Читать книгу Scoundrel: - Zoe Archer - Страница 9

“And you are sure?” Athena asked. “Quite, quite sure?”

“Yes. Again, yes. She’s Edgeworth’s daughter.” Bennett walked beside her as they made their way down to the quay at Piraeus, the Athenian harbor town, the following morning. Unlike Athens, Piraeus was laid out with paved, orderly streets that did not drive innocent pedestrians mad with confusion. But that did not make the busy port any less congested. Bennett carefully guided Athena past loaded drays and groups of merchant seamen coming to and from the waterfront.

“And Harcourt’s widow. Does she know who you are?”

“Not yet.”

“Theos ka panagea.” Athena sidestepped around a wagon loaded with currants just shipped in from Zante. “But it cannot be possible. The Heirs are very set against having women in their ranks.”

“This one is. In a fashion.”

“What do you mean?”

Bennett dodged a crowd of German tourists disgorged from a steamer ship and wagons bearing piles of luggage. “Edgeworth’s daughter knows nothing of the Heirs.”

“If she is here to translate the ruins, surely she knows what cause she serves.”

Bennett shook his head as the scent of seawater washed over him. They had finally reached the harbor itself, where rows of ships of every variety bobbed in the water while gulls shrieked overhead. Fishing boats swayed next to small yachts, pleasure boats for the Athenian elite. Steam-powered freighters and tall-masted clippers were anchored out in the bay, with rowboats going back and forth between the large ships and the quay. Even with such hectic traffic, the water gleamed azure and gold in the morning sun. Bennett breathed deeply and could not stop a grin from forming. He had served the Blades for many years, yet he never tired of the beginning of a mission, the possibility of harbors and ships.

Yet he sobered when he answered Athena. “It was obvious that she’d no idea what I spoke of when I asked about the Heirs.”

“You know women, that I’ll allow,” Athena said. “However, even you can be played false by a pretty face and lovely bosom, Day.”

“No doubt I’ve been lied to,” he agreed cheerfully. “‘You’re only the second man I’ve ever been with, Bennett,’ ‘My husband’s not at all jealous, Bennett,’ ‘I like it gentle, Bennett’—the usual games and tricks. Sometimes, I even believe them. But London Edgeworth is as beautiful as she is innocent.”

“No woman is truly innocent,” Athena said. “Especially not the beautiful ones.”

“That’s why I love them.”

He and Athena skirted along the edge of the harbor, hearing the rough shouts of the fishermen as they called to one another, the ship captains bearing cargoes of figs and olive oil cursing at their crews lazing on deck. It did not matter if Bennett accompanied Athena or not, she was still the object of much male attention, yet she breezed past as serene and aloof as a falcon, not even acknowledging the sailors with so much as a blink.

“I wish we did not have to trust an outsider for this mission,” she said to Bennett. “It leaves us vulnerable.”

“I sure as hell can’t sail a boat,” he pointed out. “Neither can you. We’ve got to get to Delos. Likely beyond, too. Besides,” he added, “your contact assured us that this man is trustworthy.”

“Or, at the least, is willing to be paid for silence.”

“We’ve abundant coin, if it comes to that. This is it,” he said, stopping by a boat tied to the pier. It was a cargo caique, a typical boat of the region, roughly seventy feet long, with a rounded fore and aft and two triangular lateen sails, now furled. Portholes attested to below-deck cabins, though they would not be very large. A loving hand had painted the hull bright emerald, the tiller a vivid yellow, and kept the whole of the boat a sparkling gem, especially compared to some of the shabbier maritime specimens in the harbor.

“You!” Athena called out to one of two seamen coiling rope on deck. “Are you Nikos Kallas?”

“No, captain’s below,” the man grunted back.

“Then get him,” she ordered imperiously. When the man just stared at her, she added coldly, “Now.”

Muttering, the sailor slouched off to the quarterdeck house to find his captain.

“Consider being a bit more…diplomatic,” Bennett suggested wryly.

“Why?” shrugged Athena. “These are rough men. They do not care for social niceties.”

After a moment, a man emerged from the quarterdeck house with the first sailor trailing behind him. The captain. He wore the loose blue trousers of a mariner, and a full white shirt with a dark sash wound about his waist. A small, powerfully built man, he squinted at Bennett and Athena from behind the smoke of his pipe. “I’m Kallas,” he called in a gravelly voice. “Who wants me?” He looked at Bennett with sharp, assessing eyes. Sensing a possible threat, he changed his stance slightly, a shifting of position onto the balls of his feet to ready for a fight. This one, Bennett understood, missed nothing.

