Blackmail and the Bride (The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington Book 5) Page 3

  She had looked away and was fondling the white pile of fluff on her lap.

  “If you can drag your attention away from that mop, of course.”

  His sarcastic tone caught her attention, and she rose, the mop in her arms. A flash of red curls peeped from beneath her plain green bonnet. “I will assume that you are Mr. Richard Ridlington. If I am correct, then I’ll also add I’m disappointed, since I thought he would be at least smart enough to recognize a dog when he sees one.”

  She resettled the fluff in her arms and to his surprise it sprouted a nose and eyes, which turned to him with pretty much the same expression of disgust he noted in the creature’s mistress.

  Richard shook his head, wondering if this was, in fact, Miss Branscombe. No, it couldn’t be. He shrugged. “That’s not a dog, it’s a furry rat.”

  The girl straightened. “Insulting my dog is a poor way to introduce yourself to your future wife, Mr. Ridlington, for I am Cressida Branscombe. I can, and will, make your life hell from now on, if I so choose. However, the tide is turning and your insolence is delaying us from boarding, so we should continue this discussion at a later time. Here.” She thrust the dog into his arms, forcing him to hold it or drop the little thing on its head, or rump, or whichever part of it was downward at that moment. It was damned hard to tell. Then she picked up a fully stuffed canvas bag and stalked off, walking up the gangplank with a spine stiff as a broom.

  Richard looked at the dog, barely filling both his hands. The dog looked back at Richard.

  Then bit his thumb.

  A nagging feeling of disquiet, which had bothered Richard since he left the Earl’s office, emerged to become a full blown attack of anxiety.

  I may have just made the most awful mistake of my life.

  Chapter Three

  The captain, a stalwart chap by the name of Grosberry, wasted no time on the niceties.

  “We sail in an hour on the tide. Your cabin is below and there’s a lad down there who’ll show you where. After we’re away, I’ll have you called to my quarters. Until then, I’d recommend you stay out of the way while we finish loading and get underway.” He nodded and walked away.

  “Well thank you. It’s a pleasure to be aboard,” muttered Richard, knowing his future bride was standing right next to him. “I’m sure we’ll manage quite nicely.”

  “Oh stop sulking.” She spun on her heel and headed down the small staircase to the lower deck. “Come on.” She turned to look back up at him. “We’re both caught in the same trap, Mr. Ridlington. I intend to try and make the best of it. I suggest you do the same.”

  Richard was struggling. Not only did he have a sore thumb, a handful of irate canine fluff and an urge to yell very loudly at this young woman, but he was also trying to absorb the fact that this was Cressida Branscombe.

  No elegant young woman of fashion, or quiet debutante. No, she dressed like a servant and spoke to him as if she were the most confident patroness of Almacks.

  He was, to put it bluntly, confused as hell.

  “I fail to see how you’re trapped,” he said, following her down the narrow stairs.

  “Hah,” she snorted, stopping short on the threshold of a decent sized cabin.

  He managed to avoid walking into her and crushing the fluff. “Here. Take this damned thing, will you?” He thrust the dog back at her. “It’s you I’m supposed to marry, not a floor mop.”

  She moved aside, accepting the animal and making absurd cooing noises as she petted it. “Never mind, Zizi. The nasty man will soon understand what a sweet thing you are.”

  Richard coughed. “Zizi?”

  “That’s her name, yes.”

  “I see.” He manfully refrained from mentioning that there were other uses for that word, most of them in relation to a gentleman’s assets. Or a need to relieve oneself. “How long have you been in Brussels?”

  “A couple of months.”

  “And you speak French?” He strolled to the porthole and looked out across the river.

  “Not as well as I should, I suppose, but enough to make myself understood. Why?”

  “Just making conversation.” Richard sighed. He envisioned a future where his days were mostly involved with taking Zizi out to do zizi.

  She sat on the large bed. “Right then. So you’ve been persuaded by Uncle Perrenporth to marry me.” She sighed. “A willing sacrificial goat, I suppose.”

