Authors: Laura Landon
Ethan studied his adversary. “I want you to know,” he said, “I will never let anything hurt her.”
“Neither will I,” Captain Parker countered.
Ethan waited to give them time to let their tempers cool. Then he continued their discussion. “How do you intend to run Langdon Shipping?”
“Exactly as I have been since the day Baron Langdon put me in charge.”
Ethan nodded. “How many ships are out?”
“All of them. The
Wind Sprite
and the
Night Journey
are both on their way to the Orient for cargoes of silk and spices. The
Pegasus
should return from Australia with shipments of wool within the week.”
Ethan sat forward. “How soon can you have the
Abigail Rose
ready to sail?”
A certain excitement shone in Parker’s eyes. “By the end of the month. Earlier, if we don’t have trouble getting enough supplies.”
“The May tea harvest in China should be ready to ship by the first of June. Can you get there in time?”
“Yes.”
Ethan nodded. “The clipper is yours, Captain. Make good use of her.”
Any remark James Parker intended to make was cut off by a sharp rap on the door, followed by the entrance of a burly sailor with fiery-red hair and a beard to match.
“Beggin’ the Cap’n’s pardon. Them same men as was here the other day inquirin’ after Mr. Cambridge is back.”
Ethan’s blood ran cold.
Parker sat forward. “Thank you, Cooley. Keep them busy for a while, would you?”
“Sure thing, Cap’n. We’ll take them to the docks, away from the carriage.”
Ethan waited until the door closed, then walked to the window to catch a glimpse of the two men he knew Stafford had sent to find him. When he turned around, he faced as lethal a glare as he’d ever received in his life.
“The men are from the colonies. They’re looking for you.”
“They’ve been here before?”
“Two days ago. They came with a bag full of questions.”
“What did you tell them?”
“The truth. I’d not laid eyes on you. Evidently, whoever they’re working for knew you would come around eventually.” Parker walked to the window. “That means they’ve connected you to Langdon Shipping and to Abigail.” Parker took one step closer. “I won’t let you put her in danger.”
“She isn’t. She’s perfectly safe.” Ethan prayed his statement was true.
“And what about you?”
“I can take care of myself. You worry about getting my clipper ready to sail, and I’ll worry about keeping Abigail safe.”
Ethan walked out the door, knowing he had more to worry about than the men Stafford had sent to find him. He could still see the look of panic on Abigail’s face when he told her he’d had news of Stephen. He could still see her look of defiance when he told her he wanted her to leave England.
Whatever was keeping her here, it was hidden at Fallen Oaks.
He’d bloody well have to find out what it was before too long. He wasn’t safe in England any longer.
Abigail paced her room, her nerves stretched to the point of snapping. When Mr. Walker returned, Ethan would know what happened. What if he pressed charges? What if they put her in prison? Or worse. What would happen to Mary Rose?
Her heart raced until she feared it would leap from her chest. She had to tell Ethan she could no longer marry him. She had to do what she should have done from the very start―trade him the ships he wanted for the deed to Fallen Oaks.
She had to get the papers from Sydney Craddock and leave London. She would take Mary Rose and run. Perhaps to France. Or the colonies. Someplace where he would never find her.
Abigail lifted a pillow from the bed and threw it down in frustration. What had she been thinking? What had made her think agreeing to marry him was the answer? What made her think no one would ever discover what she’d done?
She wiped her sweating palms against her nightgown, then threw on a heavy robe. Sleep eluded her. Worry consumed her. She knew Ethan Cambridge still sat in her father’s study downstairs on the pretense that he needed to go over some of her father’s papers. Now was the time. She needed to tell him she could never marry him. She needed to convince him she could manage Fallen Oaks by herself. She needed to sever all ties with him.
She pulled her wrapper tighter around her shoulders and crept down the stairs. She didn’t care what she had to give up to get Fallen Oaks. Nothing was too great a sacrifice.
Abigail stepped across the foyer, skirting the round table in the center of the entryway, then walked past the chair outside the study door. How often had she followed the same path when she’d come down to sit with her father while he worked late at night? A heaviness weighed against her heart. So much had happened since those times. So much tragedy.
