CHAPTER 18

Through the open portholes, Marcus caught the sound of a shout ringing from the tops, immediately followed by the pounding of feet. He set aside his book, anticipation rising in his belly. The talk around the table stilled. A moment later a young man swung into the greater cabin. He whipped off his hat and bobbed his head in greeting. “Mr Cabot’s compliments, sir, and land has been sighted. Two points to larboard.”

Danbury was first out of the door, flinging his napkin to the table and standing so precipitately that his chair toppled back with a thud. The rest followed in close succession.

On deck, an obliging sailor pointed him in the right direction, and Marcus raised his glass. Far in the distance, he made out a tiny green speck dotting the horizon.

Lydia turned to Lord Danbury. “That’s Mahe?”

“Yes, I think so.” Danbury’s eyes were bright. “Now we will see.” He rubbed his hands together and laughed, a hearty sound that drew others to join him.

Marcus raised his glass again and eyed the island. He had never seen a more welcome sight. And yet he couldn’t shake the sense that danger awaited them on Mahe. He well knew the ruthlessness of murderers. Once someone had killed to obtain a goal, it became easier to do so again. The people they were dealing with had killed at least twice.

Danbury and Miss Garrett were too naive. During their voyage, Marcus had come to admire Danbury’s tenacity, intelligence, and enthusiasm, but the earl didn’t truly appreciate the risks they ran. How could he? He’d never come face to face with men such as they now sought to trap. He was apt to be rash and it would take a great deal of effort to compel him to caution.

They stayed on deck watching the green speck transform itself into a jewel of an island as they drew closer. All the time he was considering what challenges might await.

Legacy drew into Mahe’s natural harbour as the sun set. The place had attracted sailors for hundreds of years. Anthony drank in the view as if it were an intoxicating vintage. Beautiful beaches gave way to a series of verdant mountains. Huge granite boulders jutted from the hills, providing rugged contrast to the lush greenness that predominated. The shallower water became a hue Anthony had never seen before in nature, though he had heard it described—a brilliant, luminous Prussian green. A mixture, it seemed, of the vibrant blue of the sky and the green of the island itself. Every hue and shade seemed more vivid than the colours of England.

A small village had grown beside the harbour since Centaur’s crew had put in so long ago. It wasn’t much to look at. A handful of ramshackle shanties clustered along the shore. They looked as if they provided little in the way of shade, much less shelter. The inhabitants apparently excelled at scavenging; the shacks looked as though they had been formed mainly from bits of shipwrecked vessels. Scant effort had been made to tame the natural vegetation, resulting in a riotous profusion of greenery that almost overran some of the structures.

Captain Campbell approached and Anthony turned to meet him. “Captain, you’ve done splendidly. I can practically feel the sand underfoot already.”

“Aye, my Lord. I’ve no doubt you’re champing at the bit to set ashore. But I counsel you to wait until morning. The moon’s waning and it’ll be nigh impossible to accomplish anything before dawn.”

He’d waited long enough. Anthony opened his mouth to say so, but Mr Cabot appeared at his shoulder. “There’s less than an hour’s worth of daylight. By the time we lowered the boats and rowed ashore you’d be compelled to return to the ship.”

Harting shrugged as eloquently as a Frenchman.

Anthony sighed, but his better sense prevailed. “We will leave at first light, no matter who is or is not prepared to depart.” He shot a withering glance across Harting’s bow.

Thus, in the pearly grey prelude to dawn he rose and dressed. Miss Garrett found him pacing the foredeck and annoying the watch.

“Good morning, my Lord.”

“Good morning. I trust you slept well.”

“I’m afraid that I did not.”

Anthony ripped his gaze from the beckoning shore to look at her more closely. “Oh?”

“Too unsettled.” She waved a hand towards the island. “I suspect I wasn’t the only one who tossed and turned during the night.”

Anthony managed to stop pacing, and smiled. “My dear young lady, you are too perceptive by half.”

“Perhaps breakfast would make the wait more bearable?”

Anthony raised an eyebrow. At the moment he had less desire to eat than to clap a bucket on his head. What he wanted was to get on that island. He was giddy with the nearness of their goal. Perhaps he could swim for it? He leaned over the rail slightly. The water was so clear he could see straight to the bottom. It might not be a bad idea at all.

“My Lord?” Miss Garrett placed a hand on his sleeve. “You’ll need your strength if we are to be climbing all over Mahe in search of the throne.” She offered a sweet smile.

The pleasure of her company, without Harting’s eternal presence, might be worth the delay. She was looking particularly well. The warmth of the day and the flush of excitement had brought pink to her cheeks and a sparkle to her eyes. Yes, a few more minutes wouldn’t really be a delay at all.