Page 17 of Benefactor to the Baroness (The Seductive Sleuths #3)
O n the eighth day of their journey, when Rosemary was nauseated merely looking at the soiled clothes she would have to wear once again, she met a guest transporting textile goods and bartered one of the three dresses she had packed for several yards of soft-gray cotton and a sewing kit. She took her bounty to her cabin and formed a rough skirt, which she paired with a silver suit jacket. As she strolled down the hall toward the crew mess hall in search of luncheon, her drab reflection flitted past each porthole like a ghost.
Every member of their group, aside from her, seemed to have settled into routines. The children slept until late morning, ate a small breakfast in the crew mess hall, then returned to their room, where they learned what to expect when they arrived in Halifax from Fontaine. Rosemary had attempted to join these sessions, only to find that she was more of a hindrance than a help. Rather than pay attention, the children would poke at her dress or whisper naughty things they had overheard from sailors into her ear. Quinn was the most mischievous; having recovered most remarkably, the boy was now a bundle of energy.
So she spent most of her time wandering the second- and third-class decks each afternoon as Fontaine joined the other guests of the ton in the grand saloon and the children found small jobs to do, mending sails or assisting in the kitchen. Even Winter took to his new role with gusto. He boasted about his apprenticeship to everyone who was willing to listen about the calluses forming on his palms and followed Cookie around like a duckling.
“Pardon me, madam.”
She spun around to find a man standing behind her. He was several inches shorter than her and wore a black suit that clung to his thin frame. Like all the other gentlemen aboard, he wore his facial hair such that there was no distinction between where his hair ended and his mustache began, although his chin was clean shaven.
“Yes?” she asked before noticing the walls behind the man were not drab white but papered in a green, floral pattern. In her aimless strolling, she had ventured onto the first-class deck.
The man gave a deep bow. “Good evening, madam. Forgive my rudeness in not seeking a proper introduction, but I am John Prue.”
Rude, indeed, approaching her without first asking someone to introduce them.
“Rosemary Summersby,” she said, feeling compelled to give her name, even as Mr. Prue’s intense stare made her itch to back away.
“Ah!” The man straightened and beamed. “Excellent. I was hoping to speak to you. Captain Charles told me you are the companion of the Dowager Lady Kerry?”
Rosemary pressed her hands to her waist. “That is correct.”
Her gaze was drawn to the guests milling behind him. Each lady and gentleman wore elaborate evening attire. It was easy to imagine Fontaine in that crowd, charming the other guests with her dry wit, gathering sponsors to fund her charitable efforts. It would have been a much more efficient use of her time compared to chaperoning orphans across the ocean. There might even be a place for Rosemary by her side if she continued in her role as companion. If they kept their personal affections limited to private settings, no one would ever have to know they were anything more than friends.
Mr. Prue tugged at the bottom of his suit jacket. “I apologize for my impertinence, Miss Summersby—”
“Mrs.,” Rosemary felt compelled to correct.
His smile was pinched. “Mrs. Summersby. But I must speak with Lady Kerry. Do you know where I might find her?”
“I will pass along your request,” Rosemary said. She was not about to make it easier for this strange man to find Fontaine without speaking to her first.
“My gratitude,” he said. “Well, ah, perhaps you could also extend an invitation to Lady Kerry. I would be pleased to host you both in my suite for luncheon tomorrow.”
“I am certain Lady Kerry would be pleased,” she said, even as her gaze drifted over his shoulder once again. A stunning woman resplendent in gold silk glanced her way. A moment later, she flicked open her lacy fan and leaned toward the lady standing beside her, who giggled.
Rosemary clutched the fabric of her homespun skirt. After spending the past few days in the company of children and sailors, she had forgotten how quick society was to leap to judgment. She was posing as Fontaine’s companion. That meant her actions, her appearance, reflected on the dowager baroness.
Then she caught sight of someone else, and in that moment, her blood ran cold. A familiar man stood in the middle of the line, scowling fiercely.
Mr. Blake, wearing a silver-and-black striped suit.
She blinked, and he was gone. She looked around, certain Mr. Blake had only stepped into the shadows or behind another passenger, but there was no sign of him.
“Is something the matter, Mrs. Summersby?” Mr. Prue asked.
“Please excuse me,” she said. Then she spun and quickly retreated down the hall, not stopping until the carpet beneath her feet turned back into wooden planks and the wallpaper vanished from the walls. She had to tell Fontaine that Mr. Blake was on the ship, that he might have been in the carriage they had spotted when they’d been boarding.
Why?
She stumbled to a halt. As far as she knew, there was nothing special about the orphans. To Mr. Blake and whatever unscrupulous individual he was representing as a solicitor, they were likely indistinguishable from any other group of urchins. There was no reason to pursue them when they could simply find replacements.
