Shauna nodded. “Then ’tis settled.”
“Kier might be interested in accompanying you,” Shane added. “Not only will he have the satisfaction of confronting the woman and hopefully get his money back, but he can also collaborate your story by telling the courts of her unscrupulous past.”
“That is an excellent idea,” Mari said and then smiled mischievously. “I am quite sure Fiona will want to go along as well.”
“So we’ll be off to Ireland then.” Shauna smiled at Robert who looked as though he were about to protest. “Kier and Fiona will need a few days to prepare, so how soon can we leave London?”
Robert opened his mouth and then closed it. He sighed. “The New Orleans is ready. We can leave tomorrow.”
Jamie clapped him on the back and bit back a grin. “See how easy it was to agree? Ye will get used to it in no time.”
Wesley looked in the hotel room’s mirror and smoothed his blue satin waistcoat, adjusted the snowy-white cravat and slipped his arms into a black topcoat, marveling at the feel of hand-tailored clothes. The first thing he’d done when he and Nicholas had arrived in London was seek out a men’s shop. He was tired of the various disguises he’d had to adopt the past two years and the ill-fitting clothing that went along with those personas. Finally, he was going to the States, and he intended to travel like a well-dressed, aristocratic gentleman…which he was, except that the damn MacLeod had stolen his title. Wesley picked up his kid gloves and smiled. Perhaps he would grow quite rich in America. He’d heard it was the land of opportunity. He could even hire someone to kill Ian MacLeod and his kin. The long fingers of crime could easily reach across the sea if there was coin enough to grease the palm of the receiving hand. The devil’s own demons lived in London’s east side, and Wesley had met more than his share while trapped there.
But that was a matter for another day. For now, he would be every inch the noble. He gathered his falsified documents—he was Warren Addison for this trip—and chuckled. This would be the last time he would use a fake identity.
He heard the clang of a bell down below on the street. His leased hack was here. Wesley picked up his valise—a new leather one with hand tooling—and stepped out the door to go down to the awaiting carriage. He was pleased to see his request had been followed. The barouche had shiny mahogany panels on the doors and the brass trim had been highly polished. The hood had been reclined and he could see the rich velvet seats had been brushed. The liveried driver and footman showed respectful courtesy as Wesley approached. The four horses attached to the carriage were matching bays and their harnesses had been oiled until they shone in the sunshine that had miraculously broken through London’s constant grey dreariness.
How often did the sun shine in London? He decided it had to be a good omen as he stepped into the carriage and sank back on the plump seat. A good omen indeed. For once, his plan was working out. In another thirty minutes, he would be aboard the American Pride and be making his grand escape.
Nicholas had truly been foolish to turn this idea down, Wesley thought as the barouche rolled along toward the wharf. But then, neither of his sons had the good sense their father had. Well, he would not be bothering with them anymore.
Ten minutes later, the carriage stopped near the quay. Wesley descended the steps the footman put down and adjusted his top hat. He’d paid for these services in advance—aristocracy did not pay publicly—just in case anyone on the deck of the Pride was watching. He looked down the pier, disappointed that the first boat was one called Sebastian Shipping. In fact, there were a number of ships tied to the docks. Had the stupid driver let him out too soon? Aristocrats did not walk about like commoners.
“I asked to be taken to the American Pride,” Wesley said.
“Aye, Gov’r. This is as far as I can go.” The driver pointed. “Your ship is the third one down, just past the New Orleans.”
“Very well then. You may go.”
“Aye, Gov’r,” the driver replied as the footman hopped aboard. Wesley watched the barouche move away. He didn’t mind saying goodbye to London—or England—at all. He turned and walked toward the Pride, frowning as he passed the New Orleans. He paused. Perhaps it would have taken him directly to New Orleans instead of to Charleston. Pity he hadn’t seen the ship before.
Wesley sighed and moved on. The Pride was waiting up ahead. What difference did it really make which ship he took? He was getting out of England.
He heard a muffled roar from the ship he’d just passed. The wooden pier began to shake as boots thundered behind him. Wesley turned, thinking to sidestep a sailor’s brawl, and then his eyes widened in shock.
