‘So, Felicity made her lie down…’
‘Who’s he…?’
‘Has Percy got the plague…?’
‘ENOUGH’ thundered the Reverend finally managing to extricate himself from the throng of bodies competing for his attention. ‘Where’s Grace?’
‘I’m here father.’ His eldest daughter’s voice came serenely from the top of the steps. Unlike their younger siblings, both the Duchess of Blackmore and the Countess of Ravenstone had paused to don fur capes before venturing out into the cold night air. Grace’s hand was tucked into that of her husband and as etiquette dictated, their graces lingered in the doorway as the Earl and Countess of Ravenstone preceded them down the steps to welcome the remainder of the party into their home.
‘We were terribly worried about you.’ Temperance gave her father a quick hug, before enveloping Hope in a fervent embrace.
‘Undoubtedly some more than others,’ muttered the Reverend with a sniff.
‘I can assure you my wife has destroyed a suitable number of kerchiefs in her concern for your welfare Reverend,’ Adam commented tactfully before waving his hand towards a footman who had accompanied them down the stairs with trays of hot mulled wine. ‘Help yourself to refreshment. Believe me Augustus, it’s very good to see all three of you. Nick and I were about to come galloping to your rescue.’ He paused slightly, eying the tall form of Gabriel as he stepped into the ring of light created by the lanterns at the foot of the steps.
‘Forgive me, but I don’t think we are acquainted sir,’ the Earl commented mildly.
Gabriel bent low at the waist. ‘Viscount Northwood at your service my lord,’ he murmured formally.
Adam frowned and was just about to speak when Nicholas came up behind him.
‘Gabriel what the devil are you doing here? They said you were dead.’
One year earlier
It was early afternoon before Gabriel was allowed to disembark. Pettily, he decided to leave without informing Captain Atwood of his intentions. His orders had told him to report immediately to theCastilla de Puntales. However, he decided to leave that particular pleasure until the following morning to give him time to get a feel for his surroundings.
His cousin had made no bones about the fact that Gabriel had been expected to remain on board the Seahorse prior to his meeting with Captain Ortega, but since the last he heard, Henry Atwood was not his keeper, Gabriel elected to go ashore to look for lodgings. Primarily, he had to admit because it put a rub in the way of his cousin’s wishes, but also because his instincts continued to clamour that there was something smoky about this particular mission.
His uncle had never before insisted his whereabouts be known at all times. Indeed, the Admiral had always appeared to trust his nephew implicitly and that trust had been entirely mutual. Gabriel had never failed to accomplish his purpose, however dangerous. But this time, he’d been given a watchdog. That was the only way to describe Henry’s involvement.
To put it bluntly, the whole business stank. Gabriel thought it safe to assume Henry would put a tail on him and under normal circumstances it would have made no real difference if his cousin knew where he was lodging, but on this occasion, Gabriel was determined to elude whoever Henry sent to watch him.
Distancing himself from the seamier area surrounding the docks, Gabriel made his way into the maze of narrow streets that made up the old city. His Spanish was passable, and after spending an hour or so getting his bearings and ensuring he was no longer being followed, he was quickly able to get directions to a reasonably respectable pensiones situated within walking distance of the Castilla. The city’s inhabitants he spoke to did not seem to have any particular grievance against the British given that the two nations had been on opposite sides of the war only months ago, although mayhap that would change once there were more of his countrymen garrisoned in Cadiz. In all honesty, he’d been surprised to note that the Seahorse was currently the only British ship at anchor in such a strategically important city.
The pensiones was at the end of a narrow alley and entered by a plain door with no sign outside. Indeed, without help, he would never have found it. Nodding politely at the elderly toothless woman who showed him to the small sparce room, he couldn’t entirely shake the fearthat someone might endeavour to murder him in the middle of the night. Still, he was here now and once the door closed behind his stout landlady, he jammed a chair up underneath its handle.
