Starlight & Promises (24 page)

The stranger’s appearance was heads above the other tavern patrons. A slender, graceful frame, well dressed, clean, and neat. Sandy hair and a close-trimmed beard framed his face. Attractive middle-aged features, not dark and sensual like Christian’s or bright and spectacular like Garrett’s, but pleasant. She sensed no menace in his demeanor.

He offered her a smile, eyes twinkling. “Do you have a name, lad?”

“Sam Colchester,” she replied without thinking. She shrugged. No one here knew her anyway. If this man was acquainted with Richard Colchester, so much the better. How many gentlemen of Richard’s station could go unnoticed in a town as small as Hobart? This man might be aware of her uncle’s whereabouts. After all, Richard’s plight was the reason she had found herself in this muddle.

He gave her the opening she sought. “What are you doing in a tavern this late at night, Sam? You should be home in bed.”

She strived for a sorrowful expression and sniffled. “I’m lookin’ fer me da’. ‘E didn’t come ‘ome last night.”

“Why do you not tell me his name? Perhaps I know him.”

“Richard.” She knuckled a fist in her eye so it would tear.

“Richard Colchester?”

“Aye, that’s ‘im.” She threw him a trembling smile. “De ye know ‘im then?”

The girl’s words hit Steven Burnett right between the eyes. While she was evaluating him, he’d been looking her over with considerable interest, knowing at first glance she was no boy. Those curves and her creamy skin gave her away. He’d also seen something familiar in her face. At her clear, golden eyes, the Colchester eyes, his stomach lurched. A few wisps of butterscotch hair escaped her cap, strands of the same unusual hair color he had seen before on only one other person.

He could barely suppress an eruption of laughter.
The chit was Samantha Eugenia Colchester, Lady Samantha, Richard’s niece!

In the twenty years following his father’s unfortunate demise, Steven had avoided England but had maintained his contacts in London. Richard’s niece was born shortly after the murder and Steven’s own hasty escape.

What a coup!
Richard must have written to her of the Smilodon. In fact, her uncle
was
missing; she
would
be looking for him. He’d taken care of Richard Colchester and James Truett over a year ago after authorizing the use of persuasive but ultimately unsuccessful methods to force Richard to reveal the cat’s location. ‘Twas a shame James also met his end, but innocents often suffered. Did
he
not suffer the destruction of his career, nay, his life, when Richard was the true culprit? Perhaps Samantha knew where to find the Smilodon. He’d heard the girl and Richard were close. Richard was her guardian. Of course she would know. Richard would have confided in her. That was the reason she was in Hobart.

“I know a Richard Colchester, but he is unlikely to be your father,” Steven said, modulating his voice to a sympathetic tone. “The man of my acquaintance has not been seen in some time. I recall that he departed Tasmania around a year ago.”

Her shoulders drooped.

He came to his feet and extended his hand. “Allow me to take you home. You should not be alone on the streets this late. Hobart can be hazardous.”

She pulled back and shot out of the chair, knocking it over in her haste, then glanced about, head swinging from side to side. Steven followed her gaze.

The fight had ended, and its participants lay in battered heaps on the floor. The proprietor cleaned his shillelagh with a bloody rag behind the counter, and serving maids weaved among the wounded, retrieving dented tankards and bent serving trays. A few of the walking wounded staggered out the door.

“Nay, thank ye, sir,” she sputtered. “I live just around t’corner, an’ I ‘ave ta go now.” She took off, sprinting past the bloodied bodies.

“Damn Colchester wench!” Steven swore and banged his fist on the table. It would be too risky to follow her immediately. He had no wish to frighten her. A few inquiries placed with the usual sources would reveal her lodgings. If she was going after the Smilodon, he would discover that fact soon enough. In the end he would acquire everything he desired and deserved: the cat and ultimate revenge on the Colchester family.

Samantha slammed out the tavern door, sprinted down the street, head down, arms pumping, and ran headlong into a hard body, knocking it to the ground. She fell on top of him, and her legs tangled in his.

