Anthony Barton, second son of Lord Charles Barton, the Marquess of Sussex, and lord of his own smaller holdings and estate through a secondary title, looked out through his porthole window into the darkness. Water splashed up against the glass, and night roared around him in the cramped cabin aboard his ship to freedom. So much water battered the small circular frame that it looked to be more under than above the waves. Anthony gripped the door handle in his small accommodations on the ship. At least he had been able to acquire a cabin alone. In his hurry to leave the estate, he had taken the first available ship to Philadelphia. His trunk slid across his cabin, knocking him in the shins. “Blast and maggots!” His body followed the trunk, sliding down the dipping floor, but his hand held tightly to the door, so he pulled himself upright and opened it. The ship tipped back, and the passageway to his front became a steep decline. Thanking the builders who had included handrails, he inched forward, bracing himself when the boat tipped backward again and his path ascended.
He’d spent the last two days attempting to empty his already-barren gut and, with the crackers that now resided inside, had just earned his sea stomach, as the captain called it. But this storm tested his new anatomy, and all he wanted was a bit of air, to drink in great gulps of the cool freshness that was bound to be on deck.
With that motivation he gripped the rail more tightly until his knuckles turned white, and he managed to pull himself to the door at the end of the corridor. Once unlatched, it slammed open with the force of a gale, and Anthony questioned his wisdom. Wind whipped his face, and rain soaked him through from his vantage point still in the passageway.
He faced the stern of the ship. A man, a deckhand, finished tying down a sail and shouted, gesturing that Anthony should return to his bunk. The man tied a rope around his middle and ran for the other end of the deck. Anthony admired his courage, as he no doubt kept their ship intact through this unforeseen weather. The ship dipped backward, sending a wave of rolling water across the stern of the ship, burying the smaller handrails and much of the wooden decking from sight.
A burst of lightning lit the night sky. A jolly boat swung on its ends violently in the wind. Everything else seemed motionless, tied, secured. Just the ship itself dipped and swelled with the waves. Anthony’s stomach a bit better but certainly not calm, he yanked at the door to secure it again against the elements and return to his bunk. But a great cracking of wood drew his attention back to the night sky and the jolly boat. The smaller vessel had broken free of its rigging and lay, unsecured, on the deck. One more swell and the thing would start sliding. Sure enough, the ship tilted sideways, and the small boat went with it. A scream carried on the wind—a woman. Surely he imagined it. But as he watched the small conveyance, a white hand, thin, feminine, broke through the fabric in the top corner. He ran toward the boat, determined to rescue the woman. And then the whole thing slid the opposite direction, barreling toward him, missing the mast by a hair. He leapt for the boat, grabbing at the side, but the power of its momentum won against his own strength. He fell backward to the deck and watched as the boat broke through the handrailing and dropped off the side of the ship.
Anthony’s heart pounded. “No!” He ran toward the opening at the rail and almost barreled over the deckhand he had seen moments ago.
“Your boat went over!” Anthony’s shout was almost lost in the wind.
Irritated, the deckhand shouted back. “I see that. Get back to your bunk.”
“But someone was inside! A woman!”
The man’s eyes widened. He looked out to the broken rail and back at Anthony. Then he shrugged. “At least she is in the boat.”
“Someone must go after her, save her, something! She will be lost.”
“There is nothing we can do right now.” The man gestured all around him, and lightning cracked above them. They ducked when the thunder followed immediately after. “If she lives, we will search for her in the calm.”
Anthony ripped off his jacket and waistcoat, pulled off his boots, and tossed them back down the corridor. “Give me your rope.”
The man’s eyes widened again. “You are not serious. You cannot do this. You will drown.”
Anthony pulled at the knot around the man’s waist to loosen it himself.
The deckhand shook his head, knocking Anthony’s hands aside. “Don’t be an imbecile.”
The more he delayed, the farther the jolly boat drifted and the less chance Anthony had to live. He gripped the man’s shoulders, shaking them. “I must go after her.”
With another swell of the sea the man stumbled back, held up his hands, and said, “Take the rope. Take it. And may you not drown with those as your last words.”
Anthony ripped the rope from him and tied it securely around his own middle. Then he ran for the broken railing. He was almost there when the boat tipped again, and he stumbled backward, slipping in the ankle-deep water that flowed across the wood. He reached for the mast and held on until the ship righted itself. Then he skidded to the rail and looked out across the water for the boat. Surprised, he saw it crest a wave directly to their front.
A voice in his ear startled him. “Your rope is not long enough. I brought extra.”
