The Substitute Countess Page 4

  Jack held out his hand and she took it. How gallant of him to do this for her, to come for her and then to save her from scandal. What a good heart he had.

  The rise and fall of the ship seemed to set the cadence for the minister’s words as he read from his book.

  Hers was the first wedding she had ever attended, so Laurel hung on every word, committed to memory each promise Jack made, amazed that this outrageously handsome man, this earl, this treasured new friend and cousin, vowed so sincerely to become her husband forever. Her heart was so full of gratitude, she could scarcely breathe.

  “I, Jackson Templeton Worth, take thee, Laurel Winspear Worth, to my wedded wife. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance, and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

  Laurel repeated the same vows with the word obey added to her litany. She slipped cherish into her part, as well, for she meant to truly cherish this wonderfully selfless man.

  “With this ring, I thee wed,” Jack said, looking down at her hand as he slid a plain gold band on her finger. “And with all my worldly goods, I thee endow.”

  A brief hint of doubt intruded. How was it that he had a ring? And, so conveniently, a minister? But he could not have planned this wedding in advance. He’d had no reason to marry her before it became necessary to save her reputation, had he? No, he was a resourceful man. He’d probably bought a ring from someone, and the minister being onboard must simply be a happy coincidence.

  “By the power vested in me by the Church of England and His Majesty, King George,” the minister intoned, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.”

  The ceremony was over and she was a wife. Jack’s wife. His countess, though he had not made their station known as yet on board the ship. She wondered about that, but he had said he was still unused to the title.

  Perhaps he merely wanted to be treated equally by their fellow travelers. Laurel admitted that not being either avoided or bowed to at every turn would make for a much more pleasant journey. Jack was wise and obviously thought ahead.

  “Kiss ’er, mister!” one of the crewmen shouted as the vicar closed his book. Laughter ensued as Jack leaned to touch his lips to hers. Everyone applauded and a few added whistles.

  Laurel savored the sweet feel of his mouth as it lightly caressed hers. He smelled of bay rum, starch and the sea. His closeness felt lovely, though unsettling, and caused a quickening of her heartbeat as it always did. She experienced a small pang of regret when he drew away.

  Moments later, after a spate of cursory congratulations, the onlookers scattered and the ship was back to business as usual.

  Jack still held her hand and turned to her then. “Well, my lady. I wish I could offer you more festivities, but there is a wedding breakfast for the two of us in my cabin. I bribed the ship’s cook.”

  “How wonderful,” she said, growing nervous at last. One could only dismiss thoughts of the consummation for so long. She knew vaguely what was to happen. His kiss had stirred all sorts of imaginings. Would he wait for night? Did couples even do such intimate things in the light of day? “I should have read more novels,” she muttered to herself.

  “So you had novels in the convent,” he said. “Those are fairly new. How did you get them?”

  “Smuggled in by the girls who came late to us. The books were few, well dog-eared and treasured.”

  She stopped on the stairs. “Jack? I feel I should warn you I know very little about becoming a wife. Are you...experienced at all?”

  He bit his lip and looked away. “Ah...well, somewhat. That won’t be a problem. If you like, we will wait until we land and find more comfortable accommodations. To make things official, that is. To, you know...” He actually blushed, delighting Laurel, dismissing her own qualms.

  “That would be best I think. Yes, we should wait.” She hesitated before asking the next question, lest he think her too eager. “How many days will we be at sea, do you think?”

  “Three or four at best. Longer if the winds aren’t with us.”

  “Then we shall arrive in London?”

  “We’re to put in at Plymouth, then go on to London by coach,” he explained. “Well then, shall we breakfast? A good English repast seems a proper way to begin, doesn’t it?”

  “Indeed. How thoughtful you are. Women all over the world will probably wish me dead when they hear you’re leg-shackled.”

  He laughed out loud, banishing some of the tension between them. “Where did you hear such a term? Aha, those infamous novels.”

