With This Kiss: A First-In Series Romance Collection

by Kerrigan Byrne

  “Kidnapped? That doesn’t sound like—”

  To steady himself, Drake pressed a hand against the wall. To make matters worse, he was as weak as a babe. “You believe the word of a festering pustule like Gibbs over that of a duke?”

  “N-no, Your Grace.”

  “If you see Gibbs again, I want you to report it to the authorities. And say nothing to him. There has been a warrant issued for his arrest.”

  “But Mr. Gibbs is a Bow Street Runner.”

  “Was. The lout has since left the service and turned to kidnapping innocent ballerinas.”

  The innkeeper’s jaw dropped. “God blind me—the woman was telling the truth.”

  “Indeed. The only person in this calamity going about spreading lies is Walter Gibbs. And if I hear one word—any rumor whatsoever that you have aided that blackguard, I will personally see that you are led to the gallows and hang beside him.”

  Drake didn’t wait for a reply. He stormed out of the inn and mounted his horse, riding at breakneck speed, praying the Lloyds had not yet sailed.

  Admiral Sir George Cockburn placed his quill in its holder and rose when Drake was introduced. “Your Grace, I am quite taken aback to see you without prior announcement.”

  “This is a matter of national consequence. I’ve been told the Lloyds, a barque, sailed for Australia yesterday morning.”

  “Indeed. I was on the pier myself when her sails unfurled.”

  “We must stop that ship immediately.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “A man named Gibbs kidnapped the Duke of Beaufort’s granddaughter and falsified convict papers.” The harbormaster had confirmed that Britannia had boarded the Lloyds as a convict.

  Cockburn’s jaw slackened with a stare of disbelief. “Why would someone do such a thing?”

  “It is a very long story, one that would embarrass several members of the nobility. By removing Miss Britannia LeClair from Britain, the guilty parties schemed to prevent their own ruination.” It was as much of the truth as Drake cared to reveal. Baron and Baroness Calthorpe were completely innocent, and he would not tolerate any slight to their names.”

  “I imagine you are not about to let that happen.”

  “I will die before I do.”

  “Hmm. By the look of the gash on your head, it looks as if you nearly did die.”

  “A near miss by Gibbs himself.”

  Cockburn rang the bell. “Let me see what I can do to help.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Did you know I served under your father in Napoleon’s War?”

  “I did not.” Drake catalogued that piece of information. It might very well be of use.

  “Good man he was.”

  “He was, thank you.”

  The door opened, and a lieutenant stepped inside. “You rang, sir?”

  “I did. The Lloyds sailed yesterday destined for Australia.”

  “Indeed, she did—two and fifty convicts aboard.”

  “How many women?” Drake asked.

  “One—arrived at the last moment.”

  Drake’s knees turned boneless. “Dear God.”

  “I beg your pardon?” asked the lieutenant.

  “The woman was kidnapped,” said the admiral. “Do you know where the Lloyds will be resupplying?”

  “The boatswain told me Jamestown on the isle of Saint Helena, then not again until they reach Botany Bay.”

  The admiral moved to a globe and pointed to a tiny dot off the coast of Africa. “Saint Helena is a British isle—a favorite respite for most ships before they sail around the horn.”

  Drake examined the distance between England and the tiny dot off the coast of Angola. “It would take a month of sailing to reach that island.”

  “Five to six weeks minimum,” said the admiral.

  After tracing his finger along the globe’s arc, Drake turned it, estimating Saint Helena to be just shy of the halfway point. “Can we catch her there?”

  “What say you, Lieutenant? What are the fastest ships in the harbor?”

  “Well, the Lloyds is heavy bodied, though she isn’t carrying the cannon of a warship. What would be ideal is a schooner.”

  “A pirate ship?” asked Drake. “Are there any in the fleet?”

  “Not in Portsmouth,” said the admiral. “But we did acquire the HMS Hastings from the East India Trading Company. She’s a cutter.”

  The lieutenant threw back his shoulders. “But she’s a third rate, sir.”

  Cockburn gave the globe a spin. “No, I should have thought of her sooner. She’s the fastest vessel in England.”

