Read Online Marrying the Royal Marine by Carla Kelly - Free Book Online

up,’ he said. ‘Everyone has flowers in their front yard. It smells like heaven, around July. And it is interesting.’
    The Colonel put his hand on her cheek then, as he had the other evening. ‘Don’t ever sell yourself short, Brandon,’ he said quietly. ‘Incidentally, I like to carve small boats.’
    He bowed and left the quarterdeck for the waist of the frigate, where the guns were tied down fast. She watched as he spoke to the Sergeant of the guard, then sat down on the hatch.
    ‘That’s the way,’ Polly murmured quietly, her heart still beating too fast. ‘Surely they won’t remain standing if you are seated.’
    Trying not to appear overly interested, she watched as the Marines not on duty approached Colonel Junot. He gestured to them, and in a few minutes, they were seated around him.
    ‘Talk to him,’ she whispered. ‘Just talk to him. He’s nothing but kind. All it takes is one of you to speak.’
    One of the Privates squatting on the edge of the gathering raised his hand. Colonel Junot answered him, and everyone laughed, even the man who asked the question. Then others joined in, talking to the Colonel, to each other, and even calling over some sailors.
    You just have to be yourself , she thought, imagining Colonel Junot’s capable hands carving little boats for children. Just be the man who was so kind to me.

Chapter Five
    M aybe it was the wistful way Polly Brandon had spoken of snapdragons. As Hugh had tried out his interviewing skills on a squad of obliging Marines, he’d found his mind wandering to the lady in the canvas chair.
    He could be thankful he was aboard one of his Majesty’s typical warships, which did not believe in mirrors on the bulkheads. He had enough trouble frowning into his shaving mirror the next morning and seeing nothing but grey hair starting to attack his temples. As he stared in total dissatisfaction, a brave better angel of his nature did attempt to remind him of his own words to Brandon a day ago, when he so sagely advised her not to sell herself short. The angel shrugged and gave up when he chose not to admit he was doing exactly the same thing to himself.
    ‘I am too old,’ he told his reflection in the shaving mirror as he scraped at his chin, which only made him wince—not because the razor was dull, but because none of those obstacles loomed any higher than the molehills they were to him. All he could think of was his August 9, 1775 birth date in the family Bible back home.
    When his face was scraped sufficiently free of whiskers, he sat naked on the cold cannon in his cabin, glumly willing himself to be as practical as he ordinarily was. He reminded himself he was on duty, in the service of his King, headed into the war, and destined to be busy. Another day or two would pass and he would never see Polly Brandon again. For his peace of mind, it couldn’t come too soon. Hugh did know one thing—what ailed him had a cure, and it was probably to continually remind himself that he was too old for the bewitching Polly Brandon.

    Two days later, he could have made his resolve less problematic if he hadn’t been pacing on deck in the early hours, dissatisfied with himself. If he had a brain in his head, he would skulk somewhere on the ship when it docked in Oporto. Brandon would go ashore, and he would never see her again. He could go on to Lisbon.
    That was his plan, anyway—a poor one, but serviceable enough. Trouble was, the view of Oporto took his breath away, and he was down the companionway in a matter of minutes, knocking on her door to tell her to step lively and come on deck for a look.
    Why did you do that? he scolded himself, as he returned topside. His only hope was that she would look unappetising as she came on deck, maybe rubbing her eyes, or looking cross and out of sorts the way some women did, when yanked from slumber. If that was the case, he might have an easier time dismissing her. He could go about his business and forget this little