An unexpected proposal...

For the runaway heiress!

After escaping to avoid an arranged marriage, American heiress Madeline Macooish stows away aboard a ship bound for England. She’s rescued by Rees Dalton and spends the night in his cabin. Knowing her reputation is compromised, she accepts Rees’s offer of a temporary marriage. Drawn to his honest heart, Madeline begins to imagine wearing his ring forever. Until she learns her new husband has a secret identity!

CAROL ARENS delights in tossing fictional characters into hot water, watching them steam, and then giving them a happily-ever-after. When she’s not writing she enjoys spending time with her family, beach-camping or lounging about in a mountain cabin. At home, she enjoys playing with her grandchildren and gardening. During rare spare moments you will find her snuggled up with a good book. Carol enjoys hearing from readers at carolarens@yahoo.com or on Facebook.

Also by Carol Arens

Dreaming of a Western Christmas

Western Christmas Proposals

The Cowboy’s Cinderella

Western Christmas Brides

The Rancher’s Inconvenient Bride

A Ranch to Call Home

A Texas Christmas Reunion

The Earl’s American Heiress

The Walker Twins miniseries

Wed to the Montana Cowboy

Wed to the Texas Outlaw

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Rescued by the Viscount’s Ring

Carol Arens

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90127-1

RESCUED BY THE VISCOUNT’S RING

© 2020 Carol Arens

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

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For Avery Michelle De Cuir.

Your nurturing spirit and generous nature

are a blessing to all who love you…

and there are a lot of us, my sweet granddaughter.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One
New York Harbour—December 1889

Madeline Macooish was not one to use ugly language, even under her breath. Which did not mean she did not think of colourful words on occasion—on this occasion, to be precise.

No matter how she tried to outwit Bertrand Fenster, she could not. He trailed her like a pesky fly or a bad odour. Like a bout of hiccups that returned time after time.

Like a suitor intent on acquiring her grandfather’s fortune, which, of course, was exactly what he was. She ought to have known better than to be led astray—far astray—by the deceitful smile of a scoundrel.

Feeling his greedy gaze on her back, she spun about, glare at the ready.

All she saw were masts bobbing at anchor, along with red funnels spewing smoke and steam towards the mass of grey clouds stretching from the mouth of the Hudson to the eastern horizon.

Oh, but he was here. She’d felt his lurking presence on and off ever since she parted company with him in Chicago a few months ago.

She ought to be used to it by now, to not feel threatened by his secretive pursuit, but she would feel more at ease with an ocean between them.

Truly, what sort of false-hearted cad continued to trail his prey even when she had informed him, from the very beginning, no less, that she was no longer entitled to a fortune? Indeed, she had made it clear that in running off with him she had forfeited any money Grandfather would have given her.

And not because he would cut her off. No—he would never do that—but because she had betrayed him by running away and did not deserve one cent from that dear man.

Sadly, for all that she considered herself to be an excellent judge of character, she had fallen under the spell of the hoodwinker’s charm, had believed him to be sincere when he vowed his eternal devotion.

It was her own fault that she was in this situation. Had she been more level-headed she would not have run off, but married the man Grandfather had intended her to. That union would not have been the love match she had always dreamed of, but neither would she have been missing her family as desperately as she did now.

She had to conclude that love was blind, as the saying went. However, looking back on things, she now realised it had not been love she had felt, but rather infatuation.

Luckily she had come to learn that Bertrand was a bit dim in spite of his winning facade and handsome face.

The deep bellow of a ship’s horn thrummed over the harbour. Another answered.

Straightening her shoulders, Madeline gathered her smile and approached the ticket office. It was time to sail for Liverpool.

She had worked hard at odd jobs to earn the fare and had exactly enough money for a steerage ticket, but no more.

‘Good day,’ she said to the ticket master standing behind the window. ‘I’d like to book passage on the first ship going to Liverpool.’

‘That would be the Edwina, at dock right there across the road.’ He nodded towards the large, modern-looking vessel. ‘She’s sailing on the hour.’

Truly, that was rather perfect. It was unlikely that Bertrand would have time to follow her even if he did have the funds to do so.

‘Oh, that will do nicely.’

‘Will that be steerage, miss?’

Her plain but clean gown should have made that obvious. In the past when she had travelled with Grandfather her frilly gowns made it clear that she travelled first class, no matter the mode of transportation. This was bound to be a far different trip than any she had taken before.

She nodded, smiling. She was going to find Grandfather, to beg his forgiveness for what she had done to him. If need be, she would cross the ocean, sleeping on the deck. She missed him more than she could ever have imagined.

‘That will be thirty dollars.’

That much? Madeline gulped past the tight button on her collar. She withdrew the money from her purse, counted it out to the ticket master, knowing it would be two dollars short.

‘Oh, dear.’ She blinked at him, pressed her lips into a tight circle. ‘I must have lost... Oh, I was certain I had the full fare only an hour ago.’

‘There’s the Sea Minnow sailing next week. She’s a smaller vessel, but seaworthy. Her fare is only twenty-five.’

‘Oh, but my situation is urgent.’ She glanced over her shoulder, spotted Bertrand emerging from behind a stack of crates. ‘Is there perhaps something cheaper than steerage on the Edwina?’

