“Webb was a spineless fool. He didn’t have the stomach for greatness and would have given me up when he was caught. No,” Mercer said craftily, “Webb left me no choice.”
“What about Strathaven? It’s not his fault you took a reckless risk.”
“Everything is his fault!” Mercer’s eyes were reptilian with hate, his words hissing. He pushed his face into hers just as her fingers closed around metal. “He left me no resort but to flee like some common criminal. Well, he’s going to pay to the tune of fifty thousand pounds. If he doesn’t, I’ll send you and his aunt back to him—piece by lovely piece.”
Heart hammering, Emma let her shoulders sag as if in defeat; at the same time, her hand slipped behind her back, clutching her prize. “You really have thought of everything.”
“I will be victorious. Like a phoenix, I will rise from the ashes on French soil. Who knows?” A nasty gleam lit Mercer’s eyes. “If you please me, I might keep you alive to see to my pleasures.”
Emma swallowed. “But I thought … aren’t you going to ransom me?”
Mercer’s laugh was short and brutal. “I’m going to get my money. And then I’m going to put an end to Strathaven once and for all.”
“You’re a dishonorable cad!” she cried. “Strathaven is smarter than you—he’ll never fall for your trap!”
Mercer shoved her violently onto the cot, her back smacking the thin mattress. Panting, she kept a firm grip on her stolen treasure.
“He already has, you little whore. He’ll bring me my blunt at nine o’clock sharp—and I’ll put a hole through his heart,” Mercer snarled. “And after I deal with him, I’ll be back for you.”
The door slammed behind him, his barked order filtering through. “No one goes in or out—see to that by any means necessary.”
“Wif pleasure, m’lord,” replied a leering voice.
Instantly, Emma sat up. Looked at the key in her hand. Sending up a prayer, she reached for the manacle on her foot.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Alaric and the other men reached the appointed destination before dawn. He’d rented out two stage coaches to convey the team of investigators and guards from London to Portsmouth at record speed, so that they could arrive a few hours prior to the meeting with Mercer. Will and his comrades had already taken off on a scouting mission. Disguised as porters, the four ex-soldiers were presently conducting reconnaissance on the dock.
Their goals: to find Mercer’s vessel and locate Emma and Patrice.
In the meantime, Alaric and Kent took a suite at an inn. They were guarding the trunks of ransom money and awaiting the arrival of some mysterious associate Kent had said might be helpful to the cause. From the second floor balcony, Alaric watched the ribaldry in the street below. How clever of Mercer to choose this place to conduct his nefarious business.
With all the lawlessness and depravity going on, who would care about two women being held against their will? Who would even notice?
Outside the gate of the old town, Portsmouth Point was known as “Spice Island,” not only for the scent of imported spices that came from the harbor but also for the piquant activities so clearly on display. Whores plied their trade openly in the alleys, sailors and dockhands stumbled in and out of the public houses that lined both sides of the street. Brawls broke out with regularity, cheered on by drunken bystanders.
Alaric’s hands fisted with impotence. If Mercer so much as touches a hair on Emma’s head ... He was unwilling to contemplate that possibility. He was going to get her and his aunt back. Then he was going to tear the earl apart limb by limb.
Slowly.
Kent came to stand beside him. “McLeod will find my sister and your aunt. He’s the best there is when it comes to scouting.”
“Aye. But time is running out.” Alaric gave a terse nod at the sky over the harbor.
Already, the horizon was losing its dark opacity. He could make out the forest of masts bobbing on the black water and the fleet of small barges that zipped between the larger ships, ferrying passengers and goods back and forth from the docks. The Byzantine activity of the scene frustrated him further. Which one of those hundreds of ships held Emma and Aunt Patrice prisoner? What was Mercer’s ultimate plan?
“We should review the strategy for the exchange. I still don’t like the idea of you meeting the villain alone,” Kent said.
“Mercer made it clear in the ransom note that I’m to follow his instructions to the letter,” Alaric said starkly. “If I don’t bring the gold to the quay alone and unarmed at nine o’clock, he’s going to kill Emma and Patrice. I won’t take that risk.”