“Petros Spirtos sent us,” Athena answered.

The sea captain turned his gaze from Bennett to Athena. For a moment, the two simply stared at each other, each seemingly unmoved, but Bennett heard Athena’s soft inhalation and saw Kallas’s hands curl as though trying to grasp something. Oho, Bennett thought. What have we here?

“No shouting across the marina,” Bennett said. “We’re coming aboard.”

“As you like.” Kallas shrugged.

In a moment, Bennett was hopping over the railing of the boat, then turned to help Athena gracefully descend onto the top deck. The two crewmen gaped at Athena in her elegant bronze silk dress and matching parasol, until Kallas shouted something at them in a dialect Bennett could not understand. Even though the crewmen were several inches taller than their captain, they hastened to obey and scuttled off.

“Bennett Day,” he introduced himself, “and Athena Galanos.”

“Spirtos told me about you,” Kallas said, shaking Bennett’s hand, “about what you need.”

“So you know everything,” Bennett said. When the captain nodded, Bennett said, “Speed and discretion. That’s what we need.”

Kallas stroked his full, dark mustache. “If it keeps more foreigners out of Greece, then my ship and my crew are yours. No offense to you, Englishman.”

“All insults are deserved and well earned. My friend and I have gear we’ll need to store in your hold. Some guns, as well.”

“Always good to be prepared,” Kallas said.

“Do you mind danger?”

The captain grinned, his teeth white and straight in his sun-darkened face. “The Kallas men have pursued many kinds of living on the sea.”

“Piracy, you mean,” Athena said.

Kallas narrowed his eyes as he moved closer to Athena. Bennett watched her struggle not to take a step back, despite the fact that they were the same height. She straightened her spine as the captain slowly looked her up and down.

“What would a high-born lady like you know of working for your bread?” he growled.

“I find that bread tastes much better if you do not steal it,” she answered. “The Galanos women find respectable ways to feed their daughters.”

“Fortunate for you, then, that Kallas men are not so respectable. Or I wouldn’t agree to hire out myself and my ship. Especially not to aristos.”

“A wonderful family picnic,” Bennett interjected, stepping between them. “Kallas men, Galanos women. Some grassy hilltop. Ouzo. Walnuts and grapes. We’ll plan the menu later. But tell me, how suspect are your morals?”

Kallas turned his attention from a seething Athena. “What did you have in mind?”

“Kidnapping a lady.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Very.”

Kallas smiled, shaking Bennett’s hand again. “Then we’ll get along, you and I.”

She hadn’t much experience with ships except the one that had brought her to Greece. Departing from Southampton, they’d taken a top-of-the-line triple-masted steamer around the Iberian peninsula, skirting the coast all the way to Gibraltar, to Monte Carlo, then past Sicily, up around Italy to Brindisi, and finally Corfu to Athens. That ship had been surprisingly lavish, with an elegant dining room, two salons, and a card room, plus a host of men and women seated on folding chairs on deck whilst wrapped in flannel.

She knew that their sailing accommodations from Piraeus to Delos would be less opulent. It did not matter to her if the ship hadn’t a conservatory. But this…this was entirely different from what she had anticipated.

“Do we really need so many guns, Father?” she asked as she was helped aboard by one of the ship’s crew. Turning to watch her luggage being hauled up the side of the ship, she found herself staring at the cannons that poked from gun ports like lethal iron fingers. And, on the fore deck, squatted a gun turret and two more cannons, one fore and another aft.

Her father already stood on deck, and surveyed their ship with an approving nod. It was iron hulled with two telescoping funnels and two schooner masts, further powered by a steam-driven wheel at its center. A contradiction between this ship and the others merrily floating in the harbor. The Greek crew, too, looked hardened and intimidating, not returning London’s smiles and nods of greeting.

“I know it isn’t very luxurious,” her father said. “But you must try and bear up, if it isn’t too taxing.”

“It’s not taxing in the least,” she said. “But it’s the weapons that alarm me.”

Thomas Fraser, already turning pink in the late afternoon sun, stood next to her. “We must be prepared,” he said. “I’m sure you are familiar with the terrible events five years ago, when brigands captured a party of British tourists near Marathon and demanded a ransom. Many of their captives died during the rescue attempt.”