  “Can she make up enough time to meet the Lloyds in Jamestown?” Drake asked.

  “That depends on the wind.”

  He didn’t have many options, but one thing was for certain. If he didn’t act now, he’d be sailing clear to Botany Bay. “When can she be ready to set sail?”

  The admiral moved around his table and reached for his quill. “I’ll give the order for morning.”

  “That won’t do. Two hours,” said Drake. “By order of His Majesty the King, I commandeer the Hastings to sail at once.”

  The lieutenant coughed out a stammer. “B-but she’ll need provisions and proper inspections.”

  “We sail as soon as provisions are aboard.” Drake tugged on his gloves. “Make it a priority. This is the Royal Navy. My father fought alongside you, Admiral. Are you not prepared to sail for king and country at a moment’s notice?”

  Cockburn scrawled out an order. “We shall do our best to weigh anchor before dark.” He handed the missive to Drake. “Take this to Captain Schiffer on the Hastings. He’s one of my best. He’ll see to your needs.”

  “Thank you.” Drake bowed and left with the lieutenant. “I have urgent correspondence to dispatch. Where can I find a quill?”

  “You may use my writing table, Your Grace.”

  Drake took a seat, hastily scribing missives to Calthorpe and Perkins. He sealed them with his signet ring bearing the Ravenscar coat of arms and left them in the admiral’s care.

  Bria had thrown up until there was nothing left, but Johnny had borne the worst of it. She cradled the boy’s head in her lap as he lay on his side and moaned.

  “Make the rocking stop,” he whimpered, gripping his arms across his little stomach.

  Bria smoothed her hand over his head. “I wish I could. You ought to feel better soon. I did. It is your turn next.”

  “I don’t think I’m ever going to feel well again.”

  “Close your eyes and try to sleep. You won’t feel so ill when you’re sleeping.”

  Johnny gave a nod and snuggled closer. “I’m c-cold.”

  Bria gave the pile of musty hay a forlorn look. They’d barely survived last night by sleeping together and using her cloak. Johnny’s clothes were in tatters, his legs too long for his trousers, and he was nearly bursting out of his moth-eaten coat. The boy didn’t even have a pair of shoes.

  When Bria was Johnny’s age, she had been well looked after by the LeClairs. Sure, she’d struggled after they’d died, but she always had a place to sleep and a dress that fit. And Monsieur Marchand provided her with dancing slippers and costumes. When she looked at this boy, she realized how blessed her life had been. If she hadn’t joined the Paris Opera Ballet, she might have ended up like Johnny.

  Before the seasickness had taken hold, he’d told her he’d been found at the foundling home as a toddler—they’d estimated his age between one and two. Worse, the boy’s bottom lip had trembled when he’d explained no one had ever come for him.

  The door opened. “I’m Mr. Baldy, ye’ll be answering to me on this voyage and I don’t want no trouble, else ye’ll be fed to the sharks.” He pushed in a tray laden with broth and bread, then held out a bucket. “Empty yer slops in ’ere.”

  Bria carefully slipped out from under Johnny’s head and picked up the bucket they’d used as a chamber pot. “It’s disgusting to bring food at the same time
.”

  “Mayhap next time, I’ll just bring around the bucket and let ye starve.”

  Bria pursed her lips and poured out the contents. “The boy is seasick. Would it be possible to take him above decks for some air?”

  “What’s this? Do ye think ye’re on a pleasure cruise? Jesu on the cross, ye’re lucky not to be thrown in the ’old with the other miserable sops. They’re wallowing in the bilges with the rats.”

  Cringing, Bria glanced back to Johnny. “Are the convicts ever allowed to go up top?”

  “Not usually. Not unless the captain gives leave.”

  “Could you please tell the captain the boy is sick? Surely he doesn’t want to lose him to the flux.”

  “Oh, aye. I’ll just mosey into his cabin and request a bloody audience. Tell em ’er ladyship is worried about a wee thief who should ’ave been ’ung in Newgate’s yard.”

  She crossed her arms. “You, sir, are repugnant.”

