Miss Goldsleigh's Secret (22 page)

The door of the house flew open, and Lord Dalton and his two friends burst out at a run. An open carriage came around the side of the house at the same time.

Reginald trotted across the park lawn so he could hear what they were saying to the women gathered on the sidewalk, his erection temporarily forgotten. He sought out Olivia’s face in the crowd, but while there were at least nine women milling around, Olivia was not one of them.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find her,” Dalton told his sisters. The gentlemen hopped into the carriage and took off at breakneck speed, waving goodbye to the ladies.

“Oh dear,” one of the older ladies said. “I do hope they find our Olivia soon.”

The girl named Penelope wrapped her arm around the lady. “Don’t worry, she’s a smart girl. She’ll be all right until Henry finds her.”

“Besides,” some other woman spoke up, “selling the watch and buying passage on a ship will slow her down.”

“Right. And there may not even be an acceptable ship leaving today anyway.”

Reginald was no longer paying attention.

The bitch was running away. That wasn’t going to happen again. Tracking her down the last time was too much effort regardless of what he told her. There was small consolation in the fact that the bloody interfering marquess didn’t have her anymore either.

He hailed a hackney and headed down to the wharfs.

When he got hold of her this time, the stupid whore was going to regret it. There would be punishments like she couldn’t even imagine. Thoughts of suitable suffering made him hard again.

This time, when he had his hands on her, she was going to wish she were dead.

Chapter Thirty-Three

“The harbor master gave me a list of the ships scheduled for departure in the next two days that take passengers,” Harrington waved a parchment as he approached Henry and Morewether on the cobbled road outside the Port of London Authority.

Morewether nodded. “That seems as good a place as any to start.”

At over six hundred acres, the London docks were the busiest shipyards in the world. Of course, Henry knew this before they went down there to find Olivia and bring her home, but he had been in an unconquerable frame of mind then. Now, as he looked out over the vast forests of masts from the massive, heavily laden ships anchored in the river and the smaller ships lined up at the quays, he realized the magnitude of their undertaking. Finding one small woman who didn’t wish to be found among the scores of laborers, sailors, and watermen was a daunting task. Besides those men who spilled off the hundreds of ships to scatter like ants in the port, there were the porters and carters, clerks who hustled past, pen and book in hand, bawdy women and merchants selling every imaginable manner of goods.

Henry quashed the panic that rumbled underneath his determined veneer. They would have to immerse themselves in the deluge of humanity until she was found. There was nothing else to be done.

“Don’t fret,” Harrington told Henry. “We’ll do this systematically. We’ll find her.”

Morewether clapped him on the shoulder. “Starting with this list.” The two men stood to either side of Harrington and surveyed the column of neatly printed names of ships, their cargo and expected departure date.

Harrington offered his opinion first, and since his friend was a former Royal Naval officer, Henry let him take the lead. “I think we can forget the ships heading to the Baltics, so let’s cross off these four ships, which means we don’t have to go the Millwall Docks.”

Henry agreed. He couldn’t imagine Olivia boarding a ship to Finland or Russia no matter how desperate she found herself.

Harrington continued, “The same with the corn or timber merchants, so that eliminates the Surrey Commercial docks as well.”

“That’s good,” Morewether agreed. “Mark those two off.”

“All right.” Henry sighed. “That leaves four ships leaving today or tomorrow. That’s not so bad.”

“Where does it say the ships are bound for?” Morewether asked, trying to read the list as it flapped in the breeze.

Henry grasped the corner of the parchment. “Two are from the United States.” His voice rose with excitement. “One came with cotton, the other tobacco.”

“Right, and they’re both anchored at the Katherine docks.” Harrington folded the paper and stowed it in his coat pocket.

The gentlemen threaded through the crowds of seamen and carts loaded to capacity. Henry continued to watch the rabble as they moved, thinking, even though it was impossibly unrealistic, that he might see her. Once or twice he caught his breath when he saw blonde hair, but both times the lady in question couldn’t be his Olivia. Yelling for her was even more useless. The volume of voices hollering back and forth from ship to land or across the square was deafening. Henry heard English, Spanish, Portuguese and even Chinese. The mind boggled.

