by Vella, Wendy
Her child was nearing sleep again, eyes slits as she struggled to stay awake. Her head now rested on her mother’s shoulder. Harry touched the soft cheek once more, and the child gave him a sleepy smile.
“It’s my hope that when you need help, sir, someone will be there for you also.”
Their eyes locked, and in that moment for Harry the world stood still. Every noise and sound faded; there was just him and this woman.
“I-I must go.”
“Of course.” What the hell was the matter with him?
Before he could stop her, she’d risen to her toes and kissed his cheek. It was brief and over in seconds. It felt like she’d branded him.
“You are my ange gardien.”
He helped her into the carriage, and she settled on the seat. Don’t let her go.
“Vivre une vie longue et heureuse.” Harry shut the door and the voice inside his head out after wishing her a long and happy life and nodded to the driver. Standing back, he watched the woman and child roll away from him and wondered if he was ailing for something. No other explanation was possible for what he had just felt or done. It was as if something monumental had just happened in his life and it was rolling away from him, never to be seen again.
Only when the carriage turned the corner at the end of the street did he return to the ship.
“It’s this place,” he muttered. Coming to England always made him wary and on edge. Somewhere out there he had family, and he laid the entire blame for what had just occurred on the doorstep of anyone who carried his blood. It wasn’t logical, but in that moment it helped him push aside the madness of what had just happened.
Never trust a Sinclair. Remembering his father’s words, he turned and walked back to the familiar. His ship, his livelihood. Little else mattered.
Chapter 2
Shaking off his momentary madness, Harry, at a much more sedate pace, walked back up the gangway and onto the Charlotte Anne. He’d named her after his mother, who he only had a distant memory of, as she’d died when he was a child. She was the first ship he’d owned, and the one Harry loved most.
“You saved that woman and babe, Harry. They would have been crushed or drowned had you not. ’Tis a brave thing you did.”
“Thank you.” Faris was his assistant and friend. He understood his business almost as well as he did. Like Harry, he had moved to France as a babe. His mother was from India and his father French, so his was not always an easy path to tread.
“Will you be leaving the ship?”
“I have business meetings, as you know.”
“Business, yes, but what of your family?”
“I have Grandmère to care for—”
“You know I did not mean her,” Faris interrupted.
“We have already discussed this many times, and I have no wish to do so again. I have no other family but Grandmère. Of course I will leave the ship to see her. She has insisted on staying in the finest hotel in London, of course.”
Faris laughed.
“With her ancient maid, who was once a friend, and her other ancient friend who is now her companion.”
“She is happy and enjoying your wealth and status; there is no harm in that, surely,” Faris said.
“I don’t begrudge her what she now has, Faris, I just find it amusing that she has all the appearance of someone born in a French chateau when in fact it was in a bed with her six siblings in a one-room cottage.”
“While I love your grandmère very much, Harry, she need not be the only family you have, surely.”
Once, when he and Faris had been at sea steadily working their way down a bottle of spirits, he’d made the mistake of telling his friend that his father had brothers in England. It had been a mistake, because unlike him, Faris believed in happily ever afters. Family was vital to him, as he had a large one, and he failed to understand Harry did not wish for the same.
“I believe I have told you this subject is closed.” There were not many willing to cross swords with Harry; unfortunately, Faris was one of them.
“You will be a lonely old man, as even your grandmother cannot will herself to live forever.”
“I’m sure I’ll find someone to keep me company when that day comes.”
“Family are different to the women that you bed, Harry. Even you will lose your legendary powers of seduction one day.”
“Jealous, Faris?” Harry knew the words were beneath him, but he was feeling raw and off balance after his encounter with that woman.
“I am engaged, as you very well know.”
“Just checking you had no regrets.” And yet he knew Faris loved his fiancée deeply, as she loved him. Harry would admit, but only to himself and very occasionally, that he was jealous of such a love.
“My only regret is that you refuse to find those of your blood. Your stubbornness will make a lonely companion. There are Sinclairs in shipping; perhaps they are related to you?”
“I’m sure it is a common name, and I don’t wish to find if they are related,” he said with a calm he was not feeling. “My mother was not good enough for them, therefore they are not good enough for me. Now we have chewed this particular morsel to death, and I wish to discuss it no further, Faris.”
“I could—”
“Go and do some work. It’s what I pay you for.” Harry walked away, ignoring his friend’s mutterings, although he knew they would not be complimentary.
Faris was the only man he allowed to speak to him that way, and he still had no idea why.
Harry ran a shipping business from France, and extremely well if his bank accounts were telling the truth—which of course they were. His ships carted goods around the world and most often with him on board. He had other business interests and owned property and enjoyed challenging himself by always seeking new ventures to interest him.
He walked the upper deck, looking at the bustle below. Sailors, travelers, dock workers; there were people of every variety milling below him. Now the woman had gone, some of the tension inside him had eased… but strangely, not all.
London had never appealed to Harry. Yes, he’d been born here, but France was his love. He watched one of his crew carrying two large valises down the gangway. There would be more to follow, all belonging to his elderly relative and her companions. She would not leave the cabin until all was ready for her departure.
