Chapter Ten #2
“The second note is for Mrs. Turner.” The carefully worded missive informed Jared’s housekeeper that Ian had been called away on urgent business and instructed her to send word through Henry if there was any change in his brother’s condition.
“And one last thing,” Ian added. “When you return to London, there’s a bank draft to pay off the bill at Sunderland’s. I’d prefer you handle it personally.”
The amount was a cipher that would set up a protocol to communicate with the duke directly. In exchange, Sunderland would apprise Ian if the duke’s sources uncovered information about the players hunting the necklace.
“Consider it done.” Hepburn nodded. “It’s been a privilege, sir. I wish you safe travels.”
Ian cleared his throat, which had grown suddenly tight. “Thank you, Hepburn. And best of luck to you with Henry. You will need all the patience you gained over these last few years with me.”
When the clock tower in the distance chimed ten bells and the crowd had thinned, Ian emerged from the alley and walked toward the dock where the liner rose from its harbor mooring.
The ship was smaller than the other hulking vessels in port and designed for both speed and to accommodate the new canal in Suez.
He contemplated how far Diana intended to lead him on this pursuit for the emeralds. Was she bound for Calcutta, or all the way to Melbourne?
“Oi, you.” A burly man stepped in front of him. “Why you hangin’ about here?”
Ian scanned the dock for other shadows, but the man appeared to be alone. “I heard at the Angler’s Arms that this ship is taking on crew.”
“Ya heard wrong.” The guard gave him a shove and sputtered a rough laugh when Ian hardly moved.
Ian placed his valise on the ground. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”
“Then leave.”
“I only want—”
A meaty fist came at his jaw. Ian ducked the blow before it could meet its mark and delivered a right hook that snapped the other man’s head back.
“You’ll regret that, you bloody little—”
Ian socked him in the kidneys.
As the man doubled over in pain, Ian circled him with his fists raised. “Listen, mate, I don’t want carnage here. I only want to talk to the captain of that ship.”
His assailant came from his left side and caught a swipe at his cheek. In doing so, the fool left his own right side unprotected from Ian’s left hook. The force of the punch made the guard stagger back. He fell onto the dock, and his head landed with a thud.
Before he could confirm if the man was temporarily or permanently knocked out, a shrill whistle sounded in the distance.
Six figures emerged from the shadows. Each of them pointed a gun at him.
A tall woman wearing a mariner cap and oilskin coat greeted him with a jagged smile as she snatched the pistol holstered inside his coat. “You’ve stirred up trouble, pet.”
While they marched him into an empty warehouse, Ian silently upbraided himself for not going for his pistol sooner.
He wouldn’t make the mistake again.
A man as brawny as the guard he’d felled searched him for hidden weapons and shoved him through a door.
“Well, you’ve caused quite the palaver,” Amelia Hunter greeted him pleasantly.
Ian’s jaw hinged open before he snapped it shut.
Demands perched on his tongue—all of them having to do with Diana—but his attention quickly fixed on the man who sat next to Amelia at a spartan wooden table.
He was neatly attired, with a groomed mustache, which made Ian think of every military officer he’d met.
“Won’t you sit down, Mr. Holt?” Miss Hunter asked in a genteel voice.
The nicety grated on his nerves. As he clenched his teeth and slowly sank onto the chair, he hoped he appeared as menacing as Diana accused him of looking.
Miss Hunter nodded at her companion. “May I introduce Captain Virgil.”
Unlikely the man’s real name. But he had the mien of a mariner about him, and Ian tipped his head respectfully.
“Now, Mr. Holt. I believe you were making inquiries about a vessel.”
Miss Hunter’s gaze was evaluating. Unnerving, Ian realized. He’d never noticed her stare linger long on anyone. If she had a clue how disarming her ethereal violet eyes could be, she’d have half of London on their knees.
“I hadn’t realized you were in the shipping business, Miss Hunter,” he said slowly. “Is the ship yours?”
“No. But I own the title to the cargo on board. It’s of great value to me. So naturally, I’m concerned when a person of my acquaintance has displayed such a violent interest in the vessel.”
Ian pursed his lips together and tasted blood from his scuffle with the guard.
Diana was taunting him with this pretense of an interview, and the admonishment of his less than gracious manners was trying his patience.
He hated having his back to the room; he had to shift his eyes constantly to keep watch over his unfamiliar surroundings.
He wanted to ask Miss Hunter plainly where the hell she was hiding Diana, and if they’d lost their minds completely by making off with the Holt emeralds.
Neither Amelia nor Diana needed to sell the necklace for money.
