As the day crept on, though, their impersonation of each other was forgotten. It was clear the ship was in very rough waters. A seaman did attend them, bringing food and drink, but his face seemed pinched in worry.
‘A bad storm brewing,’ he told them.
* * *
Lucien had spent most of the day on deck, though he had no control over the lack of decision by the Captain. Curse naval discipline! It was clear to him that the ship could founder at any moment. The time was past to do anything to prevent it.
He ran over to the Captain. ‘Give the order to abandon ship! Get these passengers into the boats while there is still time.’ They were near the coast. The boats might make it to shore.
‘Yes, yes.’ The man’s face was ashen. He suddenly clutched his arm and his face contorted in pain. He collapsed on the deck.
‘Blast,’ Lucien cried. He grabbed one of the men to attend to the Captain and another to see that the order to abandon ship was given. He ran to the cabins to get the passengers to safety.
Suddenly there was a loud crack and Lucien watched lightning travel down the main mast. It split in two and crashed on to the deck.
Time was running out. He dashed back to the cabins and burst into the next one.
He found the lady and her companion. He’d learned the lady was Lady Rebecca Pierce, sister to the Earl of Keneagle. Certainly that had been a surprise. The other woman was a governess. But he had no time to lose.
‘Come above,’ he commanded. ‘We must abandon ship. Bring nothing.’
Lady Rebecca jumped to her feet, but the governess defied his order and pulled a reticule from her satchel. He’d still not seen her face.
‘Come on!’ he ordered.
When they reached the stairs, the governess shoved the reticule into the lady’s hands. ‘Here. Take this,’ she said. ‘I’ll be right behind you. I’m going to get Nolan.’
‘Miss!’ Lucien yelled to her. ‘We must leave now.’
‘I will be right behind you,’ she called over her shoulder.
‘Blast!’ He pushed the lady up the stairs and seized her arm when they climbed on deck.
The deck was in shambles. Ropes and sails and smashed wood everywhere. The main mast lay like a fallen soldier in the midst of it all.
‘To the boats!’ he ordered, still gripping her arm.
He pulled her over the debris to the railing, but as they reached it, the ship dipped. A huge wave, as tall as a mountain rose above them.
God help them. Lucien wrapped his arms around her.
The wave engulfed them and swept them into the swirling sea.
Lucien held on to her as the roiling water pushed them into its depths along with pieces of the broken mast, barrels and other rubble.
Nearly twenty years at sea in all kinds of weather, all kinds of battle, he’d be damned if he’d perish from crossing the Irish Sea in a packet boat.
A large piece of wood smashed into them, hitting her on the head. She went limp, but Lucien hung on to her. He let the sea do its will, pulling them deeper and deeper. With luck it would release them. His lungs ached, but he forced himself to wait. He hoped she was not breathing in too much water.
After an eternity, the sea let go. He kicked them to the surface. When his face broke through, he gulped in air. Lady Rebecca remained limp.
Was he too late?
Lucien resisted panic. Their lives depended upon him remaining calm.
Part of the mast floated nearby. Still keeping hold of her, he swam to it and laid her over it. He blew into her mouth, a trick an old sailor taught him years ago. She coughed and spewed water and mumbled something unintelligible.
He expelled a relieved breath. She was alive.
It was fortunate the debris that had hit them had knocked her unconscious. She might have struggled otherwise. He might not have been able to keep hold of her.
A piece of rope floated nearby. Lucien grabbed it and tied her to the mast, doing his best to keep her face above the water.
A bolt of lightning lit the sky and he could see the ship a distance away heading towards the rocky shore. The sea pulled them further from it, but into calmer waters. He looked around him for anything that might be useful. A small floating barrel. A large piece of canvas sail. More rope. A hatch door appeared, a piece large enough to hold them both. He took a chance she’d be secure enough on the mast and swam to the door, pulling it back to her. He strained to place her on the door. He gathered the other items he’d collected before climbing on to the door himself.
The storm had cleared, but the shoreline narrowed into no more than a thin line against the sky. He wrapped them both in the canvas sail and held her against his body to keep her as warm as possible. They’d be on the water all night, he guessed.
Lucien doubted anyone would search for them, but perhaps some vessel would sail near enough to find them.
He gazed down at her, still unconscious, but breathing. She had a lovely, refined face.
How ironic that, of all people, he should have saved the granddaughter of the Earl of Keneagle, the Earl who’d cheated his mother’s family of their fortune, impoverishing them and changing the course of their lives. His mother’s life.
But what of the governess? Had she survived?
Lucien hoped so.
* * *
Morning dawned to clear skies. Lucien’s arms ached from holding Lady Rebecca the whole night. She’d struggled against him, but never gained full consciousness. The night had been dangerously cold, but soon the sun would warm them.
Before it, too, became an enemy.
At least he had the piece of sail to shade her.
She seemed to be merely sleeping now. She’d been lovely enough in her travelling finery when he’d encountered her in the companionway, but she looked more appealing to him now, with curls gone and her expression vulnerable. Was she the lady with the lovely laugh? It could have been the woman with her, the governess. He hoped her running back to find someone else had saved her. He could not have held on to them both.
He glanced away. He’d never been tempted by aristocratic ladies, those few he’d encountered. They seemed shallow and silly, too eager for pleasure and too ignorant of how the rest of the world lived. He’d seen privation and could never forget how wretched life could be. As a boy, he’d heard the story over and over, how the Earl of Keneagle had impoverished his mother’s family. How his mother had lost the chance to marry a title. How she’d had to settle instead for his father, a mere captain in the navy, like Lucien was now. Even though his father had risen in rank and had provided well enough for her, his mother preferred the company of the local Viscount when his father was away at sea—which he’d been for months, even years, at a time.
Lucien had grown up feeling a responsibility to his Irish relatives. They had been the reason he’d sailed to Ireland, to provide financial help to his uncles, who struggled to make ends meet. Lucien could afford to help them. He’d squirrelled away almost all of his prize money over the last twenty years. Thank God it was safe in Coutts Bank in London and not at the bottom of the Irish Sea.
Like he and Lady Rebecca might be if the sea claimed them.
His lids grew heavy and the rocking of their makeshift