  “Re-pug what? Don’t be using them accursed words around ’ere. Ye might have been a lady once, but on the Lloyds, ye’re nothing but a condemned thief. And I’ll tell ye true, if it ’adn’t been for the captain’s orders, ’alf the crew would have already sampled yer wares.”

  “No!” Johnny hollered from his pallet, trying to push himself up. “Don’t bleeding touch ’er.”

  Mr. Baldy smirked. “The ’arlot and the urchin. What a pair. No wee lad will protect ye if the captain has a change of mind.” The sailor chuckled and gabbed his crotch. “And I’ll be the first to claim me due.”

  Bria shut the door in his face, not about to tell him she’d never been a lady. Besides, being locked in a tiny closet below decks was far better than listening to rot from such a vile rapscallion.

  The man popped his big nose through the barred viewing panel. “Ye’d best watch yerself, wench.”

  Before she could answer with a retort, the sailor’s footsteps clomped away.

  “I won’t let him touch you.” Johnny curled over. “As long as the sickness doesn’t do me in.”

  “This dratted boat will not get the better of either of us.” She resumed her seat, smoothing her hand up and down the child’s shoulder. “I swear it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  After several days of bad weather, Drake stood on deck, looking out over an endless sea. He’d traveled to the Continent, but never had he been on a voyage of such length, nor had he ever desired to do so. And there he stood on the deck of a ship heading for some ungodly place called Jamestown on the isle of Saint Helena, traversing a quarter of the globe while Britannia suffered unconscionable circumstances.

  He would never forgive himself if she were to perish. Over and over, he’d replayed the incident with Gibbs. He should have acted more quickly, he shouldn’t have worried about the second horse. Damn it, if he had put her on the back of his mount, they could have hastened to the inn in Guildford and summoned help from there.

  He pulled Lady Calthorpe’s miniature from his pocket. Though there was a likeness, Britannia was prettier. God, he missed her. What horrors must she be enduring on that vile ship? Drake’s gut churned at the thought of dastardly tars and how they could mistreat a maid. The tiny dancer was so frail, she was no match for a mob of convicts or rutting sailors, for that matter.

  By God, I’ll court-martial anyone who raises a hand against her.

  His jaw clenched as he looked south, praying for a stronger wind.

  The heels of Captain Schiffer’s shoes tapped the deck as he moved toward Drake. “Your Grace, it seems the sea suits you. Most passengers unaccustomed to sailing wouldn’t have gained their sea legs as of yet.”

  Drake gave the man a sideways glance. “So that explains the roiling in my gut.”

  “Well, we did set sail in a nasty squall. Even some of the crew fell ill.”

  Schiffer obviously knew that Drake had kept to his stateroom for the first few days and his comment about sea legs had been an attempt to be kind.

  “Have your men all returned to good health?”

  “They have.” The captain leaned on the rail. “And you? The fresh air and smooth seas ought to be a welcome respite.”

  “No respite will be welcomed by me until I find Miss LeClair.”

  Schiffer pointed to the miniature. “Is that her portrait?”

  “It’s a rendering of Lady Charlotte, Miss LeClair’s mother.” To remain ambiguous, Drake used Lady Calthorpe’s title before she became a baroness. There could be any number of Lady Charlottes but only one Calthorpe. He held up the painting.

  The captain looked closer. “She’s lovely.”

  Drake pocketed the miniature. “Yes, and her daughter is lovelier.”

  “I understand you left London quite hastily.” The captain rubbed his chin. “Your beard is looking a bit primitive. I have a spare kit I could lend you.”

  “Thank you, but I swore I wouldn’t shave until I found Miss LeClair.”

  “Oh my, you could end up looking quite un-duke-like, if you don’t mind me saying, Your Grace.”

  Drake shrugged, resting his elbows on the rail. “This far from civilization, I doubt it matters.”

  “Well said.” Schiffer, who wore a tidy beard, pulled a compass out of his pocket and gave it a tap. “With the wind in our favor, we ought to be able to make up some time.”

  “Then I hope it continues for the duration of the voyage.”

  “One thing about the sea, it never stays the same. No one knows what Mother Nature has in store on the morrow—or even the next hour for that matter.”

