"Yes, yes...that's me."
Captain Rutherford clapped him hard around his shoulders. "Treating a peer of the realm the way she has? She should swing from the yardarm for that." He fiddled with some tobacco in his pouch, made a long ritual of lighting his pipe, and finally told Percy, "Meet me outside the door in ten minutes. By God, you'll be safe now under the protection of Captain John Rutherford."
Percy had a hard time waiting out the time, but stood outside in the dark a few minutes before he'd been ordered to appear. The wind had picked up, and dark clouds scudded across the sky, blotting out the stars and crescent moon intermittently. He barely heard a soft footfall behind him just before a sharp rap on the back of his head sent him to his knees, senseless.
* * *
El combedthe entire ship and searched again before she surrendered to the realization that Percy had somehow found a way to escape. She roused Obadiah from a deep slumber in the cabin across from hers. All she said was, "He's escaped," and her first mate leapt from his bunk to throw on clothes and join her in the search.
"Where could he have gone?" El demanded, when they searched the vicinity of the hammock on the bow of the ship once more.
"Some of the men who were allowed shore leave took the small boat to that little no-name tavern at Malbusca." Obadiah ran his hands through his hair and cursed himself for a trusting dolt.
"And you gave him permission to leave with them?" Disbelief took her usually husky voice to a higher level. "He doesn't even have any money."
"Of course I didn't give him permission to leave the ship.You'rethe one who didn't believe me when I told you how wicked clever he is."
16
LATE JULY, 1826
ATLANTIC OCEAN, NW OF AZORES
Between the rough version of ale the night before and the knock on the back of his head, Percy had the headache and hangover of a lifetime. He hadn't felt this bad since his college days.
Not only was his head thumping like a ton of rocks had battered him, but he'd gradually come to the realization that his erstwhile friend, Captain Rutherford, had thrown him into the bowels of his ship, and Percy's ankle was once again chained to a cannon ball. This time, however, he was not provided a silk banyan and trousers, and his captor was definitely not as alluring and sensual as Eleanor. Neither was she available to soothe hismal de merwith chunks of ginger.
If he survived this ordeal, he'd never again leave the confines of London or his ducal abode, Whitsunby Hall, in Surrey. He'd become a celibate recluse, mind his own business, and never again be tempted by Titian-haired sirens. His family could do whatever they damned well pleased, as long as he never had to leave the country again.
When in due time, the sailor sent to guard him slipped a plate of indescribable slop beneath the bars of his cell, he had to race to the corner where he'd been given a bucket for his needs. He wondered how many times one could cast up one's accounts before there was nothing left to lose.
At a sound behind him, he whipped around, ready to pummel whoever was there with his last bit of strength. Really, enough was enough.
"Ah, Your Grace, I see you've run afoul of the ocean's revenge." Rutherford's placid, smiling face seemed somehow evil in the thin light coming down to the hold of the ship, not as jovial and cultured as it had seemed at the tavern the night before.
If Percy had a weapon, he might have been tempted to end the bastard's life. But for now, he wouldn't, because Captain Rutherford had a hand extended toward him, full of chunks of stomach-calming ginger.
Once he'd stowed the precious root inside one of his cheeks, he was in a better mood to hear what the blackguard had to say.
"I apologize for my crew's zeal in taking you hostage last night. That is not the experience I would have chosen for you, but then again, you are a prodigiously tall man. We couldn't take the chance that you might get away. A duke's ransom will allow us a year or two of leisure during which we'll not have to engage in our other, ah, nefarious endeavors."
"I'm so very sorry to hear that. I'm afraid 'a duke's ransom' is not within your grasp, my dear captain."
The placid look on his captor's face turned ugly. "And why not? You obviously have nothing left in your hand to play."
"For the simple reason that my family would never spend any of my fortune on ransom."
"You don't know that."
"All they care about is my fortune, not my person. You see, all of London thinks I'm dead already. This would be the perfect opportunity for my family to rid themselves of me permanently. Why...my brother has yearned to be duke in my place as long as I can remember."
* * *
El and Obadiaharrived at the Malbusca tavern when dawn had barely painted the eastern sky with tiny brushstrokes of tawny yellow, blue-gray and purple. The wind had ratcheted up considerably, like a pack of runaway horses urging each other onward. Obadiah disappeared inside to question the tavern keeper whilst she waited outside. Women were never welcome inside the island drinking establishments, unless they were selling their services. In the present moment, El had more pressing needs than knocking heads together in a sailor's tavern.
Obadiah reappeared shortly, an ugly scowl on his face. El didn't think she wanted to know the reason, but she didn't have long to wait.
"Damned, rotten luck--." He threw his cap on the ground and then kicked a stone out of the way before retrieving his head covering. "Rutherford..." was all he spat out.
