by Lenora Bell
Con shook his head. “She’s not in her chamber and the bed’s untouched. When was the last time you saw her?”
“An hour ago.”
He paced across the floral carpet. “You don’t think she would do anything . . . foolish, do you? She wouldn’t pretend to be a highwayman again?”
“I have her pistol,” Dalton said. “I don’t think she’ll get far without it.”
“But this Raney character, the one who stole her money,” Con pressed, “she told me last night that he’s a sailor. You don’t think she’d go searching for him?”
Thea’s shoulders tensed. “I thought she was too exhausted to leave the inn but now that you ask, it does sounds exactly like the rash sort of thing Molly might do.” She twisted her silk skirts in her hand. “I should have kept her with me. Kept an eye on her.”
“It’s not your fault,” Dalton reassured her. “We’ll find Molly. If Raney’s a sailor he’s bound to be near the docks.”
“She did mention a tavern he frequents. Let’s see . . . what was the name? Something nautical . . .” Thea’s worried gaze moved to the grate, searching for the answer in the wavering flames. Her head snapped up. “The Anchor! That’s the place.”
Dalton and Con exchanged a glance. That was the tavern they’d just come from. And it was no place for a young girl.
Con clutched the brim of his hat. “We have to find her. There’s no time to lose!” He spun on his heel and stalked out the door.
Chapter 17
“Faster, man. We haven’t got all day,” Con bellowed, poking his head out the window of the carriage.
Dalton knew Con well enough to know he’d take it very hard if anything happened to his niece on his watch.
They were caught in the tangle of carriages and farm carts attempting to funnel onto the smaller side streets that led to the St. Jude’s rookeries.
Somehow Thea had managed to insinuate herself into the rescue mission, clamoring in after Con, so that the three of them were wedged onto the single seat of Jones’s carriage. She’d said she wasn’t about to sit by herself in the inn while Molly could be in peril.
This would be a swift affair. Dalton and Con would storm the Anchor, retrieve Molly, and they’d all be back on the way to the inn within ten minutes.
“This is taking too long.” Con fidgeted on the seat, tapping his boots and clenching his fists atop his knees.
“We’ll be there soon,” Thea soothed.
Dalton didn’t relish the idea of returning to the public house. He hadn’t liked Alberton’s questions, or the way he’d stared at Dalton’s jaw, almost as if he had been searching for Trent’s cut. With any luck Albertson wouldn’t be there and they could be in and out with no fuss.
Thea sat in silence, obscured by the voluminous gray cloak, hidden behind Con’s shoulders, her face covered by the brim of her bonnet.
Dalton sensed her disquiet as a fourth presence in the carriage, a looming reminder of the words he’d said to her only minutes ago. The lies fabricated to drive her away.
The ludicrous notion that he preferred the company of some dashing widow to Thea.
Badly done, that.
The moment the words had left his mouth he’d regretted them. And when the teasing light faded from her eyes and her smile faltered and disappeared, he’d felt like a coward and a criminal.
Confusion, betrayal . . . and finally resentment in the shifting seas of her eyes. How could he blame her? He’d abandoned control last night, binding her to him first with linen restraints and then with kisses, and today he’d pushed her away.
He couldn’t tell her the truth of why he had to sever ties, but he hated the betrayal in her eyes. It seemed no matter what he did he wounded her.
The compulsion to fold her into his arms, stroke her silken hair, whisper that he hadn’t meant what he said . . . that stopped now.
His next breath would be focused. Ruthless.
Thea-less.
This carriage ride changed nothing.
Thea and Molly would still travel safely in elegant chambers on a steam packet tomorrow while he and Con stole away on the merchant brigantine leaving for Ireland tonight.
No more confessions. Or kisses.
“Have you been to the Anchor before?” Thea asked Con.
“Just came from there, actually,” Con said. “Rough place. Don’t like Molly being there.”
“It’s broad daylight,” Thea objected. “How nefarious can the place be at half four in the afternoon?”
