The Ransom (28 page)

Alex stared after her. Why would the cook be acting as butler? No matter. In the study, eh? Mayhap he’d finally get to meet Juliana’s father. Affecting a pompous walk in case anyone was looking, he crossed the foyer and stopped before the closed door. Snoring met his ears. Not loud obnoxious snoring like the men on his ship, but soft snoring that was more like a deep rumbling sigh.

Opening the door ever so slightly, he peered inside. Miss Juliana sat behind her father’s desk, her head lying atop a pile of papers, her pink lips slightly open. Golden waves spilled from their pins over the desk like a waterfall of sunlight. A pen perched in one hand, while her other lay limp beside a cup of tea.

A dozen questions stormed through him, but none of them mattered at the moment as he stood mesmerized by the sight. The lady astounded him. She enchanted him. And he suddenly felt unworthy of her. He inched inside the room for a closer look, when the toe of his silly red shoe struck a chair.

Her head jerked up. Her eyes met his, dazed at first before a line formed between her brows and she shook her head. “Oh my. Lord Munthrope.” She stood, wobbled, and gripped the edge of the desk. “How, why? I didn’t hear you come in. Where’s … ?” She glanced out the door as if looking for a servant. “Oh, fie! They weren’t supposed to answer the … never mind.”

Odd. She wore the same gown from last night. “Your cook let me in.” He smiled, taking in the bookshelves lining the walls, the elaborately carved wainscoting, the oil paintings of the English countryside. “Your father’s study, I presume?”

Juliana brushed her skirts and attempted to stuff her wayward hair back into her coiffure. “Yes … I … uh … he asked me to find … to bring a document to him. And well, I must have fallen asleep.” She lifted up a few papers and released them, sending them fluttering back to the desk. “I can’t tell one writ from another. They all look alike.” Her giggle was forced. What was she hiding?

“Looking for a document with a pen in your hand?”

She stared at the quill, still gripped in her fingers, before tossing it to the desk with a nervous laugh.

Alex raised his brows. “I was hoping to meet your father, sweet—Miss Juliana.”

“He’s not home, I’m afraid.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze, but instead began shuffling books about the desk.

“Hmm.” Alex scratched his chin, then remembered the blasted white powder covering it. “Did he request you send him the document by post?”

She lifted narrowed eyes and frowned.

He swung a long curl of his periwig over his shoulder. “However, it pleases me to know he has recovered from his illness.” A humid breeze blew in through the open doors, showering him with the same scent of vanilla and cherries that so often lingered around Juliana.

Pasting on a smile, she skirted the desk, took his arm, and led him out of the room. “Forgive me, Your Lordship, but what exactly
are
you doing here?”

Rays of sunlight floating in through the front windows dappled her in gold. A few strands of her flaxen hair danced about her waist. Her cheek bore the imprint of the document she was lying on, and he reached up to smooth it out. If only to touch her skin.

Coughing sounded from upstairs. She jerked her gaze upward. So, her father was not well, after all. Mayhap news of the stolen pearls had sent him back to his bed. Guilt tightened across Alex’s chest at the look of fear on her face. But how to inform her that he knew what he wasn’t supposed to know and that all would be well?

She ushered him to the door as if she couldn’t get rid of him fast enough. So much for their friendly banter last night.

He halted and faced her. “I came to beg your forgiveness, milady, for dashing out on you last night. It was beyond incorrigible, and I owe you an explanation.”

“You owe me nothing, milord. I hope you have recovered from whatever wound your arm suffered.” Yet she seemed as disinterested in his injury as she was in spending another moment in his company.

“I have, indeed, thank you. A sword wound, Miss Juliana. From a playful joust with a friend. You see, that is where I was during my absence. Another thing for which I must beg your forgiveness. I simply cannot turn down a challenge, once presented.”

At this, she gaped at him and laughed. “You? A sword fight? With whom?”

He waved an arm through the air, avoiding her eyes. “An old friend. ’Tis sort of a tradition.”

