Elizabeth Boyle (109 page)

William rubbed his head again. “I don’t know anything about this Lord Hawksbury you think she’s run off with, for she claimed to be joining up with de Ryes.”

“De Ryes? Why, he’s a villain. See what we’ve driven her to with all our secrets.” Lady Mary sat back down, tears rolling down her cheeks. Oh, this was a sorry, sorry mess. “But William, why would Maureen tell me she is eloping with Lord Hawksbury and tell you something entirely different?”

“Aye, it seems odd,” William said, rubbing his head again. “Perhaps there is some connection between this Earl of Hawksbury and de Ryes. Has she shown any preference to any other man? Were any of them suspicious or capable of being de Ryes?”

Lady Mary considered all the swains who had flocked to Maureen’s side, but only one stood out.

“Mr. D’Artiers,” she whispered. Could it be?

“D’Artiers, eh? Is he connected to Lord Hawksbury?”

“Yes,” Lady Mary said. “The earl is his nephew.”

William let out a low whistle. “Isn’t that D’Artiers fellow supposed to be rich as Midas? And rather mysterious?”

She nodded, afraid of the truth that now seemed to stare them both in the face.

“Mary, I think we’ve found de Ryes.”

“How can this be? She said she was eloping with the earl. That they were going to Vauxhall Gardens to take his yacht to Scotland.”

“If that isn’t the finest tale I’ve ever heard. She may be going to Vauxhall Gardens for a yacht, but I doubt she is on her way to Scotland.” He rose to his feet and looked around the base of the stairs.

“What are you doing?” she asked when he let out a frustrated sigh.

“Your niece is a thief.”

“William! Ellen’s daughter is no such thing.”

His bushy eyebrows cocked with a wry humor that was hardly appropriate at a time like this. “Madame, she took my best pistol. Now I’ll have to make do with those fancy dueling pieces your brother gave me.” He strode down the hall toward his office.

Lady Mary followed him and caught his sleeve. “What are you planning on doing?”

“What I should have done years ago.”

“Charles, you cannot come with me,” Maureen told her honor-bound nephew as they pulled up alongside the fence at Vauxhall.

“I cannot let you enter that place unescorted. It would be unseemly and ungentlemanly of me.”

Maureen gazed upward and wondered why she had to find the one relative of Julien’s who had more honor than sense. “I have been alone in far worse places than this, let me assure you.”

Charles looked unimpressed. His team pranced uneasily in their traces, and he steadied them with a firm hand.

“I think you should listen to his lordship, Miss Maureen,” Mrs. Landon piped in. “I’ve ’eard terrible things about them gardens. A wicked place they can be.”

“You see,” he told her. “Even Mrs. Landon agrees with me.” Charles started to get down out of the phaeton.

“Yes, certainly, Charles. By all means, come with me,” Maureen said. “But then you would be leaving poor Mrs. Landon here unprotected.”

Charles paused and then settled back into his seat. He looked as if every noble intention he possessed was about to tear him in half.

Perhaps his honor would work to her advantage, she thought.

Maureen grinned at her poor nephew and hopped down from the carriage.

“And where do you think you are going?” he asked. “You are just as unescorted and unprotected as Mrs. Landon would be.”

“Yes, but I doubt Mrs. Landon can do this,” Maureen told him. She knelt quickly, snatched out the dagger concealed in her boot, and threw it at a nearby tree, striking it in the middle of a large knot.

Charles let out a low whistle. When he recovered from his awestruck shock, he continued to protest. “Still, Aunt Maureen, I cannot, by my honor, allow you—”

Maureen gave up on diplomacy. She pulled out Captain Johnston’s pistol and fired it over the heads of the nervous blacks.

Charles’s team took off as if the hounds of hell were at their hooves, and the last thing she heard of Charles was a rather loud, ungentlemanly curse about dishonorable relations.

She easily climbed over the fence and then made her way through the gardens until she found a secluded spot at the river’s edge where she could wave down Julien before he came to the docks.

Hopefully, she wasn’t too late.

