A round-faced, redheaded clerk of about twenty years hopped up from his chair and greeted them with a cheery disposition that grated on Lucian’s nerves. He kept quiet, allowing Jeremy to speak, else he might explode. Too wound up with equal measures of fear and anger, even the tiniest irritant would set him off.
“We are searching for a ship. The Ella Rose. Is it one of Kenbrook’s?”
The clerk scrunched up his face a moment, then shook his head. “Not one of ours, my lord.”
Lucian swung away, his hands balling into fists. He glanced out the window, watching an old seaman hobble by.
“Do you know who the ship belongs to?” Jeremy asked.
“No, my lord. I never heard of her.”
Lucian closed his eyes.
“One of your associates, then. Will you ask? It is crucial we find that ship.”
“Of course, my lord. I will be but a moment.”
Jeremy stepped to Lucian’s side and settled a hand on his shoulder. “Do not give up hope, old man.”
Lucian could not respond. Words stuck in his throat. He stared out the window, hollow inside. A fishwife batted away a pesky gull trying to peck her fish, bellowing at the naughty bird.
The clerk returned with an older man with thinning gray hair and round spectacles. “I am Ralph Carter, Lord Fielding. I know the Ella Rose. She docks in London.”
Lucian drew in a quick breath.
Jeremy shuffled forward a step. “Do you happen to know her route?”
“Certainly. She runs sugar and rum from Jamaica. On average, it takes her fifty-two days to reach Falmouth.” He nodded, the light of the windows reflecting in his spectacles. “Of course, that depends on weather conditions.”
Before the man finished speaking, Lucian’s feet were moving. He heard Jeremy thank the men as he dashed from the building to his horse. Maybe, they would get to the ship before she set sail. Or maybe, they would find Emma along the way to London.
With his heart pounding, he maneuvered out of the bustling dock.
“We need fresh horses,” Jeremy said.
Lucian ground his teeth, but knew his friend was right. He gave a jerky nod and headed for the mansion.
The efficient Bennings had valises and food packed before Lucian finished his brandy. The warm liquid helped to settle his mangled nerves and he focused on nothing but finding his wife. But, dear God, that murderer had her. If Sorrington could kill an earl, what would he do to Emma?
Lucian marched from the house on wooden legs. The wind had picked up, and he found the puffy white clouds had darkened to slate. A storm would slow them down. Would slow down Sorrington, too.
“I’ve recalled the rest of the men,” Jeremy said, nodding to the dozen men waiting on horseback. “They will search the inns and liveries between here and London. Sorrington will also require fresh horses along the way.” He nodded for them to disburse.
Lucian did not know what to say. With his mind so muddled in grief, he could not think straight. Thank God for Jeremy. “I hadn’t thought of that. Thank you.”
Jeremy flashed him a smile. “I can only say I’d be as dunderheaded were I in your shoes.” He turned to his horse. “Now, come. Let us retrieve your wife.”
They would travel the hundred-seventeen-mile trip as fast as possible. To press on, they had to stop every fifteen to twenty miles for fresh horses. That meant six to eight stops along the way. And if they averaged twelve miles per hour, they could arrive in just under ten hours.
The rumble of thunder, however, reminded Lucian they would not make the journey as swift as he hoped. Hopping on his horse, he and Jeremy dashed from the yard and down the drive, kicking up puffs of dust.
As Lucian dipped his head into the wind, a thought occurred. Sorrington would have hired a coach. To give up the speed of horseback, the man would choose a better means of hiding his captive. He turned to Jeremy, voicing his assumption.
Jeremy nodded, his hazel eyes narrowed. “I agree.” He flashed a smile. “And a coach is slower. We could come upon them.”
They found an inn after eighteen miles and decided to stop to change horses. The storm, still at their backs, was fast approaching. The scent of rain clung to the chilled air, and quick bursts of lightning preceded the rumbling thunder.
The taproom, reeking of unwashed bodies, stale ale and stewed meat, was packed. While fresh horses were saddled, Lucian followed Jeremy, weaving around tables to the bar. The innkeeper, a man tall and thin as a reed, glanced up. “Wot can I do fer ye, m’lords?”