Her face twisted in unbelief, but she gestured once again toward the door. It flew open, admitting a middle-aged woman in a maid’s uniform, who was followed by a tall, lithe man with graying temples, carrying a satchel.

“Dr. Verns,” Juliana swept toward him. “Thank you for coming. Miss Ellie will show you up.” She all but shoved the man toward the stairs.

“I saw your father yesterday, Miss Dutton,” the man said as he mounted the steps. “I’m not sure I can do much more for him.”

Juliana’s shoulders slumped as the doctor turned and finally saw Alex standing behind the open door. He sent her a look of apology before continuing upward.

She approached the bottom of the stairs. “Dr. Verns, did you have a chance to see the young lad, Michael, at the orphanage?”

“Not yet, Miss Dutton. I intend to visit him later today.”

The orphanage?
Alex swallowed. Were the children struck with more disease?

The maid glanced at Alex before giving Miss Juliana a look of sympathy and continuing to lead Dr. Verns up the stairs.

Juliana stared after the doctor, wringing her hands until he was out of view. Then, turning, she gazed at Alex with contrition. “I beg your pardon for my untruth, milord. I simply do not wish it known that my father is ill. He is recovering and will be back to himself in a matter of days.”

He studied her. The catch in her voice and shift of her eyes told him otherwise. Was this dear lady running Dutton Shipping on her own? It certainly wasn’t being managed by her wastrel of a brother. Alex had seen him on multiple occasions deep into his cups—and his cards—down by the docks. If that was the case, the loss of the pearls would be her undoing.

Her gaze met his and a brief acknowledgment of the truth spanned between them. “Please tell no one, milord. I beg you.”

“Of course.” He sobered and took her hand in his. “Nary a word ’twill escape my lips.”

She gave a sigh. “Now if you don’t mind. I am quite busy.”

Alex risked a serious tone. “Is there something I can do to help, sweetums? Is there some problem you need advice on?” He resisted the tug of her hand, desperate to hold it awhile longer.

She stared at him, searching his eyes, a longing in hers that nearly forced him to confess the truth of who he was and reassure her all would be well. But he feared her hatred more than anything. He feared it would be his undoing.

For a second, he thought she would unleash her burdens on him and receive his help, but then she shook her head as if remembering he was but a buffoon.

“It would help me if you would leave.”

His heart collapsed. And for the first time, he truly loathed himself. “Mayhap later? A ride through town? Supper at my home?” Anything to see her again and offer his comfort.

“I’m afraid I cannot, milord. I promised to visit a sick friend.” She ushered him out the door onto the stoop.

“Pray tell, who?” He twirled about, rubbing forefinger and thumb on the sides of his mouth. “Should I accompany you?”

“Nay, ’tis but an old friend, Miss Abilene.”

He started to insist that he escort her, when she spit out a “Good day, milord” and closed the door with a clap.

Running a shipping business or not, there wasn’t a saint’s chance in hell he would allow her to venture to The Black Dogg alone.

Chapter 23

Oh, fie
, how had the day gotten away from her? Juliana had meant to set out much earlier in the afternoon for The Black Dogg, but Abbot had returned and she’d become entangled in keeping the accounts on Mr. Kinder’s recent shipment. All was in order, save the missing pearls, of course. Mayhap Mr. Kinder would accept payments? Nay, he didn’t seem the type to be that obliging. In fact, he had pounded on their front door late that afternoon for nigh twenty minutes before she heard him curse and march away. She hated being so rude, but what else could she do?

Clutching her satchel to her chest, she glanced at Mr. Pell bumbling along beside her. The useless footman had already been too fuddled with rum for her to trust him driving the carriage, so she’d asked him to accompany her on foot in a pretense of safety she didn’t feel in the man’s presence.

Yet it was only five o’clock. Though the sun hung low over the horizon, they still had a few hours before it dipped into the sea, luring out the vermin that occupied the port at night. They turned down Queen Street, and Mr. Pell released a putrid belch.

“Pardon me, miss.” He slogged beside her.

“At least try to pretend you aren’t inebriated, Mr. Pell. For both our sakes.”

