Sarah tried to bite the hand over her mouth, dug back with her elbow and was still dragged inexorably into a small, dark yard out of sight of the quayside. She glimpsed Millie kicking and wriggling, then she was behind the bulk of a carriage. She tried again to make contact with her elbow, felt it hit home.
Behind her a man said, ‘Ough,’ and let her go.
‘Nicholas? Nicholas?’ She spun around, her back to the carriage, and confronted him. ‘What the devil do you think you are doing?’
‘What am I doing?’ He had lost his hat, wore a Belcher handkerchief tied around his neck and a shabby frieze coat and he looked as furious as she felt. ‘I told you to stay in Holt. You lied to me—’
‘I did no such thing. We shopped, as you can see by this bonnet which you have probably ruined. Then we hired a gig and came here. I do not see why I should do what you tell me.’ Behind her, on the other side of the carriage, she could hear Millie expressing herself forcefully and Pendell replying, equally heated.
‘Because you should have more sense,’ Nicholas said. She could almost hear his teeth gritting in the effort not to shout. ‘Because we are dealing with very dangerous men and this is not a game, not some exciting tale in a trashy novel.’
‘I know they are dangerous. I was there when they murdered those men—remember? I do not want to encounter them again. I will most happily leave them to you and your little army. But if Axminster is Wilton, then he drove my father to his death, he stole and cheated and he ruined my life. I will not stand back from any chance to bring him to justice.’ She took a step forward and prodded her index finger emphatically into his breastbone. ‘I will not.’
Nicholas caught her hand as she began to jab him again. Did she stumble towards him or did he pull her? Sarah was not certain, only that they were so close that she could feel his breath on her face. His hand moved from her wrist, up her arm. Her hand flattened on his chest and slid to his shoulder and then they were kissing, open-mouthed, urgent, angry.
His arm tightened around her shoulders, her hand fisted in his hair, and still they clung until, panting, they fell apart.
As though at a distance she could hear masculine voices, calm now, placating, and Millie laughing. Here, in the space between the carriage and the wall was another world, filled with the sound of their breathing, of her heartbeat pounding in her ears, of unspoken words.
After what seemed like an age Nicholas said, ‘I apologise.’
‘What for?’ Sarah realised that under a tumult of confused feelings she was still angry. At herself because she wanted to kiss him again? At Nicholas for making her want that? ‘We kissed each other. Or are you apologising for manhandling me, frightening the life out of me and dragging me off the street?’
The effort it took to answer her was written plainly on his face. ‘Two of our men saw you at the inn. We had to get you off the street before any of the crew from the Gannet encountered you. Lockhart came ashore an hour ago with two sailors who are waiting in a rowing boat you’d have passed in a few more yards. Our men, making a row, distracted attention so we could get you clear without anyone noticing.’
‘They would not recognise us. They have never seen us in clothes of these colours; they are not expecting us.’ There was a small scar that she had not noticed before, just below the curve of his lower lip; his eyes had gone the deep inky-blue she had seen when he was angered—or aroused, she realised now.
Nicholas’s lips moved and she guessed that he was counting. ‘I apologised for kissing you,’ he said finally. ‘I refuse to apologise for attempting to keep you safe.’
‘We kissed each other,’ Sarah said. ‘Angrily,’ she added, puzzled.
There was the faintest twitch of his lips, so faint that if she had not been studying his mouth with painful intensity she would not have seen it. ‘I thought at one point you were going to bite. Are you always so fierce?’
‘I have no idea. I have never kissed anyone before,’ she admitted, looking up to meet his gaze. ‘Except you kissing me in the cabin that time. And that was hardly...’
‘I see,’ Nicholas said. ‘In that case perhaps I should tell you it is not normally so angry.’
‘No. I never expected it to be. I suppose people kissing each other are usually rather more in accord.’
‘That is the case in my experience,’ Nicholas agreed gravely. Now he was unmistakably smiling.
It was difficult to know what to say next. Difficult to speak, her mouth was so dry. A sophisticated woman of the world would no doubt extract herself from this situation with a witty quip or a provocative toss of her head. Both wit and provocation appeared to have completely deserted her, as had even the faintest idea of what she wanted to do next.
‘I have discovered where this Mr Axminster lives,’ she blurted out. ‘Green Lodge. It is local, but I do not know where that is—I did not like to draw attention to my interest in the shop.’
If Nicholas was taken aback by her abrupt change of subject he did not show it. Perhaps he, too, was relieved to be saved from any further intimacies. ‘We can find out when we return to Holt,’ he said, moving out from behind the shelter of the carriage into the yard. ‘Enquiries here might not be wise.’
‘I can see that.’ Both carriages had been brought into the space which seemed to be at the rear of a tavern, judging by the stack of barrels in one corner. ‘It is the Gannet out in the deep-water moorings, isn’t it? With a new set of white sails.’
‘Yes. The local Revenue officer has sent out a fishing boat with some of his men on board to shadow her if they leave harbour, but we do not want to intervene until we hear from London. Ideally we should let them out on a long leash and see if we can capture the entire gang, but Rundell, Bridge & Rundell may have different ideas, and so might the owner of whatever they have stolen.’
