Bessie’s mouth twitched and a second later a smile overtook her lips. “I’m nobody’s fool,” she said. Then, taking the cloak from Millie’s outstretched arms, she put it on and headed outside.
Millie heard Bessie close the shutters over the window as she started to pick up the muck that had been blown in. Several minutes passed and Millie worried when Bessie had still not come back in. Thinking that it was just taking longer to tie the shutters in the unusually fierce wind, Millie went outside to help her.
She was no more than two steps out the door when a bolt of lightning flashed, illuminating all that was around her. Immediately her heart stopped.
“Lady Aldon. We’ve been waiting for you.”
The man was holding a dagger to Bessie’s throat with one hand and had another hand over her mouth. He was hunched and disfigured, but Millie recognized the voice. It was one from her nightmares. “It’s Lady Chaselton now, Sir Edward. Or perhaps I should just refer to you as what you are. A traitor.”
Fury erupted on his face and he squeezed the blade closer against Bessie’s skin, causing her to yelp in pain. “Call me what you like. It doesn’t matter. But unless you want to say good-bye to your friend, you will get into that carriage.”
Millie looked at the black vehicle behind him. The single driver on top looked straight ahead, refusing to intervene. Whatever happened once she was inside, she would be at Edward’s mercy.
Millie reached down for the gun in her cloak pocket and inwardly cursed. Her hooded coat was probably why Edward had grabbed Bessie, thinking that she was Millie. “Let Bessie go, Edward. She is no one important.”
“Ah, but she is to you,” he snarled. “So she comes. Now, get in before anyone else comes out here. Otherwise, their death will be on your conscience.”
Millie swallowed. Fear swirled inside her and she forced it down. Clive was not a small man, but he would have been caught unawares, and Edward was not the type to make threats he would not keep. Unable to think of what else to do, Millie stepped into the carriage and was barely inside when Bessie was thrust in behind her.
The door closed and the carriage immediately lurched forward. Using the end of the long knife, Edward pointed at the seat across from him. “You sit there. And you there, next to her.”
Bessie whimpered and did as she was told. Millie did the same, cursing her luck. Her gun was not in the pocket closest to her.
“Just what do you intend to do?” Millie asked, amazed her voice was so calm.
“You and Chaselton,” he snorted, “ruined everything. You even thought you had destroyed me, but you were wrong. I’m alive. Something you won’t be come morning.”
Bessie squeaked and grabbed Millie’s arm in fear. But Millie sat composed, staring at the long thrusting dirk in Edward’s hand. She could fight, but with her size, there was really no way she could offer any resistance against someone who knew how to wield the weapon. “I might be dead, but you would soon join me. Charlie would find you.”
Edward produced a laugh that chilled her bones despite her effort to remain unaffected by anything he said. “He doesn’t even know I’m alive.”
“Then does that not remove a large portion of the thrill in killing me?”
Edward twisted his lips. “For a time, perhaps. But he will eventually learn of my resurrection. The thefts, the actual prize I seek, your death . . . all will become clear and he will realize I was behind it all. But by then it will be too late. I will be unstoppable.”
All three of them bounced unexpectedly as the road became extremely rough. They hit another hole, and then another, and Millie realized where they were. When she, Aimee, and Jennelle had left Hembree Grove that infamous night a month and a half ago, they took this road. Right before it converged with Piccadilly, Grosvenor Place was in serious need of repair, but there was a dispute about when it should be fixed. Some who were in Town for the Little Season had wanted it done immediately, but most gentry opted to wait until the spring, after more of Society had arrived and could share the expense.
Millie waited what seemed like forever for another major rut to cause the carriage to heave. This time she was ready and gave in to it, allowing herself to be flung over Bessie. Immediately, Edward grabbed her shoulder and flung her back into place, but it was too late. Millie had managed to snatch her pistol out in time. Fearing that Edward would see the pistol and grab it in the time it took to aim, Millie fired the weapon. She was rewarded when Edward yelped in pain.