‘I’m sorry, miss.’ He shook his head. She believed he did regret having to turn her away. He had a kind face and rather reminded her of Grandfather.

‘Sir, I can’t look back, but is there a tall, slim gentleman approaching?’

‘A dashing-looking fellow with a bit of a swagger to his walk?’

‘He’s not a bit dashing, but, yes, that is him. His attentions towards me are not welcome.’ Oh, good. The ticket master was frowning past her shoulder. ‘I must get to my grandfather.’

‘I don’t know how I can help you other than to summon a police officer.’

‘I can work off the two dollars once I’m on the ship.’ How close was Bertrand now? Any moment she expected to feel his skinny-fingered hand clamp about her elbow. ‘And my only luggage is this valise. I won’t need anything stored.’

‘Now that I see him closer, the fellow does look like a charlatan.’

‘Oh, he is—and how much closer?’

Swiftly, he wrote out a ticket and slid it towards her. ‘I’ve got a couple of dollars in my pocket.’

‘You are too kind, sir.’ She would have kissed his cheek, but there were bars across the window. Instead, she pressed her lips to her fingertips, then reached past the barrier and touched them to his cheek. ‘Thank you.’

‘Hurry now,’ he urged. ‘I’ll tell him you are taking the Sea Minnow.’

In spinning about she noticed that his name was Fenwick Stewart. She tucked the name in her memory because, somehow, she would repay the kind gentleman ten times over.

Now, she need only board the ship without having her rejected suitor know it.

All of a sudden, a gust of cold wind hit her back. It blew her skirts about and propelled her forward. She tucked her small valise securely into the crook of her arm. It would not do to lose the few possessions she had left in this world.

She dared a glance over her shoulder. Bertrand was at the ticket window. With his eyes off her for an instant, she ducked behind a stack of wood crates and crouched into a shadow. From here it would be a quick dash up the gangplank.

Footsteps tapped rapidly on the dock, coming in her direction. All at once, a young girl rounded the corner of her hiding place and crouched down. The poor child was crying, her face buried in her knees.

‘Hello,’ Madeline said because she could hardly ignore her presence. ‘Are you hiding, too? This is a rather nice spot for it.’

‘Please don’t give me away, miss.’

‘I’ll try not to, but who are you hiding from?’

‘Papa.’

This was tricky business. She could not keep the child’s whereabouts a secret from her parent.

‘I see. I’m hiding from a fortune hunter, just until I can get on the Edwina.’

As she suspected, that bit of information caught the child’s attention. Hopefully the fact that they were both hiding would form a bond between them and give Madeline some indication of how to proceed with this turn of events.

‘I’m supposed to get on the ship, too.’

Madeline scooted closer. ‘We are both in a bit of a pickle, it seems. Why don’t you want to go with your father?’

She hadn’t said so—quite—but it seemed clear that she did not want to.

‘I do.’ She turned red-rimmed eyes up at her, dabbed her nose on her sleeve. ‘But Mama isn’t going to Liverpool and I want to stay here with her.’

That was understandable. Had Madeline been lucky enough to have a mother, she would have done anything to remain with her. While Grandfather had done a loving job of raising both her and her cousin, Clementine, she had always longed for her mother. It didn’t matter that she had no clear memory of her.

‘Why isn’t your mother going with you?’

‘There wasn’t enough money for her ticket. Papa is going to send for her once he starts his new job in London. But I want to stay with Mama.’

‘Clara Lee Adelbackmore!’ a man’s voice shouted.

‘Clara!’ a woman’s voice echoed, but it sounded worried rather than stern.

‘You must be Clara?’

‘Yes, miss.’

‘Your parents are frightened. They don’t know you are only feet away. Surely they must be fearing all manner of horrid things to have happened to you.’

The same as Grandfather must be fearing for her. Shame for what she had done to that wonderful man made Madeline want to weep right along with Clara.

It would have been right and good to send Grandfather a wire letting him know she was safe, but she was not quite sure where to send it. He was no longer in Los Angeles, she did know that. London was where he might be. She could only guess that Clementine had been forced to marry the Earl of Fencroft in Madeline’s place. As desperately as she needed Grandfather’s forgiveness, she needed her cousin’s, as well.

In this case, a wire would not do. The magnitude of her misdeed called for an apology in the flesh. Had the prodigal son sent a note to his father, well, it would not have been right.

‘I’ll come out of hiding after Papa sails with my brothers.’

‘I doubt they will go, not with you missing. You should go along with what your father and mother planned. They purchased a ticket for you. You must use it.’

‘I won’t go without Mama.’

Of course, they could all make the trip together. And Madeline had a perfectly valid ticket gripped in her fist.

She could give it to the girl’s mother. It would mean remaining in New York until she earned enough money for another fare. It might take a very long time since she hadn’t many skills and she would also need funds to live on.

She desperately needed this ticket and should not part with it. But standing by when a child and her mother were about to be separated and knowing she could prevent it—that was a bit too much guilt to carry.

Madeline’s heart was far too heavy with regret as it was.

‘Come along.’ She stood up and reached her hand down to Clara. ‘Your parents are growing quite frantic. In a moment it will be the police looking for you.’

She shook her head. Her hat slipped off her mop of dark-brown curls.

