The Viscount's Hidden Treasure

Chapter 4-1

Chapter 4

Pleased with the excellent time they’d made coming down the Thames, Nick stopped at the mouth of the river in Gravesend long enough for the bumboats to come alongside and let his crew make last purchases of fresh fruit and other luxuries before heading out to the Channel. They also brought aboard the ship’s surgeon, who’d been visiting his family.

Now a day out to sea, with England no longer visible, their progress slowed as the wind seemed to take back what it had so freely given on the congested river. Nick took a deep breath of the freshening breeze. Rain was coming. On the open sea, with nothing to slow down the billowing storm clouds blowing their way, they would soon be diving bows under, his crew getting soaked.

How would a novice sailor like Miss Chase and her maid handle rough seas? Nick had already done the hauling-them-back-from-the-rail bit when a previous passenger, carrying valuable intelligence on French battle plans, had become seasick two days shy of Dover. It took the crew a week to rid the fo’c’sle of the stench, not to mention Nick’s sore arms from keeping the spy from falling overboard.

Miss Chase was petite, but her maid was as big as an outhouse. Time to check on them. Besides, he hadn’t seen either of them since before they’d cast off in London. Luigi reported Miss Chase had fetched their food, citing the maid’s seasickness. The little brown wren had passed him his logbook and other supplies around the edge of the door as if afraid of passing contagion to him. Or catching it from him.

His cabin probably stank to high heaven by now.

He signaled to Bos’n that he was going below, and went to check on the damage.

“We’re fine,” came Miss Chase’s reply through the door. “No need to trouble yourself on our account, Captain.”

“It’s no trouble at all.” Nick forced a smile into his voice. Just what were they doing in there they didn’t want him to know about?

“Really, there’s no need to bother about us.”

The chipper tone in her voice sounded just as false and forced as his own, setting off alarm bells. “Really, Miss Chase, I insist. I hope you’re decent.” Without giving her any more warning, he pushed the lever to open the door.

Locked.

What in blazes were the chits doing, locking him out of his own cabin?

Of course. Protecting themselves against his ravaging crew. He should have thought of that himself, not that he had any worries about the crew on behalf of Miss Chase. His men knew better than to crap in their own nest.

He heard scurrying sounds from within the cabin as he fished the small ring of keys from his waistcoat pocket and opened the door.

Miss Chase stood at the head of the bunk, her cheeks flushed, bosom heaving against her décolletage. He admired the view a moment before realizing her hands were tucked behind her back.

His alarm bells were still ringing. “Are you feeling well, Miss Chase? Most people become acclimated after three days or so at sea.”

“I am fine, thank you, as I said. It is poor Betsy here who is having a tough time.” She gestured at the maid curled up on the bunk, then quickly put her hand behind her back again. The maid was completely covered by the red and black plaid wool blanket, with not even the top of her head visible.

Aw, crap. All he needed was the maid casting up her accounts on his blanket and mattress. He patted the lump near what might be her shoulder. “You’ll feel better if you get some fresh air. Up you go.” He reached for the corner of the blanket, only to be blocked by Miss Chase.

“Really, Captain, Betsy is too ill to walk. We’ll just stay here.”

Nick narrowed his eyes. “I’ll carry her,” he ground out, and flung the blanket back.

Instead of the sickly maid, there were just more blankets, molded into a vaguely human shape.

Miss Chase nibbled on her bottom lip.

“Where is your maid, Miss Chase?” Nick felt the pulse beat at his temple. There could still be a simple explanation. The maid being off diddling with one of his crew wasn’t the most disruptive thing a passenger had ever done but an annoyance nonetheless.

No answer was forthcoming.

“Miss Chase, where is your maid?”

Miss Chase shuffled her feet and glanced around the cabin, then looked at him and opened her mouth.

He held up his hand, stopping her before she could speak the lie. “The truth, Miss Chase.”

She took one deep breath, which did interesting things to her décolletage, then another. Nick forced his gaze upward to her eyes.

“She went ashore with one of the bumboats at Gravesend.”

“And forgot to come back?”

Miss Chase pursed her lips. “She went to stay with her sister until I return. She was sick all the way down the river. It would only have become worse when we sailed out on the open water. I didn’t want her to suffer the entire voyage.” She tapped her finger to her bottom lip. “I wish I’d remembered that mal de mer usually gets better after the third day. She might have been able to manage after all.”

An unwed young woman, of respectable lineage, alone on his ship? In his cabin? Nick headed for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To turn the ship around and dump your unwed arse off with the nearest chaperone.”

“No! You can’t do that!” There was an edge to her voice as she stepped forward, her progress impeded by bumping into the table.

“It’s my ship. I can do anything I damn well please with it.”

“You can’t take me back! What about the treasure? I’m the only one with the map.” She flattened her palms on the table, leaning toward him. “You can’t find the treasure without the map.”

“No treasure is worth the parson’s mousetrap.” Nick had his hand on the door handle. “I’m disappointed, Miss Chase. I didn’t take you for a liar.”

“I am not a liar. I told you I have plans to wed another. I have no interest in you, other than as a means to retrieve the treasure to which we are both entitled.”