They were not women who’d stake their lives on a set of pretty gems. Other than the outright animosity she’d shown occasionally to the Duke of Sunderland, no other woman in Ian’s acquaintance had tried harder to blend in with the wall than Amelia Hunter.
Yet here she was, coolly and confidently managing him.
Like an expert negotiator.
Ian braced his arms over his knees. “Perhaps I can be of service ensuring the protection of your valuable cargo.”
“Forgive me, Mr. Holt, but if there are others pursuing you, you’ll endanger it. Gravely.”
“Only one person knows of my intent to board the ship.” At the moment. “They won’t follow me. And there’s no need to be concerned about my brother. Jared will chase whatever breadcrumb trail you’ve scattered leading away from Miss Rives.”
“What will you do when you meet her again?”
His attention snagged on her use of the word when, not if. He would have grinned had he not been so furious it was evidence of Diana toying with him. “I would never harm Miss Rives.”
“No man ever keeps that kind of a promise.”
The low steadiness in her tone made his chest tight. He was the Devil of the Docklands. He might convince Amelia Hunter he’d never turn a fist on Diana, but she expected him to hurt her in other ways.
“The last thing I want is for anything to happen to her,” he said as evenly as he could manage.
For a long moment, Miss Hunter searched his expression for any sign that would belie the responses he’d given her.
Eventually, she turned to Virgil. “I believe that answers all my questions.”
The captain tilted his head and inspected Ian in a way that made him feel like livestock.
“In your enthusiasm to board my ship, Mr. Holt, you’ve disabled my best coaler.
I’m now down a hand with less than an hour until we set sail.
Do you make it a practice of assaulting men to extract information? ”
“Your associate attacked me. I was merely defending myself.”
“Yes. I wonder why you didn’t use your pistol. It would have sped things up considerably.”
“It would have escalated the situation beyond what was necessary.”
“Tell me one good reason I shouldn’t contact the police about a man in possession of a gun, sniffing around my ship.”
Every time Virgil referred to the vessel as “his” ship, Ian had to suppress the urge to laugh. He could practically hear Diana coaching the man on what to say. “Your crew also possesses firearms. There’s no law against it.”
“Still, it would put me at ease to know why you and your pistol want to set sail on this voyage.”
Virgil was graciously tenacious in his questioning. In another life, Ian might have liked the fellow. “I am eager to leave England for new horizons. You’re the only ship casting off tonight.”
The captain folded his arms across his chest. “If you were to join my crew, Holt, our rules are more than requirements. They are the law when we’re at sea.”
“I expect I would have no trouble with your charter.”
“And I cannot return your pistol to you until the journey is complete.”
“Understood.” Ian nodded. He’d track it down within a day.
“Then I believe we’re finished here. Welcome aboard, Holt.” Virgil rose from the table. “Birdie’s outside. She’ll get you sorted with a bunk.”
“Aye, sir.” Ian stood and offered a conciliatory bow of his head.
Amelia gave him a final piercing look that Ian took as a blatant warning before she followed the captain.
Outside, the woman in the oilskin coat, Birdie, leaned lazily against the warehouse wall. She watched Ian like a gull scanning the shore at low tide. “Have you agreed to behave yourself? ’Cos if not, I enjoy renderin’ a bit of the old discipline, now and again.”
At Ian’s silence, she pushed herself off the building and led him to the gangplank.
He searched the dark foredeck for some sign of Diana, but only spotted deckhands moving about.
At the stern, one of them hung up a lantern.
It bobbed back and forth, and the light cascaded over the port side of the ship, where they’d painted the vessel’s name in neat, white letters.
Ever Hart.
Ian released a rough laugh.
Birdie rolled her eyes. “It ain’t a mistake. Thought a toff like you would know what a hart is.”
He smirked, unwilling to let on that he knew bloody well that a hart was a more poetic name for a red stag. “Haven’t read much Homer, have you, Birdie?”
“No, pet. Been meanin’ to, after I have the ballroom redecorated.”
Her sarcasm was original. Ian was beginning to enjoy it.
“He’s the ancient Greek poet who composed the Iliad and the Odyssey.
They say Homer was the first person to transcribe the oral tradition of Greek myths.
If you know how to navigate by the stars, I reckon you’ve heard about the Greek gods and goddesses. ”
“Aye, I know my constellations and some stories.”
“There’s one goddess in particular you’d like. Artemis, goddess of the hunt.” He jutted his chin to the ship. “Her symbol was a deer. An ever-faithful white stag.”
Birdie’s skeptical frown faded. “Didn’t know that.”
“The Romans had a different name for Artemis.” Ian peered up at the bridge of the ship. “They called her Diana.”