Jeremy pulled a shilling from his pocket. “Bob, here, has a question for you.”
The man’s eyes lit, and he gave a toothless grin. “Oh, aye, aye.”
“Has there been a coach stop for horses today?”
The smile slid from the man’s lips. He cast the coin a regretful glance. “I dunno, m’lord.”
Lucian balled his hands. The man knew something. He must have been bribed into silence. But was it by Sorrington or someone else wishing anonymity? With a frustrated growl, Lucian slapped a guinea on the bar, the gold unmistakable, even in the dim light. “Tell us who was inside the coach!”
Chapter 30
Emma jerked awake, then moaned when her temples pounded from the movement. She tried lifting her hands to her head and discovered her wrists bound. She could only raise them as high as her breasts. Sputtering a string of curse words she’d learned from Sean, she found a gag in her mouth. Someone had secured the scrap of cloth with another wound around her cheeks, knotted tight at the back of her head. And that same someone had put something in her drink to make her sleep.
Not someone. Sorrington.
She huffed in a deep breath and glanced around the darkness. Where was she? She lifted her hands and dipped her head, hoping to pull down the cloth from her face. Straining, she found not even the tips of her fingers could reach, and fell back, mumbling more curses.
The entire room dipped and Emma froze. Why did the room move? Her heart pounded as she listened to stomping feet above her. She blinked in the blackness, trying to understand. The dipping and swaying could mean one thing. A ship.
She was on a bloody-Goddamned-ship!
How long had she been drugged? The last thing she remembered was Sorrington stuffing her into a coach. She closed her eyes. No, she recalled something else. They had stopped to change horses. Sorrington would not allow her to go inside the building, she had to stay outside. A boy brought her a bowl of stew and some strong ale. After eating, she sat under a tree and fell asleep.
Emma opened her eyes and stared into the blackness. The top of her head, beneath the knit cap she wore began to itch, and she mumbled out more curses. Trying to ignore the discomfort, she focused on something else. How long had she been out? A day? Three? The ship dipped and she rolled. With a gasp, she thought she might fall to the floor, but someone had tied a rope around her waist, securing her to the wall.
No, not someone. That rat, Sorrington.
At least it kept her from a nasty tumble. The itching drove her to distraction.
Think. What should she do?
She couldn’t bring her wrists to her teeth to untie the knot. Wiggling her hands, she found no slack. With an exasperated sigh, she tried moving her legs. Her ankles had also been bound together. She lay on her side, knees bent. Maybe she could raise her legs to her hands. Oh, for the love of God, please stop itching. Drawing her knees up, she felt for the rope connecting her wrists to her ankles. Her fingers searched until she found where they were tied together.
Pulling and twisting, she worked to loosen the knot. A sting developed between her shoulder blades, but she’d not give up now. So close. Her fingers plucked at the rope, trying to remember how Sorrington had fashioned the knot on the beach.
Her fingers stilled. The beach. Where he stabbed Samir.
Tears sprang to her eyes. Had Sean somehow gotten loose and gone for help? Or had Samir bled out? She swallowed the hot lump in her throat, believing her brother h
ad saved their beloved friend. He’d been a part of their family for as long as she could remember. How could he die?
Wiping her wet cheeks with her shoulders, Emma once again worked the knot. After several minutes, she felt it give way. She let out a relieved groan as the rope fell from her ankles, and she could bring her hands higher.
Not high enough to stop that bloody itching, though.
Pulling the cloth from her mouth, she spat out the gag and drew in several deep breaths. Something rolled across the deck above, and she froze. Should she yell for help? Would that alert Sorrington?
Shaking her head, she decided to remain quiet for now. The crewmen had to know Sorrington brought her on board. Without doubt, the rat had paid them well. She brought her wrists to her mouth. Soon, she would know if the sailors had been bribed.
Gnawing at the knot securing her wrists, she bit and pulled. The rope fell to her lap and she drew in a ragged breath. Pins and needles poked at her hands. She rubbed them together and winced at the pain.