She had no idea where she hit him but was not going to take the time to find out. Kicking the door open, she shoved Bessie out of the moving vehicle and then lunged after her. She made it out and landed with a thud, but not before Edward had stabbed her with his dagger.
Millie forced herself to ignore the pain and forced her eyes to open to see if the carriage had stopped, but the sound of the gunshot must have made him want to disappear. Bessie was screaming, but this near the park and at this time of night, there were no linkmen around to hear her. The only one who knew where they were was Edward, and Millie could not be certain she had injured him badly enough that he wouldn’t be coming after them.
“Stop screaming,” she managed to get out, loud enough for Bessie to hear her. Immediately Bessie did, which both surprised and relieved Millie. “The blade. It’s in my shoulder. Take it out.”
Bessie swallowed and crawled near where Millie lay on the road. She hesitated. “I don’t know if I should.”
“Tear off a piece of your shift. Then pull it out and tie it as best you can, tightly around the wound.”
Bessie’s hands were quivering as she did as she was told. By the time she reached for the blade, they were seriously shaking, and Millie almost told her to stop. But when Bessie grabbed the dagger, white hot pain shot through Millie’s body, causing her to pass out. When she came to, she felt a sharp pain as Bessie tied another knot in the material binding her shoulder.
Millie considered telling Bessie to leave her there and go for help, when she heard the sound of a carriage coming toward them. Forcing herself to look around, Millie quickly discerned that she was right. They were at Hyde Park Corner. “Help me up. We have to hide before that carriage gets here.”
Bessie’s blue eyes flew wide open as she understood what Millie was implying. They could not assume whoever was coming would help. Worse, more than likely it was Edward coming back for them.
Going to Millie’s uninjured side, Bessie helped Millie to her feet and asked, “Where should we go?”
Millie pointed to the park. “Inside. We’ll have to stay near the trees, but I know a place where we won’t be found. The good and the bad news is that it is not close.”
An hour later, Bessie half dragged, half carried Millie into the hidden clearing. She fell down next to where Millie lay. They were safe from their attacker for now, but in a few hours it would not matter. Lady Chaselton would be dead from her wound.
“My lady?” she asked, praying Millie was still conscious enough to tell her what to do next. But she feared otherwise, for she was looking very pale and her breath was extremely shallow.
“I’m still here,” Millie whispered.
“I need to go for help, but I can’t leave you alone.”
“I’m safe here,” Millie said, trying to reassure her. “Get the money from my dress.” Bessie immediately did as she was told and was surprised to find not the pennies and farthings that filled her own pockets, but a couple half crowns and several guineas. It was more than she made in several months. Swallowing, she clutched the coins in her fist and said, “I have it.”
“There’s a ranger. Stays here. Should be near the lake. Look for a lodge. Tell him—” Millie paused to catch her breath. She was running out of energy. “Tell him to take you to Hembree Grove. Providence Court. Let Chase know . . . I’m waiting in our spot . . . and that—”
But before Millie could finish, she went limp, leaving Bessie to do as much as she could.
Only years of practice
enabled Chase to hide all the anger he felt inside as he listened to Randall Greery tell him about yet another failed attempt to verify whether or not the woman at Six Belles was his wife. He was about to go against his initial instincts and look for Millie himself, even if his presence did stand out.
When he looked at the situation intellectually, Chase knew the barmaid could not be Millie. To live and work that way for weeks . . . he just could not fathom it. It was hard enough imagining his sister Aimee enduring the discomforts of being aboard a ship. To think of Millie living by the docks, assimilating into the lives of people who worked and barely survived there, he just could not accept it. But Randall Greery was sure of it. That confidence, mixed with Jennelle’s fear and his own firsthand experience of dealing with Millie’s determination regardless of the danger it put her in, gave Chase reason to think the runner was correct.
