by Shana Galen
I owe Joshua Clarkit 6 pounds for services rendered.
He scrawled his name, pulled his handkerchief from his pocket to rub the coal dust from his hands, and then ran back to the hackney. He handed the paper to Clarkit. “Satisfied?”
Clarkit studied the paper. “How do I know this says what you say it does?”
Rafe wanted to slam his head on the yellowing sides of the conveyance. What had he ever done to deserve a distrusting, illiterate jarvey? “You can read numbers, can’t you?” he asked, keeping his tone level.
The man nodded.
“You see I wrote ‘six’ there. The word after that is ‘pounds.’ And that is my name.” He pointed to his signature. “Rafe Beaumont. I am a younger son of the Earl of Haddington.”
The jarvey looked him over. Rafe had no idea how he looked, but he could guess. His eyes were shadowed, his jaw stubbled, and his clothing wrinkled. Fortunately, the jarvey seemed to be a man who noted details. His gaze traveled over the well-tailored coat Rafe wore and the muddy but expensive boots.
“Get in,” the jarvey said, with a flick of his head.
Rafe jumped in and the jarvey turned toward Wapping.
A half hour later, Rafe banged his head on the back of the seat. The stuffing had been lost long ago and pieces of straw stuck out here and there. Banging his head against the hard, scratchy surface kept him from leaping out of the coach and banging the heads of the farmers together.
Of course, today had to be market day, and every farmer or country bumpkin from near and far was making his or her way into the city. The gates were clogged with carts, children chasing other children, and dogs chasing the livestock, which oinked or squawked or bleated and generally caused mayhem.
Rafe leaned his head out the window again. “What the devil is taking so long? Aren’t the farmers supposed to arrive early?” It was nearly one.
Clarkit looked back. “From what I hear, there was an accident on the road this morning. A cart stuck in the mud and another didn’t see it with all the fog. People stopped to help, and it blocked the road, so many had to wait until it was cleared.”
Today, of all days, there had to be a collision. “Is there nothing you can do?”
The jarvey shook his head. “Naught but wait my turn. It won’t be long. As soon as these pigs are rounded up.”
Rafe allowed his head to fall into his hands.
When the hackney finally arrived in Wapping, Rafe didn’t wait for it to stop before he jumped out. They’d stopped in front of the Wapping Inn and Coach House, Gaines’s inn. “I know the proprietor here. I’ll tell him to give you a meal and have the grooms see to your horses.”
Clarkit raised his hat in thanks. Rafe sprinted into the common room of the inn. It was empty except for a man or two reading the paper, and Rafe skidded to a stop and looked about.
“Mr. Beaumont.” A man Rafe recognized as the manager came out from behind a counter. “Good to have you back with us. Would you like a room?”
“No. I need Gaines.”
The manager shook his head. “He is not here—”
“Where is he?”
“I’m not certain. I think he escorted the young miss and her father to the dock. To take them aboard Egret.”
“Damn and blast!”
“Sir?”
Rafe turned to run for the docks, then paused. “There’s a hackney from London in front. Will you see to him and his horses?”
“Mr. Gaines hasn’t—”
“Put it on my account!” The pocket watch he’d had to give Gaines could have covered the cost of seeing to five hackneys.
“Yes, sir.”
Once in the street, Rafe ran for the quay. He had to dart around some boys playing a game with sticks and rocks and somehow lost his hat, but he could have cried with joy when he finally spotted the muddy water of the Thames. He bent to catch his breath, scanning the docked ships for the one that might be the Egret.
There were far too many, and it would take hours for him to approach each and read the names. He had to find one of the customs officials who could direct him to the correct dock. Rafe began to push through the sailors and dockworkers, looking for someone in authority. He shouldered past one man, then felt a hand on his shoulder. The man spun him around.
Rafe recognized the sailor’s yellow grin from the first night he and Collette had been on the river shore. This was the sailor who’d taken his purse.
“I’ve been looking for you,” the sailor said.
“Look another time.” Rafe struggled to free himself of the man’s grip. But instead of releasing him, the sailor held on, ripping Rafe’s coat. That was the last straw. The coat had been made by Weston, and how was Rafe to acquire another like it in bloody, savage America? If he even made it to America?
“I’m not done with you yet,” the sailor said.
Rafe pulled his fist back and slammed the man in the face. His dirty hands released Rafe’s coat and he fell backward onto the dock. “But I am done with you.”
Rafe started away, only to come face-to-face with Thomas Gaines. Gaines nodded at the fallen man. “I was about to say you have a knack for finding trouble. But I take it back.”
“Where is she?” Rafe asked, not caring that his voice was trembling. Not caring that sweat streaked his face, his throat was parched, and his head ached from hunger and the sun beating down on it.
He didn’t care about anything but Collette.
“You’re too late,” Gaines said. “The ship has sailed.”
Rafe felt his knees crumple. Too late. No two words had ever so crushed a man.
He reached out, his fist closing on Gaines’s lapel. “I swear by all that is holy, if you don’t take me to her, I will kill you with my bare hands.”
