The Heiress of Winterwood (34 page)

How different would his story now be if he had relied on God these many months instead of relying on his own strength to see him through?

After all, where had his strength gotten him?

Graham and Sulter were about to depart when a burly, fair-haired man approached their table. The pounding of his dusty boots on the planked floor could be heard over the noisy patrons, and the scar marring the man’s cheek made the one on Graham’s own hand pale in comparison.

Sulter’s face flashed recognition. “Ah, Cyrus Kingston. Just the man we need to see.”

The man tugged a wide-brimmed hat from his head and cast a glance at Graham before answering. “Heard ye lads have yerselves a bit of a situation.”

“Aye, we do. Kingston, meet Captain Graham Sterling, recently returned from activity off the coast of Halifax.”

Kingston nodded in Graham’s direction, his black eyes wild and intense. “You the bairn’s father?”

Graham nodded. He eyed the man, assessing every detail and searching for clues as to his character. A scruffy, reddish beard darkened his chin. Dingy clothes hung limp on his massive frame. Graham kept his voice low. “Sulter tells me you’re familiar with George’s Dock.”

The man lifted his hand to order ale before turning his attention back to Graham. “Aye. Worked the waterfront since I was a lad meself.” Kingston sat down and leaned against the table. “Got a letter, do ye?”

Graham pulled the worn letter from his pocket and slid it over the table.

Kingston’s expression was stone as he read. “Ye know who done it?”

“I have my suspicions.” Graham was reluctant to say too much. But what had he to lose? If Sulter trusted the man, he should too. “Ever heard of the Barrett Trading Company?”

Kingston took a swig of ale and leaned with his elbows on the table. “I know it.”

“Do they do much business in these docks?”

“They’ve contracted the
Perseverance
. Setting sail any day.”

At the ship’s name, Graham exchanged a glance with Sulter. The question smoldered on his lips, begging for release. “Do you know George Barrett or Edward Littleton?”

“Nay.”

Graham showed no reaction to the answer and took the letter from Kingston. “You’re sure it’s the
Perseverance
?”

“Aye.”

Graham tucked the letter back in his pocket. “I believe we are
dealing with one of three scenarios. One, the kidnapper is using the dock as a decoy. Two, the kidnapper will use a ship in George’s Dock to make his escape. Or three, he plans on using a ship to dispose of my daughter and her nurse should we refuse to meet his demands.”

Kingston’s face showed nothing but blank indifference. “Could be. Or could be he jus’ knows the dock and where to hide out there. Anyways, what’s it got to do wit’ me?”

The stranger’s disinterest irked Graham. He glanced at Sulter—again. He’d never known the older captain to steer him wrong. He took a drink of ale before continuing. “I’ll wager if there is an exchange planned at the dock, then someone employed there knows about it.”

Kingston sneered. “Aye, but getting ’em to talk about it is a horse of ’nother color.”

Graham raised his eyebrow. “That’s where you come in.”

Kingston cocked his head in response. “What ye got in mind, Cap’n?”

Graham pulled a leather pouch from his pocket and dropped it on the table. “One hundred pounds to the man who gives me information that leads to the safe retrieval of my daughter and her nurse. The same to you for your assistance.”

The dim candlelight flickered off the worn surface. Kingston eyed the pouch and extended his paw-like hand. With rough fingers he opened it, peered inside, glanced over his shoulder like a greedy thief with a treasure, and leaned in toward Graham. “You got my attention, sir.” A smile cracked his chapped lips, exposing crooked, discolored teeth, and a jeer, more like a hiss than a laugh, wheezed from him.

Graham snatched the pouch from Kingston’s hand. “Good. Find out what you can and report back to me. Pay heed to happenings with the Barrett Trading Company.” He pulled out half the
contents from the pouch and slid it over to Kingston. “Take this now, and I’ll see you get the rest when I have the child.”

The smell of sea and fish clinging to Kingston wafted across the table, contesting the strong scent of the smoking fire. Kingston narrowed his eyes on Graham as he crossed his arms over the broad expanse of his chest and leaned back in his chair. “Well now, I’m not so sure about that, Cap’n.” The man nailed Graham to his seat with an icy stare, all trace of a smile vanished. “See, a man can get hisself killed snoopin’ round.”

Graham clenched his jaw. He knew this man’s angle. It was one of intimidation, one he’d not cower to. He locked eyes with the man, refusing to look away. He’d not waver, nor was he prone to negotiation. But he needed help and quickly. The image of Lucy’s eyes flashed in his mind for the thousandth time. Be it the lack of sleep or pure desperation, he consented and dropped the pouch and all its contents into Kingston’s outstretched hand.

Indeed, he’d give far more to see his daughter safe.

A satisfied smile curled on Kingston’s face, puckering his scar and wrinkling his eyes. “Tomorrow, then.” He bounced the pouch in his hand before it disappeared into the folds of his rough coat. “Can’t make no promises, mind you that.” He tipped his hat with mock formality. “Sulter. Cap’n.”

“I’m not asking for promises,” Graham muttered as the character exited the pub. “I’m asking for a miracle.”

Footsteps outside the Sulters’ door demanded Amelia’s attention. She held her breath, waiting, praying, and tucked her trembling hands beneath the folds of her shawl. The rest of the house had retired several hours hence, and the clock had long struck midnight, but Amelia sat awake in the Sulters’ modest parlor, unable
to find any manner of rest. The agonizing day had rolled into an excruciating night. Hours had passed with no word to offer hope or comfort.

