My Lord Beaumont Read online

  His lordship, having doffed his frock coat and discarded his cravat, was sprawled negligently in an overstuffed chair beneath the porthole reading a book when the boy struggled into the room with two heavy buckets of water. The cook, having taken pity on the frailty of the boy, had his helper follow with the large wooden bathing tub and the captain's cabin boy with an additional two buckets, these last having been heated. The tub was deposited in the center of the cabin. The seawater bath was carefully prepared, one bucket warmed and held in reserve for rinsing, and the cook's helper and the cabin boy departed once more, leaving the boy alone with his new master.

  He shifted uncertainly, wondering what might now be required of him, reluctant to speak as he studied his new master with a mixture of awe and trepidation. For there was that about him that suggested wariness would be wise and a lack of it possibly fatal. Something that suggested he was far more dangerous than that reckless, devil-may-care beau so common amongst his class.

  His was a compellingly handsome face. Some said entirely too handsome for his own good, certainly for the good of those damsels unfortunate enough to succumb to its appeal. Though it was saved from being too classically beautiful by the strength of his jaw, the aquiline nose, and by the dangerously hard, gray eyes that surveyed the world with cynical amusement.

  His lips, sensuously molded and sharply etched, had long since lost all hint of vulnerability, if they'd ever carried even a suggestion of it. And when they curled into any semblance of a smile, generally conveyed a trace of derisive amusement. Though on occasion they'd been known to curve into a smile of singular sweetness; a slow, lazy smile that had the tendency to make the most sensible females feel entirely reckless.

  But, despite his obvious wealth. Despite the fact that he was known to be extremely fastidious, and always dressed with care, it was equally obvious he had little care for fashion. He wore neither wig or hair powder. Instead, it was his own raven locks, clipped and combed with the studied abandon of the brutus that framed his face, falling upon his broad brow just short of almost straight black brows and curling about his ears.

  On the whole, he was, the boy finally concluded with a touch of fright he took care to keep well concealed, possibly the most dangerous of the dangerous . . . something of an archangel. For the boy didn't doubt for a moment, having studied him at close range, that the sobriquet that had been pinned to him, 'Old Nick Beaumont', had been well and truly earned.

  The man fascinated him . . . had fascinated him almost as far back as he could remember . . . or allowed himself to remember.

  His lordship laid his book aside and studied the boy appraisingly. "You may remove my boots and then assist me with my bath," he said finally.

  The boy's eyes widened, and a flush stole into his cheeks, but he stepped forward readily enough to remove his master's boots, grasping the heel and giving a tug. The boots were so well fitted that the boy was breathless with exertion and somewhat dizzy before he succeeded in removing them. He set them carefully aside and turned for further instruction. Adrian had tossed his waistcoat aside and was in the process of removing his shirt, but, although a faint tinge of color rose to the boy's cheeks once more, he did not turn away, studying the man before him instead with apparent fascination.

  Hard muscles banded his broad chest and arms, rippling with his movements, bunching and flexing in a way that drew the boy's eyes to wander over them with absorption. His gaze moved from bulging biceps over broad muscular shoulders, lingered for a moment on the hard, bulging pectorals, then moved lower to the firm ridges of muscles that rippled along his lower chest and flat abdomen, noting the sprinkling of dark, curling hair that grew about the copper colored paps, widening as it reached the center of his chest, then growing in a narrow ribbon down his flat stomach. Lord Beaumont's hands moved to his waistband and, as he began to unfasten his breeches, the boy's gaze flew upwards, encountering amused gray eyes.

  "You'll find soap and linens in the portmanteau in the corner," Adrian said, indicating the trunk with a slight jerk of his head. The boy turned towards it with obvious relief, dawdling till he heard the splash and knew Lord Beaumont to be settled in his bath.

  He turned with the required items clutched in his hands and bit back a chuckle only with some difficulty. Merriment danced in his eyes despite his efforts to quell it. For, although Lord Beaumont wasn't a large man, the tub didn't accommodate him at all well, and two hairy knees protruded well above the rim of the tub. A black brow was lifted in inquiry, and, although the boy thought he discerned an answering gleam in the lord's eyes, he wasn't at all certain, and his amusement vanished abruptly as he hurried forward and held out the soap and a washcloth. "I presume you have some name I might use in summoning you, infant?" Adrian asked abruptly as he took the proffered toiletries and began to lather the cloth.

