origins—while the set of his shoulders and the way he walked fairly screamed cavalry officer.
Like the Englishman.
Clothed as a gentleman, the Prussian halted before the counter and fixed the innkeeper with slate gray eyes. “You have a party staying here—six people. Two ladies, both English, their maids, also English, and their courier-guide and guard.”
Somewhat glad said party had already departed, the innkeeper carefully nodded. “Such a party did indeed reside here last night.”
The Prussian’s eyes narrowed. “And where are they now?”
“They left this morning.” The more he saw of the Prussian, the more the innkeeper was glad that was so.
The Prussian’s hand rose. The innkeeper’s gaze was drawn to the gold coin between the man’s gloved fingers.
“Did they leave on the river?”
The innkeeper debated, his eyes on the coin.
The Prussian’s hand dipped, rose again, and now there were two coins clasped between gray leather.
The innkeeper nodded. The party in question had left early; they were well downriver by now.
The Prussian laid the two coins on the counter, then produced another two. His eyes caught the innkeeper’s. “Which boat?”
The innkeeper hesitated.
The Prussian sighed. “I can ask at the shipping offices and learn the answer—or you can tell me, which will be faster, and you will be richer.”
The innkeeper grimaced. “The Loreley Regina.”
No reaction showed in the Prussian’s face. He laid the second pair of coins down with the first, curtly dipped his head, then turned and left.
The innkeeper didn’t move until the door snicked shut. Then he swiped up the coins, examined them, then slid them into his waistcoat pocket. Then he frowned. The man hadn’t asked which way the boat had gone, upriver or down.
He puzzled over that for a moment more, then shrugged, retrieved his polishing cloth, and picked up a spoon.
Eleven
The Loreley Regina eased toward a mooring at Mannheim in the late afternoon. Storm clouds had been gathering all day, massing above the riverbanks, hanging threateningly low over the mountains further back. Daylight was already waning into a gloomy dusk.
On the deck, from the shadows ben
eath the overhang of the bridge’s roof, Rafe looked back, watching the sections in the pontoon bridge that had been raised to allow them and a small flotilla of other craft to pass through slowly lower again. Julius had informed him they would remain tied up at the dock through the night, then, after taking on various provisions in the morning, they would set out on the river again.
From Esme’s guidebook Rafe had learned that the town was part of the Duchy of Baden and had been burnt to the ground twice in its history. That explained the modern town visible through the encroaching drizzle. It looked airy and open, with broad streets set in a regular grid. He picked out remnants of old city walls now surrounded by public gardens.
Mannheim looked like a quiet country retreat. He seriously doubted the cult would have bothered sending any members or even hirelings there.
Hassan slipped into the shadows alongside him, hunching in his thick coat. “The ladies are in the salon planning their next excursion.”
Rafe grimaced. “I’d better go and play the voice of reason.”
Hassan nodded. “I’ll stand watch.”
“Once it gets fully dark, the crew will take over.” With his head, Rafe indicated the bridge. “Just ask Julius.”
Hassan nodded and settled back against the bridge’s wall.
Rafe headed for the forward companionway that led directly into the main salon, given over for passenger use. Reaching the stairs, he paused, scanned the river, the banks, and the town once more, then went down.
He stepped into the salon and was the immediate focus of four pairs of feminine eyes.
Esme wrinkled her nose. “Your shoulders are damp. It’s closing in, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “It’ll be dark early, too.”
“It’s too late to do anything tonight,” Loretta said. “We can go for a stroll tomorrow while Julius and the crew are loading their provisions.”
Rafe hesitated, but then nodded. “That should be safe enough.” He exchanged a glance with Loretta, then inclined his head to the group in general and headed for his cabin.
She might have agreed to his dictate regarding the two of them, but as far as possible he intended to play safe.
The dining toom of the Loreley Regina was a small paneled cabin situated between the salon and the galley. As the boat carried fewer passengers than the Uray Princep, the space was more intimate, with one good-sized table and built-in but luxurious padded bench seats. As both benches had walls at their backs, the seating was comfortable enough.
Their first dinner on board proved the cook was up to the task of meeting Esme’s expectations. Loretta had less interest in the food itself, but had hoped to use the the time about the dining table to introduce Rafe to the realities of her, and therefore their, situation.
But with all six of them gathered about the table, she decidedagainst raising the subject. While she had no secrets from Rose, and Gibson and Hassan would be no more than passingly interested in what she had to reveal, she needed Esme’s help and she doubted her great-aunt would step up to the necessary mark in general company.
To her relief, her opportunity came when, the meal completed, they repaired to the salon. Rose and Gibson decided to take a turn about the deck, and Hassan elected to go with them.
Esme settled in one of the comfortable armchairs.
Loretta quickly sank into another and ignoring Rafe, who was hovering just inside the room, fixed Esme with a faintly concerned frown. “It occurred to me that this is the last leg of our journey—soon we’ll be back in England. In my case, back in London.”
Esme arched a brow.
“I wondered, in the circumstances, what I’ll find when I return. What I’ll face in regard to the matter that made my accompanying you so desirable. What my social situation might be.” Seeing awakening understanding in Esme’s eyes, she tilted her head. “Have you heard anything?”
Esme pulled a face. “I have—a letter from Therese Osbaldestone reached me in Trieste—but it’s nothing more than you might expect, dear. Given all that’s gone before, and that you will turn twenty-five next year, now matters have come to this pass you’ll be expected to make your choice of the available offers that, as I understand it, are being discussed. It seems there’s a list of sorts.”
