CHAPTER 36 #2
He looked around at the other occupants of the table.
Lady Elizabeth, the dowager—no, not the dowager, she was Mrs. Wang now.
Her husband sat next to her at the table.
And there was John, Abigail’s brother. They all shook their heads, confirming his worst suspicions. Nobody had seen Josephine today.
What other friends did she have in London? With each minute that passed on this fruitless search, he was aware of a clock ticking. Time slipping by. The breeze of premonition was now a full force gale wind raging inside him. Demanding action. If only he knew where to direct his energy.
“Are you talking about Lady Josephine Everleigh?”
Michael’s head whipped to John, surprised by his question. Of all the people at the table, he would have thought John would have the least to do with Josephine.
“Yes. Have you seen her? Do you know her whereabouts?”
“Not precisely. But I have information that could be relevant.”
“For goodness’ sake, tell us already. What do you know?”
“I was the one who negotiated her release from the harem and brought her back to England,” John said, patting his lips with the serviette and standing.
Every eye at the table turned to him, and Michael could tell he was not the only one shocked by this news.
“You? You are the John who brought her back to England?”
John inclined his head. “By request of Her Majesty herself.”
“She had mentioned a John. But I never imagined it was you.” Michael shook his head. “But more to the point, what information do you have?”
“As part of my job for the Foreign Office, I keep abreast of the news from Egypt. Her Majesty is interested in the Suez Canal development. The Pasha of Suez happens to exert significant control over that area.”
“That is the bastard who kidnapped Josephine and kept her prisoner,” Michael fairly growled.
“Correct. The Queen wanted to keep the kidnapping and imprisonment of a British lady quiet, so as not to upset Britain’s interests in the region.
But the man is…problematic, to say the least. I have kept a close eye on him, so I know that he departed Egypt two weeks ago, and yesterday, his ship anchored at St. Katharine Docks.
There has been no official announcement that the pasha is in England, but—”
“He took her.” His vague fears congealed into an icy ball of certainty in his gut. “The bastard took her again. I’m going after him and I’m going to tear him limb from limb.”
He turned and stalked to the door, the energy he felt right before battle coursing through his veins.
“Aycliffe, wait. Do you have a plan?” This came from Hartfield.
Michael threw him an impatient glance. Abigail’s husband had never hidden his hostility toward him, so he couldn’t imagine what business it was of his what he was going to do next.
“I’m going to rescue my fiancée, of course.”
“Of course,” Harfield replied, imperturbable. “But I’m asking how you are going to go about it. You need a strategy. Reinforcements.”
“I’ll go to the police. Get some peelers to come with me.”
“You’ll never convince them in time. They’ll require proof or reasonable evidence that Josephine is being held on said vessel,” John said.
“I’ll threaten, bribe, throw my title around, whatever is necessary. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He marched toward the door again, but once again, the earl’s voice stopped him.
“I’ll go with you,” Hartfield said.
Michael was so surprised by the offer that he forgot his manners.
“You? Why?”
Harfield gave him a twisted smile. “Let’s just say I can relate to the desperation you are feeling right now.”
“I’m going as well, of course,” Brentworth added.
“So will I.” This from John.
“I’d rather you go obtain the necessary warrants and the Home Office backing,” Michael responded.
“I can try, but I can’t guarantee that I’ll have them in time.”
“You should still try. You have contacts in the Home and Foreign Offices. They are more likely to listen to you.”
“The Home Office will hesitate to take action because of diplomatic concerns,” John warned. “We cannot afford to wait for the bureaucrats to untangle themselves.”
Michael’s jaw clenched. “Oh, I don’t plan to wait. We’ll do this ourselves. We can’t risk the pasha sailing with her. Once they reach the open seas…” He left the rest unsaid. “We’ll need to strike swiftly and with precision.”
“We must consider our approach for boarding the ship. The pasha will have guards,” Brentworth interjected.
“How many men do you think he would keep close?”
“Six to twelve guards, plus the ship’s crew,” John replied, his tone measured. “They will be armed, but likely not expecting trouble from us. You need as many men as possible with you. Even then, a direct assault will be risky.”