“An awful tragedy,” London said quietly.

“And your father has already spoken of enemies, Mrs. Harcourt, of which you may have already met. So the guns are, indeed, necessary.”

“I hope we don’t have to use them.”

Fraser merely shrugged. Then he turned away, and he and her father spoke with the ship’s captain. Sally yelped instructions to the men hauling the luggage over the side of the ship. Left to herself, London went to the railing and watched the harbor with its traffic of ships, but her thoughts strayed back to Ben Drayton. Perhaps he truly was one of her father’s enemies. She wanted to dismiss the idea outright. They’d shared something, a link or bond that she barely understood but felt deeply. When she was with him, she felt freer, more her true self that had been buried for most of her life. And, it was true, her body wanted him, wanted him fiercely.

Yet she could not dismiss how he had transformed so utterly and quickly in the garden last night from a seductive, charming rake into a flint-eyed man capable of anything. And she recalled his mastery of moving within the shadows as if he were part phantom.

Had it been wrong to find him so attractive, when he could mean her and her father harm? London prayed that she would never have to see Drayton again and test her willpower. Still, she couldn’t stop her mind from tormenting her with thoughts of what it might be like to kiss him, to have his hands upon her uncovered skin.

A new voice speaking English behind her caused London to turn around. Standing with her father and Fraser was a tall, skeletal man whose bloodless skin gleamed like hoar-frost in the bright Aegean sunlight. A thin fringe of colorless hair ringed his head, and he was dressed soberly in black and gray. London could not stop herself from staring at the onyx ring glinting on his right index finger. Something cold spiraled through her bones as she looked at him.

“London,” her father called, “come and meet my colleague.”

With reluctant steps, London went to join the men.

“London,” Father continued, “this is John Chernock. He will be accompanying us on our voyage and advising Fraser and I. Chernock, my daughter, London Harcourt.”

She gave the man a restrained nod, hoping she could keep her immediate dislike of him hidden. He smirked at her as though reading her mind. “I knew your late husband, Mrs. Harcourt,” he drawled. “And I’m sure you do him and your father credit.”

“Thank you,” London said with a thin smile. “Father, I think I’ll find my cabin and settle in.”

“Of course. Sally!” her father shouted. “Take your mistress to her cabin.”

London was about to state that she could find her quarters on her own, but the maid appeared to provide escort. London gave the men a brief curtsey and then hurried below deck, with Sally scurrying after her. She wanted to put as much distance between herself and Chernock as possible. It would be difficult, though, since the ship was only two hundred and fifty feet long and not, as she hoped, two hundred and fifty miles. She had a feeling that there was no distance far away enough from that walking stalactite her father called a colleague.

As soon as London disappeared into the ship, Chernock addressed Edgeworth. “A pretty young woman, your daughter.”

“She’s promised to me,” Fraser grumbled.

“I didn’t promise anyone to anybody,” Edgeworth said, his voice cutting. “Henry Lamb insisted that he’d prove himself to me in order to win the right to court her, and look what happened to that fool. Killed by Blades in the Gobi Desert. Killed by a woman, for God’s sake.” Base emotion, which Edgeworth struggled his whole life to contain, clogged his throat. “And his blunder ruined my only son.”

Chernock nodded. “Lamb’s abject failure forced Jonas to return to England through the Transportive Fire.”

“Is such a thing possible?” asked Fraser, aghast.

“No man had attempted it before,” said Chernock, darkly, “and now we know why.”

Edgeworth growled, “His burns finally healed, but the scarring is abominable. Damn it!” He turned away to rub his stinging eyes on the sleeve of his jacket, trembling with fury. He vowed to himself that the Blades of the Rose would pay for the damage done to his son. Jonas was to have succeeded him as a leader amongst the Heirs of Albion, but that dream died when his son came back from Mongolia a twisted, burnt husk, his mind more damaged than his body.

Edgeworth refused to believe that Jonas’s retreat had been anything less than honorable, even though he had heard the whispers. Jonas had fled, it was true, and with terrible haste, but only because Lamb had failed, because the Blades persisted in their foolish, sentimental quest to keep the world’s magic from the hands of the Heirs.

“He made a brave sacrifice for his country,” Fraser said, placating. “Jonas holds, as we all do, that Britain deserves to command the globe. Its nation, and its citizens, are superior to all others.”

