The Right One (One and Only Series)

by Samanthya Wyatt

  “He does seem perfect for you.” The flame Kat often saw between her friend and her husband gleamed like a lighthouse beacon in the fog. Being in the same room with them became almost embarrassing. They looked at each other with such fire, they forgot she was even there.

  That’s what I want.

  “Believe me, Kat. You will fall in love and you will know when it happens.”

  “After twenty-three years, it hasn’t happened yet.”

  “Oh, you may not recognize love at first.” Charity gave a wave with her delicate hand. “In fact, you may not even like him very much. But then everything changes, and you will be drawn to him like a magnet. So much so, you won’t want to be around anyone else.” Her face took on a dreamy, faraway look, like a woman remembering a very special moment. “It will be something like you’ve never felt before. Believe me, Kat. It is a feeling like none other.”

  Kat grew whimsical as she studied the sappy look on her friend’s face. Charity’s words not only made her curious, they touched her deepest desire.

  “I won’t settle for anything less. I want what you and Byron have. The way the two of you eye each other.” She drew a deep breath. “I get so envious sometimes. You have a man who looks at you like . . . I don’t know . . . like the world would end if he did not touch you at that moment.”

  There it was again—the lopsided grin of a woman who held something back. As if she knew something Kat didn’t. Leaning closer, Charity said, “You need someone to make your blood race and your heart sing.”

  Kat froze. She had not expected such an intriguing remark. “Is that what you have? Does Byron make your heart sing?”

  Charity fanned her cheeks with one hand. Then her face reddened.

  “Why are you blushing?”

  “He makes my whole body sing.”

  Kat’s hearing sharpened. Charity had her full attention now. Before she could open her mouth, Charity held up a hand as if to hold her off.

  “I’m not telling you anymore. You will find out for yourself. Trust me. You will meet someone who will take your breath away. Don’t settle for anything less. Oh, Kat. This is nothing like the things we experienced when we were young and foolish girls, flirting and thinking we were in love. I didn’t know what love was.”

  “And now you do?”

  “I do. I never dreamed a man could make me feel the way Byron does. When you find a man like that, you snatch him up right away.” Her hand reached out and twisted in a gesture to give significance to her words.

  Kat laughed. “No one has ever made my blood do anything. How will I know if he will make my body sing?”

  Charity’s mouth curved in a smile and her gaze held a discerning look.

  “I hate it when you do that.”

  Still smiling, Charity said, “You’ll know.”

  Normally, Kat soaked up every tidbit her friend shared about married life. Charity never confided the intimacies of the bedchamber, but Kat wanted to know exactly what put that gleam in her eyes, and just how Byron made her body sing. One day, she hoped to possess such closeness with a man.

  Although Byron sometimes wore a look of ravishing his wife, the caring in his eyes far surpassed those Kat had received from admirers upon occasion. The licking of lips from boys fresh out of Eton—or lecherous sneers from rogues at balls—were not the actions of a man she sought in her dreams. How she longed for someone to look at her the way Byron looked at Charity—as though she were the most wonderful sweetmeat in the world and he about to devour her.

  What would it be like to have a man look at me as though he truly loved me?

  “Love?” She waved her hand in the air and shook her head as though the thought were a bother. “I don’t know if I’ll ever find love.” A family’s love was not the same. She had the love of her brother, but no man had . . .

  Stephen!

  “Oh, he’s in trouble. I just know it.” Kat closed her eyes and ground her head into the back of her chair while her brother’s image formed in her mind.

  Charity placed her teacup on the filigree saucer. “You are truly worried about him, aren’t you?”

  “You know how close we are. He would never—do you hear me—never let me worry like this. Not after our parents . . .” Kat choked on the memory. A girl of fourteen, overcome with grief, she had learned what it was like to be alone in the world. She’d survived the darkness and the emptiness, until Charity’s friendship and thirst for life gave her a reason to go on.

  Charity’s worried gaze melded with her own. “I know. Stephen would do everything in his power to keep you from that kind of pain again.”

  “Exactly. I have got to find out what happened to him.”

  “But what can you do?” Concern etched Charity’s brow.

  Kat gripped the arms of her chair. “Captain Danvers.”

  “What?”

  “Captain Danvers.” She jumped to her feet and began to pace again. “My uncle mentioned him. While he spoke with my aunt, he said Captain Danvers’ ship had docked and he’d been inquiring about Stephen at other ports. Maybe he has information.” She babbled as thoughts bounced off her tongue. Words rolled out of her mouth, one after another. “All I have to do is find his ship. The Sea Voyager.”

  Charity sprang from her seat. “I’m going with you.”

  Kat laughed. “Byron would not let you anywhere near the docks.”

  An unwavering look of condemnation came over Charity’s face. She fisted one hand on each hip. “Neither would your uncle.”

  Kat resisted the urge that demanded she start pacing again. She chewed on the end of her finger. “Maybe I can find some other way to talk to him. Away from his ship.”

  “I would hate to think of the establishments he visits when he’s not on his ship.”