Abigail took a deep breath, then raised her hand to knock on the study door. Her arm halted in midair at the sound of angry voices beyond the door.
“What the bloody hell did you think, Ethan? I told you weeks ago Stafford’s men were here.”
“What did you expect me to do, Mac? Hide away in some corner until they tired of looking for me and went home?”
“No. But I didn’t expect you to go around London without a care in the world.”
“I didn’t. I had to meet with Langdon’s solicitor, then talk to the captain of Langdon’s ships. I wanted to make sure he was qualified to sail the clipper to China.”
“And is he?”
“Yes. He’s good. Captain James Parker is as good as the reports you gave me. He’s more than capable. He’ll have the
Abigail Rose
ready to sail by the first of next month.”
“Then get the hell out of England.”
“I can’t.”
“Why the blazes not? You know what will happen if Stafford’s men find you.”
There was a long, deafening silence. Abigail sank down into the chair beside the door and clasped her hands over her mouth.
“Maybe it’s time I quit running, Mac. Maybe it’s time I faced Stafford and got this whole mess behind me.”
“Have you taken leave of your senses? The man’s insane. You made a fool of him in front of everyone. You took his slaves out from under his nose and gave them safe passage to Canada.”
“What did you expect me to do? He would have killed them. He whipped the one called Henry nearly to death before I stopped him.”
“That doesn’t matter. Beating them was within his rights, Ethan. They belonged to him.”
Abigail started at the loud sound of a fist slamming against something solid. “Listen to yourself, Mac! How can you say such a thing when you know you would have done the same?”
“That’s not what’s important. What you did was a crime in the colonies, and will be as long as slavery is legal. Stafford’s never going to let you go. Do you think he’s sent runners all the way to England to thank you for humiliating him like you did?”
Abigail twisted her hands in her lap while the interminable silence knifed through her.
“Bloody hell, Ethan,” the man called Mac said, his voice almost a whispered plea. “Get out before Stafford finds you. If they catch up with you, they’ll kill you.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?”
“Then why are you still here?”
“It’s time this was over. I can’t run any longer.”
“Why the hell not?”
“It’s not just me anymore. There’s the girl. I’ve got to make sure—”
Abigail’s hand trembled as she reached for the latch. When she pushed open the paneled oak door, Ethan’s face lifted to stare at her. The words he intended to say died on his lips.
“Ah, hell,” he said, impaling her with a harsh glare that soon softened.
Ethan’s white lawn shirt hung open halfway down his chest, the dark bronze of his skin glowing beneath it from the fire that danced in the grate. His hair was mussed, as if he’d raked his long, sturdy fingers through it in frustration more than once tonight. The muscles across his shoulders bunched, his lips tightening to two thin lines, and his heavy brows knitted together across steely-blue eyes.
The other man in the room stood. She gave him a brief nod, then concentrated on Ethan.
Ethan stepped around the desk, taking one step then another, until he stood mere inches from her. He raised his hand and brushed the backs of his fingertips down her cheeks. The soft toughness of his skin sent riots of shocking currents through her body.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I wanted to speak with you.”
He placed his arm around her shoulder and led her further into the room. “I want you to meet someone.” He stopped in front of the man she had only heard through the door.
The dark-haired man stood at his chair. He towered above her, his height nearly as great as Ethan’s. The width of his shoulders was nearly as broad as Ethan’s, the muscled expanse of his chest and arms an equal match. His eyes were dark and warm, even though the frown on his handsome face indicated an undercurrent of doubt and concern.
“Abigail, I’d like you to meet my friend, and the captain of one of my ships, Malcolm MacDonnell. Mac, may I present Miss Abigail Langdon.”
“Miss Langdon,” Malcolm acknowledged, saying her name with a light Scottish lilt. The tone of his voice as well as the look in his eyes emitted a warmth and a friendship she knew were genuine. “’Tis a pleasure to meet you, miss. It truly is. I’ve heard much about you.”
“Thank you, Captain MacDonnell. I regret I cannot say the same.” Abigail turned to Ethan and gave him the full force of her next comment. “I can see I’m not the only one with a secret or two.”
