What to do. What to do.If she stayed here much longer, Tiffany would send someone to find her. And if she were caught in this room, with Rockwell in a state of undress, well, her problem would be solved, but not in the way she wanted. She didn’t wish to trap him into marriage. That was no way to start a relationship. Besides, Rockwell was not the marrying kind. He was the intrepid explorer. She longed for a husband who would be happy to stay home with her and the children. If not a grand love like Tiffany found, then at least friendship.
She poked her head through the gap in the curtains and was just about to step out of her hiding place and make a mad dash to the door when Wolf’s valet entered, carrying a pressed shirt.
He spoke into the dressing room. “My lord, I have found a clean shirt for you. I shall gather up the rest of your washing.”
“Don’t bother to rush, as I’ll be gone for a considerable time. I have enough clean clothes for my journey.” Rockwell reentered the bedchamber in a pair of buckskins, but his chest was bare. What a sight he made. She swallowed hard. “Are my trunks repacked?” To her disappointment, he pulled on the shirt.
“Just a few items to arrive from your lodgings.” He pointed to the open trunk. “I’ll instruct them to be packed in the final trunk as soon as they arrive.”
“Good. I need to catch the tide tonight,” he said as he sat on the bed and pulled on his top boots.
“Would you like me to help you with your cravat, my lord?”
“That won’t be necessary. I’m not dressing for the opera, merely a long boat trip. While I’m out, can you ensure the trunks are loaded in the carriage and sent to theDoreenat Wapping Dock? I’ll go straight to the dock from my meeting.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
Rockwell grabbed his greatcoat and made for the door.
Farah let out the breath she’d been holding. She tried to hold back tears. Her plan was over. Rockwell was leaving, and now she would have to try to deal with her brother alone. Like a rat caught in a trap, she had nowhere to turn. The sun at her back made everything worse because on this beautiful sunny afternoon, her life moved into darkness. Marriage to Lord Franklin loomed, and it was almost too much to bear.
She wiped the tears from her face and thought perhaps it was time to turn to the sisterhood for help. Perhaps Tiffany could get Wolf to talk to her brother. Now, how to get out of this room without being seen?
She peered round the curtain—the room was empty. She moved quickly and was halfway across the chamber when she heard Simpson returning. The valet had someone else with him. Oh dear, what would everyone think if she were caught here? Panic at the thought of trapping Rockwell in a marriage he didn’t want made her dive into the open trunk, pulling some clothes over the top of her.
“Put the rest of his shirts in there and then carry the trunks to the carriage. Quickly now, his lordship will require the trunks loaded before he arrives at the dock and it’s a good forty-five minutes to get there.”
Before she understood what was happening, clothes were placed on top of her and the lid slammed shut. Thankfully, there were small holes near where the trunk straps adhered to the leather, so she could breathe.
Well, it’s one way to safely get out of the house.She’d alert the men as they loaded the trunk on the carriage out of sight, near the stables at the back of the house. Then she could sneak back in through the kitchen.
“Gor’ blimey, how come this one’s so much heavier than the others,” she heard the servant say as they began to carry her down the stairs.
Suddenly, on a loud curse, she felt the trunk hit the stairs and tumble downward over and over. Her head hit the edge of stair and even through the thick leather, it hurt like hell. The trunk continued to roll down the sweeping staircase and each time it hit the corner of a stair it smashed her head. Her cries were muffled by a mouthful of clothes. By the time the trunk landed with a crash on the tiled entrance hall, Farah was in no condition to let the men know she was inside. She’d blacked out.
Chapter Three
Rockwell arrived earlyat the dock. His meeting with Captain Clarkson who would be sailing the ship to Africa went as expected—the captain bristled at the indefinite delay until Rockwell explained that he had to go to Ireland first on his other smaller ship, theDoreen. However, with Rockwell’s money funding the expedition, the captain had little choice but to wait. Let them idle away maintaining the ship. How hard was that?
Rockwell had made it to Wapping Dock in time for theDoreento leave for Dublin at high tide. Night had just fallen and his body hummed with impatience as he stood on the deck watching the many ships journey down the Thames toward open sea.
The air was thick with tension, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of his upcoming hunt.
However, Farah’s face haunted him—the hurt in her eyes when he’d refused to help her last night. He wished he couldhavehelped her. Wished he could risk even offering for her. She’d make any man a wonderful wife, but he knew a marriage to him would be a disaster for her.
Pain lanced through him at the thought of marriage. He’d proposed once, to Charlotte, a woman he’d met in the Americas. Joy had burst through him when she’d said yes to his proposal. They were on their way home to England to announce hisengagement to his family and friends, when she had become ill on board the ship and died in his arms.
He’d had to bury Charlotte at sea.
He’d told no one about his fiancée, not even his brother. That was when he realized he couldn’t have everything he wanted. Exploration was best left to men. He’d not risk someone he loved ever again.
Travel and exploring were his first love, and he’d leave the idea of family to his siblings to provide. Tiffany and Wolf had something he’d never have. Couldn’t have, when his sailing the world came first. He wasn’t that selfish. Not again. Charlotte hadn’t really wanted to leave her home, but she did for him. And she paid the ultimate price. He wouldn’t ask that of a woman again, wouldn’t condemn her to a life of loneliness while he chased every horizon.
He leaned on the railing, as memories of Lord Lucien Cavanaugh, Viscount Furoe, his best friend outside of his brother, pressed in on him. He’d tried to talk him out of taking a commission to fight in the Irish Rebellion, but Lucien, at the impetuous age of three and twenty, had just fought with his father and wanted to escape from under his thumb. Plus, Lucien really thought he could help quell the uprising.
Rockwell shook his head as he gazed at the stars. Only twenty English soldiers died in the short-lived skirmish, but Lucien had been one of them. An only son. It had destroyed his father who blamed himself. Lucien’s father lost himself in drinking and gambling and slowly fell into debt.
He remembered the night he thought he’d seen Lucien as if it was only yesterday.