“A list?” She hadn’t expected that. “Of potential suitors?” Rafe hadn’t moved. He was listening avidly.
Esme nodded. “Indeed. And I make no bones about it—and Therese didn’t either—you will have to, if necessary you will be pressed to, make your choice from that list.” She grimaced. “To hear Therese tell it, the list is growing longer by the day and there are already wagers being placed in the gentlemen’s clubs over who will secure your hand.”
It was easy to look horrifed. “But—”
“No buts.” Esme wagged a finger at her. “The instant you set foot in London, you’ll be back under Robert’s roof and in his care, and you’ll be sat down and that list will be placed before you, and you will have to choose.”
Loretta stared. That was a lot worse than anything she’d expected.
By the door, Rafe shifted. When Loretta and Esme glanced his way, he said, “I’m going to take a turn about the deck before retiring. The crew will be standing the night watches instead of me and Hassan, so there will still be someone on deck, on guard, through the night.” But not him.
Just in case Loretta thought to find him up there later.
Smiling, Esme waved graciously. “Thank you, dear boy. Sleep well.”
Turning away, he caught Loretta’s eyes, then inclined his head and quit the room. Heading for the companionway leading up to the deck, he wasn’t sure what to think, how to interpret what he’d just heard.
Just how desperate was Loretta’s matrimonial situation?
Had he been right in seeing a degree of horrified surprise in her eyes?
If so …
He’d been certain he knew the best way forward for her. For them. He wasn’t so certain now.
With Rafe’s footsteps fading, Loretta, once more staring at her great-aunt, felt forced to clarify, “Is there really a list?”
Esme opened her eyes wide. “Well, you did ask, dear. And I really don’t think a list and wagers are things dear Therese would be likely to invent.”
“No.” Consternation, quite genuine, gripped her. “I had no idea it would be that bad.”
“As I’ve lectured you ad nauseum, you are a Michelmarsh, dear. Females of our line are always considered highly marriageable. Added to that, while not a grand heiress, you are certainly very well dowered.” Esme regarded her, then added, “And you should remember that the words most frequently associated with Michelmarsh young ladies are boldand passionate. To most gentlemen, those words have a connotation, an implication, beyond the social.”
Loretta frowned direfully. “I am not going to consent to marry any gentleman who puts his name on a list.”
“Of course not. However, apropos of your current situation, I believe it’s my duty to remind you of one of life’s great maxims.” Esme caught her eyes. “If a chance that is right for you comes waltzing by, seize it. Do not let it slip past. You can never be certain that fate, as fickle as she’s wont to be, will allow you a second chance at happiness—not if you refuse to grasp the first.”
Held in Esme’s gray gaze, Loretta understood what her incorrigible great-aunt was suggesting—indeed, advocating. As it happened, she was fully in agreement.
Jaw firming, she nodded. “Thank you.”
“Not at all, my dear—that’s why I’m here.” Esme grinned roguishly, then pushed to her feet. “And now I’m going to retire.” The sounds of footsteps on the companionway reached them. “And there’s Gibson, just in time. Good night, Loretta dear—and sweet dreams.”
Loretta didn’t react to that last recommendation. She heard the others in the corridor, then Rose came in. She and Rose chatted, discussing wardrobe matters, then she let Rose go off to her cabin and more slowly headed for her own.
/> Closing the cabin door, Loretta looked at the porthole, at the darkness beyond, and wondered how long it would take for the others to settle in their cabins and fall soundly asleep.
An hour later, Rafe was still pacing his cabin, three strides one way, three back, when a faint tap sounded on the door.
He’d just reached the porthole. As he whirled, the doorknob turned; the door opened. Loretta peeked in, saw him, and whisked inside.
She was in her nightgown and robe, her hair down, soft slippers on her feet.
Her attire answered one of the questions circling in hismind. He waited while she closed the door, then crossed to him.
Halting before him, she looked into his face. “You heard what Esme said.” Her gaze turned inward as if consulting some prerehearsed speech, then she drew breath, said, “I understand your position—all you said about your mission, its importance, its demands, and how that impinges on any exploration of what’s between us.”
She refocused on his face. “But I can’t wait.” Jaw firming, she searched his eyes. “I’m not prepared to risk losing any chance we might have for a shared future by returning to London without knowing about us. Without having learned what I need to know. I’m not prepared to risk never knowing—and if that means I have to take a risk, take a chance—roll the dice—now, so be it.”
When she tried to step closer, he seized her waist, held her back. “Was that true, what Esme said?”
“Apparently, yes!” She flung up her hands, then set them down on his shoulders. “I had no idea, but she assures me she had it from Lady Osbaldestone, and why would she lie to Esme?”
Why would Lady Osbaldestone lie? Because she was one of the arch-meddlers in the ton. Why would she lie to Esme, however? … that was a great deal harder to imagine.
Looking into Loretta’s eyes, Rafe didn’t need to ask what she wanted. What she expected. He glanced at the narrow bunk, around the small cabin. His jaw tensed. “This isn’t how I would have had it.”
One small hand flattened against his cheek. She turned his face back to hers. “I don’t care.” Her lips firmed. “You said it yourself—the further we go down the Rhine, the greater danger we’ll be in. We’re safe here. For tonight there’s no danger. So it has to be now, it has to be here.”