She bent and retrieved her shift. “Go on.”
“Don’t tell them you have amnesia or that you were the one with the knowledge of the rendezvous point. It’s better if they think neither of us have the information and can’t give it to them because we haven’t received some secret missive or other.”
“I can do that.” She picked up her stays and began to fasten them in the front. “Don’t you trust these men?”
“Not any more than I have to.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Could you help me with all these fastenings? Otherwise, it will take me all night.”
He raised his brows. “I’ll do my best.”
“I’m not concerned. You seem to know your way around women’s clothing.”
“I’m no saint.” He began gathering her clothes from the floor.
“Based on what happened earlier, I don’t think I am either.”
He looked up grinning. “I’ll add that to the list of things I like about you.”
By the time a knock sounded on the door, she was dressed—barely. His hands tended to roam, and then she wanted to kiss him, and they almost ended up in bed again.
But now she smoothed her green skirts as he went to open the door and admit four smugglers. She didn’t know what she’d expected to see, perhaps dashing young gentlemen. But these four were grizzled old men with taut weathered faces and shaggy white or salt and pepper hair. They dressed in simple clothing and walked gingerly, almost as though they expected the floor beneath them to shift as a vessel might do out on the water. The men removed their caps when they entered the sitting room and spotted her. She gave them a brief curtsey and watched as they looked to Simon to begin the meeting.
She could feel in the way her body tensed that the sailors’ deference to Simon—the man—annoyed her. She was the one with the information they sought. Except that information was locked away in her mind, and she hadn’t yet managed to find the key. Better to allow Simon to take charge and stand back and observe.
Simon thanked them for coming and then cut straight to the point. “I’m afraid I have bad news for you.”
“Oi, not again,” the shortest of the men said. He held his cap in both hands and twisted it when he spoke. “I don’t expect a landlubber like you to understand, but the sea is an unpredictable mistress. If’n I don’t sail tonight, I won’t guarantee you I’ll reach the Continent in time.”
“I’m afraid I have no choice but to take that risk. I don’t have the information yet.”
“Wot’s this now? You said you’d ‘ave it tonight.” This was from the man who stood behind the others. He was taller and sunburned. She remembered hearing his voice that first day when she’d thought Simon a traitor.
“I hope I shall have it by the time the tide comes in tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow morning?” A third captain said. He was the shortest and the one with the higher voice. Again, she recognized that voice from before.
“You ‘ope?” The first captain crossed his arms over his chest. “Are we doing this, Burrows, or nay?”
The fourth captain hadn’t said anything, and Marjorie watched him while Simon tried to placate the men. This captain was very still, and almost as though he felt her eyes on his back, he turned slightly to look at her. He was a big man, probably three stone heavier than each of the others. He also looked younger or perhaps that was because his face wasn’t as weathered. He turned back to face Simon, and she studied his back. He stood straight, and his faded blue coat reminded her of those Navy officers wore.
The other captains were arguing as Simon reiterated that they should return in the morning, but the fourth captain said nothing. The dull pain in the back of her head seemed to move to the front, and she put her fingers on her forehead to ease it away. She tried to focus on Simon, but every time she caught a look at that fourth captain, the hammer in her forehead took another swing.
She reached for the back of a chair to steady herself as the room had begun to spin, and Simon was suddenly beside her. “Are you unwell?”
“Just a headache,” she said as he helped lower her onto the chair cushion.
“Sit here a moment. I’ll bring you a cup of tea shortly.”
Then he was walking away, his voice full of command. “That’s that, captains. Come back an hour before high tide. I’ll have the rendezvous point then and you can depart.”
“Will be a bleedin’ miracle if we can make it in time,” the short man said, but he followed the others as they clomped out. Marjorie looked up just in time to see the silent captain glance back at her before stepping out of the room.
She took a breath, and her headache had tapered by the time Simon returned from closing and locking the door. “I’m fine now,” she said.
“Your color is coming back.” He took her shoulders and looked at her critically. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. Usually, it’s the back of my head that hurts, concentrated on that knot. But the front began to pound. It’s passed now.” She sighed. “Those captains will be furious in the morning when we have nothing to tell them.” She paced away from him and stared at a decorative bowl on the table where they’d eaten last night.
