Enticing the Earl

by Nicole Byrd

  “So you know about Mrs. Smith,” Marcus told him.

  The other man nodded. “Yes, damned worrying. At least, you’ll be glad to hear that after you left, they found the squire in a heap outside the house.”

  “How is he?” Marcus asked quickly. “Is he alive?”

  “Has a nasty knock on the head, but he’s come around, though a bit dazed. Should be all right,” the colonel told him. “But now, what about your lady?”

  Marcus looked toward the harbor. “I tried to get the new Harbor Master to give me permission for a search party, but he hasn’t found the correct regulation, or more important, the backbone, to order it done, so…”

  “So?” the colonel prompted.

  “So it looks as if I will have to go out on my own,” Marcus told him.

  Swift grinned. “I can give you a hand with that, if you wish.”

  Marcus smiled back. “If you don’t mind breaking a law or two, in a good cause,” he pointed out. “My biggest fear has been that they would sail out of here before I can get into the damned hold to make sure they don’t have Lauryn aboard.” He knew his expression was bleak as he stared out across the water. “I don’t dare try to get out there before dark; there’s no way to sneak up on a bloody ship.”

  The colonel nodded toward the water. “I’m no seaman, Sutton, but having lived in a seaport for years, I can relieve your mind on that score. The tide has turned; they won’t be sailing this day.”

  “Ah.” Marcus took a deep breath. “That is the best news I’ve had. Then I would say we’d best get busy; we have some preparations to make.”

  It was just as well he had something to keep him busy; otherwise, the hours remaining to sunset would have crawled painfully by. In the back of his mind, Marcus was tormented with thoughts of Lauryn. Where was she, what was happening to her? If she were in danger, being mistreated right now…it made his stomach turn, just considering it.

  He had to take it step-by-step—rushing in precipitously could just get her killed, he reminded himself again and again. A hostage onboard a ship could be all too easily disposed of by dropping her body overboard, and that they must avoid at all cost. So he continued to gather his men and the boats they would need to slip out across the harbor as soon as it was dark enough. The day dragged on, and from now to the rest of his life, he felt sure he would never remember another day that stretched so slowly and painfully to its close.

  After making final arrangements, he and the colonel and their men shared an ale and bread and cheese and meat pies at a tavern toward the last hours of the day. He heard the reports on the watches that had been kept on the shop, as well, during the time they had waited. Nothing that was very exciting, except more contacts between the shop and the ship. There were certainly packages being passed back and forth.

  “So if they are bringing in merchandise, the shop could be where it is sold,” the colonel said, keeping his voice low.

  Taking a swallow of his bitter ale, Marcus nodded. “Yes, I think that must be how it is worked.”

  “And you think someone connected with your shipping company was using your ships to aid in the smuggling?”

  Marcus grimaced. “It looks that way.”

  The colonel shook his head. “I’m sure that was a blow, to find one of your own men selling you out, so to speak. Do you know who it is?”

  Marcus thought of his brother, still unaccounted for. “No, I have some suspicions, but I’m not sure, as yet.” He glanced at the sky outside, deepening from gray to black. “I think we can go to the boats now, do you agree?”

  The older man nodded and motioned to their men, who put down their thick mugs. They stood and headed toward the boats.

  This time when Lauryn woke, her head throbbed with a dull ache and her chest still seemed tight from struggling to breathe inside the thick folds of the rug. Her arms remained tethered and were almost numb by now, but the gag on her mouth seemed to have worked a little loose. She was half lying, half sitting, as if she had been pitched onto the floor facing the wall and left there. She also seemed to be sitting partly in a puddle; her wet clinging clothes added to her discomfort.

  She must still be dizzy, Lauryn thought, from all the shaking and tossing about. She felt as if she were moving, very subtly. The floor seemed to be shifting beneath her, moving back and forth in a slight motion.

  Then she became aware that it was not just her dizziness—the floor was moving back and forth, back and forth.

  She was on a boat, a ship. Oh, God, where were her unknown captors going to take her?

  Or was her first thought true—would they simply convey her out to sea, drop her into the ocean, and allow her to sink?

  Lauryn thought that drowning would not be a good way to die.

  She had to get out of these bonds!

  She struggled against the ropes that secured her wrists, but they were still firm and the knots were damnably tight and competently tied. The gag around her mouth seemed to be slipping a bit, however, and she was able with great effort, as her arms had become almost numb, to lift her hands again and this time pull the gag down to fall against her chest, and then to once more use her teeth to gnaw upon the ropes that restrained her wrists. Still, she was unable to make much leeway.

  Desperate, she pushed herself up a little, intending to look around to see if there was anything in the room that she might use to try to cut the ropes. A row of boxes and straw hampers were stacked along one wall. She twisted to see over her shoulder and as she did, Lauryn gasped.

  There was another body in the room.

  Sixteen

  Lauryn struggled to turn herself enough to get a proper view. It was a man, and he was wearing western attire, not the dark pajama-like outfits the Asians wore. It was—she twisted again, trying to get a view of his face—it was—

  “Carter!”

  “Eh?” came a drowsy but familiar voice.

