My Seductive Innocent

by Julie Johnstone

  Nathan trained his gaze on Ellison. “And I’ve told you a man’s worth is not measured in pounds but in hard work and honor.”

  Ellison snorted. “You hold a minority opinion.”

  “I don’t much care if I have company in my beliefs or not,” Nathan replied, struggling to keep his tone civil.

  “Actually,” Aversley said, “I agree with Scarsdale.”

  “As do I,” Harthorne added.

  Nathan leveled Ellison with a look. “Taking my beliefs out of the equation, steamships are the future, and I will be part of changing the world.”

  “I agree,” Aversley said. “If you’ve need of a partner, I’d be eager to come down to the docks and hear more about your company.”

  “I’d be eager to come and listen, as well,” Harthorne inserted. “Though I cannot currently invest.”

  Nathan grinned. “I’ll take you both up on that. Why don’t we say on Wednesday? Three days should give me plenty of time to inform the crew’s relatives of their losses and set my affairs to order.”

  “I’d like to help, too,” Ellison said quietly. “I can inform the relatives so you can use your time to go over the records and meet with Aversley and Harthorne.”

  “I appreciate it,” Nathan replied, glad to see his cousin was willing to be more open-minded, especially since Nathan had been paying him a small fortune to run the shipping office for him. “Though, I need to be the one to see the families. I’m the owner of the shipping company, and those men were my responsibility. But I appreciate you offering, Ellison. Can you tell me anything of what happened?”

  “Not much. But we are to get a detailed report from the captain late tomorrow afternoon, and I’ll make sure it’s on your desk for you when you come in the next day.”

  “I’ll come by the office tomorrow night to read the report after I see the families.”

  “It’ll be dark by then!” Ellison exclaimed.

  “I’m not afraid of the dark,” Nathan drawled, irritation flaring. He had known Ellison hadn’t particularly wanted to work in the shipping company, but he also knew his cousin could use the extra money. “I don’t expect you to be there. Just have the report on my desk.”

  “It’s not safe at the docks at night. You’re not thinking, man,” Ellison said.

  “I am thinking perfectly,” Nathan clipped. “I’ll be at the office in the morning to get the list of men who perished and take a look at the ship. We can talk more then.” Travel weariness had caught up with Nathan, and he found himself eager to leave. He pushed back his chair and stood. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I need to retire for the night.”

  Aversley rose, as well. “I better go, too. Amelia worries when I’m out late. I’ll walk out with you.”

  After they said their good-byes, Nathan and Aversley made their way to the door, retrieved their coats, hats, and gloves, and stepped out into the cold night. They stood in companionable silence as they waited for their carriages—or in Nathan’s case, his curricle—to be brought around.

  “Do you want any marriage advice?” Aversley said with a chuckle.

  Nathan laughed. “Not yet.”

  Aversley cleared his throat and spoke again. “What shall I tell Amelia to expect?”

  Nathan glanced up at the twinkling, burning stars and thought of Sophia. What could he say about her? “Tell Amelia to expect the unexpected,” he replied, not wanting to voice his thoughts that Sophia was not a beauty on the outside, but on the inside, she might just possibly be an Incomparable. That she was rough, yet gentle. Fragile, yet fierce. Smart, yet uneducated. Worldly, yet naive. And that he felt as if he had only peeled back the first amazing layer of his complicated wife.

  “Forthcoming, as always,” Aversley said, his voice light but his face full of tension.

  Nathan grunted. “Had you expected marriage to change me?”

  “Yes,” Aversley clipped, as his carriage rumbled to a halt in front of him. “Yes, I had.” With that, Nathan’s closest friend departed, and he was left standing alone in the cold with the disconcerting knowledge that marriage was, indeed, changing him.

  Nathan was at the docks first thing in the morning as he’d promised. As he made his way down to his office through a blanket of thick fog, he passed scores of lightermen carrying heavy loads between ships. He paused to watch a bevy of porters balancing wood and seeming to effortlessly get aboard the ships with mind-boggling acrobatic moves. Farther down the dock, he stopped to admire a large schooner and watched as several men scaled one of the masts to begin repairs on a torn sail.