Behind her the gardens were strangely quiet. A few stray couples wandered along, while others with more bold intentions took their wanton embraces into the shadowed alcoves. The only sounds were of murmured voices, false promises, and the deep, throaty gasps and moans of someone who’d found a different type of entertainment within the aptly named pleasure gardens of London.

She glanced at the river. The tide had changed, and she could see that the time-old battle of the Thames had begun—the push of the sea inward while the river strained to empty its way against the ocean currents. The water ebbed and flowed at her feet.

Down the banks from her, ferrymen traded quips and barbs as they waited for their next fares.

And to her growing chagrin, there was no sign of Julien.

For a moment Maureen thought she was too late. Either he’d given up on her or, worse, he’d been captured by the Lord Admiral.

Then through the dark mists of the night, she spotted a boat coming upstream. A small, sturdy sailing yacht, riding both the incoming tide and the slight breeze filling its sails, guided by a lone mariner.

She knew that only the best of sailors could navigate such a course, and for the first time all night she realized there might be hope.

“Julien,” she whispered across the water. “Over here.”

If he heard her, the only indication he gave was a slight course change that brought him well around the ferrymen and closer to her.

She stepped from her hiding place, only to hear a voice behind her say, “Good, guide him to us.”

The Lord Admiral.

She started to turn around, but he barked a hard, quiet order.

“Stay still or your son dies.” The order was followed by the unmistakable cock of a pistol’s hammer.

Maureen froze. “Ethan? Is he safe?”

“For now,” Cottwell said. “But I want de Ryes, and you’re just the bait to draw him in here.”

What could she do? If she called out a warning to Julien, Ethan would surely perish, but if she didn’t, what hope was there for any of them?

“You must think yourselves quite ingenious to have freed your ship and crew.” He laughed as if the loss mattered not.

Maureen rejoiced silently. Julien had succeeded, even without her help.

“I wouldn’t celebrate quite yet,” he told her. “I have sent messages to the coast and ordered a ship of the line to meet your men as they enter the Channel. If they are smart they will surrender, but if they choose to fight, well. . .” He paused. “Then they will die, as they should have.”

Maureen wondered what the Lord Admiral would say when he found out that the
Retribution
wouldn’t be alone. Sailing alongside the
Destiny
, the two vessels stood a good chance of besting the Admiral’s ship.

And then they’d sail on and take the
Bodiel
.

She may not live to see it, but she still had faith that Julien would find a way to elude the British as he had so many times before.

Time seemed to slowly tick by as Julien sailed closer and closer to her position. She discarded one plan after another, wildly trying to think of a way to warn Julien and keep Ethan safe.

“Don’t try anything foolish,” the Lord Admiral hissed. “I have you surrounded, and my personal schooner is anchored just upstream with a squad of marines fresh from a recent encounter at sea with your husband. I’m sure they would be more than happy to cut him down now rather than wait for his hanging.”

She swallowed and turned her head slightly back and forth. There in the shadows, up and down the banks, she could make out the shadowy figures of the Lord Admiral’s hired brutes.

With every second that Julien drew closer, Maureen thought she would go crazy.

Julien had to get free. He had to save Ethan, since she had failed their son.

Please, Julien, hear me
, she said silently.
Turn around. Leave me be
.

But again the fates turned against her. The wind freshened and brought Julien that much closer.

Her knees wavered and buckled as she saw the schooner coming into sight, the lines filled with sharpshooters.

It seemed that after all these years the Lord Admiral had finally won.

Julien heard his name whispering across the waves like a siren’s call.

Slowly, his gaze swept over the shoreline until he spied a sole figure standing alone in a secluded spot.

Maureen. She’d changed her mind. Discovered the truth.

He nearly cheered at the sight of her waiting for him.

Whatever her reasons for coming, he didn’t care. They would find their way together, find their son, and then be gone from England to start a new life together.

But even as he drew closer, he could see the concern on her face, as if she feared his arrival as much as she welcomed it.

Something wasn’t right, if her wild-eyed gaze was any indication.

He scanned the banks again, alert for danger, but he saw nothing. Still, he couldn’t shake the notion that something was terribly wrong.