Con shook his head. “No place for a young girl, the Anchor. Crawling with sailors from every port.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m here,” Thea said. “I have a calming effect on unpolished sorts. I soothed those beasts outside the inn last evening quite effectively.”
She stole a glance at Dalton from under her bonnet, to see how he’d taken that pronouncement.
Calming effect, his arse.
There wasn’t a calm, staid bone in that lithe body of hers.
He narrowed his eyes and she did smile then, a small, triumphant curving of her lips that clearly said she knew she’d vexed him and that tormenting him was her new purpose in life.
And damn him, despite all his resolutions, he wanted to be tormented in every way her quick intellect could devise.
Before that precarious spool of thought spun too far, the carriage finally slowed outside of the soot-blackened bricks of the Anchor public house.
Dalton leaned over Con to address Thea. “You’ll stay in the carriage this time, please. This won’t take but a moment.”
Delicate eyebrows arched disdainfully.
“Fine,” Dalton sighed, even though she hadn’t said anything, just shot him the nobody, especially not a duke, is going to tell me what to do glance that he was coming to know so well. “But please stay close beside me.”
She nodded, tugging her gray bonnet ribbons tighter and squaring her small shoulders.
“Hurry now,” Con urged, already heading for the entrance.
When the door opened, the raucous sound of sailors at play spilled into the street. The place had filled since Dalton had left. Not an empty seat in the room.
Lit by sputtering, odiferous tallow candles and hanging gas lamps, the dark, cavernous room brimmed with high-pitched laughter and slurred shouting.
Burly sailors in blue coats and red neck cloths swilled beer, joked with the barmaids, and gambled away their pay with cards and dice.
Some of them would no doubt wager the clothes off their backs before the night was through and slink home, half-naked and stumbling drunk, to wives gone prematurely old and gray with worry, and a room full of cold, sad-eyed children.
Thea’s eyes widened as she watched a man with pockmarked cheeks and a threadbare coat grab the skirt of a woman with hard, jaded eyes and pull her over for a smacking public kiss.
It was disconcerting having Thea here in his world. Her sweet scent clashed with the rancid stink of spilled gin.
He’d been thinking of her as some larger-than-life temptation—a monumental peril that he must ward against at all costs—but here, in this restless crush of sailors, dockworkers, and costermongers, she was too slight and fragile, too easily lost.
He placed a hand on the small of her back because the inebriated ne’er-do-wells in the room needed to know she was under his protection.
Not because he’d been dying to touch her, he told himself.
She glanced at him from under long, sable lashes and he pulled her tighter, wrapping his hand around the curve of her waist.
Mine. All mine, his clasp proclaimed.
No sign of Albertson. Or Molly.
Con scanned the room, the wary angle of his shoulders betraying his tension.
“Back again so soon?”
Dalton met the bold gaze of Pearl, the barmaid with the bright red hair who’d propositioned him earlier.
She cocked her hip and winked. “Missed me, you rogue?” She squeezed his arm, as if testi
ng his bicep for strength.
Thea’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
“You brought company.” Pearl looked Thea up and down, clearly sensing a potential rival.
“Humph.” Thea tossed her head, which didn’t have much effect since all her glorious curls were covered by her travel-wilted straw bonnet.
Dalton gently lifted Pearl’s hand from his arm. “Missed your dark porter,” he said heartily. “Two more pints of the stuff for my friend and me.”
“What about you then?” She glanced hopefully at Con. “You’re a seaworthy hull of a fellow, if ever I saw one. Need a passenger?”
Con shook his head distractedly, intent on searching for Molly in the crowded room.
“Only the pints,” Dalton said.
Pearl flounced away, her faded red silk skirts swirling indignantly.
Con jerked his head toward the back of the room. “Over there.”
The crowd gathered around a corner table parted slightly, allowing Dalton to see a dice contest in progress.
Molly stood against the far wall with her shoulders thrown back and a grin on her face, shaking the dice dramatically while the captivated onlookers watched each movement of her slender hands.