“The apotheosis of culture and statehood,” Chernock seconded.

Fraser shot Chernock a quick, cutting look. Edgeworth was his to appease and flatter, and Fraser wouldn’t stand for some skeleton of a man to ride on his coattails. He continued, “The Heirs of Albion willingly give their lives for this belief. I know I would, given the chance.”

“It’s those Blades that play the gadfly,” Chernock sneered. “With their absurd conviction that no nation should rule over another. A mawkish ethos.”

When Edgeworth felt he could better suppress his feelings, he turned back to Chernock and Fraser. “We’ll have them beaten, soon,” he vowed. “Even now, in England, our finest minds are unlocking the secrets of the Primal Source. Between that and the Source here in Greece, we shall finally stamp out the Blades. That’s what Lamb was supposed to do.”

“Lamb was vain and bloodthirsty,” Chernock sniffed. “We are better off without him. He was a liability to the Heirs. We need trustworthy men. Yet,” he added, looking pointedly at Edgeworth, “for the first time in our long history, it seems we have a woman in our ranks. I would never presume to question you, Edgeworth, but is this wise? Women are so fragile and emotional. She could be set astray by her feminine sensibilities.”

“Don’t question her obedience to me. She’ll do exactly as she’s told. We’ve only to lead her like a child, keep her sheltered from unwanted influence.”

“And if she succeeds in her objective,” Chernock persisted, “will the Heirs begin adding women to our confraternity?”

“Of course not,” Edgeworth scoffed. “If she makes herself useful, and if this Source is recovered without too much interference from those damned Blades, then I will see her married as soon as we return to England. Yes, Fraser. If you impress me enough on this mission, I may reward you with her. You ought to control her better than Harcourt did.”

Fraser’s meaty face broke into a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Edgeworth.”

“Those are numerous ‘ifs,’” Chernock pointed out. Fraser glared at him.

Edgeworth’s eyes were glacial. “But that’s why we have you, my dear sorcerer.”

“If the Blades do show themselves,” Chernock said with a funereal smile, “then I very much look forward to practicing some of my newer spells on them. There is one, taken from a Hopi shaman I captured, that is most delightful. Giant spiders, you know, with poisoned webs. Exceedingly nasty. Shall I demonstrate?” He lifted his bony hands, the ebony ring glittering like a huge beetle, as Edgeworth and Fraser took a step back.

“Later, perhaps,” Edgeworth said quickly. “You both must understand what this mission means to the Heirs, what is at stake, particularly now that we have the Primal Source. I wouldn’t have brought a woman, my own daughter, into it without good cause.” He turned to the captain, who was shouting orders to his men. “Captain, I want us to raise anchor within the hour. No excuses,” he snarled when the captain began to object. “I am not to be contradicted. We sail before five o’clock.” With that, Edgeworth stalked below deck, confident that he would be obeyed. No one ever said no to Joseph Edgeworth.

The cities of the world held unending fascination for Bennett. He’d been to many, more than most men could ever claim. The capitals of Europe, and beyond. Moscow. Cairo. Bombay. Peking. Each was a continually unfolding banquet of experience—and women. Yet, for all their exotic and cosmopolitan joys, Bennett never felt as much unfettered joy as he did when presented with the open road. In this case, the open sea.

Nikos Kallas proved himself a sure and able captain as he and his men sailed them away from Piraeus. They nimbly dodged other boats and ships, all coming in and out of the crowded harbor, and moved away from the coast that pushed eastward into Aegean. Cliffs and coastal towns shrank to dark, rocky forms as the impossible lapis blue of water grew and unfolded. Cape Sounion, and its hilltop temple dedicated to Poseidon, glided by as they moved out of the bay into the open sea. The waters were silken calm, and a soft breeze filled the sails, burnished gold by the rays of the sun setting to the west. Anywhere. The sea and the wind could take them anywhere. Limitless freedom. That’s why men went to sea again and again. But women, land-bound and earthly warm, brought them back.

It was a woman he followed now. She was on the Heirs’ steamship, speeding east. Thank Poseidon that Kallas was a skilled captain. He had to get to London Harcourt before the Heirs reached Delos. Bennett’s plan would never work if the Heirs made land before he could reach her.

He urged the caique on, willing it to cut through the waves like an arrow.