“Damn it!” a harsh voice bit out. “Watch where you’re going, lad. Have you been drinkin’? You’re soaked in ale.”

She looked down with horror, recognized the uniform of the military watch. When she scrambled up, her legs churned.

He caught her jacket by the collar and hauled her up on her toes to shine his lantern in her face. “What are you up to, lad? No good is my guess. You’d best come along to the sergeant an’ let him decide what to do with you.”

She struggled and kicked but made no progress against the firm hand of the officer. When she aimed a foot at his groin, he dodged it, cursed, and shook her like a rag doll.

“If you don’t settle down an’ come peaceable like, you’ll find yourself spendin’ the night in gaol an’ likely get a beatin’ as well,” he growled.

His words and the realization that with all her twisting and turning she was in danger of losing her cap curtailed her fighting spirit. What would become of her if he was to discover she was actually a woman? She would be taken for a doxy and thrown into prison. If she cooperated, played the role of a poor, abused waif, perhaps she could walk away from the situation with little delay and no harm to herself. Christian could not learn of her activities this night. He would fillet her like a fish.

The man marched her down the street, his fingers biting into her shoulder, and she kept constant watch on the light pedestrian traffic. Christian and Garrett were nearby. If she could avoid them until she talked the sergeant into releasing her, she would be able to slip back aboard ship before Christian returned.

They halted in front of an ugly gray edifice with no redeeming features. The heavy iron window bars, rusted by salt air, sent a chill up her spine. Her captor hauled her through the door and into an untidy room dominated by a desk and soured by the reek of ale and male sweat. A corpulent man, with so many chins she could barely see his mouth, sprawled behind the desk. He wore a stained, wrinkled uniform unbuttoned down the front to allow room for his massive belly, and a tankard of ale sat beside his left elbow. He glowered when the duo passed into the room, and piggish eyes regarded her contemptuously.

“Well, Corporal Brent?” The sergeant sent the corporal a knowing wink. “Have you taken to lads now?” He laughed, his rolls of fat jiggling like a bowl of aspic.

At the sight and odor of him, Samantha’s stomach turned over. To avoid disgracing herself and worsening the situation, she kept silent and bowed her head, casting her eyes down at the filthy floor.

“Nay, Sergeant Dobbins,” the corporal said, “you know me better than that. I received word of a riot at the Blue Boar Inn. I found him outside, runnin’ like the devil an’ stinkin’ of ale. Ran into me an’ knocked me down, the little bugger did. He’s probably a thief. ‘Tis past curfew, an’ he fought me. Want me to throw him in gaol till we check the tavern an’ find out what mischief he’s caused?”

“Look at me, lad,” the porcine Dobbins said. When Samantha lifted her head, he pinned her with a cold, pitiless stare. “What were you about on the streets this late?”

She prayed she looked penitent. “I was lookin’ fer me da’. ‘E didn’t come home, an’ me brother sent me after ‘im. Please don’t lock me up. I didn’t de nuthin’. ‘Onest! I’m nae thief.”

Sergeant Dobbins’s gaze crawled over her like spider legs. “Who’s your father?”

She twisted her hands in her jacket to control their shaking. “Richard Colchester. But I dinna know where ‘e is.”

“Where’s your brother?”

“Board the
Maiden Anne
. ? just shipped in.”

The sergeant wheezed a sigh. “And he has a name, I presume?”

“Garrett Jakes.”
Better Garrett than Christian!
“An’ before ye ask, me name’s Sam.”

His eyes narrowed. “Your brother is not Garrett Colchester?”

She realized her slip and mentally cursed. “Me mum, she married again.”

Sergeant Dobbins swiveled his gaze to Corporal Brent. “Throw him in the holding cell and collect this Jakes fellow off the
Maiden Anne
. We shall soon get to the bottom of this. Should the lad be lying, he’ll rot for a long time in gaol. Tell Jakes to bring along the fine for violating curfew, or his brother will be our guest for a while.”

Samantha’s stomach throbbed sickly.

