Nathaniel refused to look back. He climbed into the carriage, hurrying to leave before he changed his mind. This was what Alexandra had asked him to do —to take her to London—and it was for the best. She’d nearly died once because of him. He wasn’t about to risk her again. He wouldn’t lose her as he had Martha.
But if their parting was predestined, if it was for the best, why did he feel as though his heart was being torn from his chest?
“Take us to the Golden Crown,” he called out to Samuel.
Clifton’s gaze immediately fastened to him, and Nathaniel resisted the urge to punch his half brother in the face. The marquess had talked and flirted with Alexandra the whole of the previous day, just to goad him. And it had worked far better than Nathaniel wanted to admit.
The carriage stopped again a few minutes later, and Samuel announced Charing Cross. Nathaniel motioned the others out, then drew his knife and waved Clifton to the door. “Don’t make a sound in the lobby,” he breathed, “Or the spectacle that others see will be your murder.”
Nathaniel didn’t have to force the sincerity that rang in his voice. At that moment he was looking for an opportunity, and he hoped Clifton knew it.
Garth rented several rooms in the large coaching inn, where one could get lost in a crowd.
Nathaniel followed behind the marquess as Garth led the way past a plethora of pictures, porcelains, and knickknacks arranged on polished mahogany tables. Heavy wood settees and chairs were clustered in groups on a thick pile rug, and blue silk draperies puddled on the floor.
The halls were long and dimly lit, with a water closet at the end of each one. Garth stopped at a room that corresponded to the number on his key and opened the door as Nathaniel motioned Clifton inside.
“Keep a close eye on him,” Nathaniel said, his eyes burning with the need for sleep. “If there’s another incident like last night, he won’t survive to tell about it.”
The marquess jerked his arm away from Nathaniel’s hand and entered the room with Garth. “Sleep well while you can, Dragonslayer,” he taunted over his shoulder. “It won’t be long before our roles are reversed.”
Garth gave Nathaniel a pointed look. “Are you sure he’s safe with me?”
“After the beating you gave him last night, I’m not,” Nathaniel responded. “But at this point, I’d just as soon put him out of his misery.” He tossed Tiny a key. “Tiny, you tie him up. You’ll stay across the hall with John.”
* * *
“But the doctor said you’re not strong enough to go anywhere,” the doctor’s housekeeper protested when Alexandra tried to get up. “You need to rest.”
“I need to purchase some fabric so I can make a dress, and I need to find work,” Alexandra argued from one of four beds that lined the wall of the dormitory-style room.
The housekeeper, whose name was Mrs. Tuttle, clucked her tongue. “What if I brought you some cloth? Then you could work right here. The doctor is gone, and I don’t know when he’ll return, but I’m sure Mr. Kent has already paid for you to stay for several days yet.”
Alexandra fell back on the pillows. She’d been up most of the night trying to understand why she felt so despondent. She was finally in London, and though she wasn’t with her aunt as she had planned, she was still away from Willy. Nathaniel had kept his word and let her go. She had enough money to get a start. Yet she had never felt so abandoned and alone in her life.
She was just overly concerned about the future, she decided. Anyone would be frightened when faced with the prospect of suddenly earning one’s keep as a stranger in such a big city. Alexandra knew she wouldn’t be able to relax until she had a few basics settled in her life, such as a more permanent place to stay, and employment.
Thinking about the seamstresses who were most likely sewing in the garret of her old home at that very moment, Alexandra felt a sharp sense of loss. But she dared not dwell on her friends for fear the temptation to cry would overwhelm her.
Forcing her attention back to the concerned Mrs. Tuttle, she decided the housekeeper was right. She was in no shape to venture forth today. Tomorrow would be soon enough. “If you could bring me a large piece of broadcloth, then,” she said, “I’ll work from my bed.”
The woman’s ruddy face broke into a smile.
“That’s a good lass. I’ll get you a cup of good strong tea first. That’ll help you get your strength back. Then I’ll pick up the fabric when I go to market.” She smoothed her white apron with her hands. “The tea will take just a moment, dear.”
Tutty, as Alexandra had heard the doctor call her, shuttled between the doctor’s office and his residence upstairs with amazing agility for a woman of her age and weight. Only minutes later, Alexandra heard her banging around the kitchen in an effort to produce the promised tea.