Athena had been born and raised in the city that shared her name, and so it took her a small measure of time to gain her sea legs. Bennett watched her walk toward him on deck with the careful precision of a drunkard fighting for balance. Her dusky-fair skin had paled once the caique had reached open water. She came to stand next to him, swaying, as he stood near the bowsprit at the fore.

“Gone a bit green,” he commented. “Like an unripe olive.”

Athena gave a wan smile. “Always with such flattery. What woman would be foolish enough to let you leave her?”

“You did,” Bennett pointed out amiably.

“I am better than most women.”

“True. Our captain might agree.”

Athena made a noise of dismissal, though it proved to be a bit of a challenge in her compromised state. “Nikos Kallas has made no secret of his dislike of refined, educated women. Which does not surprise me, given his low origins.”

Bennett raised his eyebrows, but decided to remain quiet on this point. Interesting, how this might develop, if they were all to share the same, not particularly large boat for the foreseeable future. Instead, he asked, “Feeling well enough for tonight’s adventure?”

“Absolutely,” she said at once. “Though,” she added, “I have never attempted a spell of such size before.”

“I’ve every confidence in you.”

“Kidnapping is new territory for me.”

“Don’t usually dabble in it, myself,” he admitted. “Not to worry, though. Blades have ‘spirited away’ people before. When a powerful Source is at stake.”

“And the fact that our intended abductee is, by your own admission, an exceptionally beautiful young woman has no influence on your decision,” Athena noted dryly.

Bennett flashed her a grin. “I’m hurt and offended you doubt the purity of my motives.”

“Where Bennett Day is concerned, there are no such things as pure motives. But Harcourt’s widow will learn, at some point, who you truly are.”

“I know,” he said flatly. If he had his way, he’d postpone that unpleasantness for as long as possible.

She drew an unsteady breath. “I am going to see if there is a spell for seasickness. I brought several books along for reference.”

What would Athena be without her books? “That’s what made your baggage so deuced heavy. Here I was thinking you’d been kind enough to pack a millstone. Should we need to grind wheat.”

Athena made a face at him, which wasn’t difficult, considering her infirm state, before picking her way back down below the deck. Kallas had ceded the helm to one of his men as he adjusted a sail. She forced herself to walk steadily past him, as genteel as if promenading the elegant Plateia Kolonaki square rather than the tilting deck of a humble cargo caique. Kallas pretended not to notice her, but Bennett saw with a smile the way the captain gnawed on the stem of his pipe once she had passed. Even on the supposed freedom of the sea, one couldn’t escape the eternal dance between men and women.

Kallas was a born mariner, that Bennett understood. The captain had kept pace with the Heirs’ sleek steamship, staying just out of sight so that none but the most eagle-eyed lookout might detect even a trace of the caique. Athena’s spell would—should—take care of the rest.

Bennett turned his face into the wind, watching as the cloak of dusk descended upon the sky and water. Soon, the stars would emerge. He hoped it wasn’t a bright night. They would need the shelter of darkness for the plan to run smoothly.

Maybe Athena was right. Bennett would probably be much less likely to abduct the Heirs’ linguistic expert if the linguist was a man, particularly a fat man. Hefting such bulk could prove difficult, and on cold nights, Bennett’s knees sometimes troubled him. But his interest in London Harcourt troubled him more. He wanted to believe that only her lovely face and slim body drew his attention. She was a woman exceedingly pleasant to look upon. Touching her, learning the secrets of her body with his own—those would be pleasures he greatly anticipated, as he might with any enticing female.

Yet there was something more to her, the fire of intelligence, the gleam of yearning for independence, that drew him in, even in the few minutes they had spent in each other’s company. She wasn’t a sheltered virgin seeking to lose her innocence. She wasn’t a bored, house-bound wife searching for shallow thrills. London Harcourt burned with desire for the world, for visceral experience. As he did. But he had the good fortune to be born male, and so the world opened to him like a feast, while London Harcourt could only look on and starve. What a pleasure it would be to feed her.

If she ever discovered his identity, he would be doing nothing with her.

He shook his head, made himself chuckle as if what he felt were merely pangs of unsatisfied lust. It had been a long, long time since he mooned over a woman. Those he wanted, he got. He could only give his lovers provisional affection, which they accepted, and so he moved on to the next. There was always a next.

Now here was a woman he couldn’t, shouldn’t have. No wonder he thought himself intrigued. There were more pressing concerns. Foremost was how to sneak aboard the Heirs’ ship, past armed guards, the father, and the deuced Fraser, and then steal a whole woman from under their noses.

