Jonathon watched Raffella nervously clean their small cabin. No, he amended as he watched her move. She wasn’t nervous. But her energy was high, anticipatory even; clearly she needed to do something.
The ship rocked gently as they sailed up the Atlantic, and Raffella moved to the swaying as if she’d spent her entire life on board.
Isabella had gone to speak with Mrs. Keyes, who had finally found her sea legs and had managed to keep breakfast down just this morn. Jonathon had no doubts, and Isabella agreed, that neither Mr. nor Mrs. Keyes were involved with stealing items from on board. He couldn’t be certain whether Collins was involved, given the seeming closeness between he and Russell.
He’d wanted to accompany Isabella when she spoke with Mrs. Keyes, but she insisted she’d get further woman to woman. He had agreed, albeit reluctantly.
All right — very reluctantly.
The truth of the matter was that he didn’t want Isabella out of his sight. The memory of Russell’s look haunted him every moment Isabella was gone. He’d held her throughout the night, barely sleeping though Jonathon knew it was impossible for Russell to enter their cabin.
Isabella had grown to mean so much to him in such a short time. So now, as he grasped at the threads of his control, he strained for normalcy. For calm.
He feared it was a losing battle.
“Are you certain you are clear on what we hope to achieve this afternoon?” he asked the maid, struggling to keep his voice even. After all, it wasn’t Raffella’s fault her mistress was stubborn. “You have no reservations? No hesitation?”
Raffella shook her head and offered a small smile, deferential still. “I understand Your Grace,” she said, her accent thick but not enough to obscure her words. “I am to keep watch on the treacherous snakes and alert you when they have robbed from Mrs. Keyes.”
She paused and shook her head. “Or anyone, if I notice. All sorts of things, you’d be surprised what people leave all over. I tell Isabella — Her Grace,” she hastily corrected, “all the time. She must be careful what she leaves lying about.”
Jonathon smiled at her, charmed by Raffella. She wasn’t cowed by him or his position and genuinely cared for Isabella. “Isabella does not strike me as a careless woman.”
“She is not,” Raffella agreed. “She simply trusted those she should not have.”
“Do you believe she’s placed too much trust in me?” he asked the maid.
“Oh, Your Grace.” She curtseyed low. “Please forgive me. I did not mean to overstep.”
Clasping his hands behind his back, Jonathon rocked back on his heels. “You have not. Please tell me,” he said, voice low. He didn’t need anyone overhearing this conversation. “I won’t hold it against you; please elaborate, Raffella.”
The maid took a deep breath, calming the sudden nerves he saw clearly in the way her hands twisted and her eyes dropped to the floor. Then she looked up at him. “I haven’t seen her this content,” Raffella said slowly then shook her head. “Happy. I haven’t seen her this happy in a long while. I pray it will continue between the two of you.”
Raffella swallowed and eyed Jonathon. The way she pressed her lips together told him she was nervous, even if the sharp tilt of her head said otherwise. “Signore Bradford was the wrong sort,” she said shortly.
“I’ve seen his like before,” Raffella continued, “believing their beauty was enough to get them all they desired. Isabella, Her Grace,” she hastily corrected again, “is so much more beautiful than that bastard ever was. He was a small man, a petty man and he made her suffer and then abandoned her when he was no longer enchanted by her beauty.”
She looked up him and down and Jonathon waited. “I see you differently, Your Grace,” Raffella added softly. “And I pray that does not change.”
Jonathon allowed a small smile. The sincerity with which Raffella spoke moved warmly through him. Before he had a chance to analyze them further, Isabella returned. He looked back at the maid and shared a knowing look with her.
Isabella’s cheeks were flushed, and wisps of her hair clung to her neck. Without thought, he reached out to tuck the strands of hair behind her ear. She smiled up at him, eyes alight, and that earlier warmth bloomed hotly in his chest.
Stepping back, he cleared his throat and dropped his hand.
Raffella curtseyed. “I’ll get Danvers,” she said and edged around them to the door. “And proceed to deck.”
Jonathon waited while she left to fetch his valet, his gaze on Isabella. Once the door closed behind Raffella, they were enveloped in silence. His fingers itched to touch her, but he resolutely kept his hands clasped behind his back.
“Mrs. Keyes has my brooch,” Isabella said then cleared her throat. “She’s rather excited; I thought she’d be more skittish about the plan.”
“I think,” he said and gave up. He reached for her, gathering her into his arms. “That we’re causing quite the scandal on board.”
“Oh, yes,” Isabella said, her breath a soft puff of warmth against his throat, just above his cravat. “So much so that I gathered many are betting on the announcement as to when our first child is born.”