All three damn MacLeods were coming at him.
Wesley dropped his valise and began to run. His top hat flew off and he tripped, falling to one knee and tearing his breeches, but he managed to pick himself up and keep going. He raced past gaping sailors.
He could feel the MacLeods closing in. One damn sailor tried to help them and grabbed his coat. Somehow, Wesley managed to shrug out of it and continue to run. Behind him, he could hear the bastards all bellowing like bulls, but he didn’t dare take the time to turn around. Was he going to be able to make the gangplank of the Pride? With a sinking feeling, he realized even if he did, a ship was not sanctuary.
He only had one choice. The Thames was not that wide right here. He was a fast swimmer. The MacLeods would either have to remove all their weapons before following him or they’d have to get to the nearest bridge. Either way, he had a chance to get away.
His only chance to get away. Wesley swerved to his left and dove into the water behind the Pride. As he surfaced, his cravat came undone and floated out behind him. He began an arm stroke only to be jerked back because the cravat had caught on something below the surface of the water. Wesley reached a hand under the water to free it. The damn cravat was stuck on the edge of the ship’s rudder. He tugged, only to have the rudder swing away from him, drawing the material tighter. Wesley gasped, clawing at his neck, trying to breathe.
And then the MacLeods were on him.
Epilogue
Dublin, two weeks later
“So Wesley Alton is really dead?” Kier asked Robert after the butler had placed a discreet silver flask of whiskey beside the tea service in the parlor and then left. “Did you check for sure no breath was left in him?”
“I did. So did Shauna’s brothers and cousin and half a dozen others.”
Shauna tried not to shudder at the memory. Even though she’d stayed on board the New Orleans, she had been able to see what occurred. Mr. Adler—no, Wesley Alton—diving into the murky water, surfacing, starting to swim, and then his body snapping back like the tip of an expertly wielded whip. Shane had jumped into the water to loosen whatever had snagged him, but she’d sensed it was already too late.
Fiona turned to Shauna and patted her hand. “How awful that you were almost sold to some old man to be part of a harem.”
She’d tried to put that out of her memory too. “I doona think it was worse than ye being committed to an insane asylum.”
“Neither are good options,” Robert remarked. “Let’s be thankful the bas—that man can’t every hurt either of you again.”
“True,” Kier said. “Tell me again how it happened. I want to make sure my ears heard it right.”
“I can tell you I do not mind repeating it,” Robert answered and described again what had taken place. “I always thought a cravat was a tedious and foolish piece of neck wear,” he said, “but it seems the damn thing has a good purpose. It strangled Alton. By the time Ian and Jamie pulled him out of the water, he was already gone.”
“And good riddance,” Kier said. “I have never met anyone so despicable and spiteful in my life. Not even the deceitful Lady Litton comes close—although I cannot believe she managed to dupe us both.”
Robert shrugged. “She does seem to have a talent for doi
ng such, but she overplayed her hand trying to deceive the Astors.”
Kier nodded in agreement. “People like that tart become overconfident, but eventually they get their due. Even if I’ve lost my money, justice will be served.”
“Well, we should have a chance to remedy that situation,” Robert replied. “Jane had to have a good portion of your savings in her possession or the Astors would not have agreed to her scheme. Hopefully, you can get most of it back and I will be able to clear my name.”
“And Shauna and I will get to see New York,” Fiona said and turned to her sister. “It will be an adventure, won’t it?”
“Aye, it will.” Shauna smiled, remembering how keen Fiona had been on seeing London the first time. Sailing to New York would certainly be an adventure, but the adventure Shauna was looking forward to most involved spending the rest of her life with Captain Robert Henderson, the man she loved. He’d already taken her to the heights of passion she didn’t know existed.
She suspected he had a lot more of those adventures in store.
About the Author
Cynthia Breeding developed a love for Scotland long before she took her first trip across the pond. Blending the rules of English Regency Society with the wilds of the Highlands was an adventure of its own.