The doctor returned just as Tutty descended the stairs, tray in hand. He joined his housekeeper at Alexandra’s bedside, a kind smile on his bespectacled face.
“Feeling any better?” he asked.
Alexandra nodded. She didn’t, but she knew they would never let her leave if she told them the truth.
“Tutty said you wanted to do some sewing today. I think that should be fine, providing you don’t overdo. You need several days of bed rest, you know.”
Alexandra sipped her tea, thinking she’d go mad staying in bed that long. Memories of Nathaniel haunted her constantly. She had to occupy her time more completely to make herself forget the tall, dark pirate, and she had to get her life in order. The doctor and his housekeeper were kind, but she couldn’t stay forever in the freshly painted room with its three other wrinkle-free beds. The fear of the unknown would quickly undermine her determination to get a start.
But might Nathaniel come back?
Alexandra tried to bury the hope that wiggled at the back of her mind. He wasn’t coming back. His good-bye the night he left was final, and she needed it to stay that way. She didn’t want to be around when the duke finally caught up with him—and she had no doubt Greystone eventually would.
The doctor was speaking to her. Alexandra looked up, attempting to catch enough of his words to provide a coherent answer.
“…is not common I treat a woman for a gunshot wound. How did it happen?”
Alexandra remembered the eyes of the sharpshooter aiming for Nathaniel as vividly as she’d seen them the day of the battle with the
Voyager.
“My brother was cleaning his gun,” she said, “and it went off.”
* * *
“Did you find a messenger?” Nathaniel asked. He, Garth, and the others were waiting at the hotel with Lord Clifton. Tiny had just returned.
“Aye. I gave ‘im the letter, an’ ‘e’s on ‘is way to deliver it to the duke now.”
Nathaniel stroked his chin. He hadn’t shaved yet and could feel the prickly growth of his beard beneath his fingertips. “Now all we have to do is wait,” he told Garth. “If Richard shows up at the Tower, we let Lord Clifton go.”
Garth nodded, and Nathaniel leaned back in his chair. The hotel steward had brought them a breakfast of fried eggs, bacon, a cold joint of meat, and rolls with preserves, but he had eaten little. Too preoccupied to enjoy the food, he sipped a cup of tea instead, watching his men devour everything in a matter of minutes.
From that point, time passed on lead feet. Nathaniel paced in front of the window, staring out at the day; the others played cards. Still bound, the marquess remained on the floor where he had spent the night.
Rain drizzled out of a gray sky, lacking any real commitment. Nathaniel wished it would pour. Frequent rains were the only thing that kept London habitable during the hot summer months, and it was already a warm spring. The water cleaned the air and the streets, helping to relieve the terrible stench that rose from the gutters.
“Untie me, I can’t stand lying here any longer,” Clifton said.
Nathaniel ignored him. He had no plans to wrestle with the marquess again today, nor was he willing to endure any of his half brother’s verbal abuse. He inclined his head toward the table where he had put a strip of cloth, just in case they needed a gag, and Clifton got the message.
At noon Nathaniel sent John and Garth to the Tower of London for Richard.
They returned nearly two hours later. Nathaniel could hear their voices as they came down the hall. At first he thought he heard Richard’s as well, but when they burst into the room, they were without him.
“He wasn’t there,” Garth announced. “We waited almost an hour, but there was no sign of him.”
The marquess closed his eyes and dropped his head in disappointment. Nathaniel wanted to do the same, except his men were watching him, waiting.
“What should we do?” Garth asked.
“We wait until tomorrow and send the same message,” Nathaniel replied. “Maybe Greystone didn’t get word in time.”
John stiffened in his chair. His eyes locked with Nathaniel’s, then turned to stare his hatred at the marquess. “If the duke has killed my brother, I’m going to kill his son.”
“And I wouldn’t blame you,” Nathaniel admitted, watching his half brother shrink away from John’s intense regard.
The next morning Nathaniel sent another messenger to Greystone House on Berkeley Square, and the wait began anew. Only, this time they untied young Lord Clifton. He sat in a corner, silent and morose, while the rest of them talked among themselves or gambled.