  To her great relief, he took her hand again and led her through the common room into his cabin. The space was minuscule, quite intimate and not conducive to any sort of formality.

  There was a bunk fastened to the wall on which they would sit side by side. His small travel trunk served as a table. It had been set very simply with two plates of eggs, bread and ham, assuredly cold by this time. She didn’t mind in the least. It was his effort to please her that mattered.

  Laurel could scarcely believe the events of the past three days or credit her good fortune at Jack’s coming to Spain for her and taking her to wife.

  She was almost afraid to celebrate. Where had she heard that when something seemed too good to be true, it usually was?

  Chapter Four

  Early next morning, Jack leaned against the rail again, looking out to sea, wondering if he would ever sail again after this short yet momentous voyage.

  How strange it seemed to be aboard a ship and have nothing to do. Even so, the restlessness that constantly plagued him seemed somehow less today.

  He knew what he would like to be doing, but accepted the wait as his punishment for tricking Laurel into a hasty marriage. She was no lightskirt to tumble in a narrow bunk and laugh with at the inconvenience. She was his wife, an untried, convent-bred young lady with tender sensibilities.

  He had not slept. Of all the men he knew, he was the last he would have figured to spend his wedding night alone. His friends would have a great laugh over that if they ever learned of it.

  Especially Neville Morleigh. He smiled recalling the joint venture that had reaped such a grand profit for both. They had met aboard the Emelia when Jack served as navigator for Captain Holt, the privateer. Neville had been about some havey-cavey government business.

  The two had formed an instant friendship. Later on, by combining funds, refitting an old merchantman, gaining his license to captain and a letter of marque, their privateering had gone smashingly well.

  The Siren had given Neville a means to travel to almost any port so he could do whatever intelligencing he had been set to do. When they captured French ships, England had acquired the vessels while he, Neville and their crew shared the booty. Neville eventually bought out and continued his furtive work elsewhere.

  He had not seen Neville since, but had read in a London paper of his friend’s marriage to a baron’s widow shortly after the war ended. Perhaps Neville had lost his profits on another venture, too, and decided to marry for money.

  “Lost in thought or watching for whales?” Laurel’s cheerful question dragged him back to the present.

  “Just thinking of a friend of mine with whom I sailed in times past,” he admitted, turning to smile a greeting. “Good morning. Did you pass a comfortable night?”

  “Not very. Did you?”

  He shook his head, laughing a little. “Not at all, but then I seldom sleep well. Shall we take a turn around deck?” Jack took her arm and they strolled, avoiding the coils of ropes and a sailor who was busy swabbing the planks. He noted that their walk seemed almost restful to him instead of being merely a thing he must do to keep her in good spirits.

  The wind picked up considerably in the next quarter hour and a bank of clouds moved closer, obliterating the horizon. “We’re in for a blow,” he muttered,
squinting to the east. “Best you go to your cabin.”

  Her fingers dug into his arm as she looked up at him. “Please, no. I would rather face it on deck if there’s a storm.”

  “Don’t be a goose,” he said. “If it’s only rain, you’ll be soaked through, and if it does get rough, you could be injured. At best, you’d be in the way.”

  “You’ll come, too?”

  “No, I’ll give a hand up here,” he said, speaking more calmly than the situation warranted. The ship had begun to pitch appreciably even as they spoke. The sky grew dark and drops began to pelt them.

  He shrugged off his coat, slung it around her shoulders, then plopped down on a coil of rope to quickly remove his boots and stockings. He handed them to her. “Go, Laurel. Now!” he ordered as he looked up at the billowed sails and whipping flag.

  “You will be careful!” she cried, hugging his boots to her chest, struggling to keep her balance as the pitch and roll grew worse. She glanced up at the crewmen who had hopped the rigging. The first mate was shouting orders.

  “Hurry! Go!” Jack gave her a gentle shove in the direction of their quarters, watching for only a moment to be sure she minded.