He grunted, attempted to obey by steadying his teetering, but only managed to trip over his own feet.

It may have been better if she hadn’t brought him at all. Besides, God would protect her as he had done each time she’d visited the docks on a mission of mercy. Her thoughts snapped unbidden to the Pirate Earl. She hadn’t seen him in more than a week. What an enigma the man was. She still couldn’t sort out what he wanted from her, nor why her insides turned to mush in his presence. Did he think of her as much as she thought of him? Unlikely. No doubt he had many other women to occupy his time.

Two-story homes with white-gated yards gave way to warehouses and storefronts, the Merchant’s Exchange, and then the customs house as the strong smell of fish and the sea swept over her in a welcoming breeze. Perspiration slid down the back of the modest muslin gown she’d donned so as not to draw unnecessary attention.

An impossible feat once they turned onto Thames Street from which wharf after wharf extended into the turquoise harbor like brown teeth in a gleaming mouth. Lined with taverns, punch houses, brothels, and shops, this was where every sailor and pirate squandered his pay and prizes on useless trinkets and dissipated living.

Dozens of eyes from those same men now latched upon her like grappling hooks, following her every move down the sandy street. Most of their comments were lost to the wind, thank God, but a few hit their mark, causing a flood of heat to rise up her neck.

Mr. Pell took no notice. Instead, he gazed longingly at a barrel of Kill-Devil rum that had been rolled into the street from a tavern and into which men dipped their mugs for a flip of a coin. Juliana should release the incompetent footman. But what would stop him then from telling everyone in town that she was managing Dutton Shipping on her own?

Adjusting her parasol to shield herself from prying eyes, she glanced over the glistening harbor, where ships of all sizes and shapes teetered in the choppy water, while others sat bare-masted, tied to the docks. Half-castes, their backs open to the sun, carried crates and barrels to and from the languid ships, while bare-footed mulattos scurried about selling fruit and rum to new arrivals. The crank of carriage wheels and stomp of horses’ hooves joined the cacophony of shouts, curses, waves slapping against pilings, and the distant clank of a hammer on iron.

Stepping over a pile of horse droppings, Juliana stopped before The Black Dogg, not nearly as ominous-looking in the daylight as it appeared at night. She gripped Mr. Pell’s arm as he led her inside—or rather wobbled her inside. Muddled sunlight sifted in through grimy windows, revealing the tavern for what it was. Not a dragon’s lair filled with frightening specters but a dreary room filled with stained, chipped tables covered in melted wax and spilt liquor. Bugs joined rats nibbling on food droppings on a floor that stuck to one’s shoes with each step, while a few patrons lay asleep in their own vomit. Behind the long counter, the proprietor stared at them dreary-eyed.

“We ain’t open yet,” he growled.

“I’m here to see Abilene.” She deposited Mr. Pell in one of the chairs, praying this beast of a man would allow her upstairs.

But the scowl on his face suddenly lifted. “Yer the Pirate Earl’s lady. Aye, aye, o’ course.” He poured rum into a glass, his demeanor instantly one of a servant. “Head on upstairs, miss. I’ll tend to yer man.” He scrambled around the bar, drink in hand, much to Mr. Pell’s utter glee.

Wonderful. By the time she came back down, her footman would most likely be under the table. But she didn’t wish to impugn the owner’s attempt at hospitality, nor inform him she was not the blasted Pirate Earl’s lady.

“I thank you, kind sir. I shall return anon.” Thankfully all was quiet upstairs. No moans or groans penetrated the doors of the rooms she passed on her way to the third level. By the time she entered Abilene’s room, her nerves had settled. Especially when she saw her friend sitting up in bed, the color returned to her cheeks. And a huge smile on her face when she saw Juliana. A bruise darkened one of her cheeks and one eye was still swollen, but otherwise, she looked well.

“Hello, Abilene.” Setting down her satchel and parasol, Juliana scooted a chair close to her friend and sat, nodding at a red-haired woman who wrung out a cloth over a basin beside the bed.