The Secret Life of Lady Lucinda (27 page)

“Just keep your men under control,” Stanton warned as he pulled Lucy past the man whom she had now guessed to be the captain of the ship and, pushing her ahead of him, marched her up the gangplank until she was faced with no other choice but to jump down onto the deck. “Why are you doing this?” she asked as soon as she was on board. She tried to twist her head around so she could look at him, but he gave her a rough yank that forced her to face forward instead.

“Quiet,” he hissed, giving her a hard shove that made her trip, but his grip kept her upright, and as she found her footing once more, she reluctantly began to walk. What could she do? She had no weapon of any kind, and she was now outnumbered by a burly group of ruffians because, from what she’d seen so far, the crew seemed no less threatening than their captain.

“This way,” a stout fellow called to them. His face was gruesome beneath the black cap that he wore, and Lucy turned her head to look away from the eyes that bulged from their sockets, the wide scar that marked his right cheek, and the gaping cleft in his lower lip. This was a man who’d seen his fair share of fights—no doubt about that. Thudding across the deck, he lifted a hatch and pointed to a ladder that disappeared into the darkness below. Lucy’s heart pounded against her chest as she watched him reach out his arm, grab a lantern from on top of a barrel, and hand it to Stanton. “So you don’t fall and break your necks,” he explained in a gruff tone of voice.

Leaning slightly forward, Lucy stared into the murky hole with growing horror and trepidation as reality began to sink in. She tried to twist around again in the hope of catching another glimpse of the shore. Perhaps she’d find William galloping to her rescue. But it was impossible for her to see much of anything in the split second that she was offered before Stanton pushed her forward once more. Her hands were still tied behind her back, and she probably would have plummeted straight inside the hatch, head first, if Stanton hadn’t pulled her back at the very last second. She heard him chuckle—that same aristocratic chuckle that he’d otherwise used to charm and cajole. “In you go,” he said, his hand still steady upon her arm as she placed her foot on the first rung of the ladder. She hesitated before taking the next step, attempting to buy some more time, hoping and praying that William would still manage to come. But by the time her feet touched the planking of the hull and the hatch closed above her head with a loud clunk, she was forced to realize that he would not, and the thought of it—that he had failed—filled her with despair.

At her side, Stanton raised the lantern, spreading an orange glow across their surroundings. There wasn’t much to see down here—boxes and crates mostly, some fishing nets, and some reels of rope. “I suggest you make yourself comfortable,” he told her as he nodded toward one of the crates and indicated that she should take a seat. His tone was pleasant, in stark contrast to his actions. The man could not have seemed more devoid of a conscience. “It’s going to be a while before we reach dry land again.”

It was colder down here—a wet chill that went straight to the bones—and Lucy shivered as she followed his instructions, her eyes trained on her muddied slippers and the filthy hem of her gown. She heard Stanton move around and was surprised to feel a blanket being settled over her shoulders a moment later. The pain in her belly from the ride still irked her, but at least she might be safe from catching her death. “Why?” she asked simply, her gaze still downcast.

“I thought I explained that already,” he muttered, and though she wasn’t watching him, she sensed that he’d sat down on one of the other crates.

“The money—yes, I know. But that doesn’t explain why I’m still alive. I thought you intended to kill me as well.”

He chuckled, and she hated the sound of it—hated that he could sound so jovial, so charming, so normal when in truth he was anything but. “I have something far more interesting in store for you, my dear Lucy.”

She lifted her gaze to meet his, and as she did, she poured all the anger and hatred that she felt for him into her eyes. “I’ll kill you the first chance I get.”

He was before her in an instant, his face close, callous, and full of malice as he stared back into her eyes. She didn’t see the blade he held, but she felt its sharp edge against the pulse of her neck and immediately caught her breath. “Then I’d better make sure that doesn’t happen, hadn’t I?” He eased back slowly and went back to sit on his crate. “As long as you behave, I’ll let you live.”