When some feeling returned, she lifted a hand and scratched her head, sighing the entire time. After readjusting the pins that held her cap in place, she untied the handkerchief from the back of her neck and used the cloth to wipe the sweat from her face. The ship moved down a wave and shuddered. The wood creaked with the movement and the rope around her waist pulled taut.
Her aching fingers searched until she found the knot. When the rope slid away, she moved her legs over the bunk. They dangled and she wrinkled her nose, wondering how far to the floor. Holding her breath, she hopped down and steadied herself with a hand on the side of the bunk. Emma straightened and lifted her arms, her fingers searching in the darkness for the door. After two short steps, she found the wall and frowned. The room must be tiny. Feeling all around, she located the latch. Would the door be locked? She held her breath. It opened and she blinked at the sudden light.
“Ah, it took you longer than I thought.”
Emma stiffened at the familiar voice. Her eyes adjusted to the brightness and she found Sorrington seated alone at a long table. Gazing around, she found the large room some sort of dining area, the smell of roasted meat in the air.
He waved her forward. “Come, eat.”
The ship rolled down a wave and Emma had to hold on to the doorframe to keep herself upright.
Sorrington held his pewter mug with one hand, the other, keeping his plate from sliding over the side. He chuckled. “Eating can be tricky, but the cook makes a decent chicken.” Nodding to the spot on the bench beside him, he said, “Sit and eat. You look much too pale.” He stopped, his lips giving a distasteful twist. “I hope you’re not seasick.”
Emma straightened. She did not get seasick. Having traveled all over the map with her father, Sean, and Samir, she developed a healthy constitution to a ship’s movement. “No,” she said and scowled at the rat. “It must have been something slipped into my last meal.”
Rather than denying her words, Sorrington smiled.
Which, of course, made her angrier. With a sigh, she moved to the table. Instead of sitting beside him, she slid onto the opposite bench. It was either that or return to the small, dark room.
He lifted his mug and took a long pull.
“What are you doing, Sorrington? Why have you taken me against my will?”
The door opened and a boy of about twelve years scurried in with a plate of chicken and boiled potatoes in one hand, a mug in the other. He set her meal before her and dashed away, reminding her of a mouse chased by a hungry cat.
Sorrington lifted his fork and took a bite of chicken. “I’ll answer some of your questions after you’ve eaten.”
Emma had no appetite. But she lifted her knife and fork, wishing she could stab Sorrington through his shriveled black heart. She brought the bite to her lips and hesitated. What if he put more sleeping drought in her food?
He waved his knife. “Nothing has been put in your food. Eat.”
She supposed she’d learn soon enough if he spoke the truth. With a sigh, she ate without tasting the chicken. Cutting, stabbing, biting, chewing, swallowing. Over and over, until her stomach could take no more. She pushed aside her half-eaten plate. “Now, answer why you’ve taken me and where we are going.”
Emma knew Lucian would find her. He would! Sorrington must have left clues. People saw him carry her on board. Lucian would discover the ship and its destination. It was but a matter of time.
Sorrington gave her a slow smile, as if reading her thoughts. She almost squirmed on the bench but remained still. Waiting.
“I’ve taken you because I have wanted you since the first moment I saw you.” Hunger lit his eyes. “You must have known how I feel about you?”
Emma’s stomach twisted. She was afraid she’d be sick all over the table. Turning away, she shook her head. “You know I do not feel the same.”
“Oh, but you will learn. I have faith. In time, you will come to love me as much as I love you, my dear Emma.”
Bowing her head, she could only think of Lucian. “I have a husband.”
Sorrington snorted. “That sham of a marriage? You deserve better. Not a hurried signature on a worthless piece of paper.”
Her gaze turned to his as anger found its mark. Balling her hands into fists in her lap, she leaned forward. “Our marriage is not a sham. It is real and true. I love my husband, and he loves me.”
Sorrington’s lips gave a bitter twist. His hand lifted, and he gave a dismissive flick. “That will change. In time. I am a patient man, Emma. I know I can win your heart.”
