Love's Odyssey Read Online Free Page A

didn't begrudge his half brother the title—never had—but the feeling between them had changed when William married Cecelia. Or, more to the point, when she had decided she preferred William to Adrien. Women, ladies or wenches, all kept an eye on the main chance.
    The lowering clouds began to spit a misty rain. Adrien tried to hurry, but the refuse in the road was so thick he was hard pressed to pick his way without wading in filth. The foul stench even blotted out the smell of the onions. Adrien never thought to be a cart horse in the meanest of London streets.
    Still, he was lucky to have found Callie—-luckier still that she remembered him from earlier days when he'd been a boy and she one of his father's dairymaids. If Callie had told him true, he should be nearing the Stringham warehouse. God knew he was near exhaustion. Could that be the building he sought? Yes, there was the sign.
    "Ask for Jacob," she'd said. "Say 'twas Callie sent you."
    Adrien pulled the cart close to the wooden building and woke the sleeping Romell, not daring to leave her alone. He made her swallow another mouthful of brandy to turn away the damp and chill, then took a draught himself.
    "Pull your cloak close and say nothing," he warned before leading her into the warehouse.
    Romell leaned heavily on Adrien's arm. Her head throbbed so painfully that she could hardly put one foot before the other. She concentrated all her attention on staying erect, so that when Adrien finally stopped to speak to a swarthy man with lively dark eyes, she scarcely took in the conversation.
    "... boat to Holland," Adrien said.
    ". . . stink of onions," the dark man said, laughing.
    The words floated in and out of her mind. Finally, she saw Adrien hand the man a coin, and then they were following him between bales of goods into the rain again. She heard the lap of water, saw a thicket of masts, and smelled the dock stench she remembered from her arrival in England. An interminable walk, then up a gangplank and onto the deck of a ship. More conversation with other men—sailors—until at last she was led off to a cabin with Adrien now half carrying her.
    ". . . you know how it is with women," she heard him say to someone.
    "The sea may bring your wife around," a gruff voice replied. "We sail within the hour."
    Wife? She wondered vaguely, whose wife? Then Adrien ushered her through a small door and, blessed relief, helped her onto a ship's bunk. Romell stretched out and closed her eyes.
    She woke in semidarkness with the ship rolling and pitching beneath her. But it wasn't the motion of the ship that had roused her. A door closing, is that what she'd heard? Romell sat up, clutching at her head as she did.
    "Still painful?" Adrien's voice asked, so near her that she started. He set the shielded candle he carried into the wall holder.
    "I—I believe the pain is less," she answered, trying to sort out her confusion. They were on a ship bound for Holland, weren't they? But Adrien shouldn't be in her cabin. . . .
    She gasped as he sat on the bunk.
    "Have some more of the brandy," he said, offering her the bottle. "I do believe it's helped you." His voice sounded different, the words slightly slurred. "I had a glass or two of the captain's good Holland gin," he added. "I feel fine."
    Romell held the brandy bottle in both hands, staring at him.
    "Go on, drink," he ordered. "You'll sleep the better for it. A nasty crack you took back at the stables."
    "I don't quite recall what happened there."
    "We escaped in the confusion of the fire," he told her, yawning, "and here we are. Come now, take the brandy."
    Romell raised the bottle to her lips and swallowed. How had Adrien managed to get her to London? Before she could ask him, she heard the unmistakable thunk of first one boot, then the other hitting the decking.
    "Never been so tired," he said, lying down on the bed beside her.
    She was shocked into speechlessness. He raised up to take the bottle from her, stored it in the