But then the footsteps stopped, a muted voice sounded, and something rubbed against the rough wooden door. Her book of Psalms fell to the cushion beside her as she stood.

The latch lifted and the heavy wooden door swung open. Blustery wind spun through the opening. At the very sight of Graham, with his hat pulled low and his cheeks red from the cold, her optimism soared. Amelia hurried toward the door and held it open. “You’ve returned. Thank heavens!”

Graham stepped in first, the cold clinging to his wool coat. His words were gruff, his tone made hoarse by the bitter cold. “What are you doing awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Her words spilled forth in jumbled anticipation. “Did you learn anything?”

It was Captain Sulter, not Graham, who stepped past her to the coatrack and spoke first. “We are closer, Miss Barrett. Rest assured. We will have the little one back to you in no time. Right, Sterling?”

Graham looked up from pulling off his gloves but only nodded.

Captain Sulter removed his coat and hat and patted down his thinning hair. “We’ve done all we can tonight. I suggest you get some sleep.” He clasped a hand down on Graham’s shoulder and turned a warm smile toward Amelia. “Good night, my dear.”

Amelia watched the man lumber down the corridor, leaving her alone with Graham. Her lungs refused to expand as she watched him remove his hat and greatcoat. So handsome. So strong. And he alone could help her get Lucy.

“Where are you going in the morning?” She felt her smile fade when Graham pulled a flintlock pistol from the folds of his coat and placed it on the sideboard. “What is that for?”

Graham raised an eyebrow at her. The fire’s dying embers cast
a russet glow on his shadow of a beard and caught on the glint in his gray eyes. “I’m going to get Lucy back.”

She swallowed the lump of fear and stood perfectly still.

Graham crossed in front of her to the settee and dropped down on the tufted cushions. He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again and stared unblinkingly into the fire. Though weariness played on his every movement, his posture remained alert, as if at any moment he expected Lucy’s kidnapper to burst through the door.

Amelia studied him, attempting to read the nuances of his expression. Was he keeping something from her? She noted the lines on his face, the tension tightening his mouth. He’d tried so hard to protect her the past few days. Would he withhold information to keep from upsetting her further?

She sat down next to him, careful to keep a respectable distance. The urge to pepper him with questions was strong, but she held her tongue. What had Jane said?
“You will have a very lonely life if you refuse to let others in because you are afraid that you will lose them.”

She pushed her hair from her face. She wanted to bring him comfort, as he had her. But what could she do?

“You look exhausted. You should sleep.” Amelia’s voice sounded small in the still silence.

He shifted his weight and balanced his elbows on his knees, a lock of dark hair falling with rogue defiance across his forehead. “I’ll be fine.”

The broad smile from earlier in the day flashed through her mind. She missed the easier tone she’d heard at their engagement dinner. His voice was heavy now. Defeated.

Graham turned his eyes from the fire to look at her, but his expression was distant. He let out a long, disgusted sigh and rubbed his hand over two days’ worth of stubble. “We wasted the day. And found nothing.”

At the short words, panic flooded Amelia. She tapped her hands nervously on the wool fabric of her skirt. If Graham lost hope, what chance did they have?

With the exception of the waning fire glow, the room was dark. Made bolder by the stillness, Amelia leaned toward him. She allowed her eyes to linger on his striking features. His straight nose. Full lips. And despite the worry about Lucy, her heart responded to his nearness. What would his strong arms feel like secured around her shoulders? What would it feel like to rest her hand in his, to let him share her fear? Help carry her painful burden?

The pain in his eyes hurt her, and guilt over her actions rose to the surface. “I owe you an apology.”

The expression in his eyes changed to confusion. “For what?”

Amelia toyed with the fringe on her shawl and wove it through her fingers, the weight of emotions she did not quite understand pressing on her chest. “I have been so consumed with my own desires and fears that I have been blind to a great many things going on around me. It was wrong of me to get so angry that night after the dinner at the Hammonds’. You had every right to ask any manner of questions, especially considering our future. I am sorry I behaved so poorly.”

Graham raked his fingers through his dark hair. “
Our
future? I thought we had a business arrangement.”

A flush rushed to her cheeks, the tease a welcome release from the suffocating tension. She eyed the mystery of a man in front of her, searching for meaning in his words. “One day Lucy will be home, and we will marry, and then—”

“We shall be a family.” His large hand covered hers. He squeezed it ever so gently, then laced his fingers through hers.

Amelia tried to think of something to say, but at the touch, her mind blanked. She could only stare at their intertwined hands—his so strong, hers small in comparison.

Her gaze fell on the shiny purple scar that crossed his hand
and disappeared under his cuff. In this moment of connectedness, she felt a rising courage. She lifted her other hand and ran a finger along the scar. He jumped at her touch, almost as if he’d forgotten it was there.

“When did this happen?” she asked softly.

Graham straightened but did not pull away. “Last summer.”

She looked back down. “How?”

“During battle.”

His clipped words made it clear he’d not discuss the topic further. She could only guess as to what horrors Graham had witnessed—horrors that she, in her sheltered world, could never imagine. She moved to pull her hand away, but he caught it in his, turned it over, and wrapped rough, warm fingers around hers. Fire exploded in her at the intimacy.

He rubbed his thumb against the palm of her hand. His words were low. “I couldn’t predict it, just as neither of us could have foreseen Lucy’s kidnapping.”