“He might kill them anyway. You as well.”
Alaric saw emotion flare in the other man’s eyes. Fear. Fury. The same feelings that ran molten through his own veins.
“Whatever it takes, I will see your sister safe,” he vowed. “It’s me Mercer wants.”
“You’d trade your life for Emma’s?”
“Whatever it takes,” he repeated.
Kent studied him for a moment. “My wife was right after all.”
“About what?”
“You truly do care for Emma.”
Alaric’s cheekbones heated. He felt suddenly exposed—and he didn’t like it. “I told you my intentions were honorable,” he said stiffly.
“There’s a difference between an honorable marriage and a loving one.”
A knock on the door cut short the conversation. Alaric tensed.
Kent checked his watch. “Right on time.”
The investigator opened the door and ushered in a fellow dressed in the loose jacket and trousers of a man who worked on the water. The newcomer’s most distinguishable feature was the curly auburn hair beneath his cap. His freckled face split into a grin. He and Kent exchanged bows—and then slapped each other on the back like old friends.
“As I live and breathe, six years and you don’t look any different, sir. Except your clothes—quite dapper now, ain’t you?” The stranger winked. “Told you a wife would do you good, didn’t I?”
“Indeed you did, old friend,” Kent said with a faint smile. “But time to reminisce later. As I mentioned in my message, I’m afraid I’m here on urgent business.”
“I’m at your service, sir.”
“I’m deeply grateful to hear it.” Kent turned to Alaric. “Your grace, this is John Oldman, a former colleague of mine at the Thames River Police. He moved to Portsmouth six years ago.”
“Call me Johnno. Everyone does,” the man said cheerfully.
“I beg your pardon,” Alaric said, “but how is it that you’re to help us?”
“Kent says you need a way to hide in plain sight on the water. I can provide that.”
“How?”
“Johnno and his brother-in-law operate one of the largest barge services here in Portsmouth,” Kent explained. “A third of the barges that travel between ship and shore are theirs. With Johnno’s help, we’ll surround the quay where you’re to meet Mercer.” The investigator’s eyes burned with a fierce light. “Unbeknownst to that blackguard, we’ll block his escape route. We’ll capture him—and get Emma and the dowager back.”
***
Finally, Lady Patrice stirred.
Emma had begun to lose hope, her desperation mounting as pale light seeped through the shutters of the window. She could hear the activity above, the shouts and heavy bootsteps as the villains readied themselves for Alaric’s arrival.
For the ambush.
She had to free herself and Lady Patrice before Alaric arrived. Before he fell into Mercer’s deadly clutches.
“Lady Patrice,” she said as loud as she dared, “please, open your eyes.”
The dowager’s lashes fluttered against her pale cheeks. Slowly, her head turned toward Emma. “Miss Kent? Where—where are we?” she said in a trembling, befuddled voice. “What has happened?”
Emma wanted to weep with relief. Instead, she said in calm tones, “We’ve been kidnapped, your grace.
Mercer is holding us hostage—and he means to kill Strathaven when he brings the ransom money. We must stop the villain, and I need your help.”
“Kill Strathaven?” Lady Patrice pushed herself to sitting and though she weaved a little, she said firmly, “We cannot allow that to happen. Tell me what you want me to do.”
***
“Remember we’ll be watching from the barges,” Will said. “One wrong move from Mercer and we’ll move in, cut off his escape.”
“Aye,” Alaric said.
The two of them were standing on the quay Mercer had designated for the exchange. Besides him and Will and the trunks of ransom, the dock was abandoned, positioned within a small isolated cove. Near the entrance of the cove, he saw two of Johnno’s vessels patrolling the waters. They appeared like the other ubiquitous barges, and he prayed that Mercer would be fooled.
“It’s a quarter to nine. You’d best go before the bastard shows up,” Alaric said.
Will didn’t move. Gruffly, he said, “Don’t get yourself killed, alright? I’d hate to lose my only brother.”
