and, ‘Lord Frederick,’ just for good measure.
Nathaniel’s mind was decided in an instant. ‘I’ll interview the boy in my cabin. Have him brought down immediately.’
Georgiana’s knees almost gave way with relief as Holmes dragged her along in the captain’s wake.
‘But …’ Lieutenant Pensenby’s jaw dropped.
‘Thank you, Mr Pensenby. Continue with your duties.’ Captain Hawke’s clipped tones floated back to reach him.
The captain’s cabin, positioned at the rear of the gun deck, was incredibly large in comparison with the cramped conditions endured by the rest of the crew, and furnished well, if not luxuriously. As well as a desk, captain’s chair, dining table, six dining chairs and a small chest of drawers, there was a large and very fine oil painting depicting Lord Nelson’s victory against the French Admiral Brueys at the Battle of the Nile. Amidst the elegance of the décor were two large eighteen-pounder long guns, shone to a brilliant black finish. Nathaniel Hawke leaned back against the desk, stretching his legs out before him. The cocked hat was removed and positioned carefully on a pile of papers to his left. An errant lock of hair swept across his forehead and his eyes glowed deep and dark.
‘Well, young Robertson, tell your tale.’
Georgiana felt the tension mount within her, and quickly slipped on the torn jacket that Holmes had replaced in her hands. An extra layer of protection against what was to come. And what was to come? She had no notion what Captain Hawke’s reaction would be. No notion at all. She licked her dry, salt-encrusted lips and began. ‘Thank you for agreeing to my request for privacy. I’m sure that you’ll agree to its necessity once you’ve heard the truth.’
‘Indeed?’ One winged eyebrow raised itself. ‘You suddenly have a most eloquent turn of phrase, Master Robertson. The prospect of a bath seems to have overcome your tendency to the whispered mumbling of a simpleton.’
Georgiana cleared her throat and clutched her hands together. How did one go about imparting such a revelation? ‘Quite,’ she muttered softly.
The silence stretched between them.
Nathaniel’s hands stretched flat upon the desk and he leaned forward. ‘I believe that you have something to tell me.’
Such long strong fingers, so representative of the power within the man himself. An image of those fingers stroking her cheek popped into her mind and she flushed with guilty anger. How could she think such a thought, and at a time like this? A warm blush rose in her cheeks and she rapidly averted her gaze.
Nathaniel did not miss the emotions that flashed so readily across the boy’s face, nor the telltale rosy stain beneath the dirt-stained cheeks. He waited, curiosity rising.
‘I…You …’ She paused, unable to find the words. Oh, heaven help her! Taking a deep breath, she launched into the story. ‘There’s no easy way to say this, Captain Hawke, so I’ll strive to be brief and to the point. Please remember throughout that I…that I never intended the position in which I now find myself. Such a possibility never entered my mind.’ She looked up at him suddenly, her eyes wide and clear, her voice elegant and polite. ‘The fact of the matter is that I’m not who I appear to be.’ She paused, her breathing coming fast and furious, almost as if she had ran the length of the ship.
‘I’d gathered that much. And you’re now about to do me the honour of revealing your true identity.’ His tone was dry, but there was an encouraging gentleness in his eyes and Georgiana knew that Nathaniel Hawke was a fair man. The knowledge gave her the confidence she so desperately needed to continue.
‘Yes.’ The single word slipped softly into the silence of the cabin.
Nathaniel experienced a reflexive tensing of his muscles and an overwhelming intuitive certainty that the next words to be uttered by the ragamuffin boy standing so quietly before him would change his life for ever.
The boy’s chin forced up high. The grey-blue eyes met his without flinching. The narrow chest expanded with a deep breath. ‘I am Miss Georgiana Raithwaite, recently of your acquaintance at Farleigh Hall.’ Still the breath held, tightly squeezed within her lungs. She waited. Waited. And never once did her gaze wander from those dark eyes that were staring back at her with an undisguised disbelief.
Silence.
The blood ran cold in Nathaniel’s veins and a shiver flitted down his spine. It was not possible. The ragged boy, Miss Raithwaite. ‘You cannot be Miss Raithwaite. You’re a…’
Georgiana endured the roving scrutiny of his eyes without moving. ‘Now you understand why I couldn’t comply with Lieutenant Pensenby’s command.’ She raised her eyebrows wryly and bit her bottom lip.
‘Hell’s teeth!’ Nathaniel cursed and stood upright. A horrible sinking sensation was starting within his stomach, for beneath the grubby urchin face he could see what had previously eluded him—the fine features of the young woman he had pulled from the River Borne. ‘Your hair…Have you—?’
‘Naturally,’ replied Georgiana. ‘It wouldn’t have been much of a disguise otherwise.’ She whipped the cap from her head to reveal her sheared and matted locks.
‘Dear God!’ Nathaniel could not suppress the exclamation.
‘Yes, quite. It’s in a horrible filthy state, as is the rest of me. How ironic that my present trouble has arisen from my refusal to bathe when that is one of the things I’ve longed so ardently to do these two weeks past.’ She smiled then, a smile that lit up her face.
Nathaniel stared, and stared some more. Inadvertently his eyes dropped lower, as if he would see what lay beneath the torn blue jacket. ‘You show no external signs of…of, um…’
‘Bindings. Terribly uncomfortable things to wear, if you must know,’ she said stoutly.
Captain Hawke’s swarthy complexion flushed. ‘Yes, quite.’
‘But it wouldn’t have done at all for Burly Jack or the others to have discovered otherwise.’
‘Burly Jack?’ Nathaniel’s brows knitted.
‘Able Seamen Grimly, sir.’ She sighed. ‘He’s been looking out for me, you see, since we became acquainted on the mailcoach to Fareham.’
There was a definite pain starting behind his eyes. The tanned fingers rubbed at his forehead. ‘No, Miss Raithwaite, I don’t see at all. I think you had better explain all that has happened since I saw you last.’ He gestured towards a wooden chair and said politely, as if they were both in the drawing room of Farleigh Hall, ‘Please be seated.’ He then lowered himself into the red leather captain’s chair and prepared to listen.
Georgiana started to talk and, with only the occasional interruption from the captain, continued to do so for some considerable length of time.
‘So let me check that I have understood you correctly, Miss Raithwaite.’ He watched her with a quizzical expression. ‘Following a disagreement with your father, you ran away from home, by mail, to seek refuge with a friend who lives near Portsmouth, and were mistakenly taken by the Press Gang?’
‘Yes.’ She folded her hands before her and tried to look composed.
He wasn’t fooled for an instant. Nathaniel Hawke knew guilt when he saw it. ‘And may I enquire as to the nature of your disagreement?’
Her fingers pressed to each other. ‘I cannot reveal that, my lord. It regards a personal issue.’
‘Such as your betrothal to Mr Praxton?’ he asked softly.
Her eyes met his, then dropped to scan the mahogany surface of his desk as colour flooded her cheeks.
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
A small silence elapsed.
‘Then I’ll write to your father and at least let him know that you’re safe.’