‘It’s all right,’ she said with a smile which would appear sincere even though Madeline felt like weeping. ‘Your mother can have my ticket.’

‘But the fortune hunter!’ She sprang to her feet. ‘Won’t he catch you?’

‘No.’ She straightened the girl’s hat, adjusted the ribbons under the small, trembling chin. ‘I’m a good bit smarter than he is.’

Rees Dalton stood beside the Captain of the Edwina, smelling like coal, soot and sweat while silently observing passengers coming aboard over the wide gangplank.

‘Is there anything more specific you can tell me about what would constitute lax behaviour in the fire room, Captain Collier?’ All activity aboard the ship he had recently purchased was of vital importance to him, but the furnace area was critical when it came to the safety of everyone on board. ‘Anything at all that you might have forgotten to mention?’

‘No, my lord.’ The Captain rocked back slightly on the heels of his boots. ‘Your attention down there is paramount. As I said before, if the work is done incorrectly it could cause an explosion. I’ve heard of such things happening.’

‘While we are on board the ship, please remember to call me Rees, or Mr Dalton. I can hardly observe operations if my identity is discovered. I fear no one will act naturally in my presence.’

‘Not to be presumptuous, sir—Rees, that is—but might you not have hired a man to see to the job? It is hardly suitable for a man of your position.’

Rees shook his head while watching a family across the dock near the ticket office. There were six of them holding on to each other and looking distressed.

‘No. I cannot remain at my estate while the safety of passengers and crew aboard my ship is at issue. There are certain things a man must see to himself.’ But, in fact, he had hired a few men to secretly inspect the less-urgent areas of the ship’s operation. ‘May I borrow your spyglass, Captain?’

Rees took the offered telescope and focused the lens on the family. A girl of about twelve years was crying inconsolably and her parents and siblings were not faring much better.

‘It’s a common sight, Mr Dalton.’ The Captain tugged on his coat. The twin rows of polished brass buttons would be sparkling in the morning sunshine had there been any. ‘Often it’s too costly for all the family to make the crossing at one time. The father will go, then send for the rest when he is settled.’

‘I see,’ Rees muttered while scanning the dock for anything that might be out of place. ‘Is there not a family fare to prevent such a thing?’

He supposed he ought to know, but he was only recently a ship owner. There was more he did not know about the way things worked than what he did.

‘The previous owner didn’t offer it.’

Perhaps he ought to have. Mr McClure had gone bankrupt. It’s how Rees had been able to purchase the ship at a reasonable price.

From what he had learned of the situation, the man was more concerned with setting a record time for an Atlantic crossing than anything else. Apparently, there was fierce competition among ship owners to make the fastest crossing time.

McClure had put that before anything else. As a result, he had neglected the welfare of the passengers. Even the crew tended to be careless of their comfort. Word had spread and passengers booked more pleasant passage. Naturally the venture failed and he never did make the quickest time.

‘Tell me again, Captain, what might go wrong within the fire room.’

He’d heard it all before, but it still bore repeating.

People entrusted their well-being into his hands. While he hired fellows to see to some things, it was for Rees to monitor the most important ones.

It would be unconscionable for him to remain in Glenbrook while there was the smallest chance that a careless accident might cause harm to his passengers.

So far his watching had confirmed that McClure did not hire the most capable of men.

‘The heat needs to remain constant. Sudden cooling might damage a valve which could cause a furnace to explode. Watch for that, Lord Glenbrook, first of all.’ The Captain plucked at one of his coat buttons.

Rees nodded while he continued to scan the dock with the spyglass.

All the way from Liverpool he’d been posing as a fireman, working right alongside labourers in the boiler room. He had a fairly good idea now what hell must be like. Heat, sweat, filth and aching muscles—it was barely a fit job for a human, common born or not. Although he had come to see that there was nothing common about the men he worked beside.

Even though his muscles ached and sweat drenched him most of the time, he would continue the business of shovelling coal.

While he scanned the telescope across the ticket office on the other side of the road, a movement caught his eye. He focused the lens on a stack of barrels.

Yes! Just there a man crouched, peeking out from behind a barrel. Evidently he did not want to be seen.

He appeared to be watching a woman standing at the ticket counter. The lady glanced over her shoulder. She could not see the fellow from her vantage point.

What could he want with her? Clearly something was not as it should be.

With her ticket in hand, the woman turned from the ticket booth. The smile she had given the ticket master lingered on her face. For an instant, Rees forgot he was looking for careless employees because he was certain he had just glimpsed the face of an angel. Fair hair blew in fine whips from under her hat and her wide blue eyes sparkled even in the gloom of the cloudy morning—but it was her smile that captivated him. All the sweetness and innocence of the world were reflected on her lips.

But wait! The man emerged from behind the barrels an instant before the lady hurried away.

Rees was by nature a protector and he knew when someone needed protecting.

While the man spoke to the ticket master, the angel ducked behind a pile of wood crates. Seconds later, the child who had been weeping so desperately dashed away from her family. She ran behind the crates where the woman was hiding.

He switched his focus back to the man standing at the ticket office. The fellow slammed his fist on the counter, then glanced about before he spun on his heel and walked away.

A spyglass was an interesting device. Captain Collier must have seen all manner of interesting happenings over the years.

