Ethan seated himself on the other side of Abby. “Did I ever tell you about the time my cousin bloodied the smithy’s boy for calling Rachel a name? Twice the size of Jacob. No way did that deter my cousin. In one punch, the smithy’s boy fell like a hammer on an anvil. That was when Jacob was five. Been scrapping ever since. Ask the British. Ask the Royal Navy. It’s his winning ways, he is ever so popular.”
“I fail to see your point,” Jacob snapped and threw Ethan a look of unwavering disgust.
“Exactly.” Ethan grinned. “It has to do with getting even. You see, I took the whipping for you dying the parson’s dog. Couldn’t sit for a week.”
Thomas Hansford drummed his fingers on his desk. “I find this discussion lacking.”
Ethan put his drink down. “My dear cousin always uses unparalleled strategy when he wants something and wants it bad.”
He had come for her.
Abby had no idea what game Ethan played. She looked at Jacob’s unyielding expression and all she wanted to do was throw herself into his arms and be comforted. To tell him how sorry she was for leaving him the way she did, but then he had to apologize first for his behavior.
“Shut-up, Ethan, I’m warning you.”
Ethan gave a sharp bark of laughter. “And let all these fine people see another exhibition of your savoir-faire? Jacob tends to grab the moon in the water but you must admit he does it with enthusiasm. Would someone hand me that decanter of whiskey?”
“Get it yourself,” Thorne growled. “I’m certain, Ethan, that included in your other talents is an ability to get your own whiskey.”
Rachel handed Ethan the decanter and he poured a generous glass. “Listen to that strain of poeticism as soft and lyrical as a stallion kicking down the stall door to get to the mare.”
Mrs. Quick gasped.
Her uncle harrumphed.
Abby curled into a tight ball of anguish and withered from the blast of those cobalt eyes. Silently she counted the minutes wishing this fiasco would end. She was pregnant and her emotions were running away from her. If she had wings, she’d fly. Ethan slid his arm about her shoulders and the veins on Jacob’s neck popped out.
She had clung to the hope that Jacob wanted her but as time wore on and Jacob clutched his hostility like a jackal denied its prey, Abby grew resentful. A little niggling voice wormed its way into her brain. No. She was the injured party. Jacob needed to make reparation to her.
The silence of an ancient tomb settled over the room. Her stomach flip-flopped with the familiar queasiness that had escaped weeks before. She tamped it down. Never would she allow Jacob Thorne to intimidate her again. If he thought he could come into her home and bully her again he had a lesson to learn. She raised her chin, bolstered by the confidence that she sat safely under the protection of her uncle and brother. “I don’t think we need to continue this discussion.”
Jacob clenched and unclenched the wood handle on the arm of the settee as if willing it to snap… and, she was certain he wished it was her neck, not the arm of the chair in his grip.
“We do need to continue this conversation. Now.”
Abby bristled when he used that tone of voice. “I am sure Captain Thorne you have your crew to browbeat. As for me−”
“If you had just followed orders, there wouldn’t have been all this trouble, turning Boston upside down to find you. Do you know how worried I’ve been?” Thorne bellowed.
“Not that she ever did follow orders,” muttered Joshua.
Abby glared at her brother, not liking his amused expression one bit.
She turned her full wrath on Jacob. “I will not follow any command you give me, ever. You gorbellied, dog-hearted barnacle.” How easily she swore like a sailor.
“The beast!” Ethan said gleefully, helping himself to another glass of whiskey. “I suggest a proposition. Since half of Abby’s suitors have left for the evening and the other half are listening at the door−”
Abby’s gaze swung to the door. Ten? Twenty? Listening? She would become the flagship of gossip to be touted this night.
Ethan raised his glass in a toast. “To save the Thorne name from Jacob’s skillful lack of tact this evening, I am throwing in my honorable character to court Abby. We will be married and soon. What do you think about the proposition, Mr. Hansford?”
Jacob surged to his feet, a muscle leaping furiously along the taut line of his jaw. “Like hell she will. Abby, I demand a word in private.”