But after what Greery just told him, the situation had become far more than just unfathomable, it had become terrifying.
The night following his visit to Six Belles, he had sent Greery to personally follow the barmaid in question. What neither he nor Greery had anticipated was that the tavern’s owner would start escorting the women home while another man followed, watching for anyone like Greery who might be tailing them. Chase had made it clear that on the next night, Greery was to do whatever he had to, including barging into the tavern. But Devlin MacLeery had been waiting. He had recognized Randall and had a few men escort him far from Six Belles.
The third night, Greery again had waited, this time with several other runners. He had intended to waylay the women and delay them just long enough to verify their identities. But before Greery could do so, he saw yet another figure following the group. And from the way the shadow limped as it moved, it was not just anyone, but Chaselton’s thief. In an effort to trap and capture the elusive felon, one of Randall’s men had nearly been killed. The boy was still unconscious and it would be a while before he would be able to describe his attacker.
Chaselton had reached the limit of his tolerance and that was before Greery told him that both women had just disappeared. No one knew where or how, but the tavern’s owner was frantically calling the constable, who was being far from cooperative. Without evidence of a problem, he was not eager to actively search for two missing barmaids in the middle of the night.
“Leave,” Chase ordered.
Randall Greery turned to do as instructed. He had been given no more instructions and he had no advice on what to do next. And while Chase had not given him any reason why Lady Chaselton would be pretending to be a barmaid near the London Docks, both knew she was.
Just before he opened the study’s doors, a cry from the front hall pierced the air. “Lord Chaselton! You need . . . you need to come here right now!”
Chase stood momentarily transfixed at the shrill-sounding voice screaming for him from the entranceway of his home. It was nearly five in the morning. Few souls were up and not a person he knew or knew of him would ever call for him in such a manner.
Randall Greery opened the door for Chase and then followed him out of the study. At the end of the hall was a woman. She was filthy and her clothes and chaotic hair looked to be matted with blood. Behind her stood a sleepy servant, looking perplexed. “I tried to send her away, my lord, but you heard what she did when I tried.”
“Who are you and what do you want with me?” Chase demanded, trying to recall how he recognized her.
“Edward . . .” Bessie stammered, out of a mixture of fear and exhaustion. “Your wife told me to . . .” Bessie collapsed onto the marble floor, unable to stand any longer.
Chase knelt down and grabbed her arms. “Millie! Where is she?”
Bessie shook her head. “She . . . she shot him and we jumped out, but that man, one she called Edward, stabbed her. Please believe me there was nothing I could do!”
Hearing her words, fearing what they meant, Chase shook her. “She is not dead! Tell me she is not dead.”
“Not dead,” Bessie said, still gasping for breath. “Least not when I left. She told me to find you.”
Chase let Bessie go. His eyes caught the shocked look of the servant. “Go get the doctor. Greery, you get your men.” Then he looked back at Bessie. “Where is she?”
“I . . . I . . . I really don’t know. We were somewhere in the park. Said to tell you she’s waiting at your spot.”
That was all Chase needed to hear. He flew out the back door toward the stable and minutes later, the sounds of a horse being urged into a gallop could be heard.
Chapter 31
November 15, 1816
She knew.
Dripping wet from a brief, cold bath—his first since they left Savannah—and feeling damn close to naked, there was no doubt in Reece’s mind that the current state of his clothes was not an accident or a coincidence. Lady Aimee Wentworth knew he was on board and what he had been doing. The woman had obviously decided to retaliate and no doubt begged the insipid Haskin to help.
Reece should have recognized the signs two days ago when he kept falling out of his hammock. The slight change in one side’s height had not been enough to visually detect there was a problem, but it was more than enough to be very disruptive to sleep. He had been so frustrated that he almost announced his identity and demanded a real bed. But Reece had not wanted to see the I-told-you-so look on Shay’s face.
