Chapter Eighteen
“Are you ready?”
Josephine turned from the cabin windows, her breath catching when she met the lieutenant’s gaze. He leaned against the doorframe, the brass buttons of his navy jacket gleaming in the light.
His eyes dropped to the ribbon around her neck and she patted her chest. “Don’t worry, I’ve got the key.”
He jerked his head up. “Of course. I didn’t think otherwise.”
They left the cabin, silence trailing after them like a shadow.
The gangplank creaked beneath their boots, the wood slick with seawater and salt.
Norfolk’s harbor sprawled before them, bristling with masts and sails, the air thick with tar and brine.
Dockhands shouted over the groan of ropes and the rumble of carts, and gulls wheeled overhead with sharp cries.
Beyond the piers, brick buildings crowded narrow, uneven streets, their windows thrown open to the heat.
A church spire rose in the distance, cutting a clean line against the blue sky.
Josephine tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders as they stepped off the gangplank and into the chaotic rhythm of the city.
The noise, the motion, the sheer size of it all set her nerves on edge—but not nearly as much as the man beside her.
Each time she slanted her gaze toward him, her pulse jumped and heat pooled low in her belly.
She scowled at her traitorous body. The sting of his comments from the morning still rubbed raw.
She’d barely awoken, still wrapped in the afterglow of the most glorious night of her life, when he’d shattered it by mentioning her father.
He may as well have thrown a bucket of ice water on her.
Still, her heart fluttered as they walked together. Last night, she’d truly become a woman. She walked a little straighter at his side on the dock, as if the memory itself could shield her from uncertainty.
At the street, he offered his elbow. “I must warn you, there was a fire in Norfolk during the Revolutionary War. Most of the city burned down. That building may no longer be there. Could be why Christian felt it was a dead end.”
She smiled, the pulse in her throat quickening as her fingers drifted to her neckline to touch the ribbon. “There must be something. Why else would destiny allow our paths to cross?”
He slowed, fixing her with a piercing look that sent her skin tingling. “Why, indeed?” Heat laced his voice as his gaze dipped to her lips and her pulse jumped for a different reason altogether.
Lieutenant Caldwell raised a hand and a passing hackney slowed, iron-rimmed wheels creaking as the mismatched horses tossed their heads. Sunlight gleamed from the black carriage as the driver swept off his hat in greeting. The lieutenant stepped forward. “We’ll take a ride to 15 Queen St.”
“Queen? Are you sure?” The man’s face scrunched when the lieutenant nodded. “There’s no such street.”
“Are you sure? We’ve an address.” Lieutenant Caldwell unfolded the paper and squinted at the writing.
The driver huffed. “Then you have the wrong address. Been driving these streets for over a decade and there ain’t no Queen St.”
With tight lips, Lieutenant Caldwell thanked him and turned to her. “Looks like Christian was right after all.”
Josephine frowned. “I don’t understand.” She took the sheet from him and traced the angry line beneath the address. “It says empty building, not no building.”
“There’s no way to know. Let’s get back to the ship.” He offered his arm as he glanced around. “Not a good idea to stay out in the open.”
She pulled her lip between her teeth. Unless Christian had gotten the address wrong in the first place, it didn’t make any sense. Queen Street. It must be a common street name. So why wouldn’t a city the size of Norfolk have one?
Her hand drifted up and pulled the key free, her stomach sinking. The lieutenant kept his gaze straight ahead, his jaw set. Now what? The question hovered on her tongue but she pressed her lips together. In theory, Thorne could be walking the very same streets as they were.
The thought of the dreaded captain sent a shiver skimming down her spine.
She saw him again—half-swallowed by the garden’s shadows, as if part of the darkness itself.
Colette had been right about his eyes. Even now, the ghost of that piercing stare lingered on her skin.
She tightened her grip on the lieutenant’s arm, willing the memory to dissolve.
A group of sailors walked toward them and they moved to the side. Josephine’s hand brushed over the rough stones of an old wall. She slowed as her palm passed over a blackened area, her fingertip pressing into a worn groove. She squinted. 105. Perhaps an old address marker.
“When did you say the fire was?”
“1776. British forces bombed the city.”