  The captain stood at the wheel, issuing orders to the first mate, who then bellowed them to pilot and crew. Jack made his way toward them to offer his services.

  By the time he traversed the distance, waves were visible, rising higher than the rails, sloshing over the deck.

  Laurel must be terrified. He hoped she had made it inside before getting soaked. Sharp needles of rain increased in density, nearly blinding him. He was wet to the skin. And back within his element.

  They were in for it all right. He put Laurel out of mind and leaped into the fray against his oldest enemy, the weather at sea.

  The mate had him helping to secure cannon when Jack heard the shout of man overboard not ten feet away. His first thought was Laurel. What if she had come back on deck and a wave had swept her over?

  He grasped the end of a coil, deftly securing it around his waist with the proper knot. Already halfway over the rail, he shouted to the two men working beside him to man the rope. He saw something white bob in the water, then disappear when a heavy swell rocked the ship.

  “There! I’m going in!” he shouted and dived.

  Under the surface, he saw a column of white flutter and made for it. All he could think was of Laurel in her white frock, sinking without a struggle. He fought the tow, kicked until he thought his legs would break and lungs burst.

  Finally, when nearly there, he pushed to the surface, dragged in a deep breath and went under again. When he reached the small body, he grabbed it with one arm and lifted, scissoring his legs, pulling upward with his free hand until he felt the welcome pelt of rain on his face.

  Immediately, the rope jerked taut and he was being hauled backward. Salt stung his eyes and his hair plastered to his face like seaweed.

  As he touched wood, fingers grappled at his shirt, caught and hauled him to the rope ladder. “Here, man! Let me put ’im in the net. Can ye climb?”

  “Aye,” Jack rasped as he released his burden to strong hands and reached for the ladder hanging over the side. With tremendous effort and heaving for breath, he gained one flexible rung at a time until he was at the rail.

  Seamen dragged him up and over and laid him on the wet deck. Jack rolled to his side and sat up. “Where—?”

  “Just there, sir, pukin’ up enough brine to fill a bucket, but he’ll do,” someone said with a hearty laugh. “We’d ha’ lost pore Timmy, weren’t for you!”

  Jack fell back onto the wildly rocking deck and closed his eyes. Not Laurel. He began to laugh. Would he have gone in after the boy had he known? Probably, he thought, but he would have kept his bloody head while doing it.

  This preoccupation with a wife might be the death of him. He laughed harder as the rain pounded and the wind raged.

  “You all right, sir?” One of the crew who pulled him in began untying the rope from around his waist.

  “Aye,” Jack said, rolling over, sitting up again and slicking his hair back with both hands. He had a job to do yet. Moments later he was busy again, tying down the brights while dodging the monstrous wheels with his bare feet.

  The storm abated at last and the damage proved minimal. No one had been lost and only a few sustained injuries. Weary to the bone, Jack headed for his cabin to dry off and rest. He encountered the captain on the way.

  “Join me for dinner, you and your wife,” Captain Pollack said. The invitation sounded like an order, but Jack knew it for an honor.

  “Very well, Captain. Thank you.” He clenched his eyes shut for a moment to clear them and proceeded to his quarters.

  Laurel waited for him in the common room to which each of their cabins opened. She rose when he came inside. “It’s over,” she said, stating the obvious. The ship’s motion had grown relatively calm.

  “We’re asked to dine with the captain,” he told her. “Are you well enough?”

  “Very well,” she said, frowning at him. “You look done in. Was it very bad?”

  “I’ve seen worse,” he admitted, passing her to reach his cabin door. “At least it blew us in the right direction.” He noted how pale she was. “Were you afraid we would die?”

  She shook her head. “It wasn’t death I feared. We were taught not to fear it.”

  He gave a snort of disbelief. “Well I was taught not to welcome it. So you just thought to meet it face-to-face in the gale instead of taking precaution?” He felt unreasonably angry that she hadn’t been afraid at all and he had been scared out of his bloody mind for her.

