Catherine let out her breath. They were back at the East India docks. In the darkness, the place was empty of workers, the river lined with the great lightless shapes of the sailing vessels.
Lord Ayton took her arm firmly and began to walk along the water’s edge. And one of the ships, Catherine realized, was not lightless. Nor was it empty of workers.
Men dressed in dark clothing were scurrying back and forth between the ship and the warehouse in which Patrick had been hidden. Their arms were full of crates and barrels, smaller ankers slung over their shoulders.
“My things,” Lord Ayton told one of the men. “In the coach. Fetch them for me. Take them to the ship.”
And at once, Catherine realized the breadth of his plan. She stiffened, suddenly unable to hold her fear back. “No,” she stuttered. “No, please. I don’t want to go on the ship. Please. Please!” Her voice began to rise.
Lord Ayton’s fingers tightened around her arm and she gasped with the pain of it.
“Catherine.” Despite his vise-like grip, his voice was smooth and gentle. “Don’t fight this. It will be better for everyone concerned if you come quietly.” His voice was close to her ear. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m going to give you the life you’ve dreamed of. The life you deserve.” He kissed the edge of her lips. “I’m going to give you far more than Patrick Connolly ever could.”
Catherine felt a sudden rush of anger tear through her. “I love Patrick Connolly,” she hissed.
Lord Ayton’s eyes blazed and hardened. He yanked her toward the gangway.
“Help me!” Catherine cried. “Please!”
Lord Ayton snorted. “You can screech all you like,” he hissed. “But all these men are loyal to me. They know better than to ask questions.”
Her breath short and fast, Catherine tried to plant her feet into the ground. But Lord Ayton pulled firmly, dragging her up the gangway and onto the ship.
As they stepped onto the deck, she saw the man with the tattoo on his neck. The man who had threatened Patrick the night of the ball.
He nodded at Lord Ayton. “Sir. The great cabin is ready for you to use.”
Lord Ayton nodded in response.
He stepped into the saloon, dragging Catherine behind him.
“What is this?” she hissed. “A smuggling vessel? A merchant ship?”
Lord Ayton gave a crooked smile. “A little of both.” He gestured to the open hatch leading down into the belly of the ship. Beneath, Catherine could hear footsteps and murmuring, as the men carried the cargo up from the hold.
“After you.” Lord Ayton gave her a sickly smile.
She shook her head stiffly. He stepped close, pressing a hand to her cheek.
“I suggest you do as I say,” he whispered, his voice dark with threat. “Or I could make this very bad for you.”
Her eyes flashed. “You wouldn’t hurt me,” she hissed, feeling a pang of uncertainty as she spoke.
This man, she realized sickly, was capable of anything.
She gripped a fistful of her skirts and stepped onto the ladder, making her way down into the passage at the bottom of the hatch. She could feel the gentle motion of the ship as it swayed on the river.
Lord Ayton leaped from the ladder and took her arm again. He pointed to the cabin at the end of the passage. “I’ve requested the great cabin,” he leered. “I want you to be comfortable.” The corner of his lips turned up. “After all, my love, we’ve a long journey ahead of us.”
* * *
Edmund and Patrick crouched in the alleyway and peered out across the dockyard. They could see a line of men carrying cargo into the warehouse on the corner.
“Look,” Patrick whispered, pointing. “It’s Thorne. And the other men who raided my house.”
“Any sign of Groves?” asked Edmund, squinting.
Patrick shook his head. He looked warily up at the ship. Men were also reloading the vessel, he realized, carrying water barrels and food crates into the hold. If Simon had taken Catherine aboard as he feared, they would surely not be staying in port for long.
“We’re going to need help,” Patrick whispered to Edmund, trying to keep his panic from taking over. “Go for the watchmen. Tell them there’s a smuggling operation taking place here. Have them send for the customs officers.”
Edmund nodded, climbing to his feet. “What about you?”
Patrick clenched his teeth and looked up at the ship. “I need to get aboard.”
Chapter 53
Lord Ayton opened the door of the great cabin and gestured for Catherine to enter. She stood motionless in the doorway.
Step inside and she would become even more of a prisoner than she was now. Step inside the cabin, and she would have no hope of escaping the ship.
What choice do I have?
Even if she managed to tear free of Lord Ayton, the ship was crawling with men who would clearly bend to his every wish. She knew she would never make it back down the gangway.
As though reading her thoughts, Lord Ayton shoved her hard in the back, forcing her into the cabin. He pulled the door closed behind her.
Catherine’s eyes darted around the room. A writing desk sat against one wall, stacked with books and what she assumed were navigational tools. A neatly-made bed dominated the room, large windows lining the curved stern of the ship.
Catherine eyed them.
Could I escape through the window?
Surely there was nothing beyond the glass but water. And she had never swum in her life.
