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Her reply was a pitiful whimper.
&n
bsp; He’d checked on her since, twice, but there’d been no improvement. If anything, she looked worse. Gabriel sighed. He’d have to go into the next port, and by his calculations it was Arlington-by-Sea. If Antoinette didn’t improve, they’d have to make the rest of the journey to London by land.
And then what? Do you hand her cheerfully over to her new protector like some crazed version of a fairy godmother? And then walk away and forget all about her?
No, Gabriel knew he couldn’t do that. Not when he wanted her for himself so much that his body ached. And yet he’d known the kind of woman she was from the start; he had no excuses to offer. He couldn’t claim he’d been tricked or led astray. No, he’d managed to become entangled with her despite the numerous warnings.
He must be an idiot, because in his heart he still believed she wasn’t the woman she made herself out to be. There were too many inconsistencies, too many moments when the real Antoinette just didn’t fit with the harlot. And then last night, when they made love, she couldn’t have been faking the pleasure she felt, and the way she sighed in his arms and stroked his hair. He meant more to her than she was admitting.
Gabriel felt a burst of optimism. He could try asking her to stay with him. He hadn’t really tried that yet. Most of their conversations ended in distraction or an argument, before he had a chance to make his offer. He had to try. Before they reached London he was going to show her just how wrong she was if she thought her future lay as an old man’s darling when there was a young man aching to make her his darling.
Arlington-by-Sea was a welcome sight when he finally moored the boat just at twilight. The rough weather had slowed them considerably and he’d had to use every ounce of his strength and sailing skills to make the headway they needed to reach safety. It hadn’t been pleasant but they were here now.
The harbor was sheltered in nearly all weathers and all winds, apart from one. This one, with the wind blowing strongly from the northeast. Even moored in the harbor, the boat bucked and rolled, and Gabriel knew he needed to get Antoinette to shore and into a warm bed as soon as possible.
He launched the dinghy, throwing in the saddlebags full of his few belongings, and slipped his pistol into his belt. He fetched Antoinette’s carpetbag, repacked it, and stowed that, too. Then he returned below for her.
She was sleeping, a frown wrinkling her brow, but she looked washed out and exhausted. Even the brandy hadn’t stayed down during the last few hours, and her retching was painful to watch. Gabriel wanted to see her comfortable before he made any further decisions.
He leaned against the doorway and watched her. He must be some sort of monster because in a way he was glad she was sick, if it prevented her from going to her duke. It meant he had more time to convince her to stay with him.
Her eyes opened, dazed, and fixed on him. “Am I dead yet?”
He crouched down beside her, stroking her face, his voice gentle. “No, Antoinette. You won’t die of seasickness, although it can feel like it.”
She groaned and closed her eyes again. “We’re still moving.”
“I know. That’s why we need to go ashore. Do you think you can manage it, darling?”
“Ashore?” she croaked.
“Yes. Can you manage it?”
She nodded, and then looked down at herself wryly. “I need to get dressed, but first I need a bath.”
“We’ll deal with that when we get to the inn. A bath and a bed, how does that sound?”
“Heavenly.” She sighed.
Gabriel began to gather up the clothing he’d stripped from her last night. She did her best to manage herself, but she was dizzy and weak and obviously still feeling wretched, so it was Gabriel who pulled on her stockings and buttoned her dress and twisted her hair over her shoulder. The cloak helped to cover up any deficiencies.
“Next time we run away can we go by train?” she whispered.
He laughed, and lifted her easily into his arms. “We could make a habit of it. Every year we could run away to a different location using a different means of transport.”
She linked her fingers around his neck. “Edinburgh by foot, Cardiff by donkey, and John o’ Groat’s by elephant.”
“You sound as if you’re feeling better already,” he said, noticing the flush of color in her cheeks.
“It’s the thought of getting off your boat.”
He made his way carefully to the companionway. Her long skirts tangled around his legs, and he paused to bundle them up out of the way before climbing the narrow stairs and out onto the deck.
The dinghy was bobbing on the water, five or so feet below the deck of the Sea Witch. Gabriel lifted her over, holding her as her feet touched the dinghy and she was able to stand in the bottom of the little boat. When she sat down gratefully on the seat in the stern, Gabriel swung his leg over the railing, preparing to join her.
“Oh,” she gasped, searching inside one sleeve and then the other.