At noon John and Garth went back to the Tower. When they returned this time, Richard was with them. He had a number of bruises, a black eye, and possibly a broken nose, but he laughed and threw his arms around Nathaniel the moment he saw him.
“You did it. I’m free from the bloody bastard,” he exclaimed.
Nathaniel pounded his friend on the back. “We’re just glad you’re alive.”
Richard shook his head. “The duke was furious. He had his men beat me one last time, just for good measure, but you had him by the bullocks, and he knew it.”
Richard’s carrot-colored hair was matted with blood from a cut just above his temple, and he favored his left side, but otherwise, he seemed to be the same boisterous soul he’d always been.
“What did he do to you?” Nathaniel asked.
“Nothing more than what I’d get in a good brawl at the corner tavern.” Richard laughed, but Nathaniel suspected he’d received a great deal more than that. “Your father wanted me to tell him where he could find you, and when I wouldn’t say, he let his men rough me up a bit. Damn near broke a few ribs, I think.” He gingerly pressed the offended side. “But I’ll heal.”
Nathaniel glanced at Clifton. His half brother watched them with obvious relief, knowing Richard to be his ticket home.
“Tiny, you go rent a carriage and two extra horses. Bring them down the alley in back, then come get me,” Nathaniel told him. “Garth, help me tie Lord Clifton up again.”
“Wait,” the marquess cried. “What are you doing? You told my father you’d let me go.”
Nathaniel laughed. “Did you think I was going to let you walk out of here and go straight to the constabulary?”
“But you said—”
“I said I’d trade you. I didn’t say when or how.”
By the time Tiny returned, Clifton was bound and gagged and lying in his place on the floor.
“The rest of you be ready to leave as soon as I get back,” Nathaniel admonished, motioning for Tiny to help him. Together they lifted the marquess and carried him out the back way, where they put him in the carriage.
“You drive,” Nathaniel said. “Take us out toward Bristol, beyond the city.”
“Aye, Cap’n.” Tiny hefted himself up to the driver’s box, and Nathaniel climbed inside with Clifton. It had not stopped drizzling since the day before, but Nathaniel gave it no heed. He was relieved on two accounts: a portion of his plan had fallen into place, and he would soon be rid of his half brother.
The ride took a little over an hour. Finally Tiny pulled to the side of the road and stopped in the shade of an elm tree. “This good enough?” he called.
Nathaniel jumped to the ground. “Perfect. Untie the horses.” Turning back to the marquess, he said, “This is where we say good-bye. I hope forever.”
Lord Clifton squirmed and groaned, but the gag in his mouth prevented him from formulating his various grunts into words.
“I’ll take that as a fond farewell.” Nathaniel laughed and slammed the door. Then he and Tiny climbed astride the horses and headed back into town.
“Are you goin’ to let the duke know where the marquess is at?” Tiny asked at length.
“No. I’m going to let the stables know where they can retrieve their carriage. They’ll notify the duke when they find Clifton.”
“That’s a good idea.” Tiny sounded genuinely impressed.
“We need to rent some horses from another stable first,” Nathaniel explained.
“We’re leaving town?”
“Of course.”
“What about the guns?”
“They can be handled at a much safer distance, for the time being.”
They rode in silence the rest of the way. By the time they rented more horses and reached the Golden Crown, Garth and the others were waiting in the alley. They each took a mount and climbed on.
“Is it done?” Richard asked.
“Greenwalt Stables is on their way to retrieve their property,” Nathaniel informed him. “It’ll happen soon enough.”
“Then let’s get the hell out of here,” he whooped. “I hope Trenton’s got the
Vengeance
ready, because that duke’s hopping mad. I’d say we should head to America, but I’m not sure it’s far enough away.”
“Trenton will pick us up in Newcastle,” Nathaniel said. “We’ll deal with the rifles there, before my father sends any more guns to Russia.”
He nudged his horse into a gallop and the others followed suit. They cleared the cart-and vendor-laden streets of the capital and emerged on the rolling green hills of the surrounding countryside.
Suddenly Nathaniel reined in.
“What is it?” Garth asked, slowing along with him.
Nathaniel paused in indecision. “Nothing. Never mind. Let’s go.” He shook the reins and started out again, but it wasn’t five minutes before he wheeled around a second time.
“Is something wrong, Captain?” Garth’s face revealed his puzzlement.