‘But we can still find Wilton and have him arrested,’ Sarah said. Half a dozen men stood around, two of them watching the entrance to the yard, another lounging against the entrance, smoking a pipe. Millie was talking to Pendell, her good humour quite restored, it seemed. He was holding the pistol they had taken and was shaking his head in reproach: it appeared to amuse her.
‘No.’ Nicholas said it flatly.
Sarah spun around to face him, her expression incredulous. ‘What? It is easy, surely? We wait until Lockhart and his men are back on board the Gannet, then go to the local magistrate. I tell him who their Mr Axminster really is and he is arrested. If we don’t make a great fuss about it Lockhart will not know.’
‘I cannot trust the local magistrates,’ Nick said. ‘Smuggling is rife along this coast and some, at least, of the Justices will be involved: it is always the way.’
He could see the disappointment, the instinctive urge to argue and protest, clear on her face and could hardly blame her for it: in her position he would want to be after Wilton with a shotgun. He braced himself for an outburst because there would be no kissing another quarrel away, much as he might like to.
‘I see. Yes, that could ruin everything; he might even escape,’ Sarah said slowly. She was pale and her hands were clenched, but she had herself under control. ‘But you will not just forget him, will you? When we take Lockhart and recover the stolen crate, you will return and deal with him?’
‘I promise. Give me your hands.’
She put her tight fists into his and he raised them to his lips, kissed each on the knuckles that stretched the thin black kid over the bone.
‘Nicholas—what are you doing?’
‘Endeavouring to stop you splitting the seams of your gloves, otherwise I will have to buy you some new ones and, frankly, what with clothing that brat Charlie and buying you new bonnets, I will be out of funds within days.’
‘You—’ She glared at him, then gave a choked laugh. ‘You are impossible.’
‘I fear so,’ he said, releasing her and walking further into the yard. He was certainly confused, presumably by that kiss, which was ridiculous. It meant nothing, merely the release of tension and anger on both their parts. He shouldn’t be kissing virginal paid companions, of course, but there was no harm done: Sarah was thoroughly sensible.
He watched her making her way to Millie, skirting around the yard so as to keep out of sight of the entrance onto the quayside. Yes, thoroughly sensible, he reassured himself. Sarah would know he was not attempting to seduce her and she was not going to behave as though he had compromised her.
Which he had, of course. It was an uncomfortable thought, but if Miss Parrish had been the daughter of one of the ton, or of a respectable ship owner, come to that, he should be offering marriage.
But she is not: she is one step up from a servant, just like a governess.
His duty was to ensure that her reputation did not suffer and he could do that easily enough with his sister Julia’s help.
Even so, he thought, watching her, calm and determined now, he would make it his personal mission to bring Wilton to justice. The memory of those small, fierce fists enclosed in his own hands would be a long time fading.
As will the taste of that kiss, he thought ruefully.
He found he was running the tip of his tongue around his lips. He was losing rather too much sleep on account of Sarah Parrish.
One of Fawcett’s men, signalling from the entrance to the yard, put a stop to inconveniently sensual musings. Nick strode across and looked cautiously around the corner. The man at the entrance was knocking the used tobacco out of his clay pipe against the wall in the rhythm that signalled that someone was on the move. He held up one finger, then a second and jerked his head in an unmistakable Come on gesture.
Nick walked to the entrance and looked out. There was Lockhart, seated in the stern of the rowing boat, and two sailors on the oars pulling hard down the creek.
Someone was pressing against him, craning to look around. Someone soft who smelt faintly of jasmine.
‘Get back,’ he muttered. ‘Wait... Our man who followed Lockhart into the inn has come out and he’s signalling. The person Lockhart was meeting is coming this way.’
He did not have to wait for the lookout to signal who it was. Behind him Sarah stiffened. ‘That’s him,’ she whispered. ‘That’s Wilton.’
He could have been any moderately prosperous local landowner or merchant. His suit of clothes was well-made but not of the latest fashion, his linen was crisp and white, his low-crowned hat of best beaver was at a jaunty angle and there was a flash of bright blue from his waistcoat as he half turned to bow acknowledgment to a greeting. A pair of gleaming round-lensed spectacles was perched on the end of his nose.
Medium height, comfortably portly around the midriff, with a cheerfully nondescript face, Josiah Axminster, née Wilton, looked anything but a thoroughgoing villain. He also appeared completely comfortable strolling along. This was no cautious criminal skulking in the shadows for fear of discovery, Nick thought.
‘You sound like a kettle that is about to boil over,’ he remarked without looking around.
Sarah made a sound that was almost a laugh. ‘He makes me so angry.’
‘I can understand why.’ Nick turned and put his arm around her, shielding her from the view of passers-by on the quayside. ‘He will not escape justice, I promise you.’
It felt strange to hold her like this, to feel so protective of the independent, brave young woman. For a moment she leaned in, rested her head against his shoulder and murmured something.
‘What did you say?’
There was a sigh. And she pushed away from him. ‘I said that sometimes I get so very tired of this grieving and hating.’ Then she straightened up and, once again, was the aggravating Miss Parrish. ‘What do you intend to do next?’