  “He must have some principles if my uncle deals with him.” Unable to prevent it, Kat spun around and paced in the opposite direction.

  “And then again, your uncle is a man. A very important man,” Charity reminded her.

  Kat came to a halt. Whipping her head around, she fixed her gaze on Charity. “Yes, of course.”

  Charity sucked in a breath. “What are you thinking?”

  “I will tell Captain Danvers who my uncle is and . . .”

  Charity cocked her head and pierced Kat with a you’ve-lost-your-wits look. “Do you want him running straight to your uncle?”

  Kat scowled at her friend, vexed she had not thought of that. “Drat.”

  “Have any other bright ideas?”

  She dug in her heels and hoped Charity would not talk her out of what she must do.

  Because she knew Kat’s stubbornness, Charity’s face creased with worry. “You are still going to the docks?”

  “Yes. I must speak with Captain Danvers.”

  Chapter 2

  Katherine wrapped her arms about herself. The sun had barely risen and the chills racing up her spine had nothing to do with the crisp wind. Wooden buildings lined the London docks, dark passageways between them held little light. Wreckage and debris littered their path. A scarf covering her face, helped to shield the wind, not to mention the stench rising from the debris.

  “Oh, mum. This is terrible.” The parlor maid she’d dragged along complained every step of the way.

  “Quiet, Alice. There’s no need to be afraid.” Kat wasn’t so sure. Her nerves screamed the opposite. Dirty men and the unruly activity going on around them led her to believe she should have thought her plan through a bit more—or at least brought one of the footmen.

  “I want to go back.” Alice whined again.

  “For the last time. I’m not going home until I’ve talked to Captain Danvers.”

  “But, mum. Look.” The girl shivered and hid her face under her wrap.

>   Glancing in the direction her maid indicated, she wished she hadn’t. A man had a woman pressed against a wall of a shop, his frame covered most of her body. He tugged at her clothes and his hands squeezed the woman’s exposed flesh. When the woman hiked up her skirts and swung her leg up and around the man’s middle, Kat gaped. The painful sounds coming from them were conflicting, for they apparently had no desire to stop.

  “Mum. Please don’t make me go any further.” Alice’s cry jerked Kat back to awareness.

  Seeing tears streaming down the girl’s cheeks, Kat relented. “Oh, go then.”

  Alice grabbed her arm. “You, too. You must come, too.”

  “I told you. Not until . . . Never mind. Go. Now.” Kat gave her maid a slight push. “Go before you call more attention to us.”

  “Thank you, mum.” Alice turned and fled like demons were on her tail.

  Kat stayed close to the wooden planks of the opposite building. Now she was truly alone. Fear threatened to paralyze her. Taking a deep breath, she recounted all the reasons she should not be anywhere near the London docks. But then, not all ships’ captains were boorish. After all, her brother captained a ship. She willed the trembling in her body to stop and, for the sake of Stephen, forced her legs to move.

  She pulled her cloak tighter to shield her features as she hurried along the street. With her head down, she rounded a corner and slammed into—what felt like—a sizeable mountain.

  “Hey now, lovey.”

  A man’s hands caught her shoulders. “What’s this fell into our laps?”

  The smell of strong ale assaulted her nostrils. Good Lord. What had she stumbled into? “Take your hands off me!”

  “Well, Augie. We got us a feisty one,” another man said.

  “I don’t mind. I like a little bit of spunk now and again.”

  Blood pounded in her temples as she turned her head from one man to the other.

  The taller man jerked her hood free. “Lookie at all that red hair, Augie.”

  “Wonder if it would burn your fingers.” The one called Augie reached out to touch her and Kat smacked his hand away.

  “Here now. Don’t be treatin’ me mate like that. You need to be a mite more friendly, girl.”

  The hair stood up on her neck as cold dread attacked her spine. “Don’t touch me, you blackguard.”

  “Blackguard, is it? I’ll have you know you’re speaking to the new man hired to his lordship, Hadderill.”

  The taller man snickered which made Kat think his cohort lied. “Then you may find yourself terminated in the morning, for I shall tell your employer of your conduct. I doubt any lord would tolerate such deportment from one in his employ.”

  He grabbed her arm with such force, she bit her tongue. “Now listen here, girlie. No harlot is gonna cost me my new position.”

  “Did ya hear that? No wench is gonna talk to us like that either,” the second man added.

  Immediately, she realized her mistake. An angry drunk was unpredictable. A tingling of fear crawled over her skin. If she showed weakness, who knew what they would do to her. A picture of her body—bloody and broken, lying on the ground—flashed in her mind. She shivered and shook the image away. Maybe if she played along, they would lower their guard and she could get away.

  “Pardon me, gentlemen. I meant no harm. A woman likes to be treated like a lady. Not so rough.”

  “You ain’t foolin’ me, Miss hoity-toity. I seen them women up on the hill in them fancy houses, acting like they was better than anyone else. You and your kind turn up your bloody noses at the likes of us.”