  "Dan . . . ny," the boy stammered uncomfortably. His voice cracked mid-word, and he self-consciously lowered it several octaves on the last syllable, then firmly clamped his lips together and turned away as his lordship began to scrub the angular planes of his chest.

  Gray eyes narrowed, studying the boy. "I would think even a child of the streets would have some other name to attach to himself," he said finally.

  Danny stiffened, sent him a quick look, and flushed. "Cooper," he returned stiffly. "’Twas a cooper who found me, I'm told."

  Adrian sent him a searching look but made no comment, and silence reigned for some time while he completed his bath and scrubbed his hair. When he'd finished, Danny caught up the reserved water without prompting and poured it carefully to rinse the soap from his master's hair and shoulders, setting the bucket aside and handing Adrian the length of linen toweling when he was thoroughly rinsed. Adrian stepped from the tub and began to rub himself briskly. "You'll find my robe in the same portmanteau," he said without looking up.

  Danny rushed to collect it with a strong sense of relief and held it up as Adrian tossed the towel aside and slipped his arms into it, keeping his eyes carefully averted as Adrian wrapped it about himself and secured it with a sash. "Your turn," he said laconically.

  Danny's eyes flew to his face and widened with alarm. "S . . . sir?"

  "Bathe," Adrian said in a tone that brooked no argument.

  Danny took a step back, his jaw set mutinously. "Sod you!"

  Both mobile brows rose for a fraction of a second then descended, almost meeting above the bridge of his lordship's aristocratic nose. "I beg your pardon?" he queried coldly, his gray eyes becoming chips of ice beneath thunderous black brows. "I will not tolerate your verbal abuse, infant. Neither do I intend to endure your stench or the vermin that undoubtedly inhabit those filthy rags with you. You will do well to remember that."

  Danny took another step backwards, strategically placing the tub between them. "So who asked you to!" he snapped, glaring balefully to hide his mounting alarm and refusing to be intimidated by his lordship's anger, frightened or not.

  Adrian took a step forward. "Danny," he said warningly, his voice dangerously soft.

  Danny retreated another step and threw a desperate glance towards the door. Lord Beaumont was blocking that route of escape, and he turned an assessing look on him. He wasn't at all like so many of the swells he'd seen, soft and indolent from having been waited on since the cradle and never having had to do anything for themselves. And he realized then, if he hadn't before, just what was meant by the term Corinthians. Lord Beaumont was known to be one of them, a sports enthusiast who divided his time between the boxing saloons and the gambling hells, between dissipations and neck or nothing sports, adept at self-defense with pistols, sword or fists, for dueling was as much a sport to them as carriage racing.

  The question was, was he as fit as he looked? Or had age and dissipation slowed his reflexes? There was only one way to find out of course. He made a quick feint to the left, then swung to his right, eluded Adrian's grasp and made for the door.

  He hadn't quite made three steps
in that direction when he was snatched up and deposited, kicking and screaming, into the tub of cooling water. A long stream of expletives, startling in originality and graphically descriptive, erupted from his throat only to be drowned out as his head was thrust unceremoniously beneath the water. He came up coughing and choking, his eyes tearing from the salt and the residue of soap in the water, and had the tattered rags of his shirt snatched from his thin shoulders before he could recover sufficiently to launch a retaliatory attack. He was jerked to his feet, the knotted rope that served him as belt snatched from his waist, his breeches were jerked from his hips, and his rear struck the hard wood at the bottom of the tub, his head sinking beneath the water once more as the breeches were jerked from his ankles and deposited on the floor beside the tub. He came up coughing and spluttering again, blinking up at his tormentor through half blinded eyes.

  Adrian was watching him, his face set and uncompromising. One black brow rose. "Danielle, I presume?" he queried coolly.