At Katherine Dock, the first of the two most promising ships was located. The Harmony sat heavy in the water. Her rigging and deck swarmed with sailors preparing to cast off at the evening tide. Once again, the gentlemen ceded the lead to the former lieutenant.

They were given permission to board. The captain, an older man of portly build and balding head, waited for them at the end of the gangplank. After they’d introduced themselves, using as many titles as the three of them possessed in an effort to intimidate, Henry gave the captain a description of Olivia in a voice much calmer than he felt. The captain was certain no one of that description had purchased passage on the Harmony.

“Are you absolutely certain?” Henry asked the same question for the third time. “My fiancée may not want to be found.”

“She’s also quite lovely, and I wouldn’t want to think you or one of your men thought of keeping her for yourselves,” Morewether said with as much ducal menace as he was able, which was quite a bit considering he towered over the older man.

Henry hadn’t thought of that possibility.
Oh sweet son of Mary.

“This is my ship, Your Grace,” the captain said, but he sounded cowed, “and I’m quite certain of the people aboard her. However, you’re welcome to go to the cabins and check.”

Precious time was wasted on a door-to-door search of each passenger cabin. The captain had told the truth, and when the three men disembarked via the gangway, they were all certain Olivia was not on board.

“Martha’s Patriot must be the one,” Morewether said with a resigned but hopeful sigh.

“I sure as hell hope so because we wasted hours on The Harmony. Christ, she could be anywhere, on any of these damn ships.” Henry scrubbed his scalp with his fingertips.

Martha’s Patriot was not difficult to locate. She was an impressive, massive merchant ship with three masts and eighteen sails. And she was sailing for America that very night. Olivia had to be on that ship. Henry was absolutely certain about it.

He was even more certain when he saw the back of a lady on deck with long, blonde hair blowing in the breeze. “That’s her,” Henry yelled over the din of the crowd.

All three of them ignored the niceties and charged across on the gangplank to be met this time by a less-than-hospitable captain. The man in charge of the vessel was young and large and disreputable looking, with a diamond stud in each ear.

“Ho there.” The captain stepped in front of the plank, stopping their foray. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” He spoke with a languid Yankee accent that butchered the King’s English.

“I’m looking for my fiancée,” Henry told him. Olivia was here somewhere, and no man from the Colonies was going to stop him from getting to her. “I know she’s here.”

“What is it with you Brits that you can’t keep track of your women?” The captain had the audacity to laugh.

“What are you talking about?” Morewether stepped up next to Henry.

“There’s another one of you around here somewhere says he’s looking for his fiancée, too. Maybe they don’t teach us to count the same way at Harvard as they do here in Jolly Old England”—the cheeky man actually sneered when he said it—“but that makes four of you and, by my estimation, that means you jokers can’t keep your women under control.”

Harrington shook his head when Henry looked at him. Obviously he didn’t know what the Yankee captain was talking about either.

“There.” Morewether pointed across the expanse of the deck. Unbelievably Reginald stood at the opposite rail, talking to several sailors.
Son of a bitch.
Now Henry was positive they had the right ship.

As one, he and his friends launched an assault across the deck, only to be halted by a thick arm blocking their path. The arm was attached to the captain. His mocking grin was gone, replaced by stark irritation.

“Look here,” he began with severity, “I don’t take too kindly to you self-righteous limey bastards besieging my ship like you think you have a right.”

The Duke of Morewether did his usual routine, raising himself up to his full height and adopting the impenetrable air of superiority. “What is your name, Captain?”

“First of all,” the Yank started, stepping closer to the duke so they stood toe-to-toe, “I’m American. You have no authority over me, and before you get all puffed up and start making claims, I already have permission from the harbor master to sail at high tide. But just so you know it, and so your ridiculous version of the ensuing events which you tell your friends at your club later will have some ring of truth to it, I am Captain Nathanial Johnson and you’re aboard the American vessel, Martha’s Patriot.”

The captain’s announcement did nothing to halt Morewether’s indignant response. Henry was in no mood to kowtow to any upstart captain either, but mercifully Harrington was with them, and the voice of reason spoke louder than his and Morewether’s posturing.