Then a single shot in the night drew his attention away from his wife. The pistol report echoed across the water, carrying its warning cry out to Julien. Suddenly, the banks exploded with gunfire, the shots sailing around him, chipping at the lacquered sides of his yacht.

He cursed roundly and dove to the bottom of his boat. The gunfire continued for another few moments, then subsided. Cautiously, he peered out over the railing

Troops were everywhere, stumbling over themselves, revealing their positions. There was only one person who could have engineered this trap.

The Lord Admiral.

And then from behind Maureen stepped the man himself, his hand coming to rest possessively on her shoulder.

Maureen glanced up and over her shoulder at her partner.

How could she have done this? Betrayed him after everything he’d told her, the promises they’d made? Had her wild behavior and accusations about kidnapping Ethan at the masquerade been just that—an act to drive him into this snare?

Obviously, he’d truly underestimated her need for revenge. But if there was no hope for him and Maureen, he wouldn’t let his son fall prey to her hatred.

He pulled the rudder hard and turned from the shore. The shots were whizzing past his head again, rifling his sails with holes, leaving them listless. Even more dangerous, they were putting holes in his craft.

Water poured in around his feet.

He was a sitting, sinking target.

Turning the boat once again, he put the port side toward the shore and slipped overboard on the other side. The chill and foul smell of the water hit him hard, but he ignored it. Taking a deep breath, he dove under, swimming hard out into the middle of the river. When he thought his lungs would burst from want of air, he surfaced quickly, took another breath, and dove into the murky depths anew.

He reached the other shore, choking and sputtering on the wretched water, and made for a spot where the shrubs were thick, so as to climb to shore unseen. To his frustration, the bank was too steep and covered in a slippery clay.

The freezing seawater, brought in with the tide, had left his muscles stiff and burning. Even his hands had seemed to give up, for his fingers refused to bend so he could take hold of the branches overhead. He’d slip into the water and drown if he didn’t find a way up the steep slope.

Julien was struggling for the strength to save himself, trying to recall Ethan’s face, Maureen’s smile, anything to urge him forward, when a sturdy pair of hands caught his coat by the collar and tugged him onto the bank.

“There you are, Mr. D’Artiers. Thought you were a goner for sure when I saw you slip into the water. You’ve got gumption for certain. Ethan would have been proud to call you his son-in-law.”

Julien spat out the last of the putrid water choking his throat and turned his face upward to his unknown savior. To his amazement he found himself staring into the watery gaze of Captain William Johnston.

J
ulien didn’t know if he should be relieved by Captain Johnston’s assurances that Maureen hadn’t betrayed him—because it meant that her insistence on coming to his aid had left her an easy prey in the Lord Admiral’s trap.

“You’ve got to help, sir,” the captain told him. “And I’m here to see that you do.”

He didn’t doubt that Johnston wanted to save Maureen and him, for he’d all but hauled Julien up the steep bank and assisted him into a waiting hackney. The captain didn’t waste any time in seeing them driven away from the Lord Admiral’s snare to a less-than-reputable tavern at the docks, where the man seemed well known.

The barmaid found dry clothes for Julien, and it wasn’t long before he was cleaned up and sitting before a fire with a mug of hot rum in his hands.

All the while the Captain told him the most remarkable tale. Parts of it Julien had guessed, but the rest. . . well, he thought perhaps Lady Mary’s husband had fallen prey to a bad batch of gin.

Julien looked over the rim of his mug toward his newfound companion. “What you say is incredible, if not unbelievable.”

The Captain nodded, taking a long draught from his own cup. ‘“Tis true. Every word of it. Shamed I am to admit that I had a hand in it, but if you’ll accept my help, I’d be proud to serve beside you, Captain de Ryes.”

Julien glanced up and saw, along with the man’s serious offer, the twinkle in his eye.

“Oh, don’t deny it. Me and my Mary figured it out. I don’t mind none having a niece of mine married to you. Good captain, from what I hear, and honorable when it comes to prisoners and such. Though you don’t see that printed about town. But I hear. And there’s a lot of us old sailors who admire that in a man.” William held out his hand. “Will you accept my help? One sailor to another?”

Julien took the offered hand and shook on it. “Does Maureen know any of this?”