  Chapter Three

  Blushing furiously, Danielle shrank down in the tub till the water lapped against her chin. Crossing her hands protectively over her small breasts, she scowled at him defensively. So many questions chased each other across her mind that she couldn't decide which to give voice to. "Bleedin' sod," she muttered under her breath, wondering if he'd known all along that she was a girl. Wondering with a sharp stab of fear if it was that that had prompted him to buy her. She was promptly dunked for her pains and came up spluttering. "What was that for?" she demanded indignantly when she'd recovered her breath.

  "A reminder," Adrian said grimly.

  "Blood . . . ." Her head was grasped once more, and she broke off and clutched frantically at the arm that held her. "'Ere now! If you was of a mind to drown me, you might have let me do it!"

  "I dislike repeating myself, Danny. Have I made it quite clear that I will not condone your impertinences?"

  She nodded, her jaw set mutinously. "You knew I wasn't no boy, didn't you?" she asked accusingly, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  Adrian settled one knee against the deck and propped his forearm across the other. "As it happens, I did, though not immediately. And I might add, now that we've gotten that straight, that I will expect you to be completely honest with me hereafter. I dislike liars only slightly less than thieves. And while we're on the subject, I'll warn you now that if you ever feel the inclination to steal from me, you'd be well advised to suppress it."

  "I ain't no thief!" Danielle snapped indignantly. "And I ain't no liar neither! I didn't tell you I was no boy."

  They studied each other in silence for several moments. "There was a matter of pilfering from the galley, but I'll let that pass."

  Danielle glared at him but kept her lips firmly compressed. The theft of the food had been necessary for survival, and she wasn't one to either regret or apologize for something of that nature. "What are you going to do with me now?"

  A dark brow rose questioningly, and she proceeded defensively. "Well, I thought to begin with you might be one of those swells as likes boys, but seein' as how you knew right off I wasn't one . . . ." She allowed the sentence to trail off expectantly.

  Adrian fought down a stab of anger. "Rest easy," he said dryly, "I've no desire for the pox. Nor, I might add, am I in the habit of molesting children, even if you appealed to me, which you do not."

  Danielle glared at him. "I ain't no whore neither! I still got me maidenhead, right enough, and I'm that glad, I am, that ya ain't got it in mind to relieve me of it," she snapped. "So don't be thinkin' it bothers me none that I ain't appealin' to ya, Mr. Lord and Mighty! I've taken a fancy to save it for somebody special, not wishin' to waste it on an old so . . . gentleman like yerself," she amended hastily, eyeing him warily.

  Adrian eyed her with patent skepticism during the first part of her speech. At this last, amusement crept into his gray eyes. "How old are you, infant?"

  "How old are you?" she shot back at him, strongly tempted to land him a facer for calling her an infant . . . and for doubting her word. Which she could see that he did.

  "Danny," he said warningly.

  She sniffed and lifted her chin with credible hauteur. "Well, gentlemen ain't supposed to be askin' a lady's age," she said with stiff dignity.

  "You are not a lady," he returned with a touch of amusement.

  Danielle glared at him. "Well, if you was to ask me, it takes a bleedin' sight more than bein' born to make a lady or a gentleman . . . if you catch my meanin'. And it ain't as if I don't know who you are or nothin'."

  All traces of amusement vanished abruptly. His expression hardened, his lips thinning with anger as he studied her through narrowed eyes.

  Danielle felt a little tremor of fear shiver along her spine, realizing belatedly that it might've been better if she'd kept that observation to herself. Undoubtedly, he didn't appreciate tit for tat. Moreover, she'd given something away that she hadn't meant to, and if he hadn't been so angry over the implied insult, he would've realized it, probably would later.

  "Seein' as how it must be midsummer, or there abouts, and I know this is '42, I figure I'm about seventeen . . . goin' on eighteen," she stated flatly, unperturbed at the slight prevarication, particularly since she couldn't see that it would make any difference to him one way or the other. She had no clear idea of how old she was anyway.

  Adrian gripped her arm. "I did warn you about lying," he said coldly.