“You’re correct. My apologies.” Harrington stuck out his hand. “Thomas Wallingham, Earl of Harrington. The puffy one is Christian Bellings, Duke of Morewether, and our harried groom here is Henry Cavendish, Marquess of Dalton. By way of explanation, the bastard across the deck there has treated Dalton’s fiancée, the bastard’s cousin, most egregiously, and Dalton here is going to rip his throat out. I can appreciate that you wouldn’t want that mess on your deck, and I’ll do my absolute best to restrain my friend here. Afterwards, with your permission of course, we’d like to search your ship for the lady.”

Captain Johnson laughed heartily at Harrington’s humor and candor; such was his friend’s gift. It was that exact reason he and Harrington had remained fast friends after the man stole away his first fiancée.

“Do what you must. However, I can assure you there are no ladies aboard this ship. We didn’t intend to take passengers on our return voyage.”

Captain Johnson had barely finished his sentence before Henry was careening across the deck with murderous intent. He wasn’t proud of the fact, but his first punch was a blindside to Reginald’s left temple. The man spun around and landed on his ass on the deck. The sailors backed away, wanting nothing to do with the crazed Englishman.

“Where is Olivia?” Henry roared.

Reginald scrambled to his feet even as he spoke. “You’ll never marry her. She’s mine, and I’ll never allow it.”

Henry wasn’t in the mood to argue semantics with the man. “Where is she?” he roared again, and his fist connected with Reginald’s midsection. A great burst of wind escaped Reginald as he double over. “I swear to God.” Henry didn’t make any attempt to control his temper. It felt cathartic to give the man a little of his own medicine. “I will kill you right here on this deck if you don’t tell me.”

The sadistic man smiled up at Henry before he used the rail of the deck to pull himself into an upright position. “She’s very pretty, isn’t she? She’s mine. She’s always known it. I’ve always been the heir to the Barony, and I’ve always had every intention of taking her to wife.”

“You bastard.”

This time Reginald blocked the blow Henry threw and countered with one of his own that landed squarely on Henry’s jaw. Reginald shrugged. “Maybe I’ll let you have a go at her once I’m bored.”

“I will rip off your leg and beat you to death with it. Tell me where she is.” Henry couldn’t control himself.

“You better kill me, because I’ll come for her.” Reginald’s threats worked possibly too well.

Henry had never known such rage. His fists flew without finesse. He wanted to cause as much pain and humiliation as possible, the way the sick animal had done to his Olivia. At some point, Morewether and Harrington pulled him off the unconscious man. Reginald lay prone on the deck, bleeding profusely, with a thick rope wrapped around his neck.

“I’ll bet that felt marvelous.” Morewether straightened Henry’s coat. “Wee problem, though. You pummeled the man a bit too effectively, I’m afraid, and now he can’t tell us where Miss Goldsleigh is.”

Shit.
Henry nudged the man with the toe of his shoe. Reginald groaned, proving he wasn’t dead, but the man was down for the count nevertheless. “He’s not dead,” Henry stupidly noted.

“The man is such a divine example of human fertilizer I find it difficult to care.” Harrington stared down at the man. “However…” he turned to Captain Johnson, “…about the lady.”

Johnson stepped up. “I told you I don’t have any passengers—neither ladies or gentlemen.”

“I saw her,” Henry protested, preparing, definitely unwisely, to take on the captain if he refused them the opportunity to search for her.

“Fine, satisfy yourself.” Johnson made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “But I’m not missing the tide for you or anyone. If you’re not off this ship by then, well, you’ll be coming to America with us.”

The tide was coming in. It was obvious by the flurry of activity surrounding the quay as sailors cast off lines, and shouts aboard various ships called for sails. Martha’s Patriot had already pulled anchor, and the giant canvasses, billowed full of wind, had maneuvered it into the channel that would take it downriver and out to the North Sea. There was no turning back now.

Three heads emerged on the deck: two dark brown ones and one with curly fair hair.

Olivia blinked as she watched the ship she had decided against taking pull away for America with Henry aboard.

What in Hades?