He was about to hand the glass back when the woman and the child came out from behind the crates, hand in hand.

The child was no longer crying, but rather grinning broadly. With the lens focused so closely, he clearly understood what was happening. The angel not only returned the girl to her parents, but pressed the ticket she had just purchased into the mother’s hand.

After a few quick hugs, the family hurried up the gangplank, laughing and looking joyful.

The lady who had just given up her ticket stood where she was, glancing about, her winglike brows pressed in thought.

What would she do now? Clearly she was not a lady of means who could simply purchase a new ticket.

A prosperous-looking family began to embark. So excited were they about boarding the great ship with her whistle blowing and her red stacks steaming, they took little note that the angel had joined them. She walked slightly behind, head bent and giving the appearance of being a servant to them.

He followed their progress with the glass. The family passed the fellow collecting tickets and stepped aboard. Smiling, with wisps of blonde hair streaking across her cheeks, the angel followed, but was prevented from boarding when the ticket collector blocked her way with his outthrust arm.

She had no ticket, after all. The employee was only doing his duty in forbidding her.

Still, he must have steel for a heart, being able to withstand her smiles as she gestured after the family who had no idea she had tried to filter in with them.

She made a motion with her hand, searched through her purse as if she should have a ticket, but where was it?

In the face of her pleading the employee stood firm.

‘Another one attempting to stow away,’ the Captain commented with a resigned sigh. ‘Although I’ve never seen a woman try it. I’ll send for someone to remove her.’

‘Allow her to board.’

‘I beg your pardon, Lord Glenbrook? The woman is as good as a thief.’

‘I must ask again that you call me Mr Dalton.’ Rees handed back the spyglass. ‘Escort the woman aboard.’

‘But—’

‘You will allow her to board.’

Rees groaned when the Captain presented a respectful dip of his head, then went off to do Rees’s bidding. What sort of captain showed deference to a labouring fireman? At this rate his identity would be revealed before they left port.

It was imperative that no one discover who he was. Disguised as a humble fireman he would be able to learn who in the furnace room was reliable and who might be putting his passengers at risk by negligent behaviour.

As difficult a thing it was, not being forthright about who he was, it would remain so. People had given him their fares, entrusted their safety into his care. No matter the discomfort he endured as Mr Dalton, fireman, he would deliver them safely across the Atlantic.

He remained where he was, watching while the woman boarded the ship with the Captain. He couldn’t see it from here without the glass, but he knew the smile she was bestowing on Collier would feel like one of those visions when the sun burst through clouds, casting its light in brilliant rays upon the earth.

Even if the Captain didn’t recognise it as such, it was the way Rees saw it and this was his ship. If he wanted to allow the woman passage, she would have it.

He only wondered if he would cross paths with her during the voyage.

It was better that he didn’t. Miss Bethany Mosemore waited for him in Glenbrook. Unless he could find a way out of it, she was going to become his wife. He had only recently discovered what a great mistake their union would be.

Madeline’s stomach growled rather loudly in complaint of missing both breakfast and the midday meal.

The main thing to keep in mind was that she had somehow managed to board the ship. She could only count her blessings for it.

Since that mysterious good fortune had befallen her, perhaps she would also find something to eat.

But where? This was a huge ship. She could search half the day and not find the steerage dining room.

It would shorten the process if she asked someone, but who?

Everyone seemed to be in a rush. Her fellow passengers were absorbed in the task of settling into their quarters. The ones who were not leaned over the rail, watching while the ship pulled away from the dock.

Asking a crew member for directions to the dining room was out of the question. Those busy people buzzed about, each of them occupied in getting the ship underway.

She could hardly put the state of her appetite ahead of that.

‘You will simply have to wait,’ she muttered, listening to the growling protest her stomach raised.

‘Is there something I can do to assist you, miss?’ asked a masculine voice from behind her—close behind her.

In fact, half a mile would be too close behind her. The man’s voice had a resonance to it that made her heart beat faster. She did not want her heart to beat faster.

Had she learned nothing from Bertrand Fenster?

Well, ignoring the fellow would be rude and in fact she did need help. With any luck—and she’d had a bit of it so far—the fellow did not look the way his voice indicated he would.

Perhaps when she turned about she would find an elderly, grandfatherly gentleman offering aid.

Comforted by the hope, she pivoted about.

Luck had quite clearly deserted her, leaving her to gaze into the bluest eyes she had ever seen, abandoning her to stare at a smile that quirked with laughter and—and never mind what else it quirked with. She would not have her head turned by a quirk again.

‘I imagine you are hungry,’ he stated.

How could he possibly imagine such a thing? And why was he looking at her with an air of familiarity?

‘Somewhat hungry,’ she admitted because he wore a crewman’s uniform and would be able to direct her to the closest place to obtain a meal.

‘The dining room is that way...’ He lifted his arm and pointed past her shoulder. ‘Just three doors down. If I’m not mistaken, there is scent of fresh bread to lead the way.’

Perhaps there was, but there was also the masculine scent of this man which was suddenly more appealing than bread.

But bread, yes, she was hungry. ‘Thank you, sir.’

She nodded, then turned, feeling the slight vibration of the ship under her shoes as she walked towards the dining room.