  She ducked her head as she shook it. “I didn’t want to leave you out there.”

  Oh. He blew out the pent-up breath he’d been holding lest he say something else that was mean and uncalled-for. “I’d better change,” he muttered and left her there in the common room.

  God, he had wanted to grab her and hold her close, kiss her like a madman and declare how profoundly glad he was that it had not been her bobbing up and down in the sea.

  Damn, but being married was a maddening thing, especially to a virgin you couldn’t have yet and to a girl who hadn’t sense enough to get in out of the rain.

  * * *

  The captain’s table was a great deal more formal than the one in the common room they had passed through to go there. Laurel marveled at the china and crystal, even finer than that of the Orencio household. The table linen was spotless and every man there was dressed formally, except Jack and a young lad clad in white.

  Everyone stood when they entered. “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Worth,” the captain said with a warm smile. He proceeded to introduce them to each of the five men present, all officers of the ship. And then he gestured to the young boy whom she guessed to be about thirteen. “Timothy Bromfield, my godson and cabin lad to Mr. Tomlinson, my second in command. Say your piece, Tim.”

  The dark-haired boy turned wide brown eyes to her, bowed and said, “Ma’am.” Then he spoke to Jack. “Sir, I owe you my life and I thank you for your heroic deed. If ever I can repay you in any way, you must call upon me.” He smiled the sweetest smile. “They say in the Orient that if you save a life, it belongs to you.” He shrugged. “Or something equivalent to that.”

  Everyone laughed, including the captain. “Well, you can’t take it with you, Mr. Worth, because we should miss this fellow aboard. And may I add my eternal gratitude. He is my brother’s only son. Should I have lost him at sea his first time out, I would have been persona non grata in my family home forever.”

  Mr. Tomlinson piped in, “The way you leaped over the side and performed the rescue, one would think you’d had years at sea yourself!”

  Jack smiled self-consciously. “Almost twenty years of it, sir. I began as a cabin lad myself aboard the Mosquitobit.”

  Laurel paid only half attention. She still couldn’t process the fact that Jack had jumped overboard to save the boy. He had said nothi
ng about it!

  All sorts of feelings rushed through her, from hot anger that he would take such a mortal risk to abject pride in the champion he turned out to be.

  But she had known already how unselfish he was, hadn’t she? Everything he had done for her proved he was heroic and this feat only seconded that. The men were raising a toast to Jack at that moment. Laurel quickly reached for her glass and joined them.

  Later when they were returning to their cabins, she requested that they take a stroll about the deck rather than retire immediately. “I want to see the ocean calm or I shan’t sleep,” she said.

  “A good idea,” he agreed, and led her down the gangway and up the steps.

  “That was a very brave thing you did, saving young Tim,” she said.

  “An impulse, I assure you. Had I stopped to think, I probably would have tossed him a buoy instead.”

  Laurel knew better. She smiled up at the stars that were abundant in the clear night sky. Canvas had been unfurled and they were sailing along as if nothing had happened. Several of the other guests were out on deck, ostensibly for the same reason she had wanted to be there.

  Suddenly she stopped and looked up at the wooden pole they were passing by. “The spar,” she remarked.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “That is a spar, isn’t it?” she asked as she reached over to touch it lightly.

  “It is. Have you read of ships then?”

  She shook her head and placed her fingertips to her temple as an image occurred. “I remember it from when I sailed before. The word sounded like star to me. I thought a star was falling until someone told me differently.”

  She met his puzzled gaze. “There was a flash, of lightning, I think. I suppose that was what I saw. The thing snapped, you see. Someone shouted, “Spar’s falling!” There was a huge crash and everyone began dashing about. I was knocked down.”

  Jack frowned and stared at her. “How could you remember that incident if you were only—? How old were you?” he asked.

  “I have no idea,” she said with a shake of her head. “Odd that I’ve never thought of it since, isn’t it?”