A tall, towheaded man in his twenties with polished brass buttons on his blue coat and his arm around a barmaid with saucy chestnut curls glared at Molly with a murderous expression from across the table.
He looked none too pleased about losing to such a young lad. If he hadn’t known she was a girl, Dalton would have been fooled as well. With her braids tucked up under that floppy blue cap and the blue coat and vest, she could be a ragged scrap of a cabin boy who ran errands and served the captain and crew of a merchant vessel.
Dalton was intimately familiar with nearly every one of London’s gaming hells and the usual games of chance played against the house, but he was not sure of the game the two played here.
The sailors in rapt attendance seemed to know what was going on, however, and shouted in unison after Molly rolled the dice onto a canvas mat.
Cocky, loud, and self-assured, Molly traded quips and bawdy jests with the sailors gathered around her. “Triple anchors, boys! I told you I stowed a large anchor, and I drop it deep as well!”
Dalton had to chuckle. She even sounded impressively like a sailor. She was so intent on the game, she never even glanced their way.
The tall man’s already ruddy face grew visibly redder as he slowly counted out coins and slid them toward the center of the table. Molly laughed gleefully in the man’s face as she raked in the coins.
“Must be Raney,” Con said, tilting his chin at the tow-headed man.
Dalton nodded.
“I don’t think he recognizes her,” Thea said in an astonished whisper at Dalton’s side.
“Aye,” Con agreed. “I don’t like it. Raney’s been drinking and he’s angry about losing.”
Molly thumped her hand on the table until her stack of coins jumped merrily. Raney’s eyes narrowed and his jaw jutted.
Con grew utterly still.
Dalton knew that expression well. He was sizing up the danger. Making swift decisions about the best way to mitigate the possibility of a brawl.
Best way would be to just walk up and retrieve her. Say the captain needed her and there’d be hell to pay if she didn’t snap to immediately.
Raney had had a few pints, judging by the way he swayed on his feet. A situation like this could disintegrate swiftly. Losing money never made men feel charitable.
Con caught Dalton’s eye. It was time.
“Stay back,” Dalton whispered in Thea’s ear. “Be ready to leave. Quickly.”
“Isn’t she winning?”
“Yes, but things could go wrong if anyone realizes she’s female.”
Thea’s eyes narrowed slightly. “She doesn’t require rescuing.” She shifted until their bodies weren’t touching anymore. “You don’t need to interfere. Trust me, Dalton. Let Molly make her own choices. It’s important for her to have this moment of power over Raney. After the way he treated her.”
Con glanced at Dalton, his eyes asking what the delay was about. Dalton made the abrupt slashing motion with his index finger that was their signal to halt an operation.
To retreat.
Con frowned.
“Can you trust me, Dalton?” Thea’s eyes sparked in the dim light.
She’d spoken the same words at the inn.
This wasn’t all about Molly. It was important to Thea as well. She’d had only orders and coercion from her mother . . . never trust. She spoke of Molly taking control and taking the reins of her power, when Thea was the one who craved control.
She’d been testing her power the entire journey, assuming bold, sensual roles. She wanted to own her power. And she wanted to be free of her mother’s rules.
Dalton watched Molly closely. If she were in any true danger, he and Con would act swiftly.
Thea saw the look pass between Dalton and Con. She rose on her tiptoes. “Thank you,” she whispered in Dalton’s ear.
He tightened his grip around her waist, loving the way her curves fit him so well.
She gave him a brilliant smile and suddenly the close, dark room shifted into vibrant color, as if he’d rounded a bend in a road and suddenly an ocean vista unfolded, sun sparkling on wide, blue ocean.
What he wouldn’t do for that smile.
Now, to make her laugh. He loved the way she laughed. High and silvery like pealing bells.
Con wasn’t happy about waiting but he didn’t make any moves, standing with his head lowered, watching Molly intently.