Gaines raised a brow. “I don’t think you can do it.”
Rafe looked him in the eye. “Want to see me try?”
Gaines stared back at him, then shook his head. “Come with me. There’s still a chance to catch her.”
Rafe’s heart leaped. Still a chance! “Show me.”
Gaines’s large form cut a swath through the people on the dock, and a moment later, they were in front of an empty berth. The ship that had docked there was being led into the center of the Thames by two tugs. The tugs’ work was almost done. In a matter of minutes, the ship would be under sail. Rafe would never catch it then. He might have swum to the ship—as disgusting as that idea was—but he would never have been able to swim fast enough. He turned to Gaines. “What do I do?”
Gaines pointed to an empty boat. “Can you row?”
Rafe had rowed when he’d been in school, but that had been years ago. Still, not wasting a moment, he jumped into the boat and lifted the oars as Gaines untied it and pushed him off.
“Hey!” a man yelled. Rafe assumed it was the owner of the boat. He didn’t look back, sticking the oars in the water and beginning to row. Behind him, he heard Gaines speaking to the man. Rafe would have to send Gaines another pocket watch.
By the time he’d rowed halfway to the ship, his shoulders ached and his muscles burned. He was breathing fast, sweat dripping down his back. Not only was his coat ruined, but his boots were well on their way to ruination too. The boat had a leak—either that or it needed to be plugged—and it was taking on water. Rafe’s feet sat two inches deep in muddy river water. But he continued to row, grunting with the effort of catching the larger, much faster ship. He would have no chance at all once the tugs released it. Another ship sailed toward him, and Rafe rowed faster, narrowly avoiding being clipped. The burst of speed had served him well. He had reached the Egret, and now he stopped rowing and looked up. Several unhappy sailors looked down.
“Move away from the ship!” one called.
“I need to come aboard!” Rafe called.
The sailor shook his head. “Any a
ttempt to board will be treated as an act of aggression.”
What the hell? Did the man think he was a pirate? He was in a row boat. A sinking row boat. “I just need to speak with one of your passengers.”
“Write a letter!” the sailor answered. “This is your last warning.” And he raised a large pistol and pointed it down at Rafe.
Rafe looked into the muzzle of the gun. At this point, he’d rather have been shot than row back to shore. “Collette!” he yelled. “Collette Fortier!”
“I will fire on three!” the sailor called.
“Collette!” Rafe called frantically. “Collette, I need to speak to you!”
“One!”
Hell’s teeth. He had never imagined this was how he would die. “Collette!”
“Two.”
Rafe heard the hammer cock.
“Collette!”
“Th—”
Rafe squeezed his eyes shut.
“Stop! I know this man.”
Rafe opened his eyes. On the deck, beside the sailor with the gun, Collette’s small white face looked down at him. “Rafe?”
He grinned at her. “Send down a ladder. I have to speak to you.”
Another face appeared next to hers. “I am the captain, sir. You have not been given permission to come aboard.”
“I need to speak with Miss Fortier.”
“And I have a schedule to keep and paying passengers, not to mention valuable cargo, to transport to America.”
“I’ll pay for him,” Collette said. The captain looked at her.
“Are you sure, miss?”
“Yes, she’s sure. Drop the ladder,” Rafe ordered.
“Not so fast,” Collette said. “Let me hear what he has to say first.”
Rafe scowled at her. “Drop the ladder.”
“If you have something to say, Mr. Beaumont, say it.”
Rafe looked at the ship’s deck. It seemed every soldier and passenger on board peered over the railing or down from the rigging. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say, much less say it in front of an audience. But then he looked at her again, and he knew he would do anything not to lose her.
“I came because—” His throat closed. He swallowed and tried to remember what his stepmother had told him. Not everyone woman left. And even if Collette did end up leaving him, even if she rejected him now, she was worth the risk. “Because I want to”—he felt light-headed—“I want to”—just say the word, damn it!—“I want to marry you.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
He gaped. Would she really force him to say it again? “I said, I want to m-marry you.”
“But my father.” She waved a hand, the gesture meant to encompass all that her father had been. “And I…I am not exactly welcome in London.”
“We’ll all go to America together. You and your father can start over there.”
She shook her head. “But you belong in London. What about the balls and soirees—”
“Collette!” he cut her off. Hell’s teeth, but this would have been easier if he hadn’t had to yell up at her. Not to mention he had water past his ankles. “I want to marry you. None of that matters to me anymore.”
“What are you saying?”
He let out a low growl. Couldn’t she understand what he was saying? Did he have to say it in front of everyone?
“I’m saying lower the ladder!”
She stared down at him. “You’re sinking, Mr. Beaumont. Your boat must have a leak.”
“I know! Lower the ladder, goddamn it!”
“Because you want to marry me?”
“Yes!”
“You’re certain?”