Reece had initially thought his idea to play the role of a carpenter working directly under the captain’s supervision a clever one. It gave him the freedom to be where he wanted to be and when, without having to explain himself to Shay’s officers or bosun. Unhappily, he had not considered what it would be like living as one of the men. He had told himself that bad food, no baths, and an uncomfortable hammock would all be worth it once he and Aimee were together again. Of course, that was when he still thought her to be a heavenly vision and not a fiendish sprite taking joy in making him miserable.
He should have seen the truth upon Aimee’s sudden interest in Mr. Haskin. And yesterday, each time he had tried to return to the cramped area he slept in, Aimee had mysteriously appeared in or near every convenient entry point. Eventually, he had no choice but to go down into the foul-smelling hold and crawl up the base of the mainmast steps to avoid being seen.
Now that he knew Aimee was aware of his presence, Reece suspected sleep was not the only thing she had been depriving him of, for he had not been able to finish a meal either. Each time he sat down to eat, some kind of interruption occurred, resulting in a mishap that rendered his food inedible. One time it had simply disappeared. He had sat down, placed a large slice of bread and a chunk of meat next to him, and hearing a scream, he looked up. When he glanced back down, the bread and the meat had vanished. At the time, Reece had thought it a prank being played on him as a new crew member, but now it seemed much more likely Aimee had put someone up to the task. Damn woman was using the same charms on Captain Shay’s crew as she had his own.
It was the only thing that made sense.
The difference was, his mischief was aimed at keeping her mind on him while driving the trite Haskin away from her side. But this, he thought to himself as he put on his shirt and pants, is going too far.
Lady Aimee Wentworth had wanted him. Well, she got him. And even if she was a ship captain’s worst nightmare, she did not have the option to throw him back.
It was time she realized it.
“Mr. Haskin, I am just fascinated by ships and all that is required to run them. The big tall poles with the sails—” Aimee remarked as she put her fork down to break off a piece of bread.
Haskin arched a dubious brow, not at all deceived by her wide eyes and green-chit remark. “They are called masts, Miss Wentworth,” he finally replied, wishing Miss Aimee Wentworth was as interested in him as she pretended.
Aimee formed an O with her lips and tried to avoid the puzzled looks on the faces of Captain and Mrs. Shay. Collins had told them about her little foray as a rigger, but
per her request, they kept it to themselves. She would have to explain to them at some point the reason behind her deceit, but at the moment, she needed to focus on Mr. Haskin. If Reece was loitering about, she wanted him to know that his mischiefs were not going to work. She just wished that there was someone else aboard with whom she could flirt.
It was not because she was not attracted to Mr. Haskin, for she was. Any woman would be. He was pleasant, unquestionably good-looking, and had a mysterious element about him that one desired to expose. Unfortunately, Mr. Haskin was also incredibly reserved. He made her brother Charles seem carefree and outgoing. Aimee was still amazed she had convinced the chief mate to help in some of her efforts against Reece.
“Ah—masts,” Aimee said, drumming her fingers on the table as she tried to think of another engaging question that would irritate Reece. “Um, how does it feel to climb so high? Is it frightening? Is there a lot of wind?”
Haskin opened his mouth to tell Aimee that such ploys were never going to work but before he could, Reece stepped through the doorway. His blue eyes pierced her green ones. “Aye, tell us, Lady Wentworth, just how did it feel when you climbed a mast? Do not tell me you forgot! You only did it yourself just a few weeks ago and during a storm at that!”
Haskin jumped to his feet and was about to come to Aimee’s defense and throw the intruder out when the words sank in. “Lady Wentworth?” he murmured, clearly looking at her in a different way.
Aimee swallowed the guilt she was feeling and pursed her lips. Feeling intimidated, she rose to her feet as well. “There was no choice. I am an excellent climber and the three men who could have unfurled the sails were seriously injured. So I did what was required to stay alive, just as anyone at this table would have done.”
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