Chapter Two
The sailor was most definitely a female, but more girl than woman.
She likely wasn’t even free of the school room yet given her dark braids.
But there were other observations that convinced him that she couldn’t be more than six-and-ten, or possibly younger.
Her face was youthful, for one, with a pert nose, large brown eyes, and a smattering of light freckles across her nose.
Damian assumed that her frame was slight, but it was difficult to tell in her too large clothing.
She did only come up to his chin, so it was possible that she had not even finished growing yet. A mere child.
Had she run away from her home, or was she an orphan who came to England for a better life? Were her parents sick with worry and wondering where their daughter had disappeared to?
None of that mattered. What did, was that she had stowed away on one of his ships.
Damian did not let the girl get ahead or behind but kept pace at her side, not fully trusting that she wouldn’t attempt to escape a second time.
“Damian.”
He looked for who had called his name only to note Caroline, Sterling’s new wife, approaching.
“Is Sterling still at Trade Wynd?” she asked.
He hadn’t even seen Sterling there earlier. Damian only knew of his presence because of Livia. “I do not know,” he called.
And, in that instant, while his attention was diverted, his stowaway disappeared from his peripheral vision.
“Bloody hell.”
Ignoring Caroline, Damian took off after the girl as she disappeared down another street. So long as he kept her in his sight, Damian knew that it was only a matter of time before he caught up to her simply because he was faster and had longer legs.
She turned the corner as she reached the next street, which was poor planning on her part as it had her running toward the docks instead of away. Still, Damian knew that he must run faster or he might risk losing sight of her.
As residents were entering and exiting shops, he left the walk and ran through the street where there were fewer obstacles to slow his pursuit. He reached the corner just in time to see the girl dart down another street.
Blast! She was quicker than he gave her credit for.
However, he also knew where that street ended and she would be forced to turn again when she reached a retaining wall left over from the walls built to defend the city sometime during the fourteenth century.
So, instead of following, he hurried to where she would be forced to emerge and waited out of sight.
As soon as she exited and paused for a breath, Damian came up from behind and looped an arm around her middle and lifted her from the ground.
“I believe that is enough running for one day.”
She gave an outrageous squeak of surprise, which he ignored.
The girl certainly weighed little more than a juvenile. Maybe she was even younger than he had assumed.
However, when her fingernails clawed at his arm, Damian turned the stowaway and tossed her over his shoulder no different than a bag of grain.
There was a gasp at his back, then a fist pounded against him, but it was only a minor distraction and certainly not painful.
She then started kicking, which Damian quickly subdued with an arm around her calves before one of her toes caused serious discomfort.
“Let me go.”
“If and when you provide a reasonable explanation for stowing away on one of my ships,” he returned.
“Or you can tell me while I take you back, which will save us both time,” Damian offered, turning his head so that she could hear him better only to note that he was now looking at her rounded bum, protruding in the air because of how he was carrying her.
That was not the bottom of a lad or any juvenile, and despite her slight frame, the stowaway was not simply a girl. In fact, as his pulse settled now that he was walking at a more sedate pace, Damian also noted the soft breasts pressed against his back.
If he set her down, no doubt she would attempt to run off again and he would be chasing her a third time and he had far more important things to do.
Though improper, carrying her in this manner was most expedient.
Besides, just because she had breasts and a shape that was more woman than a child did not mean she didn’t still belong in a schoolroom and be no more than six-and-ten.
Too young to be allowed to roam around alone.
*
“Why were you on one of my ships?” he demanded.
My ships? He had said that before, but Trade Wynd was owned by the Earl of Wyndham and the man carrying her was not the earl. Then again, if he worked for Trade Wynd maybe he considered the ship his, like she referred to the house owned by her father as her home.
Georgiana pondered who he could be as he carried her back to the docks in the most undignified manner.
She had also stopped kicking and hitting because the only thing she was accomplishing was making herself tired.