  “Carter, what are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “The rats are doing a jig,” he told her. “Not to worry. Too much cinnamon will spoil the pudding.”

  “Carter, wake up!” she insisted, keeping her voice low so that she would not be overheard outside their compartment. Now that she could see him better, she saw that he was not bound. “You must get these ropes off me. I don’t know what they are going to do with us. Carter, wake up!”

  He blinked again as if struggling to see her. “Ah, you came to the tea party? One lump or two?”

  “We’ll have more lumps than that if we don’t get out of here,” she told him grimly. “Carter, you must untie my hands.”

  “In a moment, so sleepy…”

  To her horror, he shut his eyes again.

  “Now, Carter, this is serious!” she hissed at him. “I don’t want to die.”

  He struggled to open an eye, then the other. “What’s dying?”

  “Us, you ninny. Wake up, you must wake up, Carter!” She heard her voice break and swallowed hard. She couldn’t lose control now.

  But at least he seemed a bit more alert. “What’s wrong? Don’t want to see a lady cry, y’know.”

  “Sit up, Carter, that will help,” she told him. “Come closer, you must untie my hands. I cannot do it alone. Please, Carter. You must sit up and help me. I don’t want to die.”

  Pleading with him, talking to him and keeping him awake—he must have been drugged, she thought, whether against his will or of his own volition she had no idea—she coaxed him, one small step at a time, closer to her until she could hold out her arms and get him to peer at the ropes that bound her wrists.

  But the fog that clouded his mind also made him clumsy. He pulled at the knots, but his fingers were slack, and he seemed to have little wit about him.

  Lauryn was close to tears again. “Carter, you must do this! We may both die here, else,” she pleaded.

  “I can’t,” he told her simply. “Never good with knots, not a seaman, don’t y’know.”

  He seemed about to step back, and
she gazed at him in alarm. “No, don’t leave,” she begged him.

  “Better to use my knife, don’t you think?”

  She almost laughed in her relief. “Yes, of course, try the knife.”

  It was only a small penknife, but the blade was sharp. The ropes would likely ruin the knife, but she promised herself silently she would see to it he received another of the best metal if only they both got out of this alive. He sawed at the coarse rope, and at first, her heart sinking, Lauryn thought the fiber was too tough. She urged him to keep trying, and, although he swayed, he put his lip between his teeth and kept at it.

  And at last the rope showed signs of fraying.

  Lauryn held her breath. “Yes, Carter, keep going!”

  As the rope spilt more deeply, she pulled harder against it. But a sudden sound outside the compartment made her freeze. Oh, God, was someone coming?

  “Carter,” she whispered, “put your knife in your pocket and go back and lie down. Pretend to be asleep.”

  “Why?” He blinked at her.

  “I think one of the Asians is coming to check on us, or worse,” she told him. “Hurry.”

  He did as he was told, but his movements were still clumsy, and he dropped the small knife almost at her feet. Biting her lip, she reached down to scoop it up inside her palm, closing her fingers around it.

  By the time Carter had lain down once more, closing his eyes, the door to their small compartment was indeed creaking open.

  Lauryn had already shut her eyes and positioned herself back against the wall, half sitting, half lying, though facing out a bit more than before. She could only hope they would not remember exactly how she had been situated.

  She allowed herself to peek out of one half-opened eye when she heard the newcomer grunt from a few feet away. He was bending over Carter. He poked him in the belly.

  Carter hiccuped but only jerked a little. “Here now, that hurts!”

  The Asian stood up and lifted a wicked-looking club, preparing to bring it down upon Carter’s head.

  She didn’t think Carter was lucid enough to stop him. Pulling her legs beneath her and throwing herself toward the attacker, who had his side turned toward her, she thrust the small knife into his neck.

  The result was very unexpected. It was, after all, quite a small knife. A spurt of blood emerged and continued to squirt out like a fountain, without seeming ready to stop at all.

  The Asian gasped and put up a hand to try to slow the flow of blood, but his attempts seemed futile.

  Lauryn felt sick; she had had no idea her attack would be so successful. Backing away—she was already covered in the man’s blood—she put one hand to her mouth, then saw that even her hand had blood on it. She thought she might be sick.

  Circling the man, who had now fallen to his knees, the club dropping from his hands, she tried to get closer to Carter.

  “Get up, Carter,” she urged. “Others may come. We have to get out of here.”

  “What’s–what’s—” Carter had to be pulled to his feet. He, too, was now drenched in the would-be attacker’s blood. Losing consciousness, the Asian slumped to the floor. He would-be dead soon, Lauryn thought. She did not think anything could stop the blood gushing out of his neck. She had killed a man; the realization made her dizzy.

  She had not meant to do so much. She swallowed hard. She could do nothing to take it back, and the blow to the head might have killed Carter. Would she sacrifice Marcus’s brother to save an unknown assailant?

  The man lay unmoving, and the bleeding at last slowed. It was done. They had to go. She looked down at the blood soaking her light-colored day dress. Carter’s clothes were not much better. If someone saw them, it would be obvious that they had assaulted a crewman. Was there anything in the boxes at the end of the compartment they could use to change into?