  As he stood there observing the men, a tall, black-haired man with a matching patch of dark hair on the tip of his chin strode across the deck with a cocky gait. He slowed as he seemed to catch sight of Nathan.

  Ravensdale.

  Nathan fingered the pistol holstered at his waist. He always wore it to the docks, usually at his ankle but tonight he’d worn it at his waist. He didn’t know if seeing Ravensdale here after all these years was a coincidence or not, but he damned sure wasn’t taking any chances. Ravensdale made his way off the ship and halted in front of Nathan. His green gaze fastened on to Nathan’s right hand where it rested on his pistol.

  A slow, contemptuous smile spread across Ravensdale’s face. “Is that any way to greet a friend?”

  “We’re not friends.”

  “You wound me, Scarsdale.” He paused and made a show of unsheathing a dagger without looking away from Nathan. He held the dagger up and ran his finger down the shiny blade. “I once considered you a friend during our days of midnight-to-dawn debauchery at the Order of the Dark Lords. I hear you no longer go there.”

  Nathan flicked his gaze from the dagger to Ravensdale’s eyes. “That’s correct. I’ve no use to go to a club where most the men lack scruples and honor. Have you been checking on me?”

  Something menacing flickered across Ravensdale’s face. “But of course. Did you think I’d not seek revenge for your ruining my life?”

  “I hadn’t given it much thought,” Nathan replied.

  Until lately.

  Immediately after he’d told the Bow Street Runners what he’d seen, he became determined to fix the mess he’d made of his life and seek forgiveness from his true friends. Ravensdale had been the furthest thing from his mind.

  The vile man brought the tip of his dagger to his finger and pressed until blood appeared and dripped down his hand. “I waited every night for weeks at the club after you betrayed me. To ambush and kill you, of course.”

  “Did you?” Nathan gently placed his finger on the trigger of the pistol.

  Ravensdale nodded. “I did. Outside, that is. The hypocrites wouldn’t let me in the door since I’d been accused of being the Hooded Robber.”

  Nathan clenched his teeth. “You somehow escaped being found guilty, though. You and I both know you were the Hooded Robber.”

  Ravensdale’s fingers became white on the hilt of the dagger, and Nathan could see his jaw ticking furiously. “I lost my fiancée, my family, and my position as a Bow Street Runner. It didn’t matter to anyone that I wasn’t found guilty, because they could find no evidence. They believed your accusations. Neither my mother nor my sisters speak to me anymore.” He laughed bitterly. “Everything I did was for them, to give them a better life. The kind you have. The kind you always took for granted and complained about.” He stared at Nathan accusingly.

  Nathan flinched at the last remark. To someone who didn’t really know him, his life would have seemed ideal. He had far more material possessions than most, but that was all he’d had, and to a boy, that had not been enough. He was supremely glad he no longer cared. “You should have done it honestly. For Christ’s sake, Ravensdale, you used your position to rob people.”

  “Oh please,” Ravensdale scoffed. “We both know a poor viscount’s son like me can never honestly make the sort of money that was handed to a nobleman like you.” He waved his dagger in the air between them. “You pretend to be so goddam
ned virtuous. You ratted me out when the last I saw you, you were lapping up laudanum and drinking liquor as if it were in danger of ceasing to exist. What makes those vices less evil?”

  “Nothing,” Nathan said, washed in shame. “But I am no longer that crazed man, no thanks to you.”

  “I’m not your keeper,” Ravensdale snarled.

  “No, you’re not. I don’t blame you for my choices. They were my own, but you had no qualms encouraging me to drink more, take more laudanum, and allow my honor to disappear.” Damnation, but he’d not meant to say so much. He truly did not blame Ravensdale. Nor did he blame the physician that had first insisted he needed laudanum to alleviate the pain in his injured arm.

  Neither Ravensdale nor the physician had the power to make decisions for him. He alone had been a fool. But not blaming Ravensdale for his own folly was a very different beast then knowing the man was the thief responsible for robbing carriages when he was supposed to be protecting them. Nathan narrowed his eyes. “What do you want, Ravensdale? Are you going to try to take this opportunity to kill me now that we’re face-to-face? It might be a little hard to cover up in broad daylight on the docks.”