Lucy tensed. If his plan wasn’t to kill her, then what on earth did he have in mind? The uncertainty of what awaited her filled her with dread. She couldn’t comprehend his reasoning, couldn’t seem to figure out what his motive was or what he hoped to accomplish. But if money was what he was after, then he must have been paid dearly for killing her parents and now for…she looked at him again and found him studying her with much interest. “Who hired you?”

His brows rose up, and he smiled. “Ah, I see you’re beginning to put the pieces together—took you long enough.” He paused, looking as though he was considering her question, but eventually shook his head. “I don’t want to spoil the fun, but if you think long and hard on it, I’m sure you’ll come up with a name.”

Fighting for control of her emotions, Lucy pushed back the tears, forced her body under some measure of control, and tried to think. Unraveling in a fit of hysterics would get her nowhere. Who would have had the motivation to kill her parents? Who stood to gain from it? It was impossible for her to contemplate, so she decided to ask a different question instead. “I take it that you were well compensated for the job?” He was a lord, so she assumed he would only have taken the assignment in exchange for an exorbitant amount, especially if his aim was to rid himself of debt or keep up with a lifestyle that had become beyond his means, for whatever reason.

“Not yet,” he said dryly, “but I will be…soon.”

What on earth did he mean by that? Her eyes suddenly widened, and she jerked her head up to look at him. “You’re taking me to someone, and once you do, you’ll receive your payment?” She was thinking out loud now, trying to piece the puzzle together as best she could.

A slow smile slid across Stanton’s lips, and he began a monotonous and patronizing clap. “Well done, Lucy. Well done, indeed. You’ve practically cracked the whole case wide open. A shame you weren’t this astute earlier or you might actually have managed to save yourself.”

No wonder he’d kept on looking for her all of these years. Her mother had been correct in her warning, and Lucy had been a fool to think that the man had remained in Constantinople, waiting for
her
to find
him
. His face might appear calm on the outside, but Lucy knew better. He hated her just as much as she hated him. “How much?” She couldn’t believe she was sitting there conversing with him like this, but she wanted as many answers as she could possibly get, and since she had no means of killing him, at present anyway, she might as well try to understand the situation as best she could.

He didn’t answer her at first but crossed his arms and then his legs before settling back against a large, over-stuffed sack. He then tilted his head, appearing to somehow assess her worth, and when she shivered this time, it was not from the cold. “You ought to fetch me roughly three hundred thousand pounds—perhaps even more with your hair and eye color taken into account.”

Lucy’s jaw dropped. She was speechless. This was far more money than she would have expected, which could only mean that the man he planned to deliver her to must be extraordinarily wealthy. She swallowed hard and tried to think once more of whom it might be, but they were leaving England now. She sensed that the ship had already begun to move, and she could think of no one abroad who might have had ill intent toward her father or otherwise hoped to gain from his death. It didn’t make any sense, and the more she thought about it, the more muddled her mind became.

She was tired, truth was, so with the wood of the ship creaking around her while the crew thudded about overhead, Lucy pulled a heavily loaded sack closer and settled herself against it. There wasn’t much she could do now anyway, so she might as well rest and gather her strength because, for some reason, she sensed that the journey ahead would be a long one.

Closing her eyes, her thoughts returned to William. She could see his handsome face before her, so vivid she could practically reach out and touch it. Her throat tightened, and again the tears burned, but this time it was for a different reason. He’d assured her that everything would be all right—that he’d protect her. Yet here she was, alone in the hold of a ship with this cold-blooded killer and with no hope of rescue. She hadn’t dared imagine that William felt as strongly for her as she did for him, but she had thought that he had at least cared enough to try to help. What if she was wrong? Of course any number of things might have happened to prevent him from showing up before it was too late, but she knew his career history and knew, therefore, somewhere deep down inside that if he’d really wanted to find her, he would have done so. The acknowledgment of it broke her heart.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
F
OUR

Constantinople, six weeks later

H
e’d told her that everything would be all right, that she mustn’t worry, because he would protect her. William paced restlessly back and forth in the confines of the salon, a handsomely decorated room in the guest house where they were staying. Low benches backed with plush cushions lined the walls while larger cushions meant for sitting upon lay strewn about the floor, the glass and metal beads that adorned them shimmering in the sunlight as it drifted through the windows.