He smiled and fumbled with the rope at his waist. The man retied the line. “Now, don’t lose hold of this. You lose this, you lose the ship.”
Anthony nodded. “Thank you.” He gripped the man’s shoulder.
He turned and ran for the opening in the deck railing. Pushing off the edge with his feet, he dove out into the rolling and dark waters. The icy water engulfed him, but he kicked to the surface. Gulping in air, he spun around, searching for the ship. The deckhand waved to him. Anthony put the ship at his back and swam to where he had last seen the jolly boat. If he could tie it to the ship, he and the woman could wait out the storm together, he hoped.
But swimming through the rise and pull of the great waves of the ocean was nothing like he’d expected. Every effort forward was countered by a great pull backward. The boat crested a wave to his front. It was farther than he’d thought, but he kicked toward it, rising and falling with each roll of the sea. He tried to ignore the icy feeling spreading through his limbs as they slowed their movement. Saltwater on his lips, blinking the same from his eyes, he kicked and pulled himself through the water, with the sporadic views of the lifeboat as motivation. Sometimes it would dip low, behind a wave, and other times rise above him as if preparing to crash on his head. Reaching the end of his rope, he had but five feet to his front. Five small feet from his tired body to the jolly boat. Maybe he could shout. “Hello! Hello! Can you hear me?”
No answer. “Hello! Miss! Are you still there?”
Movement in the fabric on top filled him with hope. A head popped up through the hole—dark curls whipping wildly in the air, a tiny nose, and wide, fiery eyes looking about the water.
“Here! I am here!”
She spotted him and waved. “Oh, help me!”
“Do you have any rope?”
“Oh! Oh my! Just a minute.”
She disappeared inside the boat and brought out something in her hands. “I have this!”
“Tie it to something.”
“What?”
“Tie it to something and throw it to me!”
“Throw it? Yes! Here it is!” She reached behind her and threw the whole coil out toward him, but the wind caught it and blew it the other direction. She yelped and reached for it, grabbing a piece before it all blew away. She turned to him. “I’ll tie it first!”
He nodded vigorously. His limbs were stiff and his legs tired from the effort to keep himself as close to her as possible. “Hurry!” What was this woman doing inside the lifeboat to begin with? A splinter of irritation lodged itself inside him, and he gritted his teeth.
With the rope tied about her waist, she threw the other end to him. It sailed out over the water, hovering in the wind for a bit, and then fell in a coil in front of him. Thankfully, a good amount of rigging had come over the edge with the boat. Anthony stretched forward. Inches. He needed just a few inches. He looked over his shoulder. The deckhand had stepped away from the edge. Looking back at the woman’s rope, it was now a foot away and floating. He untied the rope about his waist, lunged for the piece connected to the lifeboat, and then swam back to his own, still floating just below the surface. Hands stretched out, each holding a rope, he pulled at the jolly boat, grunting in his effort until the ropes united. Then he tied a good strong knot, connecting the ship to the small boat.
Pulling himself along the rope, he reached the boat at last. The woman disappeared inside again.
Weak, worn, he lifted one arm and clung to the wood on the top.
For a moment, he allowed himself to hang there.
The woman leaned over the edge, tipping the boat dangerously close to the water. “What are you doing? Pull yourself up.”
He again gritted his teeth. “Back away.”
She squealed and disappeared again under the fabric.
He took another minute to garner some strength and then gripped the side of the boat with both hands and pulled his weight up, his shoulders quivering with the strain, and onto the top of the boat.
Their small boat rode the swells of two waves before he moved from his spot draped across the top. He jerked at the opening, making it wider, then pulled his legs up, out of the water, stuffing his feet through the hole and inside the boat.
A pair of wide eyes watched him from the other side of the boat. He reached toward the woman. “Give me the rope.”
“What?”
“The rope.” He indicated the line tied about her waist.
“Oh!” She fumbled with it. “I am better at tying than untying, I’m afraid.”
He crouched over to her along the middle of the wobbly vessel. He worked at loosening the remarkably tight knot around her middle. Returning to the opening in the fabric, he stood up in the storm again, leaning out over the front, feeling a wave of stomach unease as the craft dipped low. He reached for the ring below him and tied the rope to it. Then he pulled his head back inside the shelter of the boat.
The woman sat as far from him as possible in the darkness on the opposite side of the boat, a small blanket curled around her. Her eyes wide, she asked, “Are you all right, sir?”
He grunted, turned himself around, and sat. Then he leaned back against the wooden side and breathed out. “I am now, I believe.”
The wind shook the canvas above them, and a great splash of water poured down on Anthony’s head through the opening.