Josephine tried to recall what she’d learned about the American Revolution. Very little. She glanced back at the retreating wall.
“When they rebuilt the city, is there a possibility they may have renamed any places that reminded them of the crown?”
Lieutenant Caldwell came to a stop, turning to her with a thoughtful expression. “You might be on to something. Sentiments against the British run deep to this day.” He pressed his lips together, nodding. “I know where we can find out. But we’ll have to hurry, it’s getting late.”
He started again, this time at a brisk pace and they veered down the next street, heading away from the docks.
They pressed deeper into the city, keeping to the edges of the cobblestone streets.
The lieutenant pulled her close as they overtook a group of elderly ladies.
When they passed them, he came to a sudden stop.
Josephine bit back a cry as he seized her arm and dragged her into a small alleyway between two buildings.
The damp scent of stone clung to the heavy air around them, their bodies pressed together in the dimness. Josephine’s heart slammed against her ribs, each frantic beat quicker than the last. She opened her mouth, but Isaac’s hand shot up, his fingers pressing to her lips.
“Quiet,” he murmured, breath warm against her ear. “I think we’re being followed.”
She nodded and he dropped his hand, settling it low on her back.
His fingers splayed wide, holding her away from the moss-covered bricks behind her.
Which meant the entirety of her front rested against him.
Her cheek rested on his chest, where the steady thrum of his heart reverberated through her.
Though her stomach had gone knotted, heat crawled up her neck.
His sandalwood scent filled the space between them, and with each measured breath she took, her panic began to ebb.
After a tense minute passed, his muscles slackened and he twisted his face toward hers. His lips grazed her ear and for a moment, she couldn’t move. Her fingers curled in his shirt. When had they gotten there?
“I must have been mistaken.” His voice came in a low whisper against her skin. “There’s no one. Let’s go.”
Still, when they edged from between the buildings, he kept his head down and retraced their steps back to the nearest street. They cut across it, moving with purpose, and a few blocks later, he pointed ahead. “The courthouse. If there’s any old maps of the city, they will have them.”
The building loomed before them with columned porticos framing an arched doorway, their white stone contrasting against warm brick.
They entered, the soft jingle of a bell announcing their arrival.
It took Josephine’s eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness, the only light coming from a few flickering lanterns along the walls.
She sniffed, pulling her nose up at the eclectic scent of old paper, beeswax, and mildew.
Tall shelves lined the walls and jutted out in several rows across the floor, their weighty contents sagging the wood.
A large central table bore ink spills, strewn with haphazard stacks of documents waiting to be sorted.
In the corner, a writing desk sat beneath a small, clouded window that let in a sickly shaft of afternoon light.
A young clerk sat at the desk, his quill scratching away at his paper. He glanced at the clock, then back to his work. “We’re only open for another half hour.”
The lieutenant approached him. “Lieutenant Isaac Caldwell. Do you have any maps of the city before the great fire?”
“If we do, they will be in the records room.” Without looking up from his writing, the clerk frowned. “Why don’t you look in the naval archives?”
“The courthouse was closer and time is of the essence.”
After a long sigh, the clerk dropped his quill and stood. “Very well.” He opened a drawer and pulled a key out. “Only one person is allowed in at a time, and no women.”
Lieutenant Caldwell straightened. “Certainly, an exception can be made.”
The man stared at him as if he’d suggested treason. “Rules are not made to be broken. If that’s not satisfactory to you, feel free to make the trip to the naval yard to do your research.”
A muscle ticced along the lieutenant’s jaw, but he nodded. “Very well.” He turned to Josephine. “Will you be alright?”
She set a hand on his forearm, ignoring the instant burst of heat the touch sent through her. “Of course. I’ll see if I can find anything helpful out here.”
The clerk walked him over to the records room, leaving Josephine alone.
She swiveled and meandered to a row of bookshelves in the back packed with leather-bound ledgers, bundled papers tied with string, and wooden document boxes.
She pulled her key free and rubbed a thumb over it.
Who was she fooling? With no clues about its origin, she had no idea where she would look for any information that could help in the slightest. Not like the courthouse would have a ledger of most wanted pirate artifacts.