The corporal clutched her arm and dragged her through an odiferous corridor. After opening a barred door, he tossed her inside, where she landed heavily on a bug-infested straw bed. A bucket in use as a privy sat in one corner, issuing malignant odors, and three other wretched creatures hugged the floor. One, pissed to the gills, spewed the contents of his stomach into the bucket and added to the malodorous air. The second one ignored her and picked lice from his filth-encrusted body. The third occupant regarded her with licentious eyes, as though penetrating her disguise. Then again, perhaps he preferred boys. At school she had heard whispers about such goings-on, though she never fully understood them. She shuddered, rolled up into a ball, and hunched against the wall to make herself as small as possible.

Please, Garrett, come soon and rescue me from this miserable place
.

Christian fought to bring his trembling under control. Their business completed earlier than expected, he and Garrett had returned to the ship over two hours ago to find Samantha gone, and no one had seen her leave.

“But she retired early,” Delia insisted.

Christian sent out men to search the ship from bow to stern. When one sailor discovered a missing dinghy, the men came ashore, canvassing the docks and finally scouring the town building by building, alley by alley, but they uncovered no clues to her whereabouts. Christian ordered dinghies into the water, instructing the sailors to look for her body. Soft splashing from oars, shouted exchanges, and the gleaming bobbing of lanterns floated out of the darkness over the harbor. He swore if he should find her alive, he would kill her for shaving another decade off his life. At this rate, he would be meeting Saint Peter within weeks.

“Come morning, I’m mounting an expedition into the interior,” Christian said and plowed a shaky hand through his hair. “I fear she has gone after her uncle on her own.”
Damned female!
And after she gave him her promise. Her duplicity only served to confirm his opinion that a woman’s promise was no more than words thrown to the wind. Concern for her safety warred with rage at her audacity and stupidity.

“Hello!” a voice called out, intruding on their dockside conference and drawing their attention away from the flickering lights in the floating dinghies.

A lantern bobbed in the distance and moved toward them. When the man drew closer, his corporal’s uniform emerged from the darkness.

“Be that the
Maiden Anne?”
The corporal waved his lantern toward the ship anchored in the harbor.

“It is,” Christian said. “The
Maiden Anne
is our ship. What interest would the military garrison have with us?”

“Are you Garrett Jakes?” He lifted the lantern to examine Christian’s face.

“I’m Jakes,” Garrett answered from beside Christian. “Who wants to know?”

The lantern and the man’s gaze swung to Garrett. “We picked up your little brother tonight outside the Blue Boar Inn. Least he says he’s your brother. He’s probably lyin’. Tryin’ to squirm out of a thievery charge.”

“What’s his name?” Christian asked quietly.

“Says ‘tis Sam. Scruffy little urchin he is. I can see you’re gentlemen, an’ he couldn’t be related to you.”

Christian’s jaw hardened to flint. “Perhaps we should take a look. He could be my cabin boy who lost his family at sea and thinks of Garrett as his brother.”

“Very well.” The corporal sighed. “You’re likely wastin’ your time. But ‘tis your time. I just do my duty.” The man swung around and walked away.

When Christian strode forward, Garrett stepped around him and barred his way. “Allow me to handle this situation,” Garrett said at the evidence of Christian’s tense fists, rigid body, and the fury reflected in his features.

Christian’s eyes glittered like splintered ice. “Move,” he ordered, the word spurting from his lips like venom from a viper.

Garrett braced a palm on Christian’s chest. “I will not. You’re too angry to deal with Sam at this time. I’ve no wish to have to spring you from prison on account of your committing murder. Not that I’m saying you truly would, but I’ll not have you frightening the life out of her. In any case, I rather like the chit. I’ll fetch her.”

Christian stepped back, closed his eyes, and scrubbed a hand across his mouth. When his eyes opened, he appeared more lucid. “Perhaps you’re right. I would be more likely to wring her neck than bail her out of her scrape.” He turned and walked toward town, looking back over his shoulder. “Take care of her. And make certain I don’t see her for a week or two.”