It was Raney’s turn to place his stake and throw the dice. He pushed a small stack of copper forward onto a portion of the mat marked with a crown. “All on crowns,” he slurred.
The throng of spectators roared again. “The devil is smiling on you tonight, boy!”
“You’re going to let that lad put your baubles in his pockets like that, Raney?”
The barmaid with the chestnut curls slipped out from under Raney’s arm and sidled up to Molly and whispered something in her ear.
Molly gave her a coin and the barmaid threw her arms around Molly’s neck and gave her a loud smack on the cheek. Molly kissed the barmaid’s cheek in return and squeezed her waist.
The men around the table roared with laughter, pointing at Raney and thumping Molly on the back, obviously ribbing Raney about losing the affections of his fair-weather companion.
Raney glared at Molly and she grinned back at him, enjoying her triumph.
Dalton bent toward Thea. “Farm girls besting sailors and kissing barmaids,” he whispered. “Now we’ve seen everything, eh?”
She stifled a laugh with her hand. “It’s quite a sight.”
“Swears and gambles like a sailor, your Molly,” he whispered. “Wonder where she learned that?”
“She has ten brothers. I should think they were her tutors in those arts.”
“Ten brothers.” Dalton whistled softly and turned to Con. “Hear that, Con? She has ten brothers. Might know a thing or two about the male mind.”
Con gave his usual noncommittal grunt, but his shoulders relaxed slightly.
Thea granted Dalton another approving smile, and he slid his hand along her back.
In a reckless move, Molly pushed her entire stack of coins onto the table. “I’m all in on spades. Time to bury you, knave. Prepare your coffin!” she called.
Raney’s face darkened. “Your luck’s bound to run out, my boy.”
Molly lifted her pint glass and drained the contents in one long gulp, accompanied by the approving shouts of the small crowd. “Sure, and my luck ran out the day I met you, Jack Raney.”
He glanced up sharply, searching her face, as if realization might dawn any second.
Con tensed.
Molly began her elaborate dice cup ritual again, the familiar rattling sound shaking loose too many memories in Dalton’s mind. A cheer went up from the watching men as
they started placing side bets.
“Five bob on the ship’s boy!”
“Five on Raney!”
The crowd held its breath.
The dice hit the table and rolled.
Chapter 18
Thea couldn’t bear to watch the outcome. She turned her head away from the table, watching Dalton’s face instead.
The redheaded barmaid in the scarlet dress had called him a rogue. He did look the rogue with that cut across his jaw.
He hadn’t shaved and there was dark brown stubble across his chin, obscuring the cleft, but Thea still knew it was there, just waiting for her to discover it again.
The barmaid had explored his body with her eyes as if he were a prize goose at Christmastime.
Well, who could blame her?
His was the dangerous beauty that made a woman stop and stare because she wondered if he’d fallen from the heavens, plummeted to earth, and might be ready to drag her with him down to hell.
His large hand clasped around her waist possessively. Claiming her.
Trusting her instincts.
A cheer rose up and Thea whipped her head back to the gaming table.
Molly snatched her cap off her head and her long braids tumbled out. “It’s me, Jack Raney, you beef-witted gull. Molly Barton! Remember me?” She grabbed a fistful of coins and stuffed them into the basin of her blue cap. “I’ll be taking these.”
Jack’s eyes screwed into mean slits. “You,” he sputtered. “You . . . why, I’ll—”
The crowd of sailors erupted into mirth, slapping their thighs and hooting with laughter.
“Gammoned by a girl!” one shouted.
Raney reached for his vest pocket with a deadly look in his eyes and Thea clutched Dalton’s arm, but Con was already surging forward with long, powerful strides. He parted the crowd easily and thrust a menacing arm around Jack’s shoulder, preventing him from drawing his hand out of his pocket.
“Met my niece, have you?” Con asked.
Molly gasped and stared at Con. Her head whipped around and she grew pale as she recognized Thea and Dalton as well.
“Leave off, old man,” Jack gritted out, attempting to shake off Con, but the older man was far too strong.