Page 19 of Undoubtedly Reckless (Rebel by Night #2)

Walk on Water

Roland heard cheerful salutations from the tavern, but he took a moment to carefully hand Sabina down from the carriage.

He watched her take in the tavern and the street and the shops and found himself eager for her to be pleased. Roland noted the threadbare nature of her grey cloak and the brown shawl she layered underneath it. Both items, he was certain, belonged to another woman first. He remembered the shawl from Hornsea. He longed to buy her finer things to keep her warm and brighten her days. He had not the right, only the urge.

“Here, let’s get you a good mug of tea. I cannot bear those dainty little cups,”

Roland said, wanting her warm.

“Have I ever served you tea in a dainty little cup?”

Sabina asked wryly.

“No, you’re perfect in that way,”

he answered and grinned. Instead of finding the young folk directly, he had escorted her on a raucous round of shopping and walking. They had found their charges in a tavern by the water, staring morosely at their meal.

“His virginity killed him,”

Tristan stated with deep certainty. Sabina almost tripped and muffled a giggle.

“God’s tits,”

Aria muttered under her breath. Sage discreetly kicked her friend under the table.

“I see this is a family belief,”

she said to wryly to Roland.

“Simply common wisdom, Sabina fair,”

Roland replied gravely.

“Virginity is not a fatal condition,”

Isolde argued.

“I beg to differ. Consider the evidence,”

Tristan rebutted.

“There is no evidence. You made a conjecture from whatever flim-flam your feeble mind has conjured and you think it is the cause.”

“What is going on here?”

Sabina asked.

“They have been like this,”

Lenoir said sadly, “all morning. This argument is about Hippolytus.”

She delicately forked a piece of meat pie into her mouth. The food on the table was hot and plentiful.

“Ovid’s Hippolytus or Seneca the Younger’s?”

Sabina asked.

“Neither. Some saint from the first century that Tristan heard about in passing,”

Ransom said morosely into his giant mug of builder’s tea. “Tristan’s Latin is horrifying. He never read the classics.”

“It doesn’t seem to matter, in any case,”

Lenoir said. “And Isolde keeps trying to win the debate when the other side is clearly not interested in facts.”

“Let’s fetch you plates.”

Sage signaled the server, after obtaining a place for Sabina near the fire. Roland rather liked the practical girl.

“I am eating,”

Tristan said to Isolde in aggrieved tones. “Allow me to eat.”

“Now you’re changing the subject. In the future, do refrain from speaking ignorantly of subjects in which you have no expertise.”

Isolde placed a piece of bread and cheese daintily into her mouth. Roland saw the way Tristan watched the movement and sighed inwardly. That would not do, not at all.

“So, I take it your morning was uneventful, Princess?”

Roland asked Aria.

“Quite,”

Aria jumped on the lifeline Roland threw her. “I took them all the way to Dungeness and back.”

“She didn’t, really,”

Sage assured Roland.

“I quite like it here,”

Lenoir offered shyly. “The air is so refreshing after London. And look.”

She indicated the mug she was holding. “I’m having a small beer.”

Roland struggled not to smile, charmed by the young woman’s seriousness.

“I am so happy that our little village could offer such fine ladies these amusements,”

Roland said gravely. He signaled the arriving server to set the tea before Sabina before he took his own small ale. Sabina wrapped her fingers around the huge mug of tea, steaming and milky.

“May I try that?”

Sabina eyed Roland’s ale. He nudged it over and she took a sip. The look of interest in her eyes, combined with the charming foam on her upper lip, made him chuckle.

“A small ale for the lady, if you please,”

Roland ordered from the server, and the budding philosophers settled for ignoring each other so they could eat in peace. Sabina finished her tea as some sailors came in, bringing in the crisp winter scent of the ocean with them.

“Are the docks so close?”

Sabina asked.

“Just down the hill, not two minutes’ walk,”

Roland said. He saw the yearning in her eyes. He was not the only one who missed the water.

“Do go on, Mrs. Kembrooke,”

Isolde said. “We are quite secure and I have no wish to see the docks.”

“I shall escort you, madame,”

Roland said quickly, and they made their escape.

“That was very bad of us,”

Sabina told Roland, happy in the sunshine and sea air. December in Kent had much to recommend it.

“They will survive,”

Roland assured her.

