Free Almost a Lady by Jane Feather Page B

said. “I suppose it could almost be inevitable when two people are thrown together in these unpredictable circumstances.”
    He shook his head with a soft laugh. “No, far from inevitable, ma’am, and you know it. Such sparks are few and far between in my experience.”
    Meg pursed her lips a little. “I’m always attracted to unsuitable men,” she confessed.
    At that he laughed outright. “And I’m unsuitable of course.”
    Gus produced a near perfect imitation of the captain’s laughter and hopped onto the table.
    “I’ve never met anyone more so, and I’ve met my share,” Meg responded, absently giving the macaw a crust of bread as she continued, “You’re a privateer who goes by one name only. You’re on some kind of secret mission of such urgency that you couldn’t put right a mistake that you called potentially disastrous. Your men don’t even know where they’re sailing to after Sark. David Porter said no one ever knows where they’re going when they’re with you, or why they’re going there. I’m beginning to wonder if even you know these things.” There was distinct challenge in her voice and eyes.
    “All that is true,” he replied calmly. “Except for the part about my not knowing
why
. Believe me, I know my mission.”
    Meg looked at him sharply and she glimpsed again that hard cool core beneath the careless, raffish manner. Cosimo knew exactly what he was doing and he had absolute confidence in his ability to succeed. She took a sip of wine.
    “I’m not sure I’ve ever met a woman quite like you,” Cosimo observed. “You certainly appear to be a lady of impeccable breeding, but I can’t help feeling that appearances in your case are deceptive.”
    Meg’s lips twitched into a grin. He was, of course, absolutely correct. She was no more a lady, as society understood the term, than Cosimo was a gentleman. “My parents wouldn’t care to believe that,” she said. “My breeding is certainly impeccable.”
    He inclined his head in acknowledgment and then turned as Biggins’s step sounded on the deck behind them. “There’s rhubarb pie, sir, if you and the lady wish for it.” He set a brown-crusted pie on the table.
    “Lovely,” Meg said enthusiastically.
    “Lovely,” declared Gus, examining the pie with a beady eye.
    Biggins cleared away the stew bowls and left. Cosimo sliced the pie and placed a large piece on a plate for Meg.
    “You’re so skinny I can’t imagine where you put it all,” he commented, handing her the plate.
    Meg realized she’d had two laden bowls of stew, most of the loaf of bread, and was now about to eat close to half of a rhubarb pie. “I seem to be particularly hungry this evening,” she stated a mite defensively. “I’m not usually greedy.”
    “I didn’t say you were greedy,” he protested solemnly. “Merely blessed with a substantial appetite.” He took a forkful of pie.
    He had barely carried it to his lips before a shout came from somewhere above them. “Sail on the port bow.”
    Cosimo set down his fork very calmly, murmured, “Excuse me,” and pushed back his chair. He took up the telescope and went across to the port rail. In the silvery light of stars and moon, he could just make out the white shape on the horizon and then the dark bulk of a frigate looming against the night’s shadows. He had to assume that the
Mary Rose
had been visible to the frigate for no more than a few minutes.
    Mr. Fisher came running up. “French or English, sir?” he asked breathlessly.
    “I can’t tell yet,” the captain said, in a tone that held a hint of reproof. “Lower our flag and pennant.” If he couldn’t yet read the frigate’s colors, it was reasonable to hope that they hadn’t yet identified the sloop.
    “Aye, sir.” The young man ran off with an air of what could only be described as excitement. He blew a series of notes on his whistle and two sailors appeared. Meg watched as they lowered the jauntily flying Union Jack and the