Read Online Revenge of the Barbary Ghost by Donna Lea Simpson - Free Book Online Page B

kiss, overlaid by an ache at the knowledge that he could not change, nor could she, so they must stay apart. She would live under no man’s thumb.
    Far better, for her, she realized, would be a husband like Marcus St. James, an indolent wastrel. Once she married, her family would finally leave her alone to manage her own affairs, and Marcus was an easy, controllable sort of fellow, only wanting to live pleasantly. One word from her would bring a serious proposal of marriage from the captain, and she was old enough that she did not require her parents’ consent.
    It was certainly a thought to make her pause.
     
    ***
     
    Osei Boatin had arrived at the Barbary Ghost Inn by the time Darkefell returned, and had his employer’s clothes tidied properly, the traveling desk set up on a table near the low window, and his own gear stowed. Though he was the marquess’s secretary, he would act as valet while they traveled.
    Studious, intelligent and reserved, it was painful to Osei to deal with the stares of strangers, but given his skin color, his demeanor, even his perfect elocution, he knew himself to be somewhat of a rarity. There were many Africans in England, but they were mostly servants and laborers, not given the opportunity to learn and better themselves. The few who were not in that class were viewed as aberrations, thus his own singularity. With a reticent manner, he still drew attention wherever he went.
    He was aware of the marquess’s reason for traveling to Cornwall, but kept his own counsel on how effective he thought the journey would be with a woman as proud and stubborn as Lady Anne Addison. Darkefell’s shrewd rationale for bringing Osei with him to Cornwall had in part been the secretary’s warm friendship with the lady. Darkefell, limping from the cat’s attack, told him all that had occurred, even Anne’s story of the Barbary Ghost and smuggler sighting, up to the moment when he had clasped her to his heart and kissed her on the cliff.
    After a pause, Osei diplomatically said, “I do not think, sir, that it was a propitious moment to press your suit, when the lady had just declared her independence.”
    “I know, I know,” Darkefell said, throwing himself on the lumpy bed and passing one hand over his face, grimy from the wind. “But she looked so damned wonderful to me. She’s magnificent, and I handle her completely wrong. Still, I know she’s attracted to me. Why does she not just accept her feelings and marry me?”
    Osei turned from the desk by the low window, where he was organizing some papers that required the marquess’s signature. “Perhaps,” he said, diffidently, “she has rashly responded to a proposal before and regretted it?”
    “Or she’s still weeping for her damned red-coated fiancé from five years ago. Women have a capacity for mourning that escapes men.” He stood and straightened his jacket. “I’m going down to speak to Quintrell, and try to get to the bottom of this smuggling near Cliff House. If Anne is truly in danger, I will carry her away from here even if I have to kidnap her to do it.”
    “Oh, I am sure that is the perfect way to win her heart, sir,” Osei said, his dark eyes glinting with humor behind his gold-rimmed spectacles.
    Darkefell grimaced. “Don’t be insolent.” But he softened his words with a snort of laughter and a shake of his head.
    The landlord was in his stockroom, a plump, pretty serving girl told the marquess, and he followed her directions. He tapped on the door and entered, glancing around the dark room, with its stacks of barrels and crates of goods.
    “Let me buy you an ale,” Darkefell said, after some desultory talk about the weather. Quintrell agreed.
    They talked for a while and drank, and finally Darkefell broached the subject of the smugglers, though he didn’t divulge that he had heard about them from Anne, or anyone at Cliff House. His questions opened a floodgate of information from Quintrell, who appeared genuinely