Pausing with her hand on the doorknob, she glanced over her shoulder because could a man really be that handsome?

Oh, well, yes, he could.

Chapter Two

‘I, Madeline Claire Macooish,’ she groaned, while wrapping her arms about her belly, ‘being of sound mind—’

Or perhaps not. Had she been that she would be wed to the Earl of Fencroft and not huddled under a lifeboat tarp, dying.

‘Do bequeath all my worldly goods...’ Of which she had none since her small valise had vanished when she set it down in the steerage dining room while pretending that she had as much right to eat there as anyone else.

What she hadn’t known was that poorer-class passengers tended to bring meals with them. Not that she had a dime to purchase what leftovers they might have.

Luckily, a sweet young man, Edward, had shared his bread with her.

Oh, she had been more than grateful at the time for the food and for the company, but now twelve hours later she was certain she would not eat for the rest of her life, of which there was not much left.

Earlier today, she had thought herself lucky when the Captain of the ship told the ticket master that she be allowed to board.

In the moment she had decided it was more strange than lucky. Given that she was clearly a stowaway, it was beyond belief that he would spare her a word or a glance.

Once, when she and Clementine were young, Grandfather had taken them to Paris with him on one of his business trips. She clearly recalled dining with the Captain of the ship. Grandfather had warned them to be on their best behaviour because it was a great honour to dine with the Captain.

So why had this important personage permitted her to come aboard? It certainly was not because she had charmed him. Of course, she tried her best, but the fellow was adamant in his resentment of escorting her up the gangplank.

Indeed, he had left her standing at the rail, gripping it tight while the ship heaved up and down.

Better that she did not think of that motion now.

In the end, the Captain had given no answer to her question of where she was to stay. He’d simply grunted and walked away.

It was all too curious to consider in the moment.

Well, she had told herself she would do whatever it took to get to Grandfather and Clementine, even if it meant sleeping on deck. Of course, she had thought that before it began to rain and before the rolling waves tossed the ship in a way that made her stomach flip inside out.

When she first spotted the lifeboat covered by a tarp and hanging on a pair of hooks, it seemed a sweet haven. It took only an hour for her to feel the effects of the rocking which felt worse than standing on the deck had.

Looking for a new shelter would have been a brilliant idea, except that it was raining. And what a cold piercing rain it was.

On the brighter side of the situation—something she always strove to look for—the lifeboat was only feet from the ship’s rail. It made her frequent trips to vomit over the edge easier.

Of course, that had been hours ago when this journey was still an adventure. All this time later, no matter how she tried, she could not summon her venturesome spirit.

This was no way to die—curled in a wet, shivering ball—no longer having the strength of will or body to go to the rail. If only she had had the good sense not to cross the Atlantic in December.

How long did it take to expire from seasickness and exposure? Too long, no doubt.

But the worst of it was, if she died she would not have the chance to beg Grandfather’s forgiveness, or feel his great strong arms wrap her up and hear him tell her all was well. That nothing mattered except for her coming safely to him.

Instead of Grandfather slaughtering the fatted calf and calling for a great celebration, he would be arranging her funeral.

What she ought to do was get out of the lifeboat, seek help. The thought of the grief he and Clementine would suffer made her heart hurt worse than her belly.

She was the worst granddaughter ever born. She had been given so much, been loved so dearly, and what had she done?

Cast it away for some grand romantic lark, believed the lies of a man who assured her he adored her even without her fortune.

Truly, she had always believed she was smarter than that. She was not going to slip the veil like this. No! She was going to fight.

As she sat up, her stomach heaved. She was dizzy to the point that if she tried to stand she would surely faint. Even if she managed to make it to the rail and pull herself along seeking help, she would no doubt topple over the side. There would be no body for Grandfather to bury and he would wonder what had happened to her for the rest of his life.

Perhaps she would try again in a little while. She curled into herself, trying to imagine that her clothes were not wet, that she was not encrusted in an icicle. No, rather that she was wrapped in a blanket that had been warmed by a fire. That she held a cup of hot tea in her hand which warmed her from the inside out.

Perhaps if she could trick herself into being warm, she would wake in the morning to find the sun shining and her stomach adjusted to the rolling of the ship.

Yes, in the morning she would be stronger, things would be better—perhaps even adventurous. She would find Grandfather and Clementine and prove somehow how desperately sorry she was for betraying them.

Only a fool, or the owner of a ship that had been cursed with some incompetent employees, would leave his cabin at two in the morning during a bitterly cold Atlantic storm.

Rees doubted he would find anyone neglecting their work at this hour and in this weather, but it could not be discounted.

Which was why he was huddled into his heavy coat and walking the deck, looking for any little thing that might seem out of order.

Better a fool than remiss. Living with the knowledge that something had happened because of his negligence was not a thing he could bear. This was his ship. He was responsible for the lives entrusted to his care.

The problem was, being so new to owning a steamer, he didn’t know exactly what ‘something’ out of place might look like.

He’d simply have to go by his instincts on it. Ordinarily his instincts were reliable.

Rain pelted his face while he walked past the lifeboats, checking them one by one to make sure they were secure. At least he thought it was rain. It felt more like icy pinpricks assaulting his skin.