Thinking of this, Bennett hummed an old sea shanty.

“Considering the certain hell we’re going to catch tonight,” one of the sailors muttered at him, “you’re a calm and cheerful son of a bitch.”

Bennett grinned. “I do so enjoy life’s little challenges.”

“Is there anything else you’ll be wanting, madam?” asked Sally.

London looked at her maid’s reflection in the mirror propped against a tin cup, a brush midway to her unbound hair. Sally had conquered her seasickness long enough to help London out of her gown before bed, but it seemed, alas, a losing battle for the poor maid.

“I’m all right for the rest of the night, Sally,” London answered. “But is there anything I can get you? I’ve heard plain water biscuits can help. Perhaps the ship’s cook has some.”

Sally gulped and gave her head a feeble shake, which made her moan. “I couldn’t possibly…eat anything, madam. Just a little lie down, I think, and I’ll be…fresh as Easter morning.” That seemed doubtful, considering the waxen, greenish cast to Sally’s face.

“Please,” London implored, “get to bed. I can put my clothes away.”

“Thank…thank you, madam.” Then Sally dashed from London’s cabin to her own across the passageway, slamming her door behind her, but leaving the door to London’s cabin hanging open. London rose from the small desk she used as a vanity and gently closed the door, but not before hearing the miserable sounds of Sally surrendering her dinner to a chamber pot. London winced in sympathy, grateful that, landlubber that she was, she somehow escaped the blight of seasickness. Well, it should not last too long for poor Sally. They would reach Delos by late tomorrow morning.

Remembering her father’s warnings, London locked the cabin door. She needed to be vigilant. Though it seemed unlikely that anyone could get aboard the steamship. Aside from the cannons that could blast away at any ship foolish enough to get within firing range, armed men patrolled the top deck. London had seen the rifles slung across the men’s backs, but the firearms weren’t nearly as intimidating as the hard faces and large bodies of the men themselves. They seemed more like hired mercenaries than sailors.

If her father thought them necessary, she could only imagine what kind of threat loomed. Though he often treated her like some fragile hothouse orchid, London knew that in everything else Joseph Edgeworth was exacting and precise, not the kind of man given to wild and fanciful elaboration.

Soon, they would reach Delos, where London’s work would begin. Despite the shadowy threat that loomed somewhere out in the world, her excitement could not be tamped down. The mythical birthplace of Apollo and Artemis. And all those writings upon the ruins for her to decipher. How marvelous it was to be.

She turned her attention to the gown laid across her narrow berth and readied it to be put away. London fussed with the hooks, knowing that Sally liked to keep her gowns tidy. It seemed rather unnecessary to maintain fashion out here. This was not a holiday jaunt, and this ship most definitely was not intended for anything but the most rudimentary services besides transportation and, dear Lord, warfare. Though the steamship had cabins for passengers, they were all small and plain. Perhaps the captain’s quarters held a little more luxury.

London carefully packed her gown into her trunk, wedged into a corner of the cabin, before returning to her nighttime toilette. She drew her wrapper close over her nightgown and sat back down at the desk. Her dark flaxen hair required thorough brushing, or else it ran the risk of looking like the inside of a mattress. And, as much as she did not want to draw attention to herself as one of two women aboard the ship, she didn’t want to resemble bedding.

She drew the boar bristles through her hair, idly watching her reflection in the mirror. Thomas Fraser had been exceptionally attentive tonight at dinner, asking her again and again if she found the food all right, or if it was too simple for her ladylike tastes. Such fawning felt out of character for him, particularly considering the way in which he barked orders at the stewards serving them, as if they were not human beings with thoughts and feelings. London knew it wasn’t polite to be overly solicitous to servants, yet it bothered her to treat them shabbily.

A thought had her brush still in mid-stroke. Good God, she hoped Fraser didn’t expect to court her. She knew with absolute certainty that he would never approve of her linguistic studies—no doubt he preferred to use books as heavy objects for clubbing people—and she would not marry another man who shared her father’s profession. If she married again. There had been little in her own marriage to recommend the state. She still nursed her ideas of love, crafted over years of reading about it, and she did get quite lonely. It could not be denied, as well—she craved a man’s touch. Her own had lost its excitement long ago.