  First, she had to get herself free. She took up the small knife and, leaning against the wall, put it between her knees. This time, desperate and determined, she attacked the ropes again, ripping the rest of the way until she could pull her wrists, now slippery with blood, free at last.

  She went across to the boxes and hampers, searching rapidly through the ones she could pry open. She found a hamper full of apparently new and unworn clothing, the pajama-like dark outfits that the smugglers wore. It would make them less noticeable as she and Carter tried to slip off the ship, she thought. How they would make it across the water—well, one thing at a time, she told herself, her stomach tightening with fear.

  She pulled some of the clothing out of the hamper and tugged off her soaked, sticky gown and petticoat, pulling on the loose-fitting outfit over her short shift and drawers. She took her bloody clothes and hid them in the hampers, sticking them deep beneath the other clothing.

  In the next box, she found handfuls of small hard balls, paper-covered, with small bits of string emerging from them, rather like candles. They had a distinctive smell which she couldn’t place at once, although she felt she should know it. What was this? On a impulse, she put a handful into the pocket of her tunic.

  When she was done, she went to kneel beside Carter and shake him awake once more.

  “Come, Carter, put on these clothes. We must try to escape.”

  “Is the pudding ready? Don’t burn it again.”

  “Carter, you must wake up, or we will be killed,” she told him.

  With more shaking and nagging, she got him on his feet, and he shed his jacket and put on a top like the Asians wore. Then they went to the door of the compartment and eased it open. Lauryn still had the small knife, and she had also picked up the clumsy but lethal weapon that the dead Asian had been prepared to wield.

  She led them out into a narrow passage that smelled of foreign odors. It was dark and hard to see.

  “Hold my hand and try not to make any sounds,” she whispered to Carter. “Now come along.”

  First they had to get up to the deck, she told herself. Then they would have to find a way to get to shore. Could they swim, if no other way else presented itself? How cold and how rough was the ocean? She felt her heart sink at the thought, and hoped it would not come to that.

  She tiptoed along the passage, pulling Carter behind her. He tended to stumble, and she winced at every sound he made. Once he caught something with his foot, and the grating rumble seemed to echo all over the ship.

  “Carter!”

  Then, to her horror, a man stepped out into the passage ahead of them.

  Had they been noticed?

  “Shhh,” she warned, and they pressed themselves back against the wall of the passageway, hardly daring to breathe. Her heart beat so loudly that Lauryn feared it must be heard all over the ship.

  But whoever it was went the other way, and in the dimness did not appear to see them.

  It took long moments before she felt she could breathe normally again, but then she unpeeled herself from the wall and tugged Carter, still unsteady on his feet, along with her.

  When they reached the end of the passage, she found a narrow, steep flight of rungs, and saying a quick prayer that they met no one coming down as they went up, Lauryn climbed as rapidly as she could, urging Carter to follow behind her.

  When she at last smelled fresh air above her, she put her head up cautiously.

  She knew this was a dangerous moment, when someone on deck might spot her emerging. But she had to risk it sooner or later. So, waiting a moment, she listened hard. She heard waves slapping the side of the boat, and the cry of a seabird, but no sounds of human voices. Could they be this fortunate?

  She had to take the chance. Trying to stay close to the deck and thus be less obvious to any chance observer, she crawled up and out of the hatch. Her strange outfit was at least suitable to clambering around like an insect on a vine, she thought ruefully, her heart beating fast as she tried to look about her.

  Carter was not being as careful, and she pulled him down as he came out and started to stand.

  “What—”

&n
bsp; “Shush!” she commanded.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “Carter, be silent,” she warned him, “if you want to get out of this alive. I can’t explain now.”

  He blinked at her, but she couldn’t assume he would have the wits to understand until the drugs wore off.

  On hands and knees, she crawled behind a piece of nautical equipment—in the dark, she had no idea what, and she might not have known in the daylight, Lauryn thought—as she tried to figure out what to do next.

  Was the earl looking for her? He would be, Lauryn told herself. Surely he was out there, trying to find her, trying to find the men who had abducted her, turning out the local watch and the magistrates, the colonel and his men, and they might have some clues to where she would be, although she wasn’t sure if they could have any idea she would be on this damned ship.

  But what if he wasn’t?

  With a chill that ran right through her, Lauryn remembered the earl’s mother, his fears about women who left and didn’t return.

  What if he thought that Lauryn had walked away?

  Surely, he would not believe such a thing.

  But…what if he did? Emotions were not rational, and she had seen the doubt in his eyes before now.

  Fear rippled through her. Oh, heavens, she thought. Would she be trapped here because fear entrapped Marcus? She shut her eyes for a moment and tried not to panic. If he did not know by now that she loved him, would love him forever, when would he know?

  Would they have any hope of a real life together?

  They jolly well wouldn’t if the smugglers fed her to the bloody fishes, she thought. And if Marcus didn’t come, she had to find a way out for herself.

  She looked over the canvas-covered mound in front of her and tried to decide which way they should go. There must be smaller boats about, if they could find one. But then it would have to be lowered, and she had no idea at all how one would do that, and without making noise enough to attract the attention of the crew.

  Oh, dear lord, what were they going to do?