Her uncle slapped his hand on the desk. “Now see here, Captain Thorne.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Sick with embarrassment, Abby dug her nails in the flesh of her palms. Now her uncle knew who she had run from.
Her brother stood beside her. “You heard her. She’s not going anywhere.”
“I do not want another brawl,” Jacob cautioned. He pulled Abby up. “We are getting married and that’s it.”
“No.” She jerked her hands from him and ran, out the French doors and let the darkness of the gardens envelope her, anywhere to be away from him−from everyone.
Ethan hooted.
Jacob bolted for the door.
Rachel straightened. “Well, that was well done, Jacob. Why not hit her over the head and drag her to the nearest hollow?”
Clouds scuttled in front of a half-moon that illuminated the garden, dead from a long winter. “Abby?”
He heard a muffled sound…a whimper. Hair lifted on his neck. A knot grew in his belly. In the corner, next to a high wall. Thorne moved.
“He has a gun,” Abby shouted.
Cold white fear climbed up his spine.
The cloud cover disappeared. A pockmarked man, his pig-like eyes open, shabbily dressed, and even at this distance smelled of rum and moldy cheese. He gripped Abby, his arm around her throat. The other hand pointed a pistol at him. His gut clenched.
“That’s far enough, Captain Thorne.”
Jacob gritted his teeth. That thin reedy voice−the voice Abby had told him about. “What do you want?”
Thorne took a step closer. Devol’s sallow face expressed benevolent malice. Thorne needed to keep him talking, as long as he pointed the gun at Jacob and not at Abby. He took a step toward him. “You have one shot. What if you miss?”
“You think I’m that stupid.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why the Rutlands?” Pascale moved behind Devol. The giant Haitian blended with the shadows. But Jacob didn’t want him dead…he needed information first.
“I hate them. I should have all the power and money they have. I’ll be the duke.” Glazed eyes, the deranged man waved his gun.
Thorne took another step. Logic never made a difference to a madman. “What do you expect to get from eliminating the Rutland’s?” Joshua moved from the right. Thorne warned him with his eyes. He’s mine.
Devol leveled the gun to Jacob’s chest. “Title, wealth, privilege, respect.”
How did you do the deed against the Rutland’s? How did you pull everything off? Must have had help?”
“Lots of help. Influential. Powerful,” Percy bragged. “Things went bad. The duke and Anthony left the laboratory too early. We did get Nicholas on a slave packet to Brazil, Abby on board the Civis where she was supposed to die. Then she showed up here in Boston. How’d that happen? She’ll die before the night is out. We will get the rest of the Rutland’s. We won’t fail.”
“We?” Thorne’s hand flexed into a fist.
Devol scoffed, gave a maniacal laugh. “There are four of us.”
“You mean three,” Jacob said.
“No four,” Percy’s voice shrilled.
“Not after I kill you.”
Everything happened all at once. Abby brought her heel down on Devol’s foot and pushed the gun away. Jacob leaped forward, hurled himself between Abby and the crazed man. His teeth jarred as they hit the ground with a thud. He twisted the gun, wrenching it from Devol’s hand, then pulled back and smashed a fist into the ugly man’s fac
e, feeling the satisfying crack of his knuckles on bone. He lurched to the side, dodging another swing, before Devol’s fist slammed into his eye.
Devol’s madness made him stronger, more dangerous. He fought like a demon. Eyes, slits of rage, the man snarled, returning ham-sized fists into Jacob’s gut, head, and neck. Jacob had enough. With one deep blow beneath the chin, he shattered Percy’s jaw, and he dropped to the ground like and anvil, out cold.
Joshua extended his hand and yanked Jacob to his feet. Abby stood next to her brother. Safe. Thank God. Jacob released a long breath.
Then from the corner of his eye, Jacob saw the downed man’s hand move toward the gun and in the blink of the eye, Devol grabbed the handle and cocked the hammer…
Click.
In that same moment, Abby gasped, grabbed the knife from her brother’s boot and threw. The wink of metal flashed, end over end it flew to its mark−buried deep in Devol’s chest just as his gun went off. Another gun fired from behind them.
Sulfur curled in the air.