Hopelessness began to well inside her. She turned back to glare at Lord Ayton.
“You were behind it all,” she said bitterly. “The letter, the ransacking of Patrick’s home, the threats for money…”
Lord Ayton raked a hand through his dark hair. “You sound surprised.”
“If this was all for my benefit, why threaten him all those times when I wasn’t there?” she demanded.
He shrugged. “It helped the ruse that Ramshay knew who those men were. Helped you believe he’d been gambling with them.” He chuckled. “And I must admit, there was a certain thrill to giving the man a good scare.”
Catherine’s eyes blazed. “You wanted me to think him unworthy,” she spat.
Lord Ayton shrugged. “It seemed to work for a time.”
She felt a flush of regret. Lord Ayton was right, damn him. She had been all too quick to believe.
“You knew I was at his house the night of the ball,” she hissed. “How? Did you follow me?”
He gave a short chuckle. “Follow you? There was no need. I’m sure even the dog in the garden knew where you were going. You’d spent the entire night gazing longingly at Ramshay’s empty chair. I’ve never seen anything quite so pathetic.”
Catherine clenched her teeth. “You can do what you like to me. But I will never love you. I’ll never love anyone but Patrick.”
Lord Ayton chuckled. “That is a shame. Because you’ll never see Patrick again. Once the cargo has been unloaded, this ship is bound for Spain. I’ve a grand life planned there for the two of us.”
“Spain?” Catherine coughed. The thumping in her chest intensified. She tried to scramble desperately for the door. Lord Ayton pressed a firm hand to her shoulder, forcing her backwards onto the bunk.
“There’s no need for this,” he said smoothly. “There’s no need to fight.” He pressed his lips hard against hers.
Catherine turned her head away from him violently. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, forcing her back to face him. She cried out in pain.
“I could make you so happy,” he hissed. “I could give you everything.”
He lurched over her suddenly, his hand diving beneath her skirts and digging into the bare skin on her thigh. The feel of his hands on her made sickness rise in her throat.
How could something which, in Patrick’s arms had felt so blissful, now feel so devastatingly horrible?
“No,” she tried to say. “No. Please.” She thrashed wildly bene
ath his grip, managing to work a hand out from beneath him. She reached behind her, her fingers finding the unlit lamp on the side table behind her. Letting out a cry, she snatched it from the table and rammed it into the side of Lord Ayton’s head.
* * *
Cloaked in darkness, Patrick rowed a dinghy around the bow of the ship, drawing close to the ladder built into the hull. On the opposite side of the vessel, he could still hear the clatters and thuds of the smugglers unloading the cargo.
The boat bumped against the hull. He reached up and grabbed the ladder. He hauled himself from the dinghy and clambered over the gunwale of the ship. His boots landed softly on the deck and he hid himself hurriedly behind the saloon. He peeked out, watching the chain of men carry their cargo up from the hold.
I need to get below.
Such a thing felt impossible. How was he to get past this band of men?
Wait, he told himself, trying to stem his impatience. Acting rashly would not help Catherine.
Watch and wait.
This delivery could not go on forever.
He watched. Waited. And at last, the parade of men seemed to come to an end. Seizing his opportunity, Patrick leapt onto the saloon and went down the hatch into the passage. He could hear muffled shouts coming from the great cabin. Catherine’s panicked scream.
Patrick pulled his gun from his pocket and charged down the passage.
Chapter 54
As Patrick crashed his way through the door, Simon whirled around to face him. His hands were tight around Catherine’s wrists and his dark eyes were flashing. A line of blood ran down the side of his head. Patrick could see a shattered lamp lying on the floor.
He raised the pistol. “Let her go,” he hissed.
Simon kept his hands firmly around Catherine’s wrists. “Put the gun down, Ramshay,” he said dismissively. “How long do you think it will be before one of my men find you and decide to put a bullet in your head?”
Patrick gritted his teeth. He knew such a thing was likely. But there was no way he was going to back down.
“I don’t want to shoot you, Ayton,” he said stiffly. “But I’ll not let you take Catherine.”
Simon snorted. “And how exactly do you plan to stop me? I’ve an army of men at my disposal. What do you have?” He chuckled. “Edmund?”
Patrick clenched his teeth. Clenched his hand around the pistol.
Simon chuckled. He released Catherine’s wrists and walked slowly toward Patrick, tilting his head as he eyed the gun. “Are you really going to kill me, Ramshay? Enough of the games. We both know you don’t have it in you.”
Patrick felt his finger shifting on the trigger.
No, I’ll not do it. I’ll not take a man’s life.
He could do it, he told himself. It was what Simon Moore deserved.
I could do it.
“You’re nothing but a joke, Ramshay,” he said. “That’s all you’ve ever been. I can’t even take you seriously when you have a gun in your hand.”