  He turned and leaned against the bulkhead, crossing his arms and surveying her as she pulled off her cap to reveal a head of short riotous curls. They ranged from pale gold to carrot-red, and added a welcome splash of colour to an otherwise dingy cabin. “Why are you here? Why are you, a Branscombe, being wed to a complete stranger on a boat moored off Brussels?”

  “Didn’t he tell you?” She glanced up at him, eyes bright green and curious.

  “The Earl isn’t your uncle,” frowned Richard as her words sank home.

  “I am well aware of that. But he has acted in that capacity since I got to Brussels. He allowed me to refer to him as Uncle. I think he rather liked it.” She paused, perhaps considering the matter at length.

  “There was mention of some deplorable behavior at a ball…” He lifted an eyebrow, interrupting her inner musings.

  “Pah.” She waved a hand. “Yes, I kissed someone.”

  “Two someones?”

  “Mere details.”

  “Miss Branscombe.” Richard met her gaze with a determined one of his own. “Something tells me you are far too smart to get caught kissing anyone unless you wish it so. Perhaps you would do me the honour of telling me the truth. I’m to marry you. It’s the least you can do.”

  She pursed her lips for a moment or two, thinking over his words. “Since I understand that our marriage will settle your gambling debts, Mr. Ridlington, I’d be quite careful in what you say to me. All I have to do is refuse this marriage, and you’ll be at point non plus.”

  “And I would remind you, Miss, that before you begin down that blackmailing road, you remember I am here at the suggestion of the Earl of Perrenporth. Your Uncle-in-name-only. I would hazard a guess that should I be the one to refuse to marry, then you’d be in every bit as much of a pickle.” He struggled to keep his temper in check. “Besides, they were not my gambling debts. I don’t have gambling debts. They were debts incurred upon the murder of my business partner.”

  Her lip curled. “Remind me not to do business with you.”

  “Miss Branscombe.”

  She waved a hand. “I apologise. That was not well said, and I take it back.” She rose. “I am not here by choice, sir, and neither are you. But it appears that our circumstances have forced us both to this moment and I suppose we must make the best of it.”

  The boat rocked and both Richard and his future bride grabbed on to a piece of furniture. For Richard, it was the hook set into the bulkhead, and for Miss Branscombe it was the small bedpost.

  “We’re moving,” said Richard as he glanced out the window. “We’re underway.”

  She sighed, her bosom rising and falling with the deep breath. “Damn.”

  He nodded. “I concur. But as you said, we’re here and we must make the best of it.” He let go of the wall as the boat’s movements settled into a gentler motion, and walked over to her. “Let us be sensible. We must marry, but there’s nothing to stop us making our own rules after the ceremony. First, I’d like to get to know you as a friend.”

  “Not as a wife?” She peeked up at him through thick black eyelashes.

  For a moment he was distracted by that look and by the smattering of freckles he noticed over the tops of her cheeks. “Er, no. That would be…I don’t know…it would feel improper, somehow.”

  A smile appeared, bringing with it a beauty that astonished him. Richard caught his breath and tried to remember what they were talking about.

  “Thank you, Mr. Ridlington. I was told you were a gentleman. I’m happy to learn that was the truth.”

  “We will ha
ve to appear as the happy couple, you know. Just to maintain appearances.”

  She nodded. “Yes. I believe we can accomplish that.”

  “Then we are set on our course?” He held out his hand.

  She shook it. “We are indeed.”

  “I got time now to wed you two. C’mon. Let’s get it done.” Captain Grosberry’s voice boomed into the cabin. “Time’s a’wastin’.”

  Richard politely offered his arm to his bride, and she accepted it with a formal dip of her head. They walked behind the captain to his quarters which, as tradition dictated, were at the stern.

  Richard kept his equilibrium, but he noted that his future wife’s hand was shaking a little. It made him feel a little better, knowing she was more nervous than she’d admitted.

  Then a sharp something nipped at his riding boot. And sure enough, Zizi the floor mop was waddling along behind them.