Ben Drayton’s bedroom laugh tumbled through her mind. Surely that scoundrel understood how to touch a woman, and touch her well. Her eyes drifted shut, imagining such an encounter. Just to think of those clever hands on the curve of her shoulders, the soft flesh of her breasts, sent a thick wave of sensation cascading through her, warming the place between her thighs. She trailed her free hand along her collarbone, back and forth, letting her traitorous mind and body pretend that it was Drayton who caressed her. That he would push down her wrapper, peel away her nightgown and lay her upon the berth before settling his own weight over her, positioning himself between her legs. London’s nipples tightened beneath the soft lawn. Her hand began to trail lower to her breasts.

She stilled, sensing another presence in the cabin. London’s eyes opened, and she met the hot blue gaze of Ben Drayton in the mirror.

London jumped up from the chair and whirled to face him. The brush dropped from her hand to clatter on the floor. Drayton leaned against the cabin door, arms crossed over his broad chest. He seemed quite at ease, except for the fiery hunger in his eyes and noticeable arousal tenting his breeches.

“Don’t stop,” he rumbled.

Her heart slammed into her ribs as heat suffused her face. “How…how did you get in here?” she gasped. “I didn’t hear the door. And…it was locked.”

“A sorry day when a simple lock keeps me from a lady’s bedchamber.” He pushed away from the door and took a step toward her, a small smile tugging at a corner of his mouth.

London backed up until she pressed against the cool iron of the hull.

He came nearer. The cabin felt much, much smaller with him in it. He was quite male and quite close. “I haven’t much time.”

She dare not ask, but couldn’t help herself. “Time for what?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, God,” she gulped, her eyes flicking automatically toward the bed.

He laughed quietly. “Not that. Taking my time makes it so much better for everyone, and right now I’m on a tight schedule.”

“Well, that is a relief,” she said tartly, then shut her mouth, shocked by her own brazenness. There was a strange man in her cabin, and she was talking back! What she really should be doing is—

“Don’t be tiresome and scream,” he said.

That was exactly what London intended to do. She took a deep gulp of air.

He moved like a striking snake, a blur of motion she barely saw. He turned her around and wrapped her in the steel of his arms, one hand covering her mouth. A spike of terror clawed its way up her throat. She tried to scream. His clamped hand stifled the sound. She struggled against him, but he was solid with muscle, immovable. London thrashed about, yet all she managed to do was exhaust herself.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmured in her ear. “We don’t hurt people.”

We? Who was we? She wasn’t soothed at all. She didn’t care what Drayton said, she had to get free, had to fight him. Her muscles screamed with effort as she struggled. She couldn’t even put her feet down or gain enough space to open her mouth and bite him.

Drayton glanced over at the small brass clock on the desk. “Look at the time. Blast. We’ve got to go.” He didn’t sound winded or troubled at all, more like he was mildly concerned about missing a train, whilst London panted for breath.

He loosened his hand from her mouth. Thank God! London gulped in enough air to scream. Before she could, he slipped his cravat from his neck and gagged her with it. She tasted the musk of his skin in the silk. Not that long ago, she would have gladly learned what Drayton’s skin tasted like. Now it only reinforced the fact that he completely overpowered her.

He pulled off the belt from London’s robe and deftly wrapped it around her pinned wrists before knotting it. She tugged at the belt. It wouldn’t give. She was bound, and helpless.

Anger was better than the fear that threatened to swallow her.

“Next time,” he grinned as she glared up at him, “I’ll let you tie me up.”

Fortunately, she was gagged, otherwise her mother never would have forgiven her for the curses that she tried to spew at him. And then she was easily swung up and slung over his shoulder like a sack of feathers.

“You need to eat more,” he said.

She didn’t hear him open the cabin door, but suddenly they were slipping noiselessly into the passageway. He shut the door and fiddled with it for a moment, and she understood he was locking it. If he got her off the ship with no one noticing, they would probably assume she was safe in her cabin. London’s absence would only be known in the morning, when Sally tried to come in. Panic fueled her into another struggle. If she could just stay in her cabin, surely everything would be fine. But that feeble hope died as Drayton eased down the passageway.

She prayed they would meet her father, the captain, a sailor, anyone, but fortune didn’t favor her that night. Once, an armed sailor neared, en route to his duties, but Drayton held back to the shadow of a bulkhead. London tried to shout, despite the gag. Maybe even a small noise could alert the sailor.