Michael nodded, mind racing. “I agree. A stealth operation is the best option in this scenario. Good thing that’s my specialty.”
“I will accompany you,” Wang said. “I can take care of any guards quietly.”
Michael met his gaze and nodded. “Thank you. Once we’re on board, we need to move fast. Josephine will be somewhere below deck. We extract her and get out before anyone knows what’s happening.”
Michael looked around at the faces of the men. Some he had known for years and were good friends. Others, unexpected allies. But he trusted all of them. All of them had selflessly volunteered without hesitation to help him rescue Josephine. And for that, he would be forever in their debt.
“I have no words to show my appreciation, but we need to leave now.”
They took only a few minutes to prepare the carriage and collect as many weapons as they could while they planned the fastest route to the docks.
They settled on a plan based on their strengths. They all had some experience of fight or combat methods, but they would use stealth to gain access to the ship, aiming to disable any guards as silently as possible, since any outright confrontation could endanger Josephine’s life.
The trip took thirty-four minutes. He knew because he had been counting.
The streets of London became congested with traffic as night fell, people going to their evening entertainments.
Tonight, he wished he could make them all disappear, keenly aware that every minute that passed could be a minute too late.
At last, they arrived at the docks. The carriage stopped on one of the narrow streets that led to the river.
The pasha’s ship loomed in the darkness, in the exact spot where John had said it would be.
Its black hull blended with the inky waters of the Thames, save for the faint glimmer of lanterns casting eerie reflections on the river’s surface.
The gangplank was still lowered. No doubt waiting for some last minute supplies before the voyage, or for some men to board.
But other than that, the ship seemed ready to depart at a moment’s notice.
He counted two men standing guard by the gangplank, another two walked the deck. But they seemed at ease.
They had agreed on splitting into two groups.
Hartfield and Wang would disable the guards quietly, while Gabriel and Michael would move quickly and attempt to reach the lower decks and find where Josephine was being held.
As they approached the gangplank, Wang and Hartfield moved like shadows.
Striking fast and leaving the two men lying on the ground without making a sound.
They boarded the ship and quickly dealt with the other two that were roaming the deck, clearing a way for he and Gabriel to advance toward the poop deck and what he assumed were the owner’s cabins.
He was about to reach the for door, when it started to open from inside. Quickly darting to the shadows, Michael waited until a man emerged and closed it behind him. Moving silently, he grabbed him from behind and placed a knife against his neck.
“If you attempt to make any noise to alert others, I will cut your throat before you finish the first word. Now tell me, is there a lady held captive inside this ship?”
“I know nothing,” the man replied defiantly.
Aycliffe pressed the knife a bit harder into his neck, cutting the flesh until a trickle of blood oozed from the wound.
“I’ll ask one more time, and if you refuse to tell me, I’ll slit your throat and storm the deck.”
“Y-yes, there’s a woman inside. But she rightfully belongs to my master. You’ll never take her fr—”
“Which room?” Michael hissed, making another cut for emphasis.
“At the end of the corridor.”
“How many men are inside?”
“In the room, only my master is with the woman.”
Michael hit him in the side of the head with enough force to render him unconscious.
He looked at Gabriel, “Watch my back, will you? I’ll go into the room by myself.”
Gabriel nodded. Michael spared a quick glance behind him to see that Wang and Harfield continued to move like shadows on the upper deck, quietly overpowering the guards before they even knew what was happening.
So far, they maintained the element of surprise.
But not for much longer. At any moment now someone was bound to notice that the ship had been boarded.
There was a sliver of light coming from under the door at the end of the corridor.
Michael’s heart pounded. He pushed forward, reaching for the handle, prepared to crash through it if it was locked…
A door opened behind him, and a man erupted into the hallway but was quickly dealt with by Gabriel who overpowered him with a well-placed blow and dragged him back into the room where he had come from. He nodded his thanks to his friend, who tilted his head and quietly mouthed the word, “Go.”
The door handle to the pasha’s cabin turned easily. He exploded into the room, his pistol drawn and ready.
But the scene that met his gaze chilled his blood.