Emma leaned back. She wanted to tell the man he had a better chance at selling fire in hell, but held her tongue. This argument would get them nowhere. She’d never stop loving Lucian. Never.
Drawing in a sharp sigh, she glanced around the room. “Well, then, at least tell me where we are going.” There was a good chance she had been there. A good chance she could make her escape.
With an evil chuckle, Sorrington shook his head. “I’ll not tell you yet.”
Damn and blast, the man!
She picked at the sleeve of her coat, frowning at the smears of brown blood. Her heart sank a bit. Perhaps, Sorrington had been able to hide her gender, which would make it much more difficult for Lucian. Squaring her shoulders, she pushed aside her doubt. Lucian would learn her state of dress from Sean. He would find her. He would!
The boy returned to clear away the dishes, and Emma had an idea. Perhaps, she could speak to some of the crewmen. Get some of them to assist her. Sorrington might have fed them some false story of her being ill and why he carried her on the ship. If they learned she had been abducted, they might help her. Maybe even throw Sorrington overboard?
Emma could not keep her lips from twitching.
“What has you so amused?” Sorrington asked, his right brow shooting up.
“Nothing.” She cleared her throat. “Nothing at all.” Rising from the bench, she rotated her stiff shoulders. “I would like some fresh air. A stroll on the deck would be nice.”
Sorrington studied her. “It’s too dangerous.”
She snorted. “I’ve been on ships before. I know what goes on abovedeck.” She paced the length of the table and back. “Just a few minutes is all I ask.”
“Very well.” Sorrington rose. “But you will not leave my side. Understand?”
Emma nodded, even though her heart sank. Well, if she couldn’t speak to the crewmen this time, she would do so at some point. At least, she would see the layout of the ship and watch the men. See how they reacted to her presence. She would know soon enough if Sorrington had bribed them or lied through his rotten teeth.
She followed Sorrington up the steps. Fresh sea air hit her face, and Emma was surprised to see it dark out. Her gaze lifted to the clear night sky, and she smiled at the smattering of stars. They would tell her which way they traveled, even if the crewmen remained button-lipped.
Sorrington led them around, and Emma noticed everyone ignored the
m. Some of the men moved about, checking rigging or feeding the livestock, while others sat on barrels and talked among themselves.
Emma blew out a breath as they made their way to the rear of the ship. She glanced at the sky and withheld a delighted squeal. The north star. That meant, they were sailing southward. Why south?
Having sailed on many packets, her heart pounded. America. South America. Various islands in the Caribbean. Through the years, she had made port at most all of them.
Her gaze slid to the man at her side. What did Sorrington mean to do with her? Lock her away on some remote island? Something tickled her memory. Emma listened to the waves slapping the side of the ship, trying to recall something Sorrington once said. Then it came to her. She bit back a smile, knowing where they were going.
Emma turned her face to the wind, letting the cool air blow against her skin, sending tingles down her back. Would Sean remember? She closed her eyes, hoping Lucian would figure out where she was going. But she could not wait on him to begin making plans. Even now, her mind worked out escape routes and ways of seeking help.
She opened her eyes, withholding a sigh. Having no money would be her greatest barrier. Then she slid her gaze to Sorrington. Perhaps, she could steal some coins.
He turned, his pale eyes visible in the dark, giving him a sinister look. “You are cunning above half, Emma.” He cocked his head, his gaze roving her face. “But you will not escape. I have made certain of this. Nor will we be found.” His head moved up and down. “This, too, I have ensured.”
Anger flared to life inside her, a roaring bonfire. Emma’s chin rose. “You do not know my husband and the lengths he will go to find me.”
Again, the infernal man nodded. “Oh, I know he will search.” He flashed her a smile. “And he will find you. I made certain of that.”
Emma did not like the feral glint in his eyes or the confidence in his voice. The hairs on her neck rose. Something was wrong. Very wrong. She licked her dry lips. “What do you mean?” Why would the blasted man sound happy about Lucian finding her?
Lord Hunter (Secrets & Scandals Book 6) Page 27