Nick tilted his head back and looked at her through narrowed eyes. “Not trying to trap me into wedlock?”

“My, aren’t we puffed up with our own consequence.” Miss Chase sat on the edge of the bunk, her hands primly folded on her lap. “I concede that your title, lineage and form may appeal to some women, but I have other plans. I am only interested in my share of the treasure. Since other parties are also interested in retrieving the treasure, we must make haste. I’ll make do without a maid. There is no time to turn back and get another.”

Now that she’d pointed it out, Nick noticed how wrinkled her gown was, as though she’d been sleeping in it. Silly nonsense, this fashion of women wearing clothes they couldn’t get into and out of on their own. Although there had been many occasions when Nick had happily helped a woman out of her clothes.

Miss Chase coughed.

Nick looked up from her bosom, startled to realize he’d been imagining what Miss Chase looked like out of her dress. Did she know that’s what he’d been thinking?

Never mind. The chit said she had another man in mind for her matrimonial plans. Or at least that’s what she claimed now, when no one knew where she was or in whose company, and that she was alone. With him.

Or did they?

“Let me make this painfully clear, Miss Chase.” He drew himself up to his full height, folding his arms over his chest. Green sailors had been known to wet their drawers when faced with The Sheffield Stare. “I take no responsibility for your reputation. It is entirely in your hands. Should a scandal arise from you traveling alone, I will not be doing the gentlemanly thing. We will not be marrying. Am I clear?”

Her cheeks flushed bright red, but otherwise she seemed unfazed.

Damn. He was going to end up taking the chit all the way to Spain. Unaccompanied.

Harriet fought to keep her body perfectly still, to not betray her pounding heart, or blink before Sheffield’s stare. He expected her to be a milk-and-water miss, afraid of her own shadow, at least where her reputation was concerned.

Normally, she would be.

But her future was at stake here. To turn back now meant a life of certain drudgery, for Sir Percival would never marry her without a dowry. And she had Gabriel and Mama to worry about.

If word got out and there was scandal, would Sir Percival accept her then, even with a dowry?

Probably not.

But if she had the treasure and marriage was no longer an option, she would be fine. Just move to another village where no one knew of her scandal and set up housekeeping with Mama. She’d be a spinster but one with a roof over her head.

If they didn’t find the treasure and there was a scandal… It did not bear thinking on.

Sheffield could turn the ship around now, and she could still return to her quiet little life of desperation, unscathed.

Should they turn back? Was the risk of going forward worth the potential reward? She considered the worst that could happen, and the best.

“I understand, Captain. I take full responsibility for my reputation. How soon do you think we’ll reach Spain?”

The slight lift of Sheffield’s eyebrow was the only reaction to her declaration. She couldn’t even tell if it was surprise or loss of respect, or some other emotion entirely.

“Depends on the storm that’s about to blow through.” He headed for the door. Harriet shook out her skirts and followed close on his heels.

He stopped so abruptly she collided with his back. His very broad, very tall back; she couldn’t even see over his shoulder. She grabbed his elbow to keep from toppling over.

“Where are you going?”

“To get some fresh air, of course. I’ve been cooped up in here for three days.”

He grunted. “Watch your step. Don’t want to fish you out of the water.”

She nodded. “Why did you stop?”

He smiled, with a crinkling of his deep blue eyes and a lift to his eyebrow. “Because.” He patted her hand, which, to her dismay, was still gripping his forearm.

She let go as though his sleeve was afire. As a grin spread across his handsome, chiseled features, and he stared at her with a gleam in his eyes, she heard alarm bells in her head. They sounded suspiciously like the bells that had called her students to class at Torquay Academy For Ladies.

She gathered her wits and squeezed past him. She could feel his stare between her shoulder blades, but the prospect of fresh air for the first time in three days helped keep her steps sure and steady.

Until she reached the top step and felt the wind. A sudden gust whipped at her hair, stinging her cheeks, buffeting her skirt until she could barely move her legs. She grabbed the hatch cover to keep from toppling backward. The wind on the Thames had never been this strong.

Just as suddenly as it appeared, the wind abated and Harriet stepped to the side, allowing Sheffield to emerge from the hatch. He’d left his hat below, and the breeze ruffled his hair, swinging the long queue across his back. The air crackled with tension.

No, wait, that was the sails, filling and emptying as the breeze abruptly shifted. Harriet shook her head and hurried to the rail, holding on firmly. With her face turned into the wind, she watched the bow slice through the white-capped waves, taking her closer and closer to Spain. To her goal.

Soon she realized the wind was from just off the bow, not the stern. Rather than the wind hurrying them along, it was slowing their progress. At this rate it would take weeks to get through the Channel and across the Bay of Biscay. Harriet made her way aft to the tiller where Sheffield now stood, his hand possessively gripping the weathered oak beam.

“How long do you think it will take us to get to Spain with this wind?”

Sheffield stuck his index finger in his mouth, then held it up as if just noticing the breeze. Harriet propped her hands on her hips and tapped one foot. He grinned. “With this storm, we’re lucky we’re not moving backwards. We’d make excellent time if you wanted me to steer for Dover.”