The boat lurched, and he felt the cold water on his knees. “Yes. I’m certain.” He had to say it. She wouldn’t lower the ladder until he said it. “Collette, I—” His heart thudded so hard he couldn’t hear anything else. Blood rushed to his head, making it pound. These were words he’d never said, words he’d never thought he would ever say, ever mean. “I love you, Collette Fortier,” he yelled. “I’ve loved you for…I don’t know how long. I should have told you. I love how you blush when I get close to you. I love how your eyes squint when you’re angry. I even love how you pontificate on hedgehogs when you’re nervous. I should have stayed with you. I’m standing here, on this sinking boat, because I cannot lose you.”
She smiled, the expression making her face light up. “I love you too, Rafe Beaumont.” She turned to the captain. “Lower the rope.”
A moment later, a rope dangled down the side of the ship. Rafe looked up, not having realized how bloody high the ship was. He began to climb, holding on to the rope for all he was worth. And trying to ignore the jeers and kissing sounds of the ship’s crew as he made his way to the top.
Finally, his arms shaking with fatigue, he crawled over the rail and collapsed. Collette knelt by his side. “Rafe?” She took his face in her hands. “You really came.”
“You think I’d leave you?” he said between gulps of air.
“I did, yes.”
“I was a fool.”
“Yes.” She hugged him.
“Your father?” he asked when she finally pulled back.
“He’s below. He’s not very happy with you.”
“He’ll have to get used to me.” Reaching in his coat, he removed the lines Draven had decoded. “I took the coded letter from your bed and had it deciphered. You were right about him. The Foreign Office is willing to let him go free. As long as he never comes back.”
“Oh, Rafe!” She embraced him again. “Thank you! Is this why you left?”
Her expression was hopeful that he wanted to say yes. But it was better if they began as they meant to go on. “Nothing so noble. I ran like a coward.”
“You’re no coward, Rafe, and you’re here now.” When he would have argued, she shushed him. “That’s all that matters.”
He would make this up to her, even if it took him the rest of his life. In America. “I’ll never leave you again.”
She helped him to his feet, and the captain stepped in front of him. “Welcome aboard. You have the fare for passage?”
“Would you take an IOU?” Rafe asked.
“Would you like to swim in the Thames?”
“As I said, I’ll pay for his passage,” Collette said. She looked at Rafe. “Gaines gave me a little money.”
That was one more thing he owed Gaines.
“Thank you, madam.” The captain bowed and left them.
Collette looked at Rafe. “So, America. With my father. The assassin.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“I knew as soon as you said you would go to America with me you must love me.”
Rafe narrowed his eyes. “And yet you made me say it. In front of the entire ship.”
“I didn’t know if I’d ever hear it otherwise.”
He took her hand. “Madam, I hereby vow to tell you I love you every single day of the rest of our lives.”
“And I’ll do the same. I love you, Rafe.”
He squeezed her hand. “I love you, Collette.”
She took a quick breath. “Do you want to stay on deck and watch us set off? It might be the last you ever see of England.”
He would be back. Rafe knew that as surely as he knew he loved Collette. “Do you have a cabin?” he asked.
“I do.”
“A private cabin?”
She nodded.
“Then England be damned. I have other business to attend to.” He took her in his arms, but she pushed him back with one hand.
“We’re not married yet.”
Rafe froze, shock making him go rigid. “You want to wait? Of course you do. And we should. It’s only what—three, four, six months until we arrive in America? I can wait.”
“Really, I can.”
She put her arms on his shoulders. “Oh, how I love you.” She bent close and whispered in his ears. “Now, take me belowdecks and ravish me.”
Rafe let out a breath. “Is that an order?”
“Yes.”
“Gladly.” And he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. All around them, the ship erupted with cheers.
Epilogue
“For you, my lord,” Porter said after taking Jasper’s hat and coat. Jasper had his mask half-off, and he finished pulling the silk from his head before turning his attention to the slip of paper the Master of the House held out to him.
“Thank you, Porter.” Jasper was used to receiving letters and correspondence at the Draven Club. He had enemies. Dangerous enemies, and he rather preferred they didn’t know the location of his residence. Even his own father, the Marquess of Strathern, didn’t know where Jasper laid his head at night.
“Dinner, my lord?” Porter asked.
“Yes.” Jasper followed the man as he climbed the stairs. He’d finally stopped asking Porter to call him Grantham. Porter couldn’t conceive of calling Jasper anything but my lord, even though Jasper hated the courtesy. He rolled his neck, enjoying the freedom that came whenever he removed the mask. The scar on his upper cheek and temple felt too warm and raw after being encased in the silk mask for so long.
In the dining room, Jasper sat at a table alone. A few of the other members of Draven’s troop were dining, but Porter knew Jasper preferred to eat alone. While he waited for Porter or one of the other staff to bring him wine and soup, Jasper opened what he now realized was a battered and abused letter. He moved the candle in the center of the table closer and peered at the writing. He read it once, then again. He looked up. Across the room, Ewan Mostyn sat with Neil Wraxall. Jasper rose and strode to their table.
“Grantham,” Wraxall said with a nod. “Decided to be social tonight?”