“Oh look! You’ve let more water in. Please close that hole straightaway.” She looked down at her feet and began to mumble, “I would think you’d have done that already. What kind of person leaves the thing open in the middle of a rainstorm? I don’t even know . . .”
“Pardon me? Are you mumbling about me over there under your breath? I can hear you, you know.” Becoming frustrated, he reached up and pulled the canvas material as tight as he could back across the opening and tried to secure it with the ropes available, but many were tied from the outside.
“I tied it earlier. Allow me.” She crawled over to him and stretched across his body, nearly pressing against him while she pulled and yanked at the ropes. A hint of lemon and something else, maybe rose, filled the small space around them. “There.” She pushed away and sat back down in her spot at the other end.
He looked up in the darkness, trying to see the result of her handiwork. Too dim to make it out entirely, he did notice it seemed secure. “Well done. It must be a handy knot you did there. Some sort of maritime expert, are you?”
“No, horses.” She shuffled, seeming to adjust her position on the blanket. “Maritime expert. When would I ever learn to be a maritime expert?” She continued to mumble, and he found himself equal parts amused and exasperated.
He could no longer see her features, but her smell lingered about him. Grateful he was for it; it was the only pleasant thing about his situation. Dripping wet, his stomach would not settle. The boat rolled to the side, throwing them both against its wall. He shifted quickly back to the middle and stretched himself across the width, hoping to stabilize the wobbling somewhat. And then, without warning, his stomach lurched violently and he lunged for the opening. Only just reaching the night air in time, he vomited all the contents of his stomach into the night wind.
Dropping again along the bottom of the boat, he grunted. “I apologize.” A shiver coursed through him. “Since we cannot see one another, you wouldn’t mind too much, I suppose, were I to strip myself of this wet shirt?”
Her voice, purposefully nonchalant, answered, “No, of course not. We have many hours yet until light, I’d imagine.”
A great pause followed in the darkness while he undid his buttons and tried to hang the shirt above him, tucked into some of the rope. This woman was a different sort of person, he assumed. Still hadn’t voiced a word of thanks. He scooted down a bit, along the side of the boat, tipping it lower, thought better of it, and crouched more in the center, right in the puddle of water gathering at the lowest point.
He shook his head. He had wanted adventure, anything different from the everyday life of doldrum and boredom and agony that was his. But this . . . “Ha!” he laughed. This was adventure of a different sort. His brother, Todd, and Todd’s fiancée, Sariah Farthing, would seethe in envy and his father never believe it.
“What?”
“I was just thinking of home. They would be surprised to find me in such a situation.”
She snorted and then covered her mouth, giggling. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry.” Then she snorted again. “How unladylike of me. I just . . . well . . . my family would be surprised as well.” She mumbled, “To say the least. Horrified, more like. Ruined . . . now that I’m here with you.”
She gasped and mumbled more, incoherently.
He chuckled. “Do you often mumble?”
“Oh! I’m terribly sorry. Again. I just said that, didn’t I? Well, at any rate, I do mumble. Not so much in recent years—thought I was cured of my habit. My governess—oh, that is to say, my friend’s governess—would be dreadfully appalled to hear me now. Horrified about all of this, I suppose, really. But at any rate, no, I do not often mumble. Anymore.”
He chuckled again, low in his belly, and felt a bit braver than he would with any other companion in this situation. “You’re terrible at it, you know.”
A tiny gasp from the corner where she sat made him smile.
“How so? How does one become terrible at mumbling?” Under her breath she continued. “Mumbling isn’t some sort of art . . .”
“Ho ho! See? Isn’t the point to remain unheard? I hear you plain as day every time.”
Silence followed. “Well, I see what you mean. But I feel it very ungallant of you to correct me. What if I took great pride in my mumbling?”
His laughter bubbled up. “Pride? In your mumbling? Well, if that be the case, then my advice is much more needed. No sense taking pride in something you do so abysmally.”
She laughed, and it was a musical sound.
“You sing.”
She drew in her breath.
“I can tell by your laugh that you sing.”
“I do enjoy it, yes.” She cleared her throat. “While we are correcting one another so honestly, I hope you don’t mind that I make a few suggestions on your rescuing effort.”
He couldn’t respond. What to say to that? Did she not know she would, at this moment, be floating adrift were it not for him?
“May I take your silence as agreement?”
His exhaustion was setting in, and he had not stopped shivering yet, sitting as he was in a puddle of water in the middle of the boat. He shifted his weight. “By all means.”