“I do not understand Isolde. She is usually the soul of courtesy.”

“You have met my brother,”

Roland pointed out. “He would try the patience of a saint. It’s a wonder she has not murdered him yet.”

“Never say.”

Sabina laughed and stopped at the stoop of a cobbler. A wizen wolfhound warming himself on the front step lifted his head. “Oh,”

Sabina said, very softly and tenderly, but one word. “Puppy.”

The wolfhound’s tale started sweeping the step and Sabina let it sniff her fingers. The wolfhound responded by licking her fingers enthusiastically.

“That dog has not been a puppy in years,”

Roland said, discombobulated by the sudden lust and jealousy that shot through his gut. He resented the farce they were performing, in which they were platonic acquaintances. He wanted the right to lick her fingers when he pleased, as this wolfhound was doing.

Roland’s hands twitched with the intense need to put her hands on his own body. Those long fingers stroking a puppy’s head should be stroking him, she should be crooning sweet nothings in his ear, letting his head rest on her breasts.

Damned dog. He was jealous of a dog. Yes, he would prefer to be her dog than the Viscount Schofield. The situation was untenable.

****

Sabina would have liked the dog to come with them but kidnapping it would not help her reach her majority uneventfully. Instead, when she saw the dock, her companion was her lover, the Viscount Schofield. She was content with the situation.

Ships of all shapes and sizes were coming and going. She had grown up near the largest seaport in the world and seeing the Romney Marsh docks only reminded her of all she had lost. Sabina breathed in deeply, letting the salty cold air cleanse her lungs. This was still better than the horrible London docks.

“Surely it is not always this busy,”

she observed, watching a galleon narrowly miss a schooner, to the shouts of both crews.

“Sailors want to get home before the new year. It isn’t always possible but even Percival Shipping tries to schedule the voyages around this time,”

Roland said. “This used to be one of the Cinque Ports, you know. They had a royal charter to always have ships ready for the Crown. Between the five southern ports of England, we shared a corporate duty to provide fifty-seven ships for fifteen days’ service annually. What do you think?”

“Of the town or the docks?”

Sabina teased. Then she looked at his face and realized he was in earnest. Of course. These were his hometown docks. “I much prefer your docks to London’s. Alas, my favorite docks will always be Amsterdam.”

“The Dutch Republic?”

Roland asked. It was more information she was giving away, another way for them to find her, but she wanted to give him something of herself.

“Yes, the Dutch Republic,”

Sabina said, smiling at him. Roland smiled back at her, and pushed no further. He put her hand through the crook of his elbow and led her down to the largest dock.

Oh, how she had missed the sea. Sabina walked down to the end of the dock and remembered a different dock from two years prior. She had not been free since that night, when she had learned to fish and swim.

“Do you think there might be dolphins?”

Sabina asked.

“Heavens, I pray not. It’s too cold. Dangerous creatures, those,”

Roland said.

“You’re afraid of dolphins?”

“Absolutely.”

“That’s a completely irrational fear.”

“Say that after you’ve been attacked by one,”

Roland said seriously. Sabina bit her tongue and chose not to ask. Instead, she stood at the end of the dock and stared out at the glorious English Channel, cold and beautiful.

She had not set foot on a ship since she crossed the sea with her guardians. Sabina wanted to again, she realized, but not for adventure. If she could only sail away. If only she were free.

“It isn’t fair that men have their pick of ships, that you could sail away tomorrow to some grand journey,”

Sabina said.

“Not all men, Sabina fair,”

Roland said.

“You did. You left,”

Sabina said. “What a glorious choice to have.”

“Aye, and Aria lets me know exactly the consequences of that decision every day. On the other hand, I could tell you stories of sailor’s wives. Sometimes I wonder if family is the reason we sail.”

“I could not do it,”

Sabina said, staring out at the waves. “I could not be a sailor’s wife. My heart would break every day.”

“Then best you find a man who is done with the sea,”

Roland said.

“Is any sailor truly done with the sea?”

Sabina asked, not looking at him.

“Yes. Some wanted adventure and found it, then came home. Those are the lucky ones,”

Roland said. She closed her eyes. She would not read into his words. There was no hope. Even after her birthday, there would be much work to be done, and she could not ask that much of him.

A voice hailed them and they looked. An older man waved and called to Roland. He looked askance of her and Sabina waved.