  He squeezed Miss Branscombe’s arm and nodded behind them as he caught her eye.

  “I believe your wedding attendant is here.”

  *~~*~~*

  He was too damned handsome.

  Cressida tried not to stare at her future husband, but it wasn’t easy.

  She didn’t know what to make of him; his composure was surprising under the circumstances, but then again, so was her own. This entire business was not to her liking, but if she had to marry…well, Richard Ridlington wasn’t the most awful of prospective husbands.

  She folded her hands demurely as the captain thumbed open a well-worn bible and began the brief ceremony. It would be over soon. She would be wed, and thus free of her family’s restraints. And their subtle condemnations, as well. She’d borne their disapproval for so long that it had become second nature to protect herself with a wall of sharp words. Her name had helped, since being a Branscombe gave her the right to hold her head high.

  “Will you, Richard…” the captain paused, “…er, any other names, lad?”

  “Richard Jack Folkesby Ridlington.”

  “What?” Captain Grosberry frowned. “Folkesby? Never heard that one a’fore.”

  “It’s a family tradition. Or so I’m told.”

  “Odd things, families.” Grosberry scratched his beard. “Oh well. You’ve got to carry that burden, not I, thank God. Now…where was I? Oh yes…will you, Richard Jack Folkesby…” he managed to repress most of a snort, “take this young lady, Cressida…” He looked at her.

  “Cressida Jane.”

  “Excellent.” He turned back to Richard. “Take Cressida Jane to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

  She watched his face…she wanted to see him promise to be her husband. His throat moved as he swallowed, then he glanced down at her. “I will.”

  Something in his expression sent a shiver up her spine, but it wasn’t unpleasant. More…more…puzzling. As if his words had tickled a place she’d never known about.

  “Ahem.” The captain recalled her attention and asked the same question.

  “I will.” She responded calmly.

  “Then by the power vested in me by the maritime laws of our great country, and as duly appointed captain of the Jolly Fellow, I declare you both married.”

  Silence fell, broken only by the creaking of the ship as she made her way down river to the ocean.

  “You can give her a kiss now, lad,” prompted Captain Grosberry, with a grin.

  “Er…”

  Irritation tingled through her limbs. It was only a kiss, for heaven’s sake. She made a slight sound of exasperation, turned to her new husband and reached up to grab him by the ears. “Do your duty, dammit.”

  And she kissed him, a hard meeting of lips that might well leave a bruise.

  He drew back. “That’s what got you into trouble? Good God, woman. I find that hard to believe.”

  Anger flared. “You do? Pray tell me why, sir.”

  “You’re doing it all wrong.”

  Suddenly his hands were cupping her cheeks, lifting her head toward his as he dipped down, bringing their faces close. She saw gold flecks in the rich brown of his eyes as they lowered to her lips. And then they were on hers, but softly this time, teasing and touching in ways she found surprisingly pleasant.

  She raised her hands to his shoulders, only to find him pulling away.

  “Enough, I think.” He cleared his throat. “I hope you’ve learned the difference.”

  “Just keep that up and you can name the first lad after me,” chuckled the Captain. “Best you take to your cabin now, Mr. and Mrs. I don’t want my crew gawking at such goings on. It’ll land us on the banks if we’re not careful.” With a laugh he opened the door to his quarters and ushered them out. “Congratulations, by the way.”

  “Thank you,” said Cressida, shocking herself by the thready and breathless sound of her own voice.

  Richard remained silent, walking beside her down the length of the ship to their cabin.

  Their cabin.

  God, they were married now, and would be sharing a cabin. And the one bed it contained. All of a sudden, her situation crystallized in her mind, the complexities and unknowns becoming clear as the haze of confusion lifted.

  Cressida admonished herself for not thinking this entire thing through as conscientiously as she should have. With a sigh, she walked inside and waited for him to join her. “I’ve been a fool, haven’t I?”

  He glanced at her. “No more than I. And I don’t believe either of us intended such an outcome of our actions, right or wrong.”