  Danielle's eyes rounded with alarm when he jerked her to her feet, but, in a moment, anger and belligerence surfaced, and she jerked her arm free. "I told you how bloody old I am," she snapped. "I'm seventeen, and if you don't believe me, that's your bleedin' problem!" A dark brow rose in disbelief. "Or there abouts," she added conscientiously.

  His look remained disbelieving, and her anger mounted. "Bloody 'ell! There wasn't no bleedin' celebration when I was born, like there was for the likes of you! I was dumped like so much bloody garbage on the steps of the bleedin' foundlin' home!"

  Adrian surveyed her painfully thin, shivering form dispassionately. "Perhaps they made a mistake," he said finally, musingly. "I can't say I'm very well acquainted with many seventeen year old females, but you seem rather . . . underdeveloped for a girl that age."

  Danielle blushed crimson, glanced down at her small breasts and the pelvic bones that protruded at a painful angle from her abdomen, and sat down abruptly, glaring at him. Still, the anger in her eyes didn't completely hide the hurt. "Well, sod . . . ," She broke off abruptly and bit her lip. Her chin quivered, and she compressed her lips, clamping her jaws tightly and averting her face. "Well, you're out there, Mr. Lord and Mighty," she muttered finally. "I got the curse years ago . . . so I know I'm a woman full growed . . . and the way they had it figured I should be seventeen, and anyway," she added, lifting her chin with credible hauteur, "ya might not be so bloody well developed yerself if you had to scramble to get enough food to keep body and soul together. Easy to sneer when you've had everything handed to ya on a silver platter."

  Adrian studied her, torn between unwonted compassion and irritation that the 'child' he'd saved was likely to be more of a problem that he'd anticipated considering her age. "Bathe," he ordered finally, "before the water gets cold."

  "It's already cold," Danielle muttered under her breath.

  "All the more reason to finish and be done with it," Adrian threw over his shoulder as he rummaged through his portmanteau in search of clothing.

  "I could do with a little privacy," Danielle muttered mutinously.

  "If it comes to that, so could I," Adrian returned shortly. "But, as I see no alternative to our sharing this cabin now, it appears that we shall both be somewhat put out for the duration of this voyage."

  There came a knock on the door. Adrian was on the point of calling 'enter', but, as he swung around, he caught sight of Danielle, and, with a touch of impatience, he finished fastening his breeches, thrust his arms into his shir
t, and strode to the door.

  His caution stemmed from the hazards attached to the discovery that Danny was a Danielle rather than any concern for the appearance of a female in his cabin. It could not reflect against him (or a female of her doubtful virtue for that matter). Nor was it for the sake of her modesty since he very much doubted that a female who'd very likely (regardless of her denials, or her age, for that matter) been prostituting herself for years had any real claim to modesty.

  It was rooted rather in an uncomfortable awareness that the men aboard ship had been without a woman for a length of time that prohibited any concern for tender years or willingness should they find a female of her class among them.

  It was the first mate, he discovered, with the requested papers of indenture. Adrian took them from the surprised man and shut the door in his face. Without glancing at Danielle, he turned and moved towards a small table in one corner of the cabin that served as both writing and dining table, seating himself before it and apparently becoming immediately engrossed in the papers he held, though that was not precisely the case. For he found his mind wandering with irritating frequency to the young girl now seated in his bath.

  Danielle, having finished scrubbing herself thoroughly and not quite certain what to do now since the sod had soaked the only clothes she owned, studied his profile several moments then allowed her gaze to wander along his long, lean form, wondering at the queer, fluttery feeling it gave her just to look at him. Finally, she decided that it was likely a combination of nervousness at being alone with a man, (and a bleedin' lord at that!) an animal she'd heretofore given a wide berth, and the fact that she hadn't eaten more than a crust of bread and a wedge of moldy cheese in the past two days.

  She could feel her skin wrinkling from the water however. And finally, since she realized that his concentration on the papers was the most she could expect in the way of privacy, she rose from the water. Picking up the length of toweling that Adrian had discarded, she rubbed herself dry, beginning with her hair and working her way to her feet and ankles. It was as she finished this last task that she glanced up and caught his gray eyes upon her. She gaped at him wide-eyed for several moments, but even though she felt a stab of fear, there was that strange trembling in her stomach once more.