Alaric’s chest tightened. “If anything happens to me, you’re the last of the Strathaven line. Take care of the title.”
Will’s eyes widened. “Don’t talk like that.”
“Promise me.”
“I don’t want the bluidy dukedom—”
“I know,” Alaric said simply. “But promise me you’ll look after it anyway.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you.” Will raked a hand through his hair. “But ... aye. Have no worry, Alaric, but that of saving your lass.”
Alaric clasped his brother’s shoulder in silent thanks. He was startled to find himself pulled into a rough hug. The embrace ended just as abruptly.
His face ruddy, Will muttered, “I’ll be watching from the barge.”
After the other left, Alaric turned his attention back to the mouth of the cove. Minutes later, he saw a small covered vessel approaching, moving steadily toward the inlet, churning a white line in its wake. It passed through the entrance of the cove and minutes later arrived at the quay.
Alaric’s muscles tensed as a figure disembarked onto the wharf, his face shielded by the brim of his hat. The bastard looked up.
Alaric’s gut clenched. “Where’s Mercer?”
The dark-haired ruffian casually withdrew a pistol, pointed it at Alaric. He crossed over and, searching Alaric’s pockets, removed the firearm. He made a tsking noise as he tossed the weapon into the water.
Shaking his head, the brute said, “Nobs ne’er are any good at followin’ instructions.” He gave a short whistle—and two more cutthroats emerged from the barge. “Boys, have a look inside those trunks.”
The pair opened the lids, and Alaric saw the avarice glittering in their eyes.
“I’ve brought the ransom,” he said evenly. “Give me the women.”
“You ain’t in no position to make demands, yer lordship.” To his comrades, the cutthroat ordered, “Tie ’im up, boys. We’re bringing ’is grace back to the main ship.”
***
On a barge near the cove’s entrance, Ambrose swore softly. He’d been monitoring the events on the quay through a telescope.
“I don’t see any sign of the women or Mercer,” he said. “The villain sent his lackeys to get the money.”
“Those bastards have Alaric now,” McLeod growled. “We’ve got to head them off before they leave the cove.”
“We can’t,” Ambrose said in frustration. “If Mercer doesn’t get his gold, Emma and the dowager will die.”
“If we don’t stop them now, my brother will!”
“We have no choice. Strathaven was willing to the risk, and we must see this through.” Cursing, Ambrose pounded his fist on the barge’s railing. “Johnno,” he said in clipped tones, “signal the other barges. We’ll have to follow the bastards to their ship, but we cannot, under any circumstances, be seen.”
“Just like the old days. Don’t worry, sir,” Johnno said, “I haven’t lost my touch.”
Jaw clenched, Ambrose prayed that he was making the right decision. The lives of three people—one of them his sister—depended upon it.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Help! Someone please! She’s not breathing!” the dowager cried.
Emma heard a curse from outside the door, the guard’s key inserting into the lock. Heart pounding, she stood at the ready, arms raised, behind the door.
It opened, and the guard rushed in. “What the bleedin’—”
Stepping out behind him, Emma brought the stool down with all her might. The heavy wood cracked against the back of his skull. With a groan, he toppled to the ground.
She set down her weapon and crouched next to him.
“Did I ... is he dead?” she said, her voice trembling.
Squatting on the other side of the fallen figure, Lady Patrice shook her head. “He’s breathing. He won’t be out for long.”
With hands that shook, Emma searched the guard’s body, removing a pistol and a vial of clear liquid, which she passed to the dowager. Just as she was reaching for the rope on the man’s belt—she planned to truss him up—a beefy hand gripped her wrist. She jerked, her gaze flying to the guard’s face. His eyes were open, and he bolted upright, his expression menacing.
A scream rose in her throat—
A small hand with a red ring slapped fabric against the brute’s face. He let out a moan and fell backward, his head whacking against the floor. This time he didn’t move.
“See how you like a taste of your own medicine,” the dowager said.
