by Dawn Brower
How had he found out though? If the imp planned on breaking into his home, wouldn't he have been aware who lived in it? Something did not quite add up. The most James could do was deny involvement with his activities and hope for the best.
"You aren't going to guess?"
"Guess what, exactly?" James gritted out, perplexed. It was like the kid lived in his own fantasy world and expected everyone to follow along. Oh, that's right. He was offended James didn't know who he was. "Your name? I don't care."
The lad unsheathed a long, sharp dagger from his belt and pointed it at him. James was unimpressed, even as the kid said, "Show a little more respect and you may live."
This…child…was going to outright murder him now? James had always considered himself a patient sort. If the heated rage replacing the chill from the wet clothing plastered to his body, that patience was quickly turning to ire. He gave up trying to feign ignorance of his role in smuggling. Glaring at the rest of the boys who did nothing but fidget and look away at the eye contact, he returned his focus on his main assailant. "What do you want, boy? Riches? A percentage from the brandy take?"
The lad grinned like a cat that had properly cornered a plump mouse. "We're performing a mutiny. Your fortune is ours now. I own you."
James rolled his eyes. He can't be serious. "A mutiny is when the crew rebels on its own ship to overthrow the captain. You aren't my crew, and we're not even on a blasted ship."
"Semantics." The lad tapped his baby-smooth chin with the point of his blade. "Allow me to introduce myself since you're slow on the uptake. Peter Paxton, Earl of Underwood. You really do need to pay attention to Society more, but I guess it's difficult when you're a seasoned criminal and all, hiding away in the country on his father's estate when he's acquired more than enough to live on his own through criminal means."
This kid had a real talent for getting on his nerves. Wait a second… Paxton…Underwood… His father was the Marquess of Huntington. James vaguely recalled the man, and he must have met Paxton when he was much younger, which was why he looked familiar. That didn't explain why he was supposed to remember him though. There was no reason to.
"We've decided, my boys and I," he said while gesturing with his dagger, "that we want to take over from you. We found intel on the location of a smuggler and it led to you. Now, you can sign over the documents for the ship and we'll free your servants and tell them how to find you, or I can kill you and take it anyway."
A muscle twitched under James' right eye. Someone had sold him out, but he'd deal with that later. The ropes were too expertly tied for his liking, and he needed to get loose. He didn't necessarily want to hit a kid, but if he kept swinging that blade in his direction, he'd do it—if he could only have use of his hands or a leg. He wasn't picky. "You're willing to kill for a ship you could have simply stolen on your own rather than travelling all the way to Summerfield to make a grand show of it for the legalities…before heading back to London to take it anyway?" He thumped his head back against the tree and laughed. "I can't sign anything over if I am tied up. If you untie me, I'll return the welcome I was given tenfold." He met Underwood's gaze. "That's a promise."
Underwood shrugged.
One thing niggled at him though. "You really didn't know whose house you were breaking into, but managed to find the location of it well enough without seeking more information?"
He shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."
James made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. These children were playing games they didn't fully understand or care about. "Are you really willing to blacken your soul with evil over…a ship and an idea that smuggling is a worthwhile way to spend your life?"
"It's good enough for you."
James opened his mouth to argue further and then slammed it shut. He was third in line for a title that held little weight and was worn by men in his family like women would wear their mothers' hand-me-down jewels. He had purchased a position in the Navy, the one time he'd ever used his family name and fortune to obtain something without earning it. However, the wars were winding down and he had never been sent into the line of duty, much to his annoyance. He'd wanted to matter, but the Royal Navy hadn't needed him any more than his father did when he was sired as a second spare. He'd had nothing else to do with his time, which was how he'd ended up dabbling with smuggling and building his own fortune. Unenthused by life, he'd wanted a bit of adventure and danger, but even that was losing its allure.
"Nothing to say?" Underwood drawled. "Of course, should you go free, I'd own you. Now that I've discovered your identity, and I'll have your ship, I'd be willing to let bygones be bygones should you manipulate your father into seeing me as the worthiest of suitors for your sister."
At last, the real reason for this whole charade has come to light. James barked out a laugh, and Underwood scowled at him. "You didn't even know what man you were going to harass this evening, and now you think I am going to pair my one and only sister with a child who longs to steal my ship and blackmail me? You are truly delusional." The bloody knots in his bonds refused to loosen. His skin was rubbed raw already. If he couldn't annoy the kid into letting him loose, he was done for.
The imp lunged forward, glaring. He poked James lightly in the chest with the tip of the blade. "I will have Wendelin as my bride, make no mistake about that. It was happy coincidence my target tonight is you."
"Over my dead body."
The smile on the lad's face became sinister. "Gladly."
Underwood signaled to his boys, who surrounded James, each giving him a good facer or a jab to the gut until he was winded and throbbing all over. When they finally untied him, he toppled over, breathing heavily. This wasn't how my escape was to go. At some point he lost consciousness again, probably due to the original head injury being struck repeatedly as he'd hit the ground.
He came to on a skiff with Underwood and two of his goons. The shore at the edge of the Summerfield estate was barely visible. Dear God, were they going to drop him in the sea to drown? He struggled to remain alert. His hands were tied again. Blasted ropes!
Underwood used his dagger to slice through James' bonds. The blade was sharp, and he'd had little difficulty cutting the thick rope in one quick gesture. Before James could react, the goons grabbed his arms and held him secure. He winced, positive a rib or two were done for. He struggled to breathe in this new position.
"Hold out his left arm."
Then, Underwood kneeled beside him and raised the dagger with both arms high above his head as James' sleeve was pulled back to reveal his flesh, his hand held firmly out over the edge of the skiff.
Realization sank in, and his eyes shot wide. He tried to throw the goons off, but his ribs were screaming with pain and he was weakened from being knocked out twice in so short of time. James was likely concussed.
He wouldn't truly do it, would he? Underwood was barely more than a child. A spoiled member of the peerage. Why would he—
The blade cut clean through the bone in one, heavy blow. The pain didn't hit James until after he registered what happened before his eyes. As blood started to run and his hand fell away from his wrist into the North Sea, floating momentarily before slipping beneath the waves, he bit down on a scream, not wanting to give anyone the satisfaction.
But Underwood wasn't done.
"Let's call it a game of chance, Captain Harlow. If you make it to shore and live, you'll arrange for your sister to accept me. If you don't make it, well, you'll be dead and we'll have found the documents in your study we need for the ship regardless, and I'll be there to console poor Wendelin when she attends your funeral." He turned to a tall lad to his right who had his head cast down, refusing to look at James directly. "Cauterize that. It's not much of a game if he bleeds out the moment he hits the water."
The agony and confusion numbed him from the movements of the young men as they heated a blade over the candle in the boat lantern in order to seal his wound. What had he done
in life that had been so terrible to result in it ending this way? Smuggling was illegal, but no one had ever been hurt on his watch. They had one cannon on board his ship and never had cause to use it. Furthermore, did Wendelin have any idea this mad earl had set his sights on her? Dear God, what horrors would Underwood put his sister through should he have his way? The searing heat of burning metal against flesh and sinew brought him from his turmoil.
He had to fight this. He had to survive. For his sister's sake, James would continue on and see Underwood dead before ever allowing his sister to be alone with him.
The men shoved him over the edge of the skiff. The moment the salted water engulfed his wounds, he finally allowed himself to scream, but the sound was lost to the depths of the water.
Fight. Swim!
His shirt wafted around him, a pale shroud, as he sank into the welcoming abyss.
* * *
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