Jacob crashed like a boulder. Blood poured from his head.
Abby dropped to her knees beside him, raised a corner of her dress to Jacob’s head to staunch the bleeding, then held his hand to her lips. “Jacob, darling. Please tell me you’re alive. I’ll do anything−” On and on she went begging bargains with her Maker.
Jacob’s eyes opened. He would use her pleas to his advantage. “Will you marry me?”
He saw her blink back a rush of emotion. “You have the most dreadful way of proposing. Of course, I’ll marry you.”
Simeon served refreshments in the library. Jacob’s flesh-wound had been attended to and Abby was seated next to him, her head tucked beneath his chin, his arm tightly around her shoulder. He was not letting go. Ever.
Thomas Hansford revealed what he knew of Devol’s history as told to him by Abby’s father in a letter. As Devol admitted in England, he had teamed up with three other men.”
Abby shuddered and Jacob pulled her tighter and she was comforted by his embrace. “We are still in grave danger,” she said.
“I will pen a letter tonight to warn your father. We must be vigilant at all times until this is resolved and the perpetrators captured,” Thomas Hansford said. “It was a gunshot that killed Devol not your knife, Abigail. Pascale and the other guards are in pursuit but I have a feeling we will never find the assailant.”
Thomas took a deep breath. “I have other business to discuss. More immediate business. I had inklings of you, Captain Thorne and your connection to my niece’s sudden appearance. She refused to tell me. When you took a swing at Joshua, my suspicions were cemented. When will the nuptials be, Captain Thorne?”
“I was thinking of a Christmas wedding,” Jacob said.
Thomas cleared his throat loudly. “With the current state of affairs the wedding will take place before next month.”
Thorne leaned back, scrutinizing her. She felt the heat rise to her face. Everyone stared. Her eyes filled with tears, and there was a short silence, enough to fill a heartbeat.
“When were you going to tell me?” In the flickering firelight, Jacob gazed down tenderly on her. “I love you.” He gently lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her soundly, possessively.
She never wanted him to stop.
Ethan whooped. “You can name him after me.”
Epilogue
Six months later
Six new ships were nearing completion and Jacob had several orders ahead of him. One ship showcased his latest, sleekest design. It was to be his pinnacle of success, and he called it, The Abby. He hummed a lullaby, then smiled, thinking how little inane things gave him happiness. He looked over the architectural drawings of the fine house he was building for his family overlooking Boston. Everything had Jacob smiling these days. With Abby, life was full of smiles, laughter and love. He shook his head. Married in three weeks and the rest of the months had been a blur. He had tendered his resignation with General Washington, who remained disappointed at losing his services, but the general understood, placated with the ships Jacob promised to build for his navy.
Communications flowed back and forth across the Atlantic. The Duke of Rutland, who Jacob had yet to meet, had sent a generous gift as congratulations, so happy his daughter was safe and loved. The duke also had Simeon vindicated through discussions with Lord Gratham about Lady Gratham’s activities, yet Simeon had decided to stay in Boston.
Long overdue, exchanges were initiated by Jacob to his father, the Duke of Banfield. He thirsted to know his father, asked him for forgiveness, and to compensate for lost time. With Abby heavy with child, and the war going on, visiting England would be impossible and he regretted that unfortunate circumstance.
The only dark cloud that remained was that no trace of the Rutland enemies had been found. Abby’s father had not given up and worked tirelessly with the Duke of Westbrook, realizing that the ones associated with Percy Devol were more likely licking their wounds and reorganizing for another day. Abby’s brother, Nicholas had not been found, but they were still scouring Brazil where the slave packet was supposed to have delivered him. No one had given up hope of finding him. Joshua was residing with Thomas Hansford for two weeks until he returned to the wilderness for General Washington.
Out of breath, Enos burst into Jacob’s office. “It’s time, sir.”
Jacob had prepared for this eventuality. Pascale stood ready with his horse. “Good luck, Captain,” he said in broken English, grinning.