Walking along the railing, he searched for what else was bothering him. Was it just residue leftover from the encounter with that woman?
Boats to the left and right were of varying and similar sizes to the Charlotte Anne. It was the one to his immediate right, the Lilliana, that caught and held his attention. On the deck stood three men. All large, all dark, and the frisson of awareness that ran through him told him they were familiar to him. Focusing, he realized why. They looked like him… well, two of them anyway.
The two biggest of the men were staring at him as he was them, green eyes vibrant, also like his sometimes were. He stepped back, turning away and breaking the contact.
His chest felt tight as he struggled to haul in a deep breath. Maybe he really was ailing for something.
Harry knew of Lord Sinclair. The man owned ships as he did, but he’d dismissed him as someone he was unlikely to meet nor want to. Could one of these men be he?
Was he a relative?
It seemed likely, considering their appearance.
Seeking the sanctuary of his cabin until they’d left and he’d calmed down, Harry headed across the deck. Once there, he shut the door and rested a hand on it. What the hell had just happened? Had he imagined what he’d just seen? Had those eyes looking back at him been the same as his?
Harry had never told anyone about what he saw.
He poured himself a shot of whisky and threw it back. First the woman and child had disturbed him, and now those men.
The tap on his door minutes later had Harry stiffening.
“Yes!”
“There are three men here wishing to spe
ak with you, Harry,” Faris said through the wood.
He wanted to yell back that he was busy and couldn’t see anyone. Anything to stop from meeting those men. It was them of course; it had to be.
But Harry had not been raised a coward. He’d faced down far more dangerous foes than three English gentlemen. He stalked to the door and wrenched it open to see the smiling face of Faris.
“They have the look of you, Harry.”
“That means nothing to me. Where are they?”
“One could be Lord Sinclair. We’ve heard of him, Harry, but as yet have not met him.”
“I don’t care if he’s the King, Faris, the name means nothing to me. Now where are they?”
“On the upper deck.”
He stalked past his still smiling friend and made his way to where the men waited. Tension rode high on his shoulders; tension, and the feeling that his life was about to change and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop that happening.
They waited, arms at their sides, feet braced, eyes focused and intent on him as he approached. A frisson of awareness travelled through him as he encountered the green eyes.
Never trust a Sinclair. His father’s words filled his head. He’d repeated them many times to his son over the years.
“How can I help you gentlemen?” He would be calm and businesslike; it was, after all, what he did best.
“We saw you from our ship.” The one who spoke was the eldest. His black hair had gray at the temples, and there was an air of authority about him. “Are you the owner of this vessel?”
“I am.”
“Are you Harry Sinclair?”
The question had been spoken by the smaller of the three men. Still big, but his build was slighter. His eyes weren’t as intense either. Harry watched as he sniffed the air. Odd.
“Can I ask what business you have on the Charlotte Anne?” he said instead of giving them his name.
“Are you Harry Sinclair?” The eldest stepped closer.
“Tell me who you are first.” Harry wasn’t sure why he didn’t want to tell them who he was, but the urge was strong.
“I am Devonshire, Lord Sinclair. This is my brother, Cambridge Sinclair, and this is Captain Christian Sinclair, but we call him Wolf.”
The tension between them was so thick it cloaked the air. Dear God, it can’t be.
“I am Harry Sinclair.”
Lord Sinclair’s smile was slow to bloom, but when it did, it filled his face and lit his eyes. Harry kept his features composed.
“We’ve heard your name, of course; your reputation is well known here.”
Harry knew what he was. He was ruthless yet fair in business but was sure some saw it differently.
“What do you wish to discuss with me?”
“The black sheep’s son.” Cambridge Sinclair smiled. “How wonderful! We wondered when this day would arrive.”
“My father was a good man,” Harry said calmly, which was not easy, as he felt anything but. “It is your family who treated him so badly he was forced to leave England with the woman he loved and a babe that was only a few weeks old.”
“Forgive my brother; his mouth often engages before his brain.” Lord Sinclair glared at Cambridge Sinclair. “We are not here to judge your father.”
“Then why are you here?”
“As I have said, we’ve heard your name before and had wondered if you were the son of Byron Sinclair, our uncle, who left London when I was a child,” Lord Sinclair said. “Now we know you are, we would like to get to know you better and introduce you to the rest of your family.”
“I have a grandmother, and that is all I need. I see no reason to change that at this late stage in my life.”
“Your father still lives?” the man called Wolf asked.
“He does not.”
“You have our condolences,” Lord Sinclair said.
Harry nodded.
“Grandson!”
The four men all turned as one and watched Harry’s grandmother stomp across the deck. He didn’t sigh precisely, but the sentiment was there. This day was not about to improve, it seemed.
“Grandmère, I told you I would help you to the carriage once it had arrived. You should have stayed in your cabin.” Harry moved to intercept her. Short and round, she wore mustard today, with a green bonnet that made him wince. Fashion, his grandmother said, was a statement, and she was certainly that.
