The Countess' Lucky Charm Read Online Free Page B

obvious—” He looked pointedly at the bunk. “Your favours do not interest me. Or maybe they would, after you’ve had a bath.” A mocking smile curled his lips. “I shall arrange for that. You smell and any cabin mate of mine is not going to smell.”
    “ Hmmph .” A wave of heat suffused her cheeks. She smelled? She tried in vain to remember the last bath she had and gave up. He was probably right, she did smell. Never mind that, the rogue, to even suggest such a thing as sharing her bunk.
    But why wouldn’t he? He could have me and no one would think twice on it. He is the lord and I am nothing to him.
    For a frantic instant, she contemplated escape but the die had been cast—she was on her way to New Caledonia with him. As his wife.
    A deep breath steadied her nerves. “I shall pay ye back,” she declared stoutly. “Where we go—be there cities? I can pickpocket there. No one could best a Londoner at that. What do ye fancy—jewels, folders, coins? I can pick just about anything.”
    He continued to glower at her. Her confidence wavered. It promised to be a long and uncomfortable voyage if she and Lord Temple Wellington could not come to some kind of accord.
    “What’s a brig?” she asked brightly, hoping to lighten his mood. “I heard the captain say that’s where I should go.” She grinned at him, willing him to smile back at her.
    “Jail. Like Newgate only a lot smaller.”
    “Oh.” She scratched her nose. “But so long as I behave, I ain’t going there, right?”
    “Right,” he nodded.
    “I can do that,” she said earnestly, hands clasped in supplication. “I can behave, ye’ll see.”
    “Aye, we’ll see.” He continued to lean against the door with arms crossed, looking down on her with hooded eyes.
    Her stomach grew queasy. It must be the motion of the ship. It couldn’t be the frank perusal of the handsome lord causing her discomfort. Could it?
    Her cheeks grew hotter as the seconds ticked away.
    “First things first. Tell me, why are you so desperate to come with me?”
    A hundred glib answers churned through her mind. Her gaze fell to the rich fabric of his clothes. Temple looked every inch the ton that he was. She could spot them a mile away, tantalizing her with the thought of the rich purses they carried, purses that to them meant nothing, perhaps an evening’s enjoyment, but to her and the others in the workhouse meant survival for another day.
    “I really didn’t mean to come with you. It’s just that it were a chance too good to miss. An adventure.” She stopped, knowing she was lying.
    A black eyebrow quirked in doubt; his mouth twisted.
    The reason sounded lame, even to her ears. Nay, it wasn’t adventure she wanted. She could find adventure aplenty on London’s streets.
    How could she tell him he presented a sudden opportunity to change her life? How could she tell him of her years at the workhouse on Bishopsgate Street, with its intolerable food, its sickness and desperation, and always, always, the cold?
    She shivered at the memories.
    “Are you chilled?” The solicitous question startled her, as did the sudden change of subject. He seemingly had accepted her answer.
    She shook her head.
    “It is late,” he said abruptly. “I suggest we retire for the night.” He turned to grab the latch on the door. “Tomorrow we can see about getting you organized. I shall give you privacy to settle yourself.”
    Tar-scented air gusted into the room as he stepped through the door, slamming it behind him.
    Bemused, Simone sat for a moment, fingering the medallion hanging about her neck, the one Mrs Dougherty said had been in Simone’s possession when she had come to the workhouse. Touching it always gave her courage, as if it carried some great secret; it hadn’t failed her yet and it worked now. She was unhurt and in one piece, wasn’t she?
    She straightened her shoulders before removing her tattered bonnet and shawl to place them on the shelf above her head. She