  “I don’t intend to kill you.” A strange smile twisted Ravensdale’s lips. “I decided some time ago that death was too good for you. I have other plans for you, Scarsdale. I’ve been biding my time because I was certain it would come.”

  Just then, a group of seamen who worked for Nathan strolled by and one of the men, Stephens, stopped. “Everything all right, Your Grace?”

  Nathan stepped around Ravensdale. “Perfectly fine. Just on my way to the office.” He walked away from Ravensdale without looking back. As he walked toward his office, Stephens asked him questions about the damaged ship and lost crew, but Nathan’s mind was on Ravensdale. He was sure the man was trying to kill him, despite what he said. Someone was, and the man’s motive was sound. But Nathan didn’t see how Ravensdale could have possibly snuck into Whitecliffe and poisoned Sophia. It didn’t seem possible, but he intended to get answers.

  With his temper simmering, he slammed his office door. Ellison startled in his seat and the paper that he’d been holding fluttered to the ground. Shooting a glare at Nathan, he bent down and snatched it up. “I see your mood has not improved from last night.”

  “Sorry,” Nathan grumbled. “Ellison, have you heard anything about Ravensdale?”

  Ellison paused with his quill in midair. “Why? You haven’t had a run-in with him again, have you?”

  Before Nathan could respond, Ellison continued, his tone defensive. “I haven’t seen him since the night you had him out to Whitecliffe. What was that, two years ago?”

  “A bit more,” Nathan replied. “I didn’t think you had seen him,” he clarified. “I asked if you’d heard anything about him.”

  “I’ve heard he makes his money as a renegade privateer, but I don’t think anyone has any proof. Why?”

  “I just ran into the man. Before I leave Town, I’m going to hire Sir Richard to look into the matter.”

  “Why do you care so much about him?” Ellison asked while standing and handing Nathan a piece of foolscap.

  Nathan took the paper and glanced down at the list of four names of the men who died in the storm. “Because I suspect he is trying to kill me.”

  Ellison’s mouth went slack. “Did he say as much to you?”

  Nathan noticed his cousin’s quill tremble. “Don’t worry, cousin. I’m not. Not for me. I do want to make sure Sophia is safe, though. It’s good to know your enemies, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Of course,” Ellison replied.

  Nathan nodded. “I’ll be back after I see some of the crew’s families. What time will the report be here?”

  “By four.”

  “Good. I will come back later, then, and I’ll see you first thing in the morning, so we can overlook the ship’s damage together.”

  Ellison nodded. “I still don’t think you should come here so late by yourself.”

  Nathan patted his right hip. “I won’t be unarmed, don’t worry,” he said and headed out of the office to perform the gruesome task of notifying families they had lost loved ones.

  It had taken the entire day to inform the relatives of the four men. Exhaustion hung heavy on Nathan, and he briefly considered waiting to come to the docks until tomorrow morning, but that would undoubtedly set him back a day in returning to Whitecliffe. Surprisingly—or maybe not, he thought with a grin—he was eager to see Sophia. The sooner he could leave London the better.

  As he walked by the pubs, gas lamps flickered in the darkness and rambunctious singing spilled out from underneath the doors. But once he moved past the pubs, the walkway from those buildings to the quiet offices reminded Nathan what it must be like to walk the cold, black corridor into hell. The kind of darkness that pervaded many areas of the docks at night made the hairs on the back on Nathan’s neck stand on end. He shook off the anxiety and hurried toward his office with his pistol firmly gripped in his hand, his finger on the trigger.

  As he rounded a sharp corner, something flashed out of the darkness and hit his hand with such force that the pistol flew out of his vibrating fingers. He lunged for it but stopped short as the moon broke out from the clouds. He stared into the barrel of a pistol and the tip of a large, gleaming dagger pointed at his face.

  Standing all the way up, he met Ravensdale’s gaze, then glanced at the tall, bucktoothed man beside him. It took a moment for Nathan to remember the man, but when he spoke, Nathan tensed.

  “Hullo, Lord Scarsdale.”

  “That’d be ‘Your Grace’ to you,” Nathan snarled.