Emma saw that Lady Patrice had dumped the contents of the vial onto the hem of her petticoat, using it to subdue the cutthroat.
Emma’s brows rose. “Your grace, I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“I may be a duchess, but I am Scottish,” the other replied tartly. “Now how are we getting out of here?”
Emma clasped the pistol. “We’ll locate the lifeboat. If we can escape before Alaric arrives, he needn’t bargain with that monster.”
“An excellent plan.”
Emma led the way out of the cabin and into the dark and narrow corridor. Listening to the pattern of footsteps overhead, she headed in the direction away from the activity. Minutes later, she saw steps up ahead, light filtering in from a trapdoor at the top.
Emma crept up the steps and carefully pushed the trapdoor open, just enough for her to peer out. Daylight shocked her pupils, momentarily blinding her. When the dots cleared, she could see that they were below the quarterdeck. She spotted a pyramid of barrels just paces away—possible cover. Boots suddenly crossed her line of vision; she let the trapdoor fall immediately, her heart thumping like a rabbit’s.
A minute or so passed. She cracked open the door once more.
The way looked clear.
“I’ll have to go out and look for the lifeboat,” she whispered. “Wait here, your grace.”
The dowager nodded.
Inhaling for courage, Emma pushed the door open and scrambled out, making a dash for the barrels. Pulse racing, her back against the curved containers, she waited for a bark of discovery. None came. Scouting the environs, she estimated about a half-dozen yards to the side of the vessel, where a lifeboat might be located. Her muscles readied to make the sprint.
Mercer’s voice in the distance made her freeze.
“Welcome aboard, Strathaven,” said the earl in snide tones. “I have been expecting you.”
***
Alaric took quick stock of the situation.
Mercer and six cutthroats, plus the other two bringing the trunks up from the barge.
Nine villains in all—not the best of odds, especially since Alaric’s hands were bound and he was flanked by a pair of brutes. Yet if he bought some time—distracted Mercer—Will and the others might yet arrive. He didn’t dare scan the surrounding water to see if Johnno’s barges had managed to follow the cutthroats’ snaking path to the present ship.
If Will and Kent had lost the trail, finding Mercer’s ship amidst the flotilla of vessels in the harbor would be akin to searching for a needle in a haystack.
He couldn’t worry about that now.
You have to trust Will and Kent. Stay focused. Be on the lookout for Emma and Patrice.
Coolly, he said, “This wasn’t our agreement, Mercer.”
The earl gave a harsh laugh. “There is no agreement, your grace. In case you haven’t noticed, I hold all the cards. You’ll do as I say.”
“I brought the money,” Alaric said evenly. “Count it, if you wish. But you must honor your word as a gentleman and release Miss Kent and the dowager duchess.”
Mercer stepped forward and backhanded him. Alaric’s head snapped to the side.
“You’ve ruined me. Thanks to you, I’m not welcomed in Society any longer.” The earl’s urbane face contorted with rage. “You’ve destroyed everything!”
“You did that to yourself. Or perhaps you needed help even for that,” Alaric said in tones designed to goad. “Perhaps Webb came up with the stock scheme, and you were merely his lackey, following his orders.”
“The plan was mine, damn you! I recruited Silas Webb, not the other way around. I saw United’s failing prospects and hired Webb to help topple it from the inside. The company’s demise was inevitable. A sure thing. But then you came along, ousted Webb, and turned the venture into a bloody success. I’ve lost everything because of you.”
“You lost everything because you made a bad investment—and compounded matters by having me poisoned and shot.”
“What poison?” Mercer snarled. “What are you—”
“Get away from him!”
Alaric’s gaze jerked in the direction of the clear, feminine tones. Relief exploded in his chest—replaced instantly by bone-deep fear. What the devil is she doing?
Emma came toward them like some avenging angel, her unbound hair sweeping past her shoulders and a pistol in her small hands. She aimed it at Mercer.
Mercer gave a nasty laugh. “You’re not going to shoot.”
The Duke Who Knew Too Much Page 25