She turned to a porthole and stared out into the frothy waves. In the moments before spotting Mr. Blake, she’d been preoccupied with what the future would hold. Didn’t it make more sense that she had only imagined Mr. Blake, that her mind was trying to invent a reason for her to stay by Fontaine’s side? As long as the children were in danger, she could focus on the present, instead of imagining a life with Fontaine beyond their current mission.
She leaned her forehead against the cool glass. She wouldn’t tell Fontaine about Mr. Blake. There was no proof, beyond a momentary glimpse, that he was aboard the ship, and Fontaine had enough to worry about.
Rosemary had allowed herself to grow complacent, thinking that they were hundreds of miles away from London and could therefore behave however they wished. But it didn’t matter how private their situation seemed—there was always a chance of discovery. She had learned that the hard way when Lady Jarvis had nearly walked in on her kissing an opera singer in Lady Hartwood’s library last summer. All it would take was a poorly timed kiss, an overheard whisper of endearment, or an embrace that went on for too long, and the newspapers would be full of stories. Any of the guests could bring whispers back to the ton . It was safer to keep her distance from the dowager baroness. Then no one could accuse them of anything inappropriate.
She used her handkerchief to wipe the sweat from her face, then continued down the hall. But when she arrived at her cabin, the door was open and Fontaine stood inside, frowning and twisting the fabric of her lilac, linen skirt in her hands.
“What’s wrong?” Rosemary asked. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her before realizing how terrible of an idea that was. Mere moments after resolving to stay away, they were alone together.
“Oh!” Fontaine dropped her skirt. “I was just…” She bit her lip. “I…I feel as if you have been avoiding me.”
Rosemary should have felt something at Fontaine’s words, but her interaction with Mr. Prue had left her strangely numb. “I have.”
Fontaine blinked several times before dropping her gaze. “I see.”
“The risk is too great,” Rosemary said, feeling compelled to explain, even though they both understood.
Fontaine nodded. “I know. You are right, of course, but…” She heaved a sigh. “I miss you.”
Warmth curled in Rosemary’s stomach, chasing away the numbness. “I miss you, too.”
Risk be damned.
She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Fontaine. It felt so right. Like they could do anything together.
Fontaine’s shoulders shuddered, and the soft sound of sniffling sent a throb of pain through Rosemary’s heart. She drifted her hand lower, rubbing slow circles on Fontaine’s back.
“Are you sure you want this?” Fontaine asked.
“I want you so much, it scares me,” Rosemary said honestly.
She lifted her hands to Fontaine’s chest, rubbing her fingers over the spot where she knew Fontaine’s nipples were likely erect and throbbing, as Rosemary’s were. She unbuttoned the front of Fontaine’s blouse and touched the bare skin of her shoulders. To her pleasure, Fontaine had done without a corset. The faint shapes of her nipples were visible beneath the sheer layer of her shift.
“Yes,” Fontaine whispered, throwing her neck back. “Touch me.”
Rosemary removed her gloves, then fluttered her fingers over Fontaine’s breasts, making her gasp.
“More?” Rosemary whispered. Part of her wanted Fontaine to say no , wanted her to pull away and cover her chest with her arms. Then she would have a firm answer, and the blurred boundaries between them would solidify into walls.
But instead of rejection, Fontaine wrapped her arms about Rosemary’s neck and brought their mouths together in a searing kiss. Rosemary clasped Fontaine’s hips, anchoring her in place. The dowager baroness tasted like ale, slightly bitter and fruity.
She was about to draw Fontaine down to the mattress when a rap came at the door. She dropped her hands and stumbled back, then hurriedly wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Mrs. Summersby, are you there?”
“The captain,” Fontaine whispered.
“One moment,” Rosemary exclaimed.
Fontaine hurriedly put her clothing back in order and hid behind the door, which was silly because no one would question them being in the same room together after they had already spent two nights sharing a bed. Rosemary’s lips curved as she opened the door to obscure Fontaine from Captain Charles, who stood with his hat in his hands.
“Pardon the intrusion,” he said. “I thought I should inform you we will be arriving in Halifax tomorrow.”
As she thanked the captain and closed the door, Fontaine shimmied out of her hiding spot and adjusted her bodice, her lips pressed into a thin line.
“I’ll tell the children,” she said, flicking a stray curl out of her face. “I’ll come find you after.”
The huskiness in her voice made Rosemary gulp. The coldness that had settled between them over the past few days seemed to have melted. It was enough to make her hope that whatever lodging they procured next had a sturdy bed. But as Fontaine squeezed around the door, bringing their hips into close contact, Rosemary remembered what had happened before she’d arrived at her room.
“I met a man this afternoon,” she said. “He asked me to relay an invitation to afternoon lunch to you. Mr. John Prue.”
“I have no interest in entertaining men ,” Fontaine said. Then she pressed a quick kiss to Rosemary’s lips before striding down the hall. Rosemary’s gaze remained on Fontaine’s hips until she vanished around a corner. Then Rosemary removed a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed the sweat from her suddenly warm face.