‘Go back to Holt and see if there are letters from Winterton, or from Rundell, Bridge & Rundell, wait for a report from the Revenue men here on what Lockhart does next and make our plans from there.’
‘Are they going to sink the Gannet with cannons?’ That was Charlie.
‘I thought I told you to stay in the carriage in case anyone recognised you.’
‘I did. Sir,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘But they’ve gone now, ain’t they?’
‘Haven’t they,’ Nick corrected automatically. ‘Yes, they have and no, we are not going to sink the Gannet, you bloodthirsty brat. She belongs to someone—Lockhart stole her.’
The council of war after dinner, held in Nick’s private parlour at the Feathers, consisted of himself and Fawcett, Pendell, Millie, Sarah and Charlie, because, as Millie said, it was the only way to keep an eye on a boy she described as a limb of Satan. Nick had the sneaking suspicion that she approved of Charlie.
The cloudy June day had turned to rain, a damp, persistent drizzle, and Nick had ordered a fire to be lit. It gave their meeting a cosy, homely air, out of keeping with the subject under discussion.
Millie curled up on the hearthrug with Charlie leaning against her, playing the cat’s cradle she had taught him. Pendell sat opposite her, ostensibly to wield the poker and keep the fire going but, Nick suspected, to look at her. He sat down in one of the armchairs, close enough to nudge his valet in the ribs with his toe if his attention started to stray too much. Fawcett pulled up a chair next to him and Sarah, who had, he noticed, slipped off her shoes, curled up opposite him on the battered sofa and seemed intent on watching the flames.
She looked sad, or perhaps merely thoughtful, and he wondered if all of this was bringing back too many painful memories to cope with. There was not a lot he could do about that, he decided. Nothing except bring Wilton to justice.
‘There is post,’ he told them, holding up two letters. He cracked the seals and everyone seemed to sit up straighter to listen.
‘This is from Rundell, Bridge & Rundell.’ He studied the first. ‘Apparently they have spoken to the owner of that crate who has authorised them to tell me of the contents and their destination. It is a complete and lavish silver gilt dining set sent as a wedding present to the Duke of Findlater’s eldest daughter, who has returned with her husband, the Earl of Tranley, to their home in Yorkshire after their honeymoon trip. They were aware that word that it was ready for shipment had got out and therefore decided to send it by sea. Apparently whoever is leaking information was able to discover what they had believed to be a well-kept secret.’
‘What do they want done, sir?’ Fawcett asked.
‘The Duke wants it retrieved, regardless of publicity, and the culprits prosecuted to the utmost severity the law allows. Reading between the lines the directors of the company feel he is ordering the medieval dungeons in Findlater Castle put in order and the rack and thumbscrews oiled and that they themselves will be the first to try them if the silver is not recovered urgently.’
‘This makes it easier,’ Fawcett commented. ‘At least we know what we are looking for now.’
‘And the other letter?’ Sarah asked. She wriggled into a more comfortable position against the plump cushions. Nick discovered that he was uncomfortably aware of her.
He cleared his throat and opened the letter. ‘Not much. Long Tom has given more information about where they might be heading—a little fishing village called Saltfleet, just south of Grimsby.’
‘I do not understand why they haven’t delivered the crate to Wilton,’ Sarah said, frowning at the fire.
‘My guess would be that it is not destined for a buyer in this country,’ Nick said. ‘It would be too risky, given the prominence of the owners and the distinctiveness of the work.’
‘I agree.’ Fawcett, who had been brooding in the shadows, leaned forward. ‘They intend to ship it abroad, possibly through Edinburgh. Increasing the distance from London can only make them more secure.’
‘Then why come here at all?’ Sarah queried.
‘Because either Wilton is their agent for the sale and wanted to be certain it was safely in their hands, or he is their leader,’ Nick said. ‘We will wait until we hear what Lockhart does—if he sails north, then we follow by road. Wilton will stay snug hereabouts, I have no doubt. We can leave a couple of men behind to keep an eye on him.’
Fawcett stood up and announced that, if His Grace no longer required him, he would make his way back to the King’s Head. Charlie had fallen asleep under the settle and Pendell hauled him out and carried him off, Millie following.
Nick stood and stretched, then sat down at the other end of the sofa to watch Sarah, who seemed to be on the point of dropping off to sleep.
‘This is like being back on the ship, with one of us at each end of the bunk,’ she said. ‘Only more comfortable.’
The mention of the ship started a chain of thoughts in Nick’s head. ‘What exactly did Wilton steal from your father?’ he asked.
Sarah blinked at him, but she answered readily enough. ‘Six sailing vessels, their cargoes, and fifteen thousand pounds in cash and bonds.’
‘And Wilton was an employee, not a partner?’ She nodded. ‘Then I think you will have no need to seek employment after this is all over and Wilton is arrested. You can demonstrate ownership of that money, the ships and the value of their cargo. I am no lawyer, but I suspect you will also have a claim for damages on anything that remains of Wilton’s assets after that.’
Sarah sat up straight, wide-awake now. ‘You mean I will be rich?’