Her hands slipped up his shoulders and around his neck. Jonathon chuckled, hands slipping along her waist to her belly. “I can’t imagine it’ll be too much longer,” he whispered. “Until then, I’m willing to keep trying,” His mouth brushed along hers. “We mustn’t disappoint them.”
Isabella laughed, a quick, light sound, and kissed him back. All too soon, she pulled back, and a sigh of disappointment escaped her. “Are we prepared to proceed with this scheme?”
His hands settled on her waist. “I’m not certain.” He dipped his head and kissed the soft skin under her jaw. “I’m certain I’m enjoying my preparations with you far more than I’ll enjoy the actual scheme.”
Her laugh was far sultrier now. She guided his head down, closer to hers. “Don’t worry. I’ll see to it that you enjoy a celebratory evening after the Russells are exposed.” Her body pressed closer to his. “And I’ll make sure you enjoy our evening even more than the preparations.”
Jonathon pulled back and saw her eyes twinkling with passion and delight and even anticipation over what they were about to do. He grinned back at Isabella and kissed her. Her mouth opened under his, and he felt her sigh move across his lips. Backing her up to the door, he cradled her head, uncaring of her hairstyle, and deepened the kiss.
“We should go above deck,” he said, but didn’t release her.
He felt her more relaxed today than since they’d married. Jonathon didn’t know what changed, but something had altered.
Isabella hummed but made no move to step out of his arms. Jonathon kissed her again before reluctantly stepping away. Her cheeks were flushed for a different reason, one he found all the more enticing.
She quickly patted her hair and straightened her cloak before placing her hand on his arm.
On deck, several men were at the stern, sitting in what few chairs had been bolted to the wood. Jonathon scanned the small crowd, nodded to Russell and his wife, to the Collins, and several others. One of the men leaped to his feet and hastily offered his seat to Isabella.
With a smile, she accepted and arranged her skirts around her legs.
Just then Mrs. Keyes, clearly unused to subterfuge of any sort, burst onto deck. Jonathon watched her carefully. Not only did she seem far healthier than she had since they left Genoa, but the spark to her eyes clearly said she planned to enjoy whatever happened next.
“I’ve been sick all this time and feel as if I’ve been confined to these cabins.” She let out a long, dramatic sigh and removed the shawl she wore over her spring coat.
Pinned to the shawl was the sapphire brooch Isabella had given her. Jonathon had to admire the other woman’s aim — the shawl landed with the brooch over the side of the chair nearest where the Russells stood.
Very impressive.
Mr. Keyes led his wife to the railing as the other woman took deep breaths of the sea air. Not only was the woman’s recovery remarkable, but her performance was worthy of Drury Lane.
Mrs. Keyes spoke animatedly with a couple of the other women about hosting a ball in London once they return. She turned to Isabella and invited her into the conversation. Very carefully, Isabella stood and walked so she passed the shawl and brooch as she joined the small group at the railing.
As the chairs emptied of the women, Jonathon made certain to sit in one opposite the shawl. He sat through the normal ship talk; they’d been on board for long enough now that he’d heard several of these stories already.
Isabella spent several minutes at the railing with the group of chattering women before returning to him. She smiled graciously as Burke, the man currently occupying the chair, hastily stood and bowed to her. Her touch on his arm steadied him, and it was only then that he realized how bored he was with the tedious conversation. How he moved in his seat, fidgeting like a schoolboy.
“Patience is a necessity,” she whispered.
It wasn’t his patience that needed work. It was his self-control. He didn’t seem to have any when it came to Isabella. Or rather, to being separated from Isabella when all he wanted was to eschew this gathering and return to their cabin.
“A rather frustrating one at times,” he returned. No sense in telling her his thoughts, not out here where he could do nothing about them.
“It’s possible,” she said softly, “that our lure will either go unnoticed or be passed over.”
Jonathon shook his head and took a deep breath. He doubted that, but anything was possible. Frankly, he wanted this finished. He enjoyed scheming with her, the energy, the way they thought so similarly. But already he had had enough of the ploy.
Isabella could have been hurt; the way Russell had slithered across the deck had been unmistakable. Jonathon wanted this over now. He far preferred to take the brooch from Mrs. Keyes’s shawl and pin it to Russell’s neck. He’d long been familiar with the lengths these petty thieves went to.
He didn’t want Russell’s desperation to hurt any on this voyage. Particularly his duchess. If Russell didn’t show his hand presently, Jonathon planned to find a way to wrench a confession from his lips.