“Very sensible of you. To begin with, I am astonished you had not thought to bring a longer rope. Why swim all the way out here in this awful storm with a rope that is too short? And furthermore, had you not thought about how to get me back to the ship? Arriving here is lovely, please understand, but now what? How shall we return?”
He gritted his teeth. Of all the ungrateful . . . He pulled in a long, slow breath. “We are tied to the ship. When the water calms, we shall simply pull ourselves closer, and they will throw down a ladder, I’d imagine.”
“The sea might not calm for hours yet. Had you thought of that?”
“No, I was most concerned with first attaching your conveyance so you did not drift out to the open sea and be lost forever.”
“Forever? My, that sounds rather dire, does it not? Surely I could be found.”
“Does anyone know you were inside this boat?”
Silence replied.
“Would anyone have known to seek you out, discover you were missing?”
Surely she had family aboard, likely a chaperone at least. She sounded as well-bred as the best of them, as impractical and spoiled as any lady he’d danced with.
“No, no one.”
The quiet response stunned him. “Have you no one here to see you safely across?”
“No.”
Silence filled their small boat, as thick and heavy as silence could be. The sea had calmed as well, the vessel still rolling with each wave but not nearly as forcefully.
Her voice full of forced cheerfulness, she said, “Let’s check on the ship, shall we? Make sure we are good and truly attached?” She climbed toward him again, crouching low, stepped over his legs to what was the opening just minutes before. She untied his hastily secured knot and pulled the canvas back. Moonlight poured in. Their boat dipped in another swell, rolling Anthony over to his side. Her head disappeared out the hole. “The ship! It’s on fire!”
Anthony leapt forward. “Please, allow me.”
She dipped back inside, allowing him a view. The top mast was indeed in flames. It must have been struck by lightning. Many a deckhand were hard at work with buckets and great sheets of fabric, working to douse the fire.
The sky had cleared in spots, and the moon shone directly above them, through a patch of clouds.
A dinging bell rang out across the water. “All hands on deck!”
The woman pulled at the canvas, creating a larger space, and stood beside him, eyes trained on the ship.
Her arm brushed against his chest, and she jumped, turning to him, eyes wide. “I apologize.” Her cheeks turned a deep shade of red, and she refused to meet his eyes. He pulled back as far as he could away from her, and she did the same from him. They both turned again to watch the activity on deck. But he couldn’t ignore his awareness of her, and for some reason it added to his irritation.
He forced his attention back to the ship, fear setting in. Flames rose high up the mast, and the efforts of the men on deck seemed small and futile in comparison to the power of fire to consume.
The woman raised a hand up to her mouth. “Oh no.”
He nodded. The jolly boat rose and fell with each swell in the water, and the woman lost her balance, falling against him. “Easy.” He rested his hands on her arms to steady her.
“Thank you.” Her voice, small, warmed him.
“You’re welcome.” He squeezed her arms, trying to comfort her, but she stiffened.
“You can unhand me now. I am quite able to stand on my own.”
Irritation burned inside him anew.
Another great swell toppled him up against her in his surprise and pressed her up against the material at her back. “Really! Get off me at once. I see no need for this brutish behavior.”
Brutish?
“Perhaps if you went back inside.” He again gritted his teeth. “I see no need for us both to watch.”
She sniffed. “Well, no one needs to watch at all, do they? What good can we possibly do? It’s just a matter of curiosity at this point, and I am dreadfully curious as to our fate, and I assume you are as well.”
She made no move to duck away, so he turned again to watch the ship. No changes, no improvement. But clouds again began to roll in, and just as he was about to suggest they both return under the canvas, the sky opened again and rain dumped down on them.
She yelped and dipped back underneath. He followed, yanking on the covering to pull it securely over the top once again.
The noise of water hitting the canvas blocked out all other sound, and a thick wetness in the air hung over them. He was relieved, to say the least. Surely the deluge would douse the fire.
The woman pulled her blanket up around her. Anthony gave up feeling dry anytime soon and leaned back against one side of the boat, his feet elevated against the other side, sitting squarely once again in the middle of the water pooled at the center of their boat.
He felt wide eyes on him, but he ignored them. Closing his own, he drowned out the noise and thought of home, or he tried to. But the shifting sounds and the breathing of the woman in the dark corner distracted him.
She was attractive, curiously so, and gentle in her speech, but she dressed like a servant. He had never seen her before, at least he didn’t think so. There was something familiar about her, but didn’t all young women start to look the same? He chided himself. At any rate, she was likely an educated servant. One with fiery, challenging brown eyes and flowing dark hair, who smelled of lemons. A small smile caught the corner of his mouth, and he shifted his shoulder. With any luck, the storm would pass quickly.