“Quiet,” Drayton said lowly in her ear. “A peep out of you, and that trigger-eager bloke will fill both of us with bullets. Don’t take that chance.”

Was he right? London was afraid to find out.

The sailor continued on his way.

Drayton climbed the steep iron stairs that led to the top deck. A peculiar, sweet fog embraced the steamship, rendering everything dreamlike and murky. Sailors patrolled, yet none saw her and Drayton as he slid to the railing. No one was coming to her aid. Drayton was going to abduct her. Off the ship, she would have no chance. No! She fought anew, twisting her body this way and that.

Yet she couldn’t break Drayton’s hold. With one arm clamped firmly around her waist, he grasped a rope tied to a small, thick hook hitched onto the railing, and eased them both onto the other side of the rail. Then he rappelled silently down the side of the ship into the darkness. London could not believe he possessed the strength to hold her and his own weight with one hand, expecting at any moment that they would both go plummeting into the sea. But hold them, he did, all the way down the rope to a tiny canoe-like boat, anchored to the other end of the rope.

She felt herself lowered to the floor of the boat, and watched as Drayton unhitched the hook with a nimble flick of his wrist. He caught the hook as it sailed down.

“A little gift from our friend Catullus Graves,” he whispered at her with a wink.

London had no idea who Catullus Graves was, and didn’t much care as the boat, free from its tie to the steamship, glided back and away. London raised her head enough to see the ship steam on into the night, leaving her behind.

Father! her mind screamed.

“Now,” Drayton said softly, “it shouldn’t be long now before—ah! Here we are.”

Appearing from the darkness like a ghost ship was a caique, wreathed in the same sweet fog that had enveloped the steamer. A few dim lanterns hung from the mainsail boom, allowing London to see the hazy shapes of people moving around on deck. She’d been taken. She was alone. Alone with a boat full of strangers. London began to shake. She flinched when Drayton put a large, warm hand on her ankle.

“Don’t be frightened,” he said with surprising kindness and sincerity. “We truly won’t harm you.”

London tried to turn away, blinking back tears. She wished she’d never met Ben Drayton. She wished she hadn’t seen those blasted writings on her father’s desk. She wished she was back in her own home, safely ensconced in her library, reading old tomes in front of the fire and merely dreaming of faraway places.

They were idle wishes. The caique drew up next to the canoe, and London squeezed her eyes shut.

“You certainly know how to treat a lady,” a woman’s accented voice said dryly. “The poor thing is terrified.”

“I know, Athena,” Drayton said, impatient. “Give me a hand, Kallas,” he added in Greek.

London felt herself picked up and passed from one set of hands to another before being set on her feet. Opening her eyes, London found she was on the deck of the caique. Two Greek sailors stared at her before slinking away, bearing the little canoe. There was another sailor, not particularly tall, but built like a bull, looking at her with an unreadable expression as he worked a pipe stem back and forth in his teeth. A woman, dark and regal, came forward, dressed more appropriately for an afternoon salon than a nighttime kidnapping in the middle of the Aegean Sea. London shied away when the woman reached for her.

“Come now, I only mean to untie you,” the woman said gently in English. “But, mind, if I do, do not try and jump over the side. Your father’s ship is long gone, and we are far from the shore. You could not swim the distance. Yes?”

Seeing that the woman was right, London nodded. Quickly, the binding at her wrists was loosened until London was able to pull her hands free. She snatched the gag from her mouth, then coughed to clear her dry throat.

Finally, she rasped, “Who are you people? What do you want with me?”

“Everything will be revealed, in time,” Drayton said, coming forward. He held up his hands, placating, as London edged back. “All we want is to have a conversation with you.”

“A conversation,” London repeated in disbelief. She was certain that at any moment she would be assaulted or murdered.

“A conversation,” echoed Drayton evenly. “Merely that, and nothing else.”

London’s fear shifted, reshaping itself. Hot, unchecked anger poured through her. She’d never felt anything like it before, but it filled her with a newfound power. When the woman and Drayton took a few steps toward her, London grabbed a nearby bottle from a crate and brandished it like a club. Miraculously, both Drayton and the woman stopped their advance.

“You abducted me from my cabin in the middle of the night, forced me off my ship, stuck me in a minuscule boat, and then brought me here,” London said, her voice surprising her with its strength. “If all you want to do is talk, then it sure as hell had better be good.”