The frown on Ethan’s forehead deepened, and he nodded his head in acquiescence. “Why don’t you come and sit over here by the fire,” he said, leading her to the sofa and covering her with a blanket that had been thrown over the back of a chair. “You’ll freeze to death down here dressed as you are.”
For the first time, Abigail realized her lack of appropriate attire and felt a twinge of embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she said, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders. “I didn’t realize you had a guest.”
“I was about to leave, Miss Langdon,” Captain MacDonnell said, taking a step toward the door.
“Please, don’t leave on my account.”
A broad smile brightened his features, showing her an amazingly handsome face.
“Believe me, if the choice were mine to make, I’d gladly stay as long as you graced us with your presence. Unfortunately, I have a number of details to take care of yet.”
The captain walked to the door. “’Twas a pleasure to meet you,” he said, then left.
Ethan followed him out into the foyer and Abigail held her breath, waiting to hear what they said.
“Have a care, Ethan,” Captain MacDonnell warned in a voice just loud enough for Abigail to hear. “Barney is waiting in a carriage around the corner and will keep watch through the night. If anyone comes round, he’ll let you know.”
The rest of his words were lost to her when they reached the front door. She waited for Ethan to come back.
Her path was set. Captain MacDonnell’s warnings were plain. Ethan had to leave. Marriage would only tie him down, keep him in England where the man named Stafford would find him.
She pulled her legs up against her chest and rested her chin on her knees. She was more determined than ever to break their betrothal. Surely he would agree now, too.
The soft click of the latch at the front door told her Captain MacDonnell was gone. She lifted her head and watched Ethan walk into the room. Without a glance in her direction, he went over to the fireplace.
“Are you warm enough?” He placed another log onto the fire.
“We have to talk, Ethan.” She kept her voice soft, yet firm.
“No.” He stood tall, then braced both arms against the mantel. “I don’t want to hear it, Abby.”
“You must.” She waited for him to turn to her, to give her some sign that he acknowledged what she was going to tell him. When he didn’t, she continued in the most confident voice she could find. “I’ve always known how foolish it was for us to marry. Now you do, too. Between the two of us, there is too much to overcome.”
“Too many secrets?”
“Yes.”
“They wouldn’t be between us if you’d share them with me,” he said in a soft whisper.
“They will always be between us. More so after you discover what they are.” She clenched her hands tighter around her knees and breathed a deep sigh. “We can’t marry, Ethan. I’ve known it from the start and only agreed to your proposal because I was desperate to do everything possible to save Fallen Oaks.”
“Then you must realize why we still have no choice but to marry.”
“You may have the ships, Ethan. Just leave me the deed to Fallen Oaks.”
He shook his head, his refusal as determined as before.
“I heard what Captain MacDonnell said. You have to leave. Staying only puts you in danger.”
“I will apply for a special license first thing in the morning. It shouldn’t take long. We’ll be married immediately. I’ll make all the arrangements.”
“No! Didn’t you hear me? I’m not going to marry you!”
“You will or you’ll never set foot back on Fallen Oaks. I own it now.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
A sardonic smile crossed his lips. “Wouldn’t I? Refuse my offer and you’ll be left without your precious Fallen Oaks, and I’ll be left without the ships to save Stephen’s inheritance. We’ll both end up the loser.”
“Don’t you understand? I don’t need the ships. I can survive on Fallen Oaks without your help. With a few improvements to the farming practices, I am sure I can make the estate self-supporting in a few years’ time.”
He swiped his hand through the air. “What do you know about farming practices, about crop rotation or terrace farming or irrigation or cultivation or—”
“Nothing right now,” she interrupted. “But I can learn.”
“You’re no more a farmer than your father was. His first love was his ships, as is yours. Fallen Oaks was only a haven to escape the hectic social life he couldn’t abide. It was never a working estate. He didn’t know how to make it one, and neither do you.”
“And you do?” she said, dropping her feet to the floor and sitting forward on the sofa.
“No. But with the money I make from your ships, I’ll find someone who does. At least I’ll be able to keep you out of debt.”