Josephine’s wrists were bound above her head, so high she was forced to stand on the tip of her toes.
Her hair was disheveled, loose locks trailing over her shoulders and face, as if she had been pulled by it.
And she was naked, her shredded chemise hanging in ribbons from her body.
The helplessness and cruelty of the position struck him like a blow to the chest. Her wrists were raw from the rough rope, and a cut marred her lower lip, but although she was pale, her gaze burned with defiance.
Her wide eyes met his, and in that instant, Michael knew—he would kill the pasha for doing this to her.
The bastard stood behind her, his smile sadistic and knowing. A sharp knife pressed to Josephine’s throat. “Drop your weapons,” he commanded.
Michael hesitated for only a fraction of a second before complying. He moved slowly, crouching to lower the pistol to the floor. He could see the pasha’s tension, the slight twitch in his fingers. One wrong move, and Josephine’s life was forfeit.
He had been in rescue operations before, but never one where the life of the woman he loved hung in the balance. Drawing on his training, he started talking.
“You will never get away with this,” Michael said evenly, keeping his voice calm. “The Foreign and Home Offices have already been notified. If you let her go unharmed, it may save you. But if you don’t, the queen will not take kindly to the abduction of a lady she personally summoned.”
The pasha’s sneer deepened. “You think your threats mean anything?” He called for his right-hand man—only to be met with silence. His brows knit together in confusion.
Michael allowed himself a grim smile. “Your men have been dealt with.”
The pasha’s nostrils flared in rage, but Michael saw something else—hesitation.
The man was unhinged, but even he had to know he was losing control.
Still, the blade remained pressed to Josephine’s throat.
He needed a distraction. A moment of hesitation.
He still had the blade-throwing device under his sleeve.
It was his best chance. But he only had one shot.
To use it effectively, he had to wait for the perfect moment.
And then pray that his aim was flawless, even if the device was not designed for great accuracy.
Then—a noise outside.
The pasha’s gaze flickered toward the door for the briefest second. It was enough.
Michael flicked his wrist, triggering the spring mechanism up his sleeve.
The hidden blade shot out and embedded in the pasha’s wrist. The knife clattered to the floor, and Josephine twisted, attempting to free herself of the man’s hold. Michael lunged, sending the pasha crashing to the ground.
They grappled on the floor, fighting for control.
The pasha produced another knife, slashing up in an attempt to cut his throat.
But Michael evaded him easily, years of fighting honing his reflexes.
It had never been a real threat to him. The man obviously considered himself an expert at handling weapons, but it was clear he had no experience of real combat.
He was a bully who used his guards to do the dirty work.
Grabbing hold of his hand, Michael slammed it against the floor, the knife clattering out of reach.
And then he unleashed his fury. He pummeled the pasha’s face with renewed vigor, the years of pain suffered by Josephine channeled through his fists, lending power to his blows. The pasha’s face got bloodied, the fight ebbing out of him as his consciousness dimmed.
And still he struck. One fist, followed by the other. He would kill the bastard, would take great pleasure in watching the life extinguish from him as he choked the air out of his lungs.
Footsteps sounded outside in the hallway that led to the cabin, the sound like many boots hitting the wooden planks of the deck.
Any moment now someone could come through the door.
And Josephine…she was naked. Tied. Vulnerable.
She would be completely exposed to the eyes of whomever entered the room.
She made a sound of distress. A choked yelp, her wide eyes fixed on the door while she frantically pulled at the rope, further damaging her already raw wrists.
It wasn’t even a consideration. The pasha was already unconscious.
His vengeance could wait. In a flash, he was up from the floor, scooping his pistol as he did so and stashing it on his waistband.
He was already shrugging out of his greatcoat and enveloping Josephine with it even before, with a quick slash, he cut her bonds.
She collapsed into his arms, clinging to him while he held her against his chest.
That had been too close…
His soldier’s instinct, dulled by the moment of togetherness with Josephine, alerted him a second too late to a movement behind him. He was already turning when the pistol was wrenched from his waistband and, almost simultaneously, two shots rang out.
Josephine screamed.