“Go. He seems happy to see you,”

she said. Roland nodded and went to speak to the other man.

Turning back to the water and the sunshine, Sabina let herself be soothed. She wanted to live by the water. It was something she had always known.

A sparkle on the boards of the dock caught her eye. Frowning, she bent down. A coin. Sabina’s blood ran cold. She could read the VOC stamp on the coin. VOC stood for Vereenigde Oostindische Compagnie. The Dutch East India Trading Company. She was standing on a dock in southern England. This coin should not be here.

A sharp shove, more akin to a blow, landed between her shoulder blades, and all breath gushed out of her lungs. It didn’t matter. She was falling, and then she was underwater.

****

Roland whipped about at the sound of the splash. Sabina was gone. He stopped thinking and started moving. His coat fell to the dock and then his cravat. She must have fallen or someone must have bumped her. Nevertheless, he scanned the other people on the dock as he neared the spot she disappeared. He left his boots on, there was no time to take them off.

The cold December wind bit at his skin as he raced to the edge and snapped into a dive position. Roland knew exactly how deep these waters were.

The shock would have stolen his breath away had he allowed it. He had overshot and turned to see her attempting to swim amidst her heavy skirts. He sliced his way through the freezing sea until he could catch her around the waist. She was too heavy. Her shawl was gone but he took a moment to strip her cloak off. With a powerful kick, they broke the surface.

Roland didn’t hear her breathing. Sabina’s lips were already blue and she was shivering, too cold to breathe. Helpful hands lifted Sabina from his arms and onto the dock. Roland did not wait for aid and pulled himself out. Aria and Sage came running down the docks, as if summoned by his distress. Before he could open his mouth, Aria was snapping out orders. Sage got her arms around Sabina to haul her to her feet.

“Back to the tavern,”

Aria said. She gave a boy a coin to run back to the inn to prepare a warm bath and ready dry clothes. Roland strode over and lifted Sabina into his arms.

“My lord, you are both soaked to the skin. Pray, let someone help,”

Sage said.

He didn’t answer and started marching toward the inn. He needed to do this, or he would scream.

No one should see his hands were shaking.

****

Roland gently placed her arm under the blanket. Her eyes were narrowed to slits. Her spectacles were gone and her face was deathly pale.

The doctor had come and gone. In the middle of the examination, Sabina had woken, causing a great outcry from the inn staff that had gathered by the door. Aria had taken charge immediately, dispatching all but one maid for the sake of propriety. The Darewood guests, Aria had summarily banished back to Schofield Manor.

Never had Roland appreciated his sister more, but his attention was focused on Sabina. Blankets and hot liquids in mugs appeared. Roland insisted Sabina take a few sips before Aria finally forced him to see to his own toilette, with the assistance of his valet. Daly had been in town on his own business when he saw the ruckus.

In the next room over, Roland allowed himself to be stripped and washed by Daly. When he was dressed in borrowed clothes and satisfied that he no longer smelled of dirty harbor water, he shooed his valet away for a moment of peace.

Roland gripped the edge of a table and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. He could not calm down. She was hurt and it was unbearable to him. It was within a gentleman’s code to protect a lady, and Sabina was and always will be a lady. He looked around. They could not stay in a tavern. In short order, Roland had the ladies bundled in a warm coach back to Schofield Manor and the bill was settled, with a healthy tip to gratitude for the generous service.

Roland and Daly followed the ladies in short order. Daly seemed to think that “bodyguard”

counted among his duties and the role suited him much more than “valet.”

As Roland descended from the carriage, he stopped at the sight of a grand conveyance taking up much of his driveway.

His heart dropped when he recognized the ducal crest. Roland straightened his back. He was the Viscount Schofield. He had sailed in the service of the king. No one, not even a duke, would displace his authority in his own home.

Roland strode through the front door, which had not been shut behind the duke, and calmly handed his hat and coat to Wilfred. Wilfred, bless him, treated the duke with the exact same deference he conferred to the Darewoods. Only then did he acknowledge the other man, who stood with his sisters and watched the governess be helped up the stairs to her room.

“Duke,”

Roland greeted Villiers. “You must forgive the informality. We were not informed of your arrival.”

“Thank you, but I shan’t stay long. I’ve only come to collect my family. We will return to London immediately,”

the duke said.