Jacob ran up the steps of his home. Normally it took him forty minutes to make it from the shipyard but today he made the journey in twenty minutes. Thomas Hansford paced a worn path in the parlor rug. Simeon worried wrinkles in his tricorn. Ethan held up the mantle. Widow Quick and Rachel were upstairs attending Abby with the doctor and midwives. They had informed him once the process started it would be several hours and emphasized for Jacob to wait downstairs. No matter what.
The door knocker banged. “Who in the world would be visiting now?” Jacob ripped open the door, ready to give what hawking vendor dared to come at this hour a send-off. Instead he gave a double shake of his head. His father, the Duke of Banfield, and Humphrey his half-brother stood on his doorstep.
“Well, aren’t you going to invite us in? We’ve come a long way and it is too cold for these old bones.”
“Come in,” Jacob swung wide the door, his mind suddenly not working.
“Had to come and wish you belated felicitations on your nuptials. Humphrey and I had to secret in a port in Maine and get smuggled up to Boston with the war and all. Do you have any tea?”
Jacob opened his mouth to speak, but his words caught at his throat. He nodded to Simeon to take their coats and hats then ushered his father and brother into the parlor, managing finally to make introductions. Jacob’s heart pounded, his father was here and there would be a lot of talking and making up to do.
He was about to speak again when a huge shriek rattled the doors in the jams and with enough force to reach the docks. Jacob bolted up the stairs, only to be held off by Mrs. Quick’s stern warning. Grumbling, Jacob returned downstairs, his body drenched in sweat.
“Good Heavens,” said his father. “What do you have going on in the colonies?”
“You’re about to be a grandfather.” Jacob paced next to the steps.
“Did you hear that Humphrey, I’m about to be a grandfather and you’re going to be an uncle.”
Every minute that ticked by wore another year off Jacob’s life. Sea battles, imprisonment−nothing compared to this purgatory. Another scream tore through the house, curdling Jacob’s ears and enough to tear down the heavens. No way were those women going to stop him from seeing his wife. Jacob took the stairs two at a time. He burst into the room.
The doctor smiled and dried his hands on a towel. “Anxious, Captain Thorne?”
Jacob shouldered the clucking midwives aside. Rachel wrapped the infant in a soft quilt and handed the babe to him, pink and wet
and wrinkled.
“You’re a father now,” said the doctor.
A father.
Rachel and Mrs. Quick beamed, shooing everyone from the room, leaving the parents with their new addition.
Jacob marveled at the tiny figure in his arms. Small. Wonderful. He could not get his fill of looking at the baby. He had no words. Perhaps because there were no words strong enough to name this moment. Emotion threatened to swamp him.
The baby puckered up a bright red mottled face and released an angry howl, tantamount to the roar of twenty cannons. “What do I do?”
Abby gazed up to him, her eyes glowing with love. Her husband, the scourge of England, fearless and reckless in the worst of battles stood helpless. “Bring him here, he’s hungry.”
“All that noise, and he’s just hungry.” Jacob hesitated. “He? A boy?”
Abby giggled and took her son. “Generally, “he’s” are boys.” Abby brought the baby to her breast where he suckled hungrily and greedily.
A commotion from down the stairs drew their attention. Hails and good cheer. Thorne strode to the doorway and threw it open. His father, and his half-brother, Humphrey, Simeon, Ethan…all smiled and stood expectantly. Enos, Joseph Lawton, Benjamin Lewis, Samuel, Edward Martin−his entire crew, and now his shipyard workers stood shoulder to shoulder. They all loved Abby.
Did he see Enos exchanging money? Even the duke and Humphrey were handing over money. “What bets now, Enos?”
“Well…what is it?” plied Enos. “Are you going to keep us in the dark?”
“A son.” Thorne wanted to shout from the rooftops. After much felicitation, backslapping, and a disgruntled Enos, grumbling losses from his bets, Thorne closed the door. He sat next to Abby, putting his arm around her, watching his son suckle from her breast. “This adventure has probably been good for our son.”
Abby snuggled closer against Jacob’s chest and sighed. “Adventure is it? It’s how you found me.”
Jacob nuzzled her neck and he felt her shiver in delight. “If he’s anything like his mother we’ll have a whole lifetime of adventure ahead of us.”
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