Page 79 of Go, Rogue

Chapter

32

Catherine watches from the prow of the ship while Kingston Harbour comes into view. The water is deep and an aquamarine blue, becoming turquoise the closer they come to shore. The white buildings of the city gleam in the sun behind the sea, all backed by lush, green mountain tops. She’s seen crown jewels less beautiful than this place, but she can’t enjoy it.

They made good speed from Bermuda but the repairs and refueling of The Elphame have taken time, time she didn’t want to spend.

Too much time. Too many days.

It’s been thirteen days, to be exact, since she last saw Andrew. He told her once The Elphame was the fastest ship on the water; she can only hope that’s still true. That they aren’t too late and too far behind the schooner that took him.

“Jamaica in December is a sight to behold,” Rogers says, coming up behind her. “If the rest of England knew they could have this,” he spreads his arms out to encompass the land and sea and sky, “the whole damn place would be overrun.”

She closes her eyes and inhales. “It’s lovely,” she says, and as they set the anchor down close to shore, she sniffs the air. “And it smells wonderful. Tropical yet somehow… familiar.”

“It’s the wild ginger,” Rogers says, “and the plumeria.” He inhales deeply too. “The scent of paradise, if you ask me.”

It is, Catherine thinks, finally registering where she’s smelled that heady combination before. Andrew. That’s Andrew’s smell. The top note she’s never quite been able to decipher.

He’s always smelled like Scotland to her, peat and pine and rain and ocean, along with something else she could never identify. Something floral. Something like wild ginger and plumeria.

He’s here, she thinks. Somewhere. I’m certain of it.

“Are you ready for this?” Rogers asks and she doesn’t know how to answer him.

She’s ready to find Andrew. Ready to put her mind at ease that he’s safe. Ready to kiss him and hold him and throw her thigh back over his hips.

But is she ready to rejoin society? No. Not exactly.

She’s come to treasure her freedom aboard The Elphame and is loath to give it up, even for a short time. She’s even more loath to pretend to be a governess on her way to Boston who has been overcome by some calamity at sea.

But Rogers has insisted on the story as their cover, and so she’s agreed. He’s the one with the Home Office experience, after all, and the connections with the governor general and his family, who they hope will take her in.

But she dislikes it, the ridiculous story and the lying it will entail to gain her reentry into a society that she’s already fled once before. And besides, she really hoped to be more honest with those who show her generosity, not less. But she must, she supposes. And Rogers hasn’t given her a choice, anyway.

“Miss Hope?” Rogers asks, and Catherine starts back to reality from her brooding thoughts.

Miss Hope is the name they’ve decided on for her. Miss Hope, the spinster governess on her way to a position in Boston.

“Are you certain I can’t be a Mrs.?” she asks. “Or a widow? Or better yet,” and here her old grin reemerges, “a divorcée?”

Rogers snorts. “Divorcées are not typically hired on as governesses. And being a Miss in distress practically guarantees you the governor’s protection. You might need that protection before we’re done here.”

Catherine sighs. “But is a third name in as many weeks really and truly necessary? I could just be Mrs. McGann.”

“I’d rather you weren’t for the time being. I don’t know what we’re to find when we land. Presuming that McGann is indeed here, which is still only conjecture on our part, and presuming his kidnappers have not gotten what they want from him, which is also conjecture, you can be certain they’ll come looking for his wife.” He looks down at her. “Which is you. So, on the whole, I’d rather perpetrate the deception and keep you safe than not bother and have you in harm’s way. I’ll apologize afterward as needed.”

“The Home Office begs your pardon,” Catherine says, mimicking his earlier words.

“Exactly.”

“The crew will know who I am,” she says. “Or, rather, they’ll know that I’m Mrs. McGann. And I may forget to respond to Miss Hope. It is very confusing, all these versions of me.”

“I understand entirely,” he says in such a way that she thinks he probably does understand. She wonders who Rogers really is when he’s not acting for the Home Office. She’ll likely never know, not even his real name.

“I’d recommend,” he goes on, “that when this is all over, you pick one version of yourself and stick with it. Whichever suits you best. But in the meantime, you’ll be Miss Hope. Unless you’d like to be Lady Catherine West? Being an earl’s daughter will absolutely guarantee you protection.”

“No,” Catherine says shortly, surprising even herself by her vehemence. She has left Catherine West behind her and she isn’t going to resurrect the chit now.