  “What are we going to do?” She wasn’t sure what her question encompassed…it all seemed so strange, and not a little frightening.

  “We’re going to hope they give us some dinner, because I’m hungry,” he answered. “I don’t think well when I’m hungry.”

  Caught by his practicality, she smiled. “You’re right. I’m hungry as well.” She peeped up at him from beneath her lashes. “Do you think it will be fish?”

  His laugh reassured her. She was still in quite a mess of her own making.

  But perhaps she wasn’t as alone as she’d felt a few minutes ago.

  Chapter Four

  The meal had been surprisingly tasty, given the circumstances.

  Richard was no gourmet when it came to food, but he did like his dinner to be well-cooked and satisfying. It would seem that the crew of the Jolly Fellow felt the same way. Warm bread accompanied a simple stew, and mugs of ale accompanied the biscuits that disappeared rapidly.

  Cressida devoured the stew with enthusiasm, and even sipped a little ale, he noted.

  She was also very much at ease with the few crew members who ate at their table in the small mess hall, and had them laughing at some absurdity before they’d even begun their meal.

  She was an odd one, mused Richard. So determined, so full of energy and confidence and so unlike himself. He’d grown up believing that to be quiet and unnoticed was by far the best course of action. Having his twin sister Kitty take all the attention was just fine with him.

  In fact, Cressida reminded him of Kitty every now and again. She seemed like a good sort.

  Which wasn’t the sort of thing one should ascribe to one’s wife, of course, but this wasn’t a love match. It was along the lines of a mariage de convenance, although the convenience could be attributed to both bride and groom. Which puzzled him. Something rang a little false when it came to Cressida’s “downfall” in Brussels. And she’d skated around the details with skill, as if she’d done so many times before.

  Other than Toddy Branscombe, a chap he’d not really cared for very much, he knew nothing of the family. He’d trusted the Earl enough to accept his statements regarding Cressida, but now—now that he had chance to sit back and reflect upon everything that had happened—well, it just didn’t seem quite as plausible as it should.

  Dinner ended and the table was cleared; it would have been the correct time for the ladies to depart, but since there was only one lady and many shipboard chores remained before they docked in Antwerp for
the night, everyone took their leave.

  “Would you care to go up on deck for a while?” Richard posed the question as he and Cressida left the mess.

  “Oh, yes, could we? I’d love a breath of fresh air.” She willingly turned her steps toward the ladder leading upward.

  He followed, realizing that it was almost dark. The first stars were beginning to twinkle above the masts, while a thin band of pale sky indicated where the sun had set not long before.

  “This is lovely.” Cressida leaned her arms on the railing, watching the banks of the river as they glided past with barely a splash or a ripple against them.

  “It is.” Richard joined her. “I used to go sailing with my brothers now and again.”

  “You sail?”

  “On the sea, not so much on rivers. Ridlington Chase isn’t far from the coast and we all spent some time around water. Although I’ll admit I wasn’t committed to the idea of life aboard ship.”

  “You have brothers and sisters?”

  “I do. A twin, Kitty. And four more…two brothers and two sisters. There are six of us.”

  “That’s right,” said Cressida, nodding. “I remember hearing that. I’m sorry…I should have remembered, but things have been rather hectic of late.”

  Richard smiled. “Please don’t concern yourself. The only Branscombe I’ve run into is Toddy. And I’m told you’re not closely related?”

  She pursed her lips. “No, thank God. He’s a bit of a bounder, to be honest. From the other side of the Branscombe family.”

  Richard wasn’t quite sure what that was, but didn’t fancy a lecture on genealogy so he let it go. “I understand we’re to travel to Branscombe Magna? A name I’m quite unfamiliar with…”

  “Damn.” She glanced up at him. “Did the Earl tell you that?”

  “Yes,” answered Richard. “There is a problem?”

  “No, not really.” She looked away. “It’s tucked away in a corner of North Devon. On the coast.” She chuckled a little. “It’s probably a good thing you’re used to the sea, because you’ll see more than enough of it at Branscombe Magna.”