With a sigh of frustration, William dropped onto one of the silk-clad divans the room had to offer and buried his head in his hands. “I promised her that she would be safe,” he muttered, feeling once again that deep-rooted sense of fear that had plagued him ever since they’d left England. It was stronger than it had ever been before, now that the trail had gone cold.

Following Stanton had been no easy task. He hadn’t traveled to Portsmouth like the road he’d ridden along had suggested, and it had taken some backtracking and questioning of the locals to discover that he’d taken Lucy to a neighboring town instead.

Arriving in France, they’d once again wasted valuable time on questioning anyone who claimed to have seen a tall, dark-haired man riding off with a red-headed woman. Most had been willing to fabricate a story in return for a bribe, and weeding out the facts from the lies had led them astray more than once.

But when they’d gotten as far as Novi Sad, William had been fairly certain of where Stanton and Lucy were heading. However, he still suspected that they had arrived in Constantinople three days after them—three extra days for Stanton to do with Lucy as he pleased. William shuddered.

“We can still find her,” Ryan quietly told him. “We know she’s here somewhere.”

William laughed, but it was a laugh of hopeless defeat. Lifting his head, he spread his arms wide. “Where do you suggest we look? She could be anywhere. It’s impossible for us to search every house.”

Trenton stepped forward and held a glass out to William. “Here, drink this.” He waited for William to take it, which he eventually did with a lengthy sigh of resignation. “Let’s try to analyze the situation from a logical point of view. We know Stanton hasn’t killed Lucy, which can only mean that he wants her alive for some reason. Why bring her all the way back here? What’s his goal?”

“He must have something to gain from it,” Ryan ventured.

William, frustrated, turned it all over in his mind again. They’d been down this road before, pondering all the possible reasons behind Stanton’s behavior in the hope that understanding him would somehow lead them to Lucy.
Unless
…
Bloody hell
. He was on his feet in a heartbeat, his drink forgotten as he reached for his jacket and headed for the door. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? His hand already on the door handle, he said, “Women fetch a handsome sum on the slave market here.” His voice was tinged with the excitement of his insight.

“Christ,” Ryan exclaimed, hurrying after him with Trenton following close behind, their heels clicking sharply against the tiled floor.

Stepping out into the busy street filled with horses, carts, and people jostling to and thro, William took a sharp turn to the right and started walking. He hadn’t the faintest idea of where he was going, but his eyes roamed over the many faces in the crowd as he went, until he spotted a middle-aged man of heavy girth, dressed in a richly embroidered caftan. Squeezing his way past a vegetable cart in order to reach him, William signaled for the man to stop and then addressed him in French. “
Excusez-moi
. My friends and I are new in town. I was hoping that you might be able to direct us toward the market. We desire to purchase a woman.”

The man stared back at William with obvious incomprehension before finally pointing a finger toward something in the distance and muttering words in Turkish that William couldn’t understand. He then hurried on his way. Turning around just in time to step out of the way of a horse and rider, William tried to locate Ryan and Trenton. He spotted both of them a little further down the street and started toward them.

“Do either of you happen to speak the local language?” he asked hopefully, knowing full well that the answer would be no.

Confirming this, Ryan and Trenton both shook their heads. “I can get by in Latin,” Ryan offered, “though I doubt it will do us any good unless we happen to stumble upon another physician. Wouldn’t mind having Mary along right now. I believe she speaks enough Turkish to make herself understood. She’s also familiar with the town, having spent a little over a year here with her father.”