However, she was not going to answer his questions.
Instead, she searched for a good excuse that he might believe and allow her to go on her way without punishment.
She momentarily considered simply telling him the truth, but anticipated that he would ignore her concerns, as men often did, and put her on a ship home since the male population of any country always believed that they knew better than a female.
And even though this was the first time she had left her home village, Georgiana had encountered enough sailors, captains and students of art and architecture to know that the same sentiment was shared by all—that a woman should allow men to take care of all matters while women waited at home stitching or some other nonsense.
He may even consider her plight a fool’s errand, but Georgiana would not give in to such a finality until she knew for certain.
Seagulls cried out, bells from ships rang and shouting by men along the docks grew louder the closer they came to the water until he stopped before a building, opened the door, then marched up wooden stairs.
Only then did her heart beat harder in alarm. He had overpowered her, and could do so again, and he was taking her…what if it wasn’t an office? What if he was dangerous?
Why hadn’t she fought harder to get away?
At the top of the stairs, he paused and she glanced down, noting that her escape route was easy, if she was given the opportunity.
He then turned left and opened a door, strode inside, kicked it behind him, bent and deposited her into a chair.
Georgiana gasped with indignation but was also relieved to note that she was before a large desk of cherry wood, documents and ledgers scattered across the surface and the row of open windows behind looked out over the harbor. However, that was not what she found the most interesting or odd.
Why was a child, barely tall enough to see over the stack of ledgers, seated behind the desk?
Did this man have a daughter? If so, why wasn’t she with her mother or a governess?
“What is your name?” he demanded.
“Georgie…George.” It was not a lie because Georgie was the nickname she’d lived with for as long as she could remember.
“What is your real name?”
Did she dare tell him the truth?
“It could be Georgette, Georgina, Georgiana…”
How could this child tell that she was female? Nobody had guessed it before.
Except, she had lost her hat when this man had tossed her over his shoulder, freeing her braids. No doubt the hat was either in the street where she’d been taken from or someone else had already claimed it as their own.
She let out a sigh and set her valise on the floor beside her chair.
“But I like Georgie. We shall call her that.”
Georgiana gaped at the child. She was not a stray kitten or puppy to be taken home as a pet.
“Why were you on the earl’s ship?” she then demanded.
“Livia…” the man who hauled Georgie up the stairs warned.
“Is she a pirate, Uncle Damian? Or a French Spy? Will you make her walk the plank?”
Uncle, not a father. Not that it mattered.
“Quit reading about pirates and we no longer need to worry about French spies.”
Livia narrowed her eyes. “Napoleon escaped once. He could do so again.”
“Livia, enough,” this Damian ordered as he settled on the edge of the desk facing Georgie, arms crossed over his wide chest. “Now Georgie tell me who you are and why you were on one of my ships.”
He was even more intimidating now than when he was standing over her in the alley and all Georgie could do was stare up at him—afraid to speak. Strength and power exuded from him, muscular without any excess about his waist or anywhere else. Her mouth went dry, which she was certain was from fear.
His ice-blue eyes sent a chill up her spine, as did the set of his mouth, firm and without humor. He may be incredibly handsome, but he had the power to ruin everything.
What was he going to do with her when he did have his answers?
Further, who was he? That woman had called him Damian, as had the child, but that didn’t explain who he was. “Who are you?”
“Damian Wynd,” the child answered.
Wynd was the surname of the Earl of Wyndham. Was this Damian a brother?
Oh, why couldn’t the earl be here instead? At least she could explain to him, though it was possible that he might not even remember her, and he hadn’t been the friendliest during their previous encounters.
Oh, why couldn’t she have just gotten away from the ship unnoticed and then she wouldn’t have to face either Wynd brother. Yet here she was and she needed to formulate a reason for her trespass that they would understand, accept, and then let her go on her way.
As for the truth, it was unlikely either would be understanding because they were men.