There was a silence then when his eyes darkened, before he nodded and walked away, leaving Sophie with the most curious sense of regret.
ChapterTwelve
PRESSED DUCK AND CALAIS
Several choppy hours later
It was just as Sophie was considering whether she shouldn’t have just jumped yacht and swum to shore after all, that a knock came at the door.
‘The guvnor trusts yer enjoying a quiet crossin’ and sends ’is regrets that he won’t be able to join you for supper,’ Horace announced in a voice of deep sufferance. ‘He also wants you to know that we will reach Calais in less than an ‘our, and r’spectfully requests you stay in your cabin ’til such time that he’s arranged accommodation.’
There was a poignant pause while Sophie inched open her door to find Horace bearing a supper tray and deeply suspicious expression.
‘The guvnor asked me to ask—’ he started again.
‘Oh Horace!’ Sophie exclaimed in exasperation, before he turned any more purple with the pressure of recalling his instructions. ‘Wouldn’t it be easier if I speak to Lord Rotherby directly? He’s in the cabin opposite, isn’t he?’ She scowled. ‘And what, in the name of King George, is that?’ she asked, nodding at the brown heap on the supper tray.
‘Pressed duck, miss,’ Horace replied defensively. ‘The guvnor’s chef doesn’t like to compr’mise when’e travels. Though the kitch’n is a bit small,’ he conceded in a mollified tone.
‘That may be,’ Sophie replied, gathering her skirts and walking briskly towards the cabin door. ‘But I do generally like to be able to identify what I am eating. Now, if you will just take me to his lordship…?’
‘I can’t, miss. He’s restin’ and specific’lly asked?—’
Sophie pushed her chin into the air in the manner of one well past caring, before rapping on the opposite cabin door twice.
‘Thunder an’ turf, don’t just stand there dawdling!’ came Lord Rotherby’s exasperated response. ‘Get in here, man!’
Then she threw a glance back at Horace, who appeared to be quite frozen in horror, before opening the door.
‘Much as I appreciate the efforts of your chef,’ she began, unprepared for the sight of Lord Rotherby reclining in a deep armchair, and without a stitch on his toned upper half, ‘I hardly thinkpressed duckthe right food for a fever.’
She swallowed, never more aware that he was the most carelessly handsome man she’d ever set eyes upon, as well as one of the most intractable. She waited as he stared back, his hair ruffled wildly, before an intense scowl settled upon his face.
‘I don’t give a tinker’s damn about the fever!’ he threw back irritably. ‘Bag of moonshine! And who made you my nursemaid? Send in Horace and a bottle of Burgundy this instant, or I’ll have you thrown overboard for being a meddlesome tabby!’
Sophie took a hard look at his lordship’s flushed face and the tiny beads of sweat that had settled along his hairline, before pursing her lips in a way her sisters would have recognised as a distinct warning sign.
‘Neither I nor Horace will do any such thing!’ she replied firmly. ‘It’s as plain as a pikestaff you have the fever, and little wonder too. You should have had the wound sterilised and bound hours ago! Horace, I’ve changed my mind. Youcanbring me that bottle, but not for his lordship to drink– and fresh bandages or cravats too, I mind neither– as well as a bowl of tepid water.’
Horace gaped at his new mistress with barely concealed awe. Clearly no one had ever overridden his lordship before.
‘Now please, Horace!’ Sophie demanded.
‘Of course, miss. Right away, miss,’ Horace replied, scurrying away despite his guvnor’s thunderous expression.
‘I suppose you intend to relieve the skipper of his role too, and sail us straight into Calais!’ Rotherby expelled with a short, pained laugh.
‘Not unless I have to,’ Sophie replied, rolling up her muslin sleeves. ‘And I’m not playing nursemaid either. As I said before, I am simply not letting you die on my watch. The moment we reach Calais and a doctor has been fetched, I’ll consider myself free of my duty but until then, my lord, I’m your best hope of avoiding a pernicious pyrexia of the blood.’
At this, Rotherby gave another bark of laughter that ended in a painful wince.
‘I’d also thank you to sit still while I make this a little easier,’ she instructed, calmly unwinding her previous handiwork, ‘for jumping around like a jack-in-the-box won’t aid either of us.’
It took several heated exchanges, many colourful curses and countless dark mutterings about interfering debutantes before Lord Rotherby finally eased himself back into his chair, looking a lot more comfortable.
Sophie had taken the precaution of dousing and washing the angry wound with his lordship’s finest bourbon wine, much to his vociferous disgust, before binding it carefully, but he was still running a fever. She pressed a clean, damp cravat to his forehead and watched as his eyelids lowered in relief.
‘Don’t go getting too comfortable just because I’m laid up,’ he muttered with a ghost of a smile. ‘I know every route out of Paris, and even if you got that far, I would find you. I’ll not let you ruin yourself, even if you think it preferable to being tied to me. I told you I won’t bother you… but you’ll have the protection of my name if it’s the last thing I do.’