Currently, the author lives in south Texas, basking on a balmy coast with her Bichon Frise. She enjoys sailing and horseback riding.
Cynthia can be reached via snail mail at 3636 South Alameda, B116, Corpus Christi, Texas 78411 or at her website: www.cynthiabreeding.com.
Slainte (good health).
Look for these titles by Cynthia Breeding
Now Available:
Capture Her Heart
Rogue of the Highlands
Rogue of the Isles
Rogue of the Borders
Sister of Rogues
Don’t miss the other titles in Cynthia Breeding’s Rogue series!
A Highland lass fights for freedom…only to realize her heart belongs to her captor.
Rogue, Book 4
One moment Fiona MacLeod is attending a London ball, and the next she’s kidnapped and placed in the Dublin Lunatic Asylum by Wesley Alton, a madman who wants revenge on her family.
Her one bit of good fortune is that with the women’s ward at the asylum overflowing, she’s assigned a room in a nearby castle. But the more she tries to deny Alton’s cleverly concocted facts, the crazier she sounds to her keeper, the handsome Earl Kier O’Reilly.
With his family fortune dwindling, Kier pays his taxes by hosting non-violent asylum inmates in his ancestral castle. He’s immediately attracted to Fiona’s grey-eyed ethereal beauty, but he sternly reminds himself she’s his ward.
No matter what his heart whispers and his body screams, he cannot take advantage of a woman who is clinging to the last of her wits.
Meanwhile, the MacLeod brothers are hunting for their sister, and woe betide whoever stands in their way.
Warning: A beautiful Scottish lass trapped in a nightmare, an Irish earl with a revolutionary secret whose resistance is weakening, an allegedly haunted castle tower, and three braw Highland brothers who refuse to give up hope.
He’s a braw ship commander…until a petite English lass takes command of his heart.
Rogue, Book 3
The first time Abigail Townsend laid eyes on Captain Shane MacLeod, she felt something she’d only read about in books. The Highlander sticks out in London society like a medieval warrior amidst lace-cuffed dandies, which makes him all the more intriguing.
Lord knows, she’s bored with the stuffy, two-faced ton, and cares nothing for parties and fashion. She longs for adventure, not tea and crumpets.
By the time Shane realizes the lad his cook hired is a girl—an earl’s daughter, no less—his ship is bound for a secret meeting of the Knights Templar, and there’s no turning back.
Forced into a temporary marriage, Shane calls upon every ounce of his honor to keep her virtue intact—virtue she has no interest in keeping—so the marriage can be annulled after enough time has gone by. And as his resolve weakens, an old enemy takes advantage of his distraction to destroy him—and expose a Templar secret Shane may have to sacrifice his life to keep.
Warning: This title contains sexually explicit scenes and a stubborn young lady determined to get her Highlander.
He’s sworn to protect her from any danger…even himself.
Rogue, Book 2
What a pity Jamie MacLeod had to be such a good-looking man. And so tall. With such broad shoulders. Because he’s quite possibly the most annoying male Marissa Barclay has ever met.
No matter what her sister’s new husband seems to think, Mari has no need for his brother, a hulking, kilted Highlander, hovering over her through London’s Little Season.
Family or nae, Jamie has enough on his plate overseeing his family’s English estates without the added annoyance of keeping an eye on Mari. Especially since she seems as determined to slip by him as he is determined to do his protective duty. In truth, it’s quite a job keeping the willful little minx out of trouble.
But when an old enemy strikes at the heart of the MacLeod family, Jamie whisks Mari away from London’s glitter to the wilds of his homeland. Where a stormy love blooms…and danger lurks in the hills.
Warning: This wee book contains a stubborn English lass and a braw Scottish lad with bull-headedness in his blood. Aye, and romps in the heather ye’ll not want yer mither tae be seein’.
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They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B
Cincinnati OH 45249
Rogue of the High Seas
Copyright © 2015 by Cynthia Breeding
ISBN: 978-1-61923-012-5
Edited by Heidi Moore
Cover by Kim Killion
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: October 2015
www.samhainpublishing.com
Rogue of the High Seas Page 27