One of the crew approached with refreshments. Jonathon didn’t see what happened next, but the crewman went down and drinks and sandwiches flew in every direction.
“You bumbling idiot!” Mrs. Russell screeched. Jonathon could live a long time without ever hearing that sound again. “You ruined my dress!”
Several other ladies kicked up a fuss and Jonathon knew without needing to watch Russell that this was exactly the distraction the other man needed. But he watched Russell, tracked him as the man took a rather roundabout route through the chairs to his wife — one that passed the shawl.
Jonathon squeezed Isabella’s hand. She didn’t look up at him, but he knew she spotted the same thing. The shawl had been moved and the brooch was gone.
Looking over the crowd to where Raffella stood off to the side, Jonathon raised an eyebrow. But the maid shrugged. He nodded and left it at that — the commotion had been a good one, and clearly Raffella had also been caught up in it.
He met Mrs. Keyes’s gaze; the woman had brushed ineffectually at her skirt but suddenly seemed to remember her role. She froze, stopped her movements, and raised her head. Jonathon swallowed an impressed smile. She missed her calling; the woman was a born actress.
Dramatically lifting her shawl, Mrs. Keyes gasped loud enough that everyone quieted. “My brooch!” she called through the silence now gathered around the group. “My brooch is missing. It’s been stolen! The thief is here! Bring the captain!”
Her voice carried rather impressively, and Jonathon doubted the captain needed to be called by a crewman. Several of the other passengers already looked around the deck.
“Mrs. Russell was near the crewman that tripped. But her husband stood near the shawl,” Isabella whispered.
Jonathon nodded in acknowledgement, but something within him snapped. He rested his hand on Isabella’s waist and squeezed once. Stalking to where the Russells stood, he glowered at the other man.
“Where is Mrs. Keyes’s brooch?” he demanded.
Every ounce of every Duke of Strathmore sounded in his voice. He tilted his head and looked down his nose at the man, haughty and arrogant, as aristocratic as he’d been bred to be.
Russell looked shocked, but his eyes narrowed. “I don’t have it! I haven’t taken a thing.”
“You are the worst kind of blaggard to deny it.” The words were flat. Jonathon didn’t raise his voice; he simply stated.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the captain appear. Russell turned to him.
“Search me!” he insisted. “Search my person, search my cabin again if you must. But I am no thief.”
“You, Davies,” the captain called. “Search Mr. Russell.”
Setting his cane down on a chair, Russell shrugged off his coat and tossed it on the same chair. Davies searched Russell’s person while another crewman searched through his coat and waistcoat.
Suddenly Isabella was beside him. He looked down at her and she mouthed, “The cane.”
Nodding, he returned his attention to Russell. He stepped forward, his hand on the head of the cane. He didn’t see Russell move, but he heard a growl from the other man. Russell shoved Jonathon away from him.
Furious, Jonathon left the cane and punched the other man. Russell went down, sprawled on the deck at his wife’s feet.
Face purple, jaw swelling, he struggled to get up. “I demand satisfaction!” he sneered. It came out rather jumbled, what with all the hands trying to help him and his jaw swelling.
Jonathon found no humor in the situation, only blind fury.
Beside him, Isabella examined the cane. Mrs. Russell had left her husband’s side and was even now trying to wrestle the cane from Isabella. But Davies was there, yanking Mrs. Russell back, away from Isabella.
With a triumphant “Ah!” Isabella twisted the head of the cane off and upended it. Bits of jewelry fell out, followed by Collins’s missing snuffbox.
The only sound was the wind in the sails and the crew calling to each other. The bits of jewels, very clearly broken to fit inside the cane, moved across the deck with each swell of the ocean. Including Isabella’s brooch.
The captain crouched beside the mess. Muttering to himself, he scooped the bits into his hand and stood. “It appears you are the thief. And your wife was well aware.”
Russell glowered while his wife huffed and spluttered denials. The captain ignored them and motioned for his crew.
“Oh, you were magnificent,” Mrs. Keyes gushed to Isabella, eyes flitting from her to Jonathon. “How you ferreted out these scoundrels.”
“Take them to their cabins,” the captain ordered. He glared at the Russells. “Lock them in. You’ll be dealt with in Dublin. And the Irish have no love for thieves.”
With his arms crossed over his chest, Jonathon watched them go. He had no idea what the captain planned to charge them with, and found he didn’t care.
Isabella’s hand rested on his arm, and he looked down. The tension knotting his shoulders eased, and he covered her hand with his. Turning from the passengers and their accolades, Jonathon led Isabella back to their cabin.