As wicked as this storm seemed, Captain Collier had assured him that the Edwina was secure, that she had been through worse and with ease.

Still, it could not hurt to make sure the lifeboats were intact.

He might own a ship whose reputation had taken a blow, but, because it had, the Edwina had been a great financial bargain.

In Rees’s opinion, it was important to invest Glenbrook’s wealth in various places. He knew some in society looked down upon ‘being in trade’, so to speak, but when it came to the welfare of those dependent upon the estate, it hardly mattered what society might think.

If hard times came, and they would, his people would be protected.

And as far as wagging tongues went, he was only a viscount. Gossip over him would not be nearly as ripe as for a duke or an earl.

He stopped suddenly, staring at the row of lifeboats. Something was not quite right here. All of the boats were swaying, but one of them in a different rhythm than the others. It appeared to be carrying a weight that the others did not.

This mysterious weight might shed some light on what he was seeking. Perhaps someone who would rather laze about than perform their duties was hiding inside.

He dashed towards the lifeboat, not an easy thing to do on a wet, rolling deck. Every instinct told him he would find someone whose employment would be terminated when he tossed back the tarp.

He gripped the canvas, yanked it open.

‘What—?’ His fist went slack, but his heart squeezed at the sight of a woman curled in the bottom of the boat.

Not just any woman, but the angelic beauty he had ordered the Captain to escort on board.

What could have happened to her since he last saw her going into the dining room?

‘Collier!’ he shouted, knowing he would not be heard, but needing a release for his anger. Had the Captain not found her proper shelter and left her to fend for herself?

‘Miss?’ He touched her shoulder, giving it a slight shake.

She did not do as much as twitch. Her skin looked thin and far too white, her lips tinged blue.

Reaching over the side of the lifeboat, he scooped his arms underneath her and lifted her out.

Her head rolled back. One arm fell limp at her side. She was heavy, but he suspected the weight had to do with yards of drenched cloth.

‘It’s all right,’ he whispered while easing her head up against his shoulder. ‘I’ve got you.’

The proper thing to do would be to rouse some woman from sleep and ask her assistance.

But then, proper hardly mattered in a life-and-death situation, and instinct warned him that her situation was desperate. His quarters were all the way up on the next deck, but the room would still be warm from the fire he had only recently banked. It would not take much to get a good blaze going.

‘Hold on, angel.’ Her lips were near enough to his ear that he ought to have felt warmth pulsing from them, but did not.

Without a second to be spent rousing a helpful woman or finding a proper room, he ran. His feet nearly slipped out from under him a time or two when the deck jerked unexpectedly.

It seemed an hour, but could only have been minutes before he carried her into his room and kicked the door closed behind him.

The space was warm, but not nearly warm enough.

What to do first? Building up the fire was urgent, but so was getting her out of her wet clothes. No matter how hot the flames, heat would not penetrate her icy garments.

Since he could not lay her down on the bed without soaking the mattress, he went down on his knees in front of the stove. He gathered her close with one arm, opened the stove door with the other. He stirred the coals with a poker. A few weak flames came to life. He added fuel, gave a great sigh of relief when the fire blazed.

If his fingers felt half-numb with cold, he did not want to imagine her condition. Her very bones must be chilled. He feared she was slipping away even as he held her.

This might well be the only gown she owned, but he ripped it from her without a care for the fabric. There was not a second to be lost in fumbling with buttons.

He stripped the clothes from her, then tossed them to the corner of the room—perhaps they could be mended, but he had not been careful, only fast.

Rising, he held her tight and brought her up with him. Carefully, he laid her down on the bed, then covered her with a sheet. Gathering the two blankets heaped at the foot of the bed, he laid them over the stove to warm them up.

‘Hurry up, damn you,’ he muttered to the flames and the wool, as if cursing at them would speed the heating.

There! One was hot, so he ripped away the sheet and tucked the blanket all around her.

If only she would moan or shiver, if only her eyes would move beneath her pale lids.

As soon as the second blanket was heated through, he traded it for the one he had just put on her.

On and on he went like this. He had no idea how long he repeated the process, but it seemed a very long time.

At last she made a tiny sound—a quiet groan.

‘Come on, angel. Listen to my voice, come towards it.’

What he ought to do was summon the physician he kept on staff, but it would mean leaving the lady alone.

It was still too risky for that. She needed warmth, constant and steady heat to bring her around.

Rees was warm. The exertion of caring for the lady had him sweating.

Body to body provided the best and most constant source of heat.

Because his clothing was still damp, he stripped down to his small clothes. He tucked a new warm blanket about and under her so that when they touched, it would not quite be skin to skin.

It wasn’t proper to be this close to her, but neither was it proper to let her die.

Easing on to the cot, he lay down beside her and hugged her close.

Even through the wool blanket the shock of her cold skin against his chest nearly made him recoil. Instead he hugged her tighter, briskly rubbing her arms.

While he did his best to protect her modesty, when it came down to it, they were sharing a bed with no vows spoken to sanctify it.

There would be repercussions for this, but with a life at stake, her life—for some reason, he had been drawn to her from the first when he spied her through the glass—he would deal with whatever came after.

‘Think about a blazing fire,’ he whispered close to her ear. ‘Summertime and warm breezes.’

