in4 by Midnight Pleasures

Author:Midnight Pleasures
Language: eng
Format: epub

Sophie peered over the railing. Sure enough, Simone was wailing miserably and leaning over the side of the boat. Sophie moved toward the seaman, but again a strong arm caught her.

"Wait here, Sophie." Patrick swung his leg onto the ladder, hooked an arm around the rail, and held out his other arm.

"I can certainly climb down that ladder by myself," Sophie said with some annoyance.

He shook his head. "No."

She looked at her husband's unyielding expression, handed her muff to the seaman, and then hesitated again. In Patrick's eyes there was a command, not an entreaty.

"I don't see why I couldn't climb down the ladder," she grumbled as the seaman handed her into Patrick's waiting embrace. Patrick effortlessly held her small body against his chest as he made his way down the ladder.

"Sorry" he said. "You're my Sophie."

"Excuse me, ma'am," the sailor in the boat said as Patrick placed her in the skiff. Simone was retching over the side.

Sophie made her way over to her maid. "Shouldn't the crew be joining us?" she asked Patrick.

"Crew stays with the ship," Patrick replied. He didn't add that it was the first rime he had deserted the Lark during a storm. "The rowboat will make one more trip and bring Floret over to the shore. He's threatening never to pick up a soup ladle again if we don't get him onto solid ground."

By the time the small boat made its way to the dock, the wind had picked up and icy nibblets of rain were beginning to lash against Sophie's face. Patrick jumped out of the boat and held out his arms for his wife.

As Patrick turned back to help Simone from the boat, Sophie smiled at the chubby young man who stood waiting for them. He had a round face and blond curls, with a rather impish expression. He was wearing what looked like a monk's long robe. But he couldn't be a monk; there were no monks left in the British Isles. Perhaps he just likes the robes, Sophie thought.

"How do you do?"

The man peered at her. "I do well, I do well," he said, after a pause. He had the rolling syllables of a Welshman born and bred.

Patrick came up behind Sophie and shook his hand. "I am Patrick Foakes, and this is my wife, Lady Sophie."

"Mine is John Hankford," said the Welshman, "just plain Mister John Hankford."

Hankford had a sweet look about him, Sophie thought, rather like a talkative cherub. Except that he seemed disinclined to say anything further.

"We are very grateful for your hospitality, Mr. Hankford," she said.

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