  Ravensdale laughed. “Pompous as ever, I see.”

  “And you’re still a liar, I see.”

  Ravensdale pressed the point of his dagger into Nathan’s chest at his heart. “Watch your tongue or I’ll cut it out.”

  “I thought you said death was too good for me,” Nathan said dryly, refusing to show any fear. He could not die tonight. He had to take care of Sophia and Harry.

  “It is. Which is why, upon my considering the matter after the first attempt on your life was botched, I reconsidered the plan.”

  Nathan flinched at the confirmation that Ravensdale was behind the attempts on his life. “What now, then, if not my death?” he asked, trying to buy some time to figure a way out of this. As it stood at the moment, he’d be shot dead by one or both of them before he could retrieve his pistol. And shouting for help was pointless. There was no one around to hear him.

  “I’m glad you asked,” Ravensdale said. Eerie enthusiasm rang in his voice. “You know, I’m embarrassed to say it took me awhile, but I’ve figured out that by not killing you, I can achieve revenge and become rich.”

  “How industrious of you,” Nathan snapped. “Do you care to share your plan?”

  “Certainly. I’m going to use you as a slave to pay off a debt I owe to a Barbary corsair. They don’t know you, nor give a damn that you are the Duke of Scarsdale. To them you are no more than fresh slave meat. When the year of debt is paid off, I’m going to sell you to another foreigner. I have a rich Barbary lord who has a penchant for strapping Englishmen. He likes to use them for pleasure, if you know what I mean.”

  Nathan would rather be dead than submit to that fate. He lunged forward, knocked Ravensdale’s dagger out of his hand, and swung toward the taller man, but as he did, a shot rang out and he staggered back as a bullet pierced his leg. The man leaped forward and smacked him across the right cheekbone with the butt of his still-smoking pistol. But Nathan was in a rage. He barreled into the man and knocked him to the ground. Then he swung around to take care of Ravensdale, and as he turned, Ravensdale’s dagger gleamed in front of him, then was plunged straight down into his other leg. Nathan’s knees buckled and he dropped to them, blood pouring from the gash in one leg and the bullet wound in the other. His burning legs throbbed in time with each other. Above him, he could feel the men hovering. He tilted hi
s head up, and the world sloped with the movement.

  Ravensdale stood there grinning. “You always were one to make things fun, Scarsdale.” He kicked out, his foot connecting with Nathan’s chest with the force of a log. Nathan fell backward and hit his head against the dock. The ringing in his ear was instantly deafening, and as he rolled over to gain his feet, something hard struck him on the left side of his face. Warm blood poured down that side to match the blood trickling down the right. He collapsed back to the ground and stared into nothingness. Darkness consumed the night, speckled by a few stars, which Ravensdale’s leering face blocked within seconds.

  Nathan swiped the blood out of his eyes to glare at Ravensdale. “Changed your mind about killing me?” he taunted, in too much pain to care.

  “Certainly not. As I said, you will make me rich and I’ll be fulfilling my word.”

  Nathan calculated his odds of escape. Grim, at best. Ravensdale now had two loaded pistols and one he could reload. Nathan’s best hope of survival was to bide his time.

  Ravensdale shoved one of the pistols against Nathan’s temple. “I see your mind plotting, Scarsdale, and you can forget getting away. You’re going to be chained to a wooden seat where you will eat, defecate, urinate, and sleep for a year as you row a pirate ship in payment of my debt. If you survive, which truly I hope you do, I’ll sell you across the ocean in Algiers, where you will be beaten daily until you willingly submit to your master.” Ravensdale brought his face inches from Nathan’s. “I told you I would get my revenge, and I told you a quick death was too good for you. Get used to your new life, Scarsdale. Now you will be the one to know humiliation. Now you will be the one to lose everything with no hope of ever getting it back.”

  “We’ll see,” Nathan replied, as his stomach clenched violently. Fear clogged his throat, keeping him from saying anything else, yet it was not fear for himself. Sophia and Harry consumed his mind. What would she do? What would she think when he simply disappeared? Before he could answer his own questions, the pistol flashed above him again and hit him straight across the forehead with a force that rattled his teeth and stole his consciousness.