“I wished for air.”
Heloise Paquet had been born the daughter of a baker, and when Harry turned his fortunes around and soon had more money than he knew what to do with—her words—she’d decided the simple life was no longer to her liking. She now lived in an expensive townhouse with staff and had the airs and graces of someone born into a title and money. It amused Harry just how well she’d taken to a life of luxury, even if sometimes he found her in the kitchen baking bread.
“You have visitors.” She stomped her cane on the deck as she spoke. He wasn’t entirely sure why she used it, as she could walk perfectly without, however it gave her a weapon should it be required to quell any insubordination.
“Business, Grandmère,” Harry said, hoping the men didn’t hear.
“They have the look of you. Tell me their names.” Heloise Paquet never asked, she demanded. Her staff were terrified of her, and she loved it that way. In fact, the only person who ever spoke their mind to her was Harry, and that was because he adored her.
“Good day,” Cambridge Sinclair said.
Short of ordering them from his ship, Harry could do nothing to stop the Sinclairs drawing closer. The meeting was inevitable.
“Who are you?” his grandmother demanded, peering up at the large men.
“This is my brother, Lord Sinclair, and cousin Mr. Christian Sinclair, and I am Cambridge Sinclair.”
Harry watched the men bow and his grandmother’s lips twitch. She loved it when people bowed to her.
“Introduce me.” One of her pointy elbows jabbed him in the ribs.
“Mrs. Heloise Paquet,” Harry said reluctantly, as he knew what would be coming next. His grandmother was exceedingly sharp on all fronts.
“They are Sinclairs, grandson.”
“Grandmère—”
“Indeed, we are Harry’s cousins.”
“Cousins!” She fired off a volley of French, then jabbed him in the ribs once more. “But that is wonderful, grandson!”
“Grandmère—”
“Indeed it is, Mrs. Paquet,” Lord Sinclair said. “Our family lost track of Harry’s father when he left England.”
“My daughter and her husband moved to France to be near me,” she said. Which was a whopping untruth. They’d moved back to France as Harry’s mother was an unwed maid with a baby, and the father the son of a peer who wanted a life with her. The Sinclair family had disowned him; the Paquet family had not.
“France. You were so close all this time,” Cambridge Sinclair said.
They were speaking French in deference to his grandmère, which he appreciated from a respect standpoint, however it also meant she could understand the conversation, which was not always to his advantage.
She fired off a volley of French as her luggage was carried past and a piece dropped. Stomping away, she went to tell the hapless crewman what she thought of him.
“Will you come with us and meet the rest of your family?” Lord Sinclair said.
“I have no wish to do so or make family connections. I am here to deliver my cargo, conduct business, and then leave.”
“And yet you will,” Captain Sinclair said in a voice he’d no doubt used on his troops.
“I won’t.” Harry didn’t like anyone telling him what to do. He went where he wanted and did as he wished for the most part and had since his father passed.
“You will like our family. Bring your grandmother. She will enjoy her time with us, I promise,” Lord Sinclair said. “But there is another matter we wish to discuss with you.”
“What matter?”
“It is a delicate one.” Lord Sinclair shot his grandmother a look, but she was still busy blistering the ears of his crew.
“I fail to see what delicate matter you need to discuss with a man you have never met before.”
“You’re not terribly accommodating, considering you’ve just reunited with your long-lost family,” Cambridge said.
“I believe I have explained that my family was ill-treated by Sinclairs, and you cannot lose what you have never had.” There was a definite edge to Harry’s tone now.
Never trust a Sinclair.
“But not by us. Our fathers were the ones who did your family an injustice,” Lord Sinclair added.
“It matters not. I want nothing to do with anyone bearing that name.”
“Seems harsh to rule out all Sinclairs. What if you met one that did not have our blood but—”
“Cam!” Lord Sinclair snapped.
“Right, sorry.”
“Just be honest with him. He’ll leave if we don’t.” Wolf Sinclair’s eyes were locked on Harry’s.
“I’m sure by now you’ve realized you’re different, Harry.”
“Perhaps he’s not?” Cam said.
“Those eyes suggest otherwise.”
Had Lord Sinclair’s words been accompanied by a fist, the impact would have been no greater.
“What do you mean?” You’ve always known you’re different.
“Do you see better than most, Harry?”
“I have no idea what you mean.” But he did.
“Yes, you do. You’re the eldest son, as are I and Wolf. We share something, Harry, and not just appearances, because even you cannot dispute the three of us are almost identical.”
Suddenly every muscle in his body clenched.
“Come to this address, and we will tell you what that difference is and where it came from.”
Harry took the card that was handed him. White with black writing, he noted as he gripped it hard enough so the edges dug into his palm.
You’ve always known you’re different.
He couldn’t dispute that. From the first day he’d realized what he was, he’d wondered why him?
“Come, Harry, you will not regret it, I promise. We are good people.” Lord Sinclair’s hand gripped his shoulder, and a sensation traveled through him like he’d never experienced before.