Perhaps the suggestion of heat would somehow help. ‘Do you enjoy picnics in the sunshine? Walking in the park with it beating down on your head?’

After a time, he thought that her arm did not feel as icy as it had. Maybe her lips were losing the blue tint. He touched them with his thumb, hoping to add some heat and see them grow pinker.

There was not much he could do other than wait and see what happened. Hopefully by dawn he would be able to leave her long enough to bring tea and the doctor.

He did not allow himself to drift off to sleep in the event she woke, or in the event she did not.

The latter did not bear thinking.

This stranger in his arms was going to become his wife, just as soon as she was coherent enough to see the need and agree to it.

Honour dictated it to be so.

How would she react to the news? What kind of life would they have, for that matter?

He could not even imagine since he knew nothing about her other than that she was willing to give away her passage to a desperate mother. She must be selfless, or at the very least exceptionally kind.

There were men of his station who would know less of their brides than that.

And there was something he did know about her, knew quite intimately. Something he would not allow himself to dwell upon until they were properly wed.

All this was going to be a stunning surprise to her. One moment she had taken refuge in a lifeboat and the next—well, she would be wedding a man she’d never met.

Entering a marriage she had no choice in was bound to be distressing, but nothing about this could be helped. The pair of them were sharing his bed. The fact that she was not in any way consenting to it did not change the outcome for either of them.

He slid his open palm over the blanket, hoping to heat the wool even further. He was acquainted with the form of her limbs far better than he had a right to be.

When a man knew the shape of the arch of a woman’s foot and the curve of her calf—if he’d memorised the way her hip curved under the blanket—he was quite obliged to marry her.

By no misbehaviour on her part—or on his, to be honest—this lovely lady had been compromised even though his intention in lying down with her had not been seduction, but to save her life.

For all that it mattered.

The reality was, here they were. People were going to know it. Salacious tales had a life all their own. Rather mysteriously, Rees had always believed, gossip seemed to just know things.

He would not shirk his duty towards the woman sharing his bed.

And it could not be denied that marriage to this stranger would be a great boon to him.

When he returned home already wed, his engagement to Bethany Mosemore would be voided.

He would not be forced to ruin his brother’s life by marrying the woman Wilson loved. Of course, he would not have been put in the position of doing so had his brother and Bethany not kept their feelings for each other a secret.

There would be a great scandal over it all once he returned home, but better that than his family in despair.

For all that he knew nearly nothing about the woman he embraced, something—a gut feeling—told him she would be a better match for him than Miss Mosemore would be even if she were not in love with his brother.

And, of equal importance, a better mother to his twin daughters.

Had this angel not emerged from behind the crates holding that little girl’s hand? That had to mean she liked children.

It could mean nothing else.

Voices.

Madeline heard conversation that she did not believe was from her imagination. The vague, quiet voices coming to her in the moment were feminine.

But there had been another voice, one from her imagination that had been masculine. In her dreams it had spoken to her of heat—had described sunshine and roaring fires in great hearths. That voice, as she recalled the fantasy, had felt hot where it brushed her cheek.

As dreams went, it was quite—odd! Deliciously, scandalously odd.

The last lucid thought she could recall before this still-dreamlike moment was that she was dying and would never be able to tell Grandfather how bitterly sorry she was for betraying him as she had.

And now here she was, warm as toast while listening to voices whispering over her.

Soft flannel caressed her skin. Odd that, since she did not recall being in possession of soft flannel—or in possession of anything come to that.

‘It’s a wonder she survived,’ uttered a man’s voice. The speaker seemed to be sitting beside the bed. He was holding her hand.

She tried to open her eyes to see who it was, but her lids felt sealed.

Was he speaking of her? Probably, since she had not expected to and nothing was really making any sense in the moment.

‘I’d like to know how you pulled her through. What technique did you use?’

‘I simply warmed her as best I could. That’s the whole of it.’

Funny, that last voice sounded familiar even though there was no reason for it to. She knew no one aboard the ship except for the family using her ticket and the young man who had shared his lunch.

The thought of the bread she’d eaten made her stomach turn in an unpleasant way.

It was true that she’d met the Captain, but he hadn’t spoken to her enough that she would recognise his voice. And there was the man who had directed her to the dining room. His voice had been—

‘But she hasn’t come round yet?’ The hand that squeezed hers had a gentle, caring touch.

‘No, not as much as lifted an eyelid.’

Now would be the time to lift it, if she was able. In that moment she could not as much as moan.

Whose voice was that? Familiar and yet not. Oddly, it calmed her, warmed her. She desperately wanted to know whom it belonged to.

‘I believe, Dr Raymond, it is time to remove the lady to more suitable quarters,’ a woman’s voice said and not without censure.

Oh, dear, what unsuitable place was she currently occupying?

Wherever it was, she was still aboard the ship. Her queasy stomach was not mistaken in that.

‘Not yet,’ said the man holding her hand—Dr Raymond it had to be. ‘She’s done well here and I recommend she not be moved.’

Thank the good Lord. Moving anywhere in the moment seemed quite beyond her. Perhaps when she could manage to lift an eyelid, then she might be moved to more ‘suitable’ quarters.

For now she wanted to drift back to sleep. To hide awhile from seasickness and maybe listen again to that other comforting voice.