  “Comforting,” Drake said, looking up to the crow’s nest and wishing he were up there with Buggie the cabin boy who spent his days scouring the seas.

  “If I may be so bold to ask, would you tell me about this woman you’re after? It does seem rather odd to see a duke drop everything and commandeer a vessel in the king’s navy with two hours’ notice.”

  Drake cracked his thumbs. True, he didn’t ask the king’s leave to chase after Britannia, but this was a time of peace. Besides, if he was questioned upon his return to England, he’d beg forgiveness and that would be the end of it. “You haven’t anything better to do?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  May as well tell a good tale.

  “Well, I suppose it all started when I contracted La Sylphide to premiere at my new theater in London…”

  There was really no reason to keep the story under wraps. Most of it a man could uncover just by asking a few questions in London.

  “I’ve heard of Walter Gibbs,” said Schiffer after Drake had divulged most of it. “Always thought he’d fall victim to his own skullduggery one day.”

  Gripping the rail, Drake’s knuckles turned white. “It would give me great satisfaction to watch that man swing from the gallows.”

  “I’d think you’d want to shoot him after giving you that scar.”

  The gash still throbbed. “A musket ball to the head would be too merciful.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. ’Tis a pity drawing and quartering has been banned.”

  Drake almost smiled. “I think you and I will get along well on this voyage, providing you ferry me to Saint Helena whilst the Lloyds is still anchored in James Bay.”

  Bria had lost track of time. The dim light in the cell didn’t change much between day and night, though her eyes had grown accustomed to it.

  She drew the letter P through the dust on the floor. “What words start with P?”

  Johnny twisted his lips, his face contorted in thought. “Potato, parrot—do you think there might be parrots in Australia?”

  “Perhaps. I’ve seen drawings of Australian birds. They’re very colorful compared to European ones.”

  “I think I’ll catch one and train it.”

  “Good idea. With your confidence, I’ll wager you’ll have a pet parrot in no time.” Bria rubbed out the P. “Now, show me how to spell John.” She’d taught him John first to keep it simple.

  The boy slowly drew
a J and an O. “But why is the next letter an H? I don’t hear H when I say it.”

  “The H is silent.” Bria drew the letter for him. “Then which letter makes the nnn sound?”

  He sat there tapping his fingers for a moment. Then he hung his head. “I can’t remember.”

  “Not to worry. Letters take time to master.” She drew the N. “Now you do it. Write your name below that one ten times.”

  “Ten?” he moaned, sounding as if she’d just asked him to carry ten buckets of slops from the bilges.

  Halfway through Johnny’s lesson, Mr. Baldy peered through the viewing panel bars. “Ye lot must be blessed by the water fairies. Captain granted ye a quarter-hour on deck.” He held up two pairs of manacles. “But ye ’ave to wear these.”

  “Even Johnny?” Bria asked. “He’s just a child.”

  The boy gave her a nudge. “I reckon I’d wear a ball ’n chain for a chance to go up top.”

  Honestly, she felt the same. Her entire body was stiff from lack of exercise.

  Irons secure, once they reached the top deck, Mr. Baldy shook his finger under Johnny’s nose. “There’s water on the timbers and that makes ’em slippery. No running do ye ’ear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Blinking to adjust to the painfully bright light, Bria whispered in the lad’s ear. “Stay close to me.”

  “Don’t worry, miss.” Johnny inclined his head toward the helm. “The captain’s on deck. I doubt there’ll be any plundering whilst he’s watching.”

  Bria let out a breath. The boy might need a proper education, but his rough beginnings had taught him cunning no one could learn attending lessons. Still, she needed to have a word with the captain, and there was no time like the present.

  All across the deck, sailors worked, coiling rope, pushing mops, hauling buckets and dumping them over the side. Every single one of them stopped and leered, though they kept mum for the most part.

  A man tossing something rather foul over the rail gave her a scowl. “I can smell ye clear across the deck.”

  “Surprising,” she whispered so few could hear. “The stench from your bucket is so overpowering, I’m surprised you can withstand it.”