  The second man chimed in. “You saying we ain’t good enough fer you?”

  Kat swallowed the bile in her throat as his face came within a hair’s breadth of her nose. The vile man reeked of ale and sweat. He probably had not seen water or a washcloth in a month of Sundays. Panic threatened as they forced her deeper into the shadows. She struggled for her freedom. “Let go of me, you big oafs.”

  “What’s the matter, darlin’? We’ll take good care of ya.”

  Augie rubbed his crotch. “Real good care of ya.”

  She screamed.

  Legs braced and arms crossed, Morgan observed the boisterous activity around him. The ship had slipped in to the docks of London just before dawn. He welcomed the early morning chill as he watched men struggle with ropes securing the craft. Winches creaked from lowering cargo nets onto the pier. Stevedores with trunks on their shoulders swarmed up and down the gangway whilst unloading goods and taking on provisions for the next voyage.

  Captain Laylock stepped beside him. He scanned the dock below. “Well, my friend. Here we are.”

  Morgan replied. “Are your men ready?”

  “I’ve already sent Piers and Doc. They fit in anywhere. Doc is a regular and everyone knows him. He’s the best at loosening jaws. As for Piers, he knows the right places to start. If there is any information on yer lady friend, they’ll find it.”

  Morgan frowned and gritted his teeth. “Her trail leads here.”

  “How long has it been since you’ve seen the girl? She’s probably changed.”

  Her beauty was the kind that only grew more with age. Too bad she hadn’t acquired any admirable merits. The last time he’d seen Juliana, he hoped never to see her again. Funny how life had its own agenda.

  “It’s been a long time, but she has one feature that sets her apart from the rest. I’ve never seen that exact shade of red hair on another woman. It’s unique. A vibrant, radiant hue of crimson as beautiful as any sunset.”

  The captain stroked his beard. “Even, so. She may not be easy to find.”

  Morgan’s hands tightened on the rail. “No doubt, she’s in hiding. But the piece she carries will lead me straight to her.”

  “The waiting is the hardest.” Laylock slapped Morgan on the back. “Come. Let’s open a bottle of port.”

  Morgan studied his comrade, appreciating what he was trying to do. “I have no need to dull my wits with drink. The bottle will not make the waiting any easier.”

  “I’ve never known anything to dull your wits—or a time where you blamed the drink.”

  At the moment, he much preferred something he could sink his teeth into—or his fists. “You’re right. But, for now, I need action.”

  Laylock gave a nod, accepting his decision. “Take care, my friend.”

  With impatient swiftness, Morgan took sure and steady steps down the swaying plank. Glancing to the right and then the left, he turned on a booted heel and marched down the cobbled street. Not many were up and about at this hour of the morning. Debutantes lay snug in their beds and would not be up until noon. Business owners just now rose and would soon open their establishments. Where should he go first? Nothing to do but walk and keep his eyes open.

  He would find Juliana. If he had to search every corner of London . . .

  As he stepped from the corner of a tall building, he heard a woman shout. Morgan cocked his head in that direction. A light-skirt having a bit of fun? Then he heard a shrill scream.

  Damn.

  He ran down the alleyway and spotted two men toying with an unwilling woman. One man held her while the other grinned through blackened teeth and rubbed one hand against his crotch.

  Blood and the devil.

  “Are you in need of assistance, madam?”

  Both men stopped in their tracks. The woman continued her struggle to get free.

  One man spoke. “Who the bloody hell are you?” The lady fought and twisted, and still, the brute held her.

  Morgan took a stance that came as natural as breathing. The dark devil he’d tried to bury soared to the surface. He’d given up that life. The one where cold ruthlessness governed his actions. The life where unscrupulous characters were taken
down without a moment’s thought—without a moment’s hesitation. Ruthless impulses and reflexes sprang to life. Muscles flexed ready for action. His mind vaulted to the place other men feared to go—where no mercy was given.

  “I asked if you needed assistance.”

  “Please help me,” the woman shrieked.

  “She don’t need no assistance from you,” the shorter man said. “Ya best be on your way, guvnor.”

  Shoulders taut, Morgan sized up his opponents. He could take them both in a matter of minutes. “Unhand her.”

  “I think you got ballocks fer brains. Can’t you see this ain’t none of yer business?”

  Morgan advanced one step forward. “I’m making it my business.”

  “What’s she to you?”

  He gave a slight shrug on the likelihood the imbecile facing him would mistake the gesture and relax his guard. “She asked for help.”

  The other man laughed. “We seen her first. And we’re gonna help ourself.”

  “Please,” the woman begged and that time when she jerked, her arm came free. The second man grabbed her before she could take two steps.

  Morgan glared at him, then turned a threatening gaze on his mate. “I will say this only once more. Let the lady go.”

  “Or else?”

  “I am done with words,” he ground out.

  “Done with words, are ye. Did ya hear that?”

  “Yeah, Augie. I think the bloomin’ man is an—” He never finished his sentence.

  Morgan struck.

  Chapter 3