As confused as she was about things, Madeline thought the voice belonged to the person who must have rescued her from the lifeboat. Perhaps this was his room and that was why the woman rightly thought it was unsuitable for her to be here.

But where was the poor fellow sleeping? She prayed it was not in a life raft.

As soon as she recovered, and she now thought she might, she would find Grandfather and, once he forgave her, she would ask to have the generous fellow compensated for giving up his space.

Growing drowsy without ever having fully woken, she heard the women’s voices again. They seemed distant and displeased, although she could not tell why. Broken words came to her while she drifted down.

Common—not to be trusted, was it? Or trussed-up? Not a gentleman or a janitor.

Nothing made a bit of sense except falling asleep. The last thing she had any awareness of was of her hand being held.

Funny, how the texture of the hand holding hers changed. It was rougher now than before—the length of the fingers longer and the breadth of the palm wider.

‘Sleep now, angel.’ Ah, that comforting voice again. But perhaps she was already asleep and this was all a part of the dream. ‘We will discuss things in the morning. It will all be set right tomorrow.’

Bread. It was the last thing she saw before drifting off, or deeper. A loaf floated on the air between where she stood on deck and the entrance to the steerage dining room.

It was slightly after daybreak but hard to recognise the dawn because of dark clouds pressing the sea.

Walking towards the Captain’s office, Rees swore the grey sky leached into the ocean, made them look like one dreary expanse where there was no visible horizon.

He rapped smartly on the door, hoping the man was alone. It would not be easy to explain why a fellow from the fire room had left the furnaces to visit the ship’s Captain.

The door opened, letting out a whoosh of welcome heat and the scent of rich, dark coffee.

‘Good day, my lord.’ Captain Collier stood to one side by way of inviting him in. ‘Is something amiss? You look rather stormy.’

And why would he not look stormy? A man of his employ had left a helpless woman to the elements!

‘I am rather—more than rather.’

‘You’ve heard of the empty vessel, I assume. I only just discovered it myself.’

‘What vessel?’

The Captain indicated an empty chair with a nod of his head while pouring another cup of coffee, then handing it to Rees.

‘One of the men you hired to keep a lookout found an empty flask near the fire room. He asked around about it, but no one admitted knowing anything about it.’

‘They would not, I imagine.’ Rees stood up. The delicious bitterness of the coffee turned suddenly sour and he set the mug on the table. ‘Perhaps in the past drinking while on duty was overlooked. It will not be now.’

‘It might not have been a crew member. A passenger, perhaps, who wandered below decks so as not to be seen imbibing? I suggest we find the woman who tried to sneak on board.’ Collier pursed his mouth so tightly that his heavy grey moustache covered his bottom lip. ‘A stowaway is always the first we must suspect.’

‘The one you abandoned to fend for herself with an Atlantic storm brewing?’

‘Abandoned?’ Collier also rose. ‘I hardly did that. As pretty as she is, I imagine she found a place to sleep.’

‘She did, in fact—with me.’

‘I see. Well, you can trust that your private affair will not spread beyond this room. Just beware, my lord, a pretty face is the last to be suspected of wrongdoing.’

Heat pulsed in Rees’s chest, rolled in an angry flush up his neck.

‘I find it odd that she sought you out,’ Collier continued, tugging at his ear and apparently unaware of Rees’s ire. ‘I would venture that she knows who you are and—’

‘She did not seek me. I found her near death from exposure in a lifeboat.’ Rees clenched his fists behind his back. The last thing he needed to do was pummel the only Captain he had to man this ship.

At this, the Captain did have the good grace to look stunned.

‘I—I thought...’ The Captain sat down on his chair with a thud. ‘Why would she think that was a proper place?’

‘Why did you not find her one, Captain? As a soul aboard this ship she was your responsibility!’

He gulped several times. ‘I hope—that is—did she survive?’

‘Her death will not be on your conscience. I cannot say the same for her future happiness.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that you will report to my cabin at nine o’clock this evening to officiate my marriage to her.’

‘But, Lord Glenbrook! The woman is a commoner. I cannot help but wonder if she has sought you out for your title. Perhaps it is the reason she stowed away.’

He had assumed his Captain to be a smart fellow, but had he not heard a word of this conversation?

‘I hope you are more observant than it appears, Captain. Did you not notice earlier that the woman was being pursued by a man before she boarded? That even with that she gave away her ticket to someone else?’

The Captain stared dumbly at the wall past Rees’s shoulder, then the ceiling.

‘I’ll expect you promptly at nine.’

Rees stepped outside, took a deep breath of cold salty air before heading down to the belly of the ship.

What he ought to do was go back to his cabin, inform the lady of her destiny, but he still had a full day’s work in the boiler room.

If someone was drinking on their shift they might be inattentive to what they were doing. An accident could happen—an explosion would cripple the ship, cripple it in the middle of the ocean.

Perhaps he ought to turn about and go to his cabin. He did owe his future bride a warning of what was to come.

But he also owed her, and everyone else, a safe ship to cross the Atlantic on.

Besides, he doubted that the poor girl was recovered enough to accept the situation anyway.

He also doubted she would regard their nuptials as the divine deliverance it seemed to him.

Tonight would be soon enough to confront her with her future.

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