Regency Vows. Kasey Michaels
And I intend to make sure his brother is fully aware of that fact.”
“Which is all good and well, but the possibilities are so much larger. You’ll be a heroine in your own right. This is exactly the kind of thing that will open society’s doors.” Phil looked at him once more. “You’re absolutely certain he is the captain?”
“Yes.”
Phil’s lips tightened, and she sniffed. “I always imagined him with a bulbous nose and cruel, twisted lips.” The fact that he had neither hung silently between them as they watched him carefully but efficiently wipe down the spindles. “But that’s neither here nor there. Regardless of all the reasons you have a right to dislike him, you must remove him from the crew immediately and begin cultivating his good favor.”
“His good favor!” Katherine stared at her. “He should be cultivating mine.”
“Perhaps so, but unfortunately that is an attitude you cannot afford. Your father’s friends in the Lords cannot be counted upon to approve of you, and Lord Taggart certainly won’t appreciate the news that his brother served as your cabin boy.”
“He will appreciate that his brother is alive, and that if it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t be.”
“Will he?” Phil questioned, and for the first time Katherine realized the flaw in her plan. She met Phil’s blue eyes, and Phil arched a damp brow. “The new Earl of Croston might not be pleased to lose his earldom so soon.”
“And there is Lord Deal.”
“So you keep telling me, and I agree that your father’s best friend is an excellent champion, but Lord Deal could not do in ten months what Captain Warre could do in ten minutes if he took up your cause.”
“I do not want him to take up my cause. I want him to grovel at my feet.” Even from here she could see how the drizzle had turned Captain Warre’s hair into dewy black waves. That she noticed his hair at all was galling. “I deserve my revenge, and I will have it.”
“Is not your rentrée into society more important than revenge?”
It was, but— “I shall have both.”
“Think, Katherine. With the right kind of effort, once we get to London all of society will praise you as a heroine.” Phil narrowed her eyes in his direction. “Unless you capitalize on your acquaintance with Captain Warre, what you will very likely have is nothing.”
WITH THE RIGHT kind of effort, Katherine decided, one could exact a very satisfying revenge.
Over the next few days, she ignored Phil’s repeated pleas and made sure that her new cabin boy had plenty to do. There was no end of unpleasant tasks aboard a ship. And conveniently, the most repugnant were those most in need of repetition.
They were also those most likely to be stoking his resentment against her.
Now she stood at the top of the stairs that led down to the hold where they kept a small hen coop and listened to him sweet-talk the hens as he cleaned their straw and collected eggs.
Lord Deal could not do in ten months what Captain Warre could do in ten minutes if he took up your cause. The same would be true if he decided to oppose her cause, as well. What if she was taking things too far?
It wasn’t as if she were abusing the man. If he had a complaint, there was little doubt he would make it known.
And he was reaping so much less than he deserved.
But they would reach London in a week, and Phil was right about one thing: she would need all the good favor she could curry.
She pushed her mouth into a curve and started down the stairs. “I see you’ve finally found a lightskirt to allow you the liberties you’ve craved,” she said, reaching the coop.
He faced her with a small bucket of eggs in his hand and a piece of straw in his hair. His gaze raked over her. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Captain?”
“Millicent reports that you’ve made a complete recovery. I wanted to see for myself.”
His eyes drove into her. “And what, pray, is your assessment?”
“You don’t seem to have come to any harm,” she said mildly, but the way he looked at her made her pulse jump. She should have left well enough alone.
“Harm? How thoughtful of you to be concerned for my welfare. Could it be that as we approach England you are regretting your decision to demote me so severely?”
She laughed. “Heavens, no. I only regret that I won’t be able to keep you after we arrive. I am convinced you would make an excellent stable boy.” He looked like a fallen god, and she clenched a fist to keep from plucking the straw from his hair. The coop suddenly felt twice as small.
“Mmm. I thought perhaps you might be worried that the punishment you’ve meted out will turn back on you in London.”
“I’ve meted no punishment.”
“A matter of opinion.” His eyes dropped to her mouth.
Every breath suddenly became a conscious effort. “Do you plan to air your complaints to London at large, Lieutenant?”
“Not at all. But the truth will out, as they say.” A hint of amusement creased the corners of his eyes. He was thinking that truth now—that he was not Lieutenant Barclay at all.
“In that case, I have nothing to fear,” she said, but Phil’s warning silently screamed at her. “Nobody will frown on a sailor doing honest sailors’ work.”
He laughed. “You’ll not be able to afford such obtuseness in London if you wish to prevent the bill of pains and penalties you mentioned. London society—not to mention the Lords—will not bend to your authority. I suspect that securing your right to Dunscore will be no easy task. What will you do if your dream of becoming a countess does not come to fruition?”
“You overstep your bounds, Lieutenant.” Damnation—that came out too sharply. And now he observed her through narrowed eyes that saw too much. “I am a countess,” she said quickly, before he could respond. “I do not have to become one.” She smiled and turned to go. “But I suppose if I’m not successful at acceding to my own title, I shall have to find a desperate earl to marry.”
The corner of his mouth curved upward. “I’ll be sure to let you know if I hear of any desperate earls in the market for a wife.”
* * *
YOUR DREAM OF becoming a countess.
Four nights later, his words still chilled her. Mere days out of London, she sat with her feet propped on a chair at the table in the great cabin as evening turned to night. At the far end of the table, Millicent trounced India at draughts.
The hope of seeing Dunscore again—and soon—clogged her throat with unwanted emotion. And now Captain Warre knew how she felt.
He pitied her. She’d seen it in his eyes.
More the fool her, for expecting something more from him. What a devil that she’d let him upset her. It would be impossible to maintain the upper hand if his slightest references to Dunscore had her succumbing to fanciful girlhood dreams.
She didn’t ache for those things anymore. She had new things. She had Anne. If Dunscore had any relevance at all now, it was only because of the future it promised Anne.
“That’s not fair,” India cried as Millicent captured four of her pieces.
“Beg your pardon?” Millicent said. “I can’t hear you behind your ‘contribution to fashion.’”
“Très amusant,” India said, with a movement that might have been a head toss, but it