Satisfied that no one would enter without him knowing, Gabriel looked out of the small window. Set deep into a thick stone wall, it opened wide enough for him to climb through but was much too high up for him to reach the ground without a decent rope. However, looking over towards the next roof, he thought that mayhap he would be able to jump the gap without too much difficulty. Where it would lead him, there was no way of knowing, but at least he’d established a means of escape should he need it.
Content that he’d done everything he could to secure his safety, he decided an early night was in order. He stripped off his outer clothing and lay back on the top of the threadbare blanket. The weather was unusually warm for the time of year - even in southern Spain, a few weeks of colder weather could normally be relied upon during the winter months, but instead it was decidedly agreeable. After taking the precaution of placing his pistol underneath his pillow and tucking his belongings under his arm, Gabriel closed his eyes and quickly fell asleep.
He rose before dawn the next day, a habit he’d adopted since joining his uncle’s covert payroll. That said, the fact that he was almost certainly sharing the mattress with a few extra bedfellows undoubtedly contributed towards his early stirring.
After splashing his face and hands in small bowl of water, and using the bucket provided, he pulled on a relatively clean shirt. Although he’d got used to packing light, he still missed the exquisitely starched, not to mention beautifully clean shirts handed to him at home every morning by his valet. Quickly tying his cravat without the benefit of a mirror, he reflected that Heavers would have a fit of the vapours if he could see him now.
Chuckling at the thought, he rescued his pistol and tucked it in his breeches. As he picked up his bag and removed the chair from the door handle, he suddenly wondered whether there were any public baths in the old town. With its Moorish influence, he certainly hoped so. It had to be said, he was beginning to smell rather unpleasant. Mayhap he would get the opportunity to bathe after he’d met with Captain Ortega. Provided he was still breathing of course.
Chapter Five
Although the latecomers were given the opportunity to freshen up, there was no occasion for private conversation with the remainder of Christmas evening devoted to the younger Shacklefords. While Gabriel was grateful the Earl had not summarily had him thrown him out, he couldn’t help chafing at the delay in speaking with Nicholas. Indeed, he was under no illusion that only the Duke of Blackmore vouching for him had ensured him a decent bed and the opportunity to partake of an excellent goose at the Earl’s table. The ladies had not left the gentlemen to their port as he’d hoped and all in all, by the time the younger siblings finally went off to bed, Gabriel felt entirely wrung out. He’d been travelling anonymously for months, slowly making his way through Spain until finally a stroke of luck saw him succeed in securing passage on a British merchant vessel on its way to Plymouth.
In truth, he was weary unto death, even more so as he was well aware that it was now his problems would really start.
They had been watching for him. Had Henry somehow discovered he was still alive? He remembered the vagrant’s comments about the Blackmore crest. Clearly his uncle and cousin had suspected that if he lived, he would seek out his old captain and mentor. His mind whirled and the thought that they may yet come after him choked his gut. And mayhap not only him…
Strangely, the only balm to his fractured soul during the evening was Hope Shackleford. Although they were seated at opposite ends of the table, he found his eyes continuously searching for her. The difference between this Hope Shackleford and the one he’d spent the last eighteen hours with was marked. Here in the company of her siblings she was relaxed, smiling often. Her hair, tied back in a simple ribbon was the red of autumn berries and it gleamed like burnished copper in the candlelight. He found himself almost spellbound which was entirely ridiculous given that he was three years over thirty and not unaccustomed to attractive women desiring his attention. But the thought of this particular female throwing herself at him left him unexpectedly hard and aching. He sucked in his breath in surprise. God’s teeth, where the bloody hell had that come from?
It had been over a year since he’d last been with a woman and in truth, he’d not even thought about it until this moment - it had to be said that living with constant fear and dread was very effective at quelling lustful urges. He took a sip of his wine, endeavouring to get his previously quiescent cock under control before someone noticed and possibly tossed him out on his ear.
