Page 41 of The Rogue

Henri took a deep breath and, praying he knew what he was doing, laid her head against his arm in a familiar manner. “No, Alex, I don’t, but I hope we are doing the right thing.”

“He’s coming,” he said quietly, and Henri didn’t have to affect a look of guilt as Lawrence approached them for her heart was heavy and full of misery. Still she tried to smile at him and hoped sincerely it looked every bit as fake as it felt.

“Good morning, La... Captain Savage,” she corrected herself, remembering at the last moment the guard who was walking a little behind him.

“Good morning, Miss Morton,” Lawrence replied, and try as she might, she couldn’t find any expression at all beyond a bland politeness in his eyes or his manner. “And a fine morning it is, especially with a vision as lovely as you to brighten the horizon.”

“Very prettily said, sir,” Alex said, his expression as carefully blank as his brother’s. “I hope you slept well?”

“Like a babe rocked by his mother,” Lawrence replied with an expansive gesture, and she recognised the persona of Captain Savage in his manner. She wondered how much of it was show and how much of it was truly Lawrence. From what Alex had said perhaps there was little to discern between the extravagant persona illustrated in the pamphlets of his adventures and the real man. “For a pirate is only ever truly at ease in the arms of the ocean,” he added with a broad grin. “And now if you will excuse me, I need to stretch my legs before my man here decides I’ve had enough excitement for one morning.” With a theatrical flourish, Lawrence doffed his hat and bowed, and continued on his way.

“Oh dear,” Henri muttered again, before beginning to chew at her lip with anxiety.

“Courage, Henri,” Alex said, patting her arm. “Faint heart ne’er won idiotic pirate.”

Despite herself she laughed, and then felt horrified all over again as she saw Lawrence swing around, those blue eyes watchful as he looked on the two of them together. Courage indeed.

Alex escorted her back to the cabin where she found Annie engaging in a half-hearted attempt at making the bed.

Henri flopped down in the chair by the desk feeling as worn and jaded as she had on first waking, all the good effects of the morning’s sun and fresh air quite negated by her encounter with Lawrence.

“Well what’s got you lookin’ like you’ve lost a shillin’ an’ found a ha’penny?” Annie demanded, easing herself back to an upright position with a groan.

Henri snorted. “That’s a remarkably apt turn of phrase,” she muttered darkly.

Annie drew in a shocked breath. “I wouldn’t be letting Lord Falmouth hear ye refer to ‘im as a ha’penny, my lady. Lawks, even your pretty eyes wouldn’t be able to flutter ye way out a that remark.”

She moved over to Henri and began fussing about, undoing her bonnet ribbons and scolding her for going on deck at all without having her hair properly dressed first.

Henri suffered it in silence and restrained herself from remarking that Annie had been snoring at the time her attentions had been required.

“Alex is perhaps not as dreadful as I first believed,” she admitted, once Annie had set to work teasing her hair into something that wouldn’t shame either of them. “At least he does care for Lawrence if nothing else. But I do hope I’m doing the right thing in putting my trust in him.”

She had apprised Annie of her conversation with Alex the night before and now filled her in on this morning’s performance.

“Oh, Annie, I felt so awful, and then I felt so damned furious when he didn’t seem to notice or care, he didn’t even bat an eyelid. I don’t know what to do for the best.”

Annie snorted and gave Henri a knowing look. “Oh, ‘e noticed, miss,” she said, smiling. “Don’t ye worry. Ye mark my words ‘e’s sitting down there now, gnashing ‘is teeth an’ green with envy, but ‘e forced you into this so ‘e can hardly back down now can ‘e?”

Henri groaned. “I don’t know whether that makes me feel worse or better,” she protested, and then smacked Annie’s hand away with a yelp as her maid pulled forcefully on a knot, so hard it made her eyes water.

Quite unapologetic Annie just rolled her eyes and hustled off to rummage in the large carpet bag which seemed overflowing with her own possessions. She emerged a moment later bearing a rather handsome silver flask and a smile. Opening the lid, she took a couple of hearty swigs before handing it to Henri.

“Here, my little duck, have a swallow a that, ‘twill make all seem brighter and warmer or my name’s not Annie Tripp.”

Henri took the flask from her with a sigh and swallowed the uncharitable thought that she wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if her name wasn’t Annie Tripp. Though she knew the woman had spent most of her life living in Cheapside, in London, before coming to Cornwall to work for Lord Morton, she had never been too keen to give any other information on her parentage or origins further than an oblique here, there, and roundabouts.

The liquor was fierce and warm, and obviously good quality. “Did this come from home, Annie?” she enquired, surprised if it had that it had lasted this long.

“No, miss,” Annie replied with a cheerful grin. “‘Tis ‘is lordship’s, I been filching a bit now ‘n then.”

Despite everything Henri dissolved into laughter and got to her feet to hug Annie as the shameless maid plucked the flask deftly back from her fingertips. “Oh, Annie, I am so glad you’re here.”

Annie reached out and pinched Henri’s cheek and clucked at her with affection. “No more ‘n I am, my girl,” she said with a fond smile and then tucked the flask carefully into the crevice afforded by her capacious bosom.