“He’s wrong,” Catherine said suddenly, her voice strong and clear. “So wrong. You are everything he is not, Patrick. You’re kind, and decent, and so strong.” She glared at Simon. “He’s nothing but a liar and a villain. He’s the man who is nothing but a joke.”
Simon’s eyes flashed. He lurched suddenly at Catherine and Patrick felt rage fly through him. Felt his body heat and his thoughts clutter.
He heard a shot splinter the silence.
Chapter 55
Patrick whirled around. Behind him, George Thorne stood with a pistol in his hand. He hurried toward Simon’s body and dug a hand into his pocket, pulling out a pouch of coins. He scrambled to his feet, shoving the money into his enormous coat.
He looked at Patrick and shrugged. “He always paid us like peasants.” He gave them a final half-smile, then hurried out of the cabin.
Catherine stared after him. “Should we—”
Patrick shook his head. “He’ll not get far. Customs are on their way.”
For a moment, Patrick stared at the motionless body at his feet. Stared at the bloom of blood pooling across Simon’s chest.
And then Catherine was racing toward him, throwing herself into his arms. He clung to her tightly. The relief was so powerful it brought a murmur from the back of his throat. The feel of her yanked him out of his daze. He gripped her cheeks in his hands.
“Did he hurt you?” he gushed. “Did he—” He stopped abruptly, unable to form the sentence.
“No,” she said. “No, Patrick. You came in time.” She pressed her lips hard against his. After a moment, she pulled back. “You’re shaking.”
He pressed his forehead against hers. Yes, shaking with relief, with gratitude, with lingering anger. He looked down at Simon’s body.
“How did you know it was Lord Ayton?” asked Catherine, her voice ragged.
Patrick kissed her hair. “It was Robert. He told Edmund when he went to Newgate to see him.”
Catherine looked up in surprise. “Robert?”
Patrick nodded. “He was too scared to tell us at first. But when he heard you were in danger, he told us everything.” His arms tightened around her. “He cares for you very much, Catherine. I’m sure it has not always been easy for you to see that. But I know it’s true.”
She smiled faintly. “Poor Robert. I hate the thought of him being so terrified. I hope now he can find a little peace.”
Patrick took her hand and squeezed. “We ought to get off the ship,” he told her. “Edmund has sent for the authorities,” he told her. “They’re on their way to intercept the delivery of the contraband.”
Catherine smiled, pressing herself into Patrick’s side. “Edmund will be disappointed,” she said. “It seems he’s missed all the action again.”
Epilogue
Two Months Later
Catherine walked the corridor toward Robert’s cell with her chin held high and her shoulders back. She was not afraid, she realized. She was not afraid of the prisoners with their wolfish faces, bellowing to her as she passed. She was not afraid of the steely-eyed guards. And she was not afraid of her brother.
At the sight of her, Robert managed a faint smile. After the death of Lord Ayton, Catherine had written to him to tell him everything that had happened at the docks, but it was the first time they had spoken since her first visit to Newgate.
The guard unlocked the cell, letting Catherine inside. Impulsively, Robert pulled her into a tight embrace. She let out her breath in surprise. She couldn’t remember the last time he had done such a thing.
“I’m glad you’re safe, Catherine,” Robert said huskily. “So glad.”
She squeezed his hand.
Robert nodded toward the narrow bench that sat along the edge of the wall. He sat, Catherine perching beside him.
Robert looked at his hands. “I’m sorry, Catherine,” he said finally. “I know I’ve not treated you well of late. But I…” He faded out. “I’m sorry to say there was a part of me that held you responsible for my ending up in here. Ayton wanted you. It was my refusal that led him to turn me in.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I know how wrong it was of me. I should have known far better than to get involved with Ayton in the first place.”
Catherine gave him a small smile. “It’s all right, Robert. I understand. Truly. And I can never thank you enough for risking your life like that for me. I know Lord Ayton could easily have killed you after you turned him down.”
She reached over and covered his hand with hers. “I wish you could be there tomorrow. I wish you could walk me down the aisle.”
Robert gave her a faint, apologetic smile. “I think Edmund is far more deserving of such an honor.”
* * *
“Your tea, My Lord.” Groves set the tray on the side table in Patrick’s room. “And a dash of brandy on the side should you need a little something to steady the nerves.”
Patrick chuckled. “Thank you.”
The butler gave a short nod of hi
s head. He smiled slightly at the sight of Patrick buttoning a blue and gold waistcoat. “A fine choice, My Lord. Miss Barnet will be quite taken with you.”
He smiled at Groves’ reflection in the mirror. “I hope so.”
On Patrick’s return to the townhouse after Simon’s death, Mrs. Morgan had broken into floods of tears. And the story had come spilling out.
Rescued By A Wicked Baron (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 28
