Page 49 of Rogue’s Holiday

Chastity’s own conversation with Sir Robert was sparse. Again he appeared distracted, studying every person on the street, or was it just the men? That she had become so attuned to his moods she would notice such a small change annoyed her. Why should I care what concerns him? But the truth was, she did care. She wanted to know what lurked beneath his ever-charming exterior. She sensed a depth she had missed in their first encounters. She might not trust him but he intrigued her.

At her door, he bowed slightly. “A most enjoyable meeting, Miss Reynolds. I will send word tomorrow with the time we must depart for the yacht.”

Since the walk to the shore from Lady Sanborn’s house was not long, Robbie intended he and Jack would escort the ladies on foot to the place where a boat would be waiting to transport them to the king’s yacht.

As the two of them ventured forth from the Pavilion, Robbie gazed up at the summer sky, which would not see sunset for many hours. Clouds drifted lazily in a field of blue, changing shapes with the wind. “At least the weather is with us and the onshore breeze mild.”

“The ladies will be happy that dinner should see no glasses rolling on the deck.”

“Except for Lady Sanborn, I doubt the other two have sailed before,” said Robbie. “It will be a good introduction to ships for them to be on a vessel of that size.”

“The largest yacht ever built to date,” said Jack. “At least according to our breakfast waiter.”

Robbie tried to imagine the deck of the yacht he’d seen only from a distance. Its length made it the size of some of his family’s schooners.

“I’ve heard the yacht described as élégant,” said Jack.

Robbie fought a chuckle. “Prinny never does anything by half when he is decorating. I expect his yacht will be exceptional.”

They arrived at Lady Sanborn’s to find the ladies ready and excited for the dinner that lay ahead. “What a glorious evening,” said Lady Sanborn, looking very much like a flower in a brilliant orange and yellow silk gown and a feathered turban of the same colors. “The king will be so pleased.”

Ever since he’d known Chastity Reynolds, he began noticing people’s shoes. On the countess’ feet were slippers that featured a sunflower.

“I am thrilled to be going,” said Miss Crockett. “I’ve never been on a royal yacht, or any ship for that matter.”

“Très bien,” said Jack, “tonight that will change, Mademoiselle.”

Miss Crockett smiled at Jack, her brown eyes sparkling.

Robbie had to admit they made a handsome pair but what might come of it, he had no idea. Like himself, Jack was a mixture of French and English, but Jack had a poetic, romantic side Robbie lacked. And Jack had another side that insisted on the utmost propriety. Robbie seldom gave lip-service to propriety unless it was for the benefit of others.

Chastity Reynolds, in her frothy sea green gown reminded him of a decoration on a marchpane-covered cake. Delectable enough to make him want to taste her.

As they made to depart, the red-haired butler held out her shawl. Robbie took it from him and draped it over her shoulders, brushing his fingers over her warm skin as he did so. A slight shiver accompanied his touch. Good. He liked to keep her off balance. She had the strength of character to easily dominate a man, but she’d not be happy if he allowed her to rule him.

The huge black cat that had previously been his enemy ambled down the stairs and rubbed its body against Robbie’s boots, meowing loudly.

“Is that your cat, Miss Reynolds?” said Jack. “I have yet to meet him.”

“Yes,” she said, watching the cat with a frown, “though you might not know it to observe his lavish display of affection for Sir Robert.” She tightened her paisley shawl around her shoulders and looked down at the cat. “Traitor!”

A chuckle escaped Lady Sanborn. “It seems the knight has tamed the dragon, dear.”

Jack laughed and reached down to scratch the cat behind its ears. “Hardly a menace, Nephew.”

“To my great relief,” said Robbie, “Crispin has become a devoted follower.” Robbie couldn’t decide if the cat’s new affection for him was a good thing when there was a distinct possibility the animal might soon be licking his boots, the same boots Tiller had spent hours cleaning and polishing.

Robbie consulted his pocket watch. “It’s time we were off.”

As they set off down the Steyne, Robbie’s spirits rose to think he would soon be standing on a ship’s deck. It might be anchored in the harbor but a ship that size was familiar territory.

The captain’s gig was waiting for them where the water met the shore. In the distance, he glimpsed the Royal George at anchor, its three masts rising high above the hundred-foot deck. Above the main mast flew the Royal Standard. Instead of gun ports, thirteen large windows marched along the side of the hull overlapping the ocher-colored strake.

Other guests of the king had already gathered, including Lord Alvanley, Sir Bellingham and his wife Harriet, Lady Graham, and Henry Cairo, the gentleman from Coventry who designed timepieces. Citizens of Brighton stopped to ogle the Royal George and the passengers waiting to be taken aboard.

“The marchioness and Sir John and Letty are already aboard,” Alvanley informed them. He turned and climbed into the gig after Sir Bellingham and his wife.

Robbie offered his hand first to Miss Reynolds to help her into the boat, but she declined. “Please assist my great-aunt first, if you will.”