In the midst of their frenetic escape, Phillip calmly strode over to the gig where Bella and Charles were still ensconced. He pulled the false panel from it hinges and stared into a pair of big brown eyes.
“Shouldn’t we be climbing
into
the lifeboats?” Bella asked, taking Phillip’s hand and stepping down from the small boat. He held her arm until she found her feet. “We heard shouts that the ship is on fire.” She gestured to smoke that still billowed up from the stairwell.
“There’s smoke but no fire,” Phillip said, helping Charles to the ground. “My master gunner, Ogilvy, has a way with smoke and mirrors. It seems a good bit of wet burlap on top of a fire, contained by a large clay pot mind you, does the trick nicely.”
Charles looked up at Phillip, clearly in awe. “You mean it was just a ruse?”
Phillip nodded. “Indeed. Sometimes, Scrap, you’ll find the odds stacked against you. In those instances, it pays to use wit rather than force.”
Bella pulled a face at Phillip’s nickname for Charles. “He’s right,” she said. “And surprisingly clever.”
“You flatter me, sweetheart,” Phillip returned testily. He was out of patience for the young widow and her half-truths. Grabbing her at the elbow, he pulled her along. “I need to see you in my cabin.
Now
. Scrap, find Kolton.”
Charles scampered happily off to Kolton’s care, leaving Phillip to drag Bella down to his cabin. Bella struggled briefly, but Phillip barely noticed. He ushered her into his cabin and deliberately shut the door, trying to rein in his temper. “Now, why do I suspect there’s something more to your story, Mrs. Marshall?”
Isabella assessed him, biting her bottom lip. “My name is Isabella North. There never was a Mr. Marshall,” she said in a rush. “I made that up.”
“Why did you lie to me?” he demanded.
Bella sighed. “It was safer to give you a false name. Most of what I told you was true,” she offered. “My father really was a well-respected, hard-working physician.”
“People don’t shoot at physicians’ daughters,” Phillip said impatiently.
“Apparently they do,” she said rather frostily. She stiffened her spine and met his eye. “
If
I tell you, I expect you not to discuss any of this with Charles.”
Phillip shook his head in exasperation and gestured for her to sit in her usual chair. “I’m hardly in the habit of trading secrets with infants,” he grumbled as he stalked over to her. He perched on the table next to her, shoving aside their current chess match before turning his attention to the woman beside him.
“I was winning,” Bella protested.
Phillip glared in response.
“You’re a member of high society,” she said, abruptly changing the subject. “I’m sure you must be acquainted with the Duke of Pembroke.”
Phillip sighed impatiently, annoyed at her dodge. “I know the reputation, not the man himself. Starchy old goat. Rich as Croesus and moralistic to a fault. That still doesn’t explain—”
“Charles is Pembroke’s heir,” she blurted out.
It took a moment for that statement to sink in. “You’re telling me,” he said slowly, “that you—Little Miss Nose-in-the-Air—
you
are Pembroke’s mistress?” Phillip’s jaw worked furiously as he tried to reconcile this fact. “I can’t even begin to fathom that. He’s a hundred years old!”
“I never said the Duke of Pembroke was his father,” she said, clearly insulted. “The duke is Charles’s grandfather...
not
his father.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Phillip muttered, pretending to shudder at the thought. “I was having a terrible time with the idea of you and Pembroke shaking the sheets—both of you so sanctimonious and icy. I have chilblains just thinking about it.”
“I’m not sanctimonious,” she huffed.
“Well you’re not exactly warm and welcoming,” Phillip shot back. “So if Pembroke isn’t the papa...” He already knew the answer but he wanted to
“Shouldn’t we be climbing
into
the lifeboats?” Bella asked, taking Phillip’s hand and stepping down from the small boat. He held her arm until she found her feet. “We heard shouts that the ship is on fire.” She gestured to smoke that still billowed up from the stairwell.
“There’s smoke but no fire,” Phillip said, helping Charles to the ground. “My master gunner, Ogilvy, has a way with smoke and mirrors. It seems a good bit of wet burlap on top of a fire, contained by a large clay pot mind you, does the trick nicely.”
Charles looked up at Phillip, clearly in awe. “You mean it was just a ruse?”
Phillip nodded. “Indeed. Sometimes, Scrap, you’ll find the odds stacked against you. In those instances, it pays to use wit rather than force.”
Bella pulled a face at Phillip’s nickname for Charles. “He’s right,” she said. “And surprisingly clever.”
“You flatter me, sweetheart,” Phillip returned testily. He was out of patience for the young widow and her half-truths. Grabbing her at the elbow, he pulled her along. “I need to see you in my cabin.
Now
. Scrap, find Kolton.”
Charles scampered happily off to Kolton’s care, leaving Phillip to drag Bella down to his cabin. Bella struggled briefly, but Phillip barely noticed. He ushered her into his cabin and deliberately shut the door, trying to rein in his temper. “Now, why do I suspect there’s something more to your story, Mrs. Marshall?”
Isabella assessed him, biting her bottom lip. “My name is Isabella North. There never was a Mr. Marshall,” she said in a rush. “I made that up.”
“Why did you lie to me?” he demanded.
Bella sighed. “It was safer to give you a false name. Most of what I told you was true,” she offered. “My father really was a well-respected, hard-working physician.”
“People don’t shoot at physicians’ daughters,” Phillip said impatiently.
“Apparently they do,” she said rather frostily. She stiffened her spine and met his eye. “
If
I tell you, I expect you not to discuss any of this with Charles.”
Phillip shook his head in exasperation and gestured for her to sit in her usual chair. “I’m hardly in the habit of trading secrets with infants,” he grumbled as he stalked over to her. He perched on the table next to her, shoving aside their current chess match before turning his attention to the woman beside him.
“I was winning,” Bella protested.
Phillip glared in response.
“You’re a member of high society,” she said, abruptly changing the subject. “I’m sure you must be acquainted with the Duke of Pembroke.”
Phillip sighed impatiently, annoyed at her dodge. “I know the reputation, not the man himself. Starchy old goat. Rich as Croesus and moralistic to a fault. That still doesn’t explain—”
“Charles is Pembroke’s heir,” she blurted out.
It took a moment for that statement to sink in. “You’re telling me,” he said slowly, “that you—Little Miss Nose-in-the-Air—
you
are Pembroke’s mistress?” Phillip’s jaw worked furiously as he tried to reconcile this fact. “I can’t even begin to fathom that. He’s a hundred years old!”
“I never said the Duke of Pembroke was his father,” she said, clearly insulted. “The duke is Charles’s grandfather...
not
his father.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Phillip muttered, pretending to shudder at the thought. “I was having a terrible time with the idea of you and Pembroke shaking the sheets—both of you so sanctimonious and icy. I have chilblains just thinking about it.”
“I’m not sanctimonious,” she huffed.
“Well you’re not exactly warm and welcoming,” Phillip shot back. “So if Pembroke isn’t the papa...” He already knew the answer but he wanted to
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