"Where are you, Cecilia?" he called through the smoke, searching the shadowed hold, his gaze stopping on the entwined figures of Angel and Sir Harry.
"Over here. Help me," she croaked.
His head swung around, and he saw her kneeling by two prone women. "Havelock!" he yelled up the ladder, "I need your help!" He strode over to her and pulled one of the women up, slinging her over his shoulder just as Havelock dropped into the hold.
"There's another one over here," he told him, jerking his head to the side. He pushed Cecilia ahead of him with his free hand as Lord Havelock brushed past him to pick up the other woman.
Cecilia scrambled up the ladder, every limb of her body quivering from exertion and fatigue though her head felt amazingly clear and alert. On deck, she could see that the fire, primarily in the rigging, was being fought by sailors from the naval ship nearby. But the fire was spreading faster than their efforts to put it out. As they crossed the deck, the call was given to abandon ship. A burly seaman swept Cecilia off her feet and dumped her unceremoniously into a boat drawn alongside. Looking across the water, she saw a boat with a load of frightened women reach the safety of the naval vessel. Havelock and Branstoke lowered their burdens to waiting seamen then jumped down beside them. Branstoke pulled Cecilia into his arms, where she clung to him, gulping cooler air while tears of relief slid down her cheeks.
The sailors pulled hard on the oars as the fire spread rapidly across the little ship. They were almost to the naval vessel when a loud boom and crack drew their attention back in time to see the other ship list sideways and slide burning into the river.
Cecilia, wiping the tears away with the back of a grimy hand, said a prayer for Angel Swafford's soul.
* * *
The next afternoonCecilia lay propped in a nest of pillows on the daybed in Lady Meriton's rose parlor, George Waddley's journal lying open and forgotten in her lap. She was staring at nothing, yet in her mind seeing everything. Everything that had happened over the past weeks, over the last years of her life. She felt odd, unsettled. There was a churning restlessness within her.
The horrors of the past—though they might haunt some corridors of her mind—were just that, the past. And the Cecilia Waddley, nee Haukstrom, who existed in that past, was also gone. Like the legendary phoenix, rebirth followed destruction.
She smiled softly and closed the book in her lap. That old Cecilia, that sheltered, naive Cecilia who feared the world and played parts to exist within it, possessed the truth all the while, yet never saw it. She could only look upon the surface of life, for that was how she lived it. She leaned her head back against the pillows and closed her eyes, a smile softly touching her lips.
She heard the parlor door open and close, but still, she did not open her eyes, though her smile widened. "I see I shall have to reprimand Loudon for failing in his duties yet again," she said severely even though the smile lingered on her face.
She raised her head and opened her eyes to see Sir James Branstoke leaning against the closed parlor doors, his arms folded across his chest. His eyelids were in their normal lazy, half-closed position. He straightened languidly, drawing a slight giggle from Cecilia. Taking his quizzing glass from his waistcoat pocket, he raised it to peer through the glass at her.
"Will you insist on wearing those infernal caps when we are married?" he asked, studying the lace confection that covered her pale blond curls.
"Are we to be married?" she asked archly.
"We had better be," he said seriously, dropping the quizzing glass and walking toward her, "or I shall not be responsible for the consequences."
"And what consequences are those?" she asked breathlessly, the butterflies careening wildly through her stomach and pressing outward to fill her entire body.
He sat down on the edge of the daybed, appearing to be still studying the lace cap. He reached up to pluck it off her head.
His thin lips curved into a smile. "Shall we take this action to be symbolic of my desires?" He gathered her up in his arms, cradling her against him. "Or are further demonstrations in order," he whispered against her ear, his breath light, warm, and caressing.
She shivered delightfully in his arms and turned her face up to his. "Yes and no," she whispered, straining toward him. Then she paused and reached up a hand between their lips. She leaned back against the pillows, sighing.
"I love you, James. But what are we to do?" she asked seriously.
"Do?"
She waved a hand over her attire. "I am once again in mourning for a year though all I want is to leave the past behind."
"Ah, yes. Social conventions," he said. "I have given the matter thought; we being such society-controlled creatures. We, my darling ninnyhammer, to save you from going into a decline, are going to elope.'
"Me go into a decline? Am I such a poor-spirited individual?"
"You created the image, not I. I don't see any reason to attempt to persuade people otherwise. Upon consideration. I have decided it is the perfect excuse for us to continue to stay out of society's orb. You being so frequently confined to your bed and I, the devoted husband, so attentively attending to your needs," he suggested, smiling raffishly.
"Hmmm," she said, snuggling among the pillows. Then she scowled and sat up, a determined look glinting in her royal blue eyes. "You are making me forget everything. My mind is full of questions. What has happened? How did Havelock get involved? What's going to happen now? What's the world to know?"
He sighed. "I forget you slept nearly twenty-four hours while the rest of us toiled to unravel the skeins of Elsdon's weaving. All right. Piecing this together from various sources, the story goes as follows: Elsdon was on the Grand Tour when Napoleon began playing havoc with Europe. Consequently, he found himself kicking his heels for long periods in backwater locations without access to funds. During that time, he met a doge who lusted after a nobleman's daughter pledged to another. He told Elsdon that he'd pay a king's ransom for a night with the girl. Elsdon, young, at loose ends, and lacking funds, took up the challenge and soon supplied the grateful doge with his heart's desire. As in Haukstrom's case, one thing led to another, and soon he was in the white slavery trade. In Europe and the Middle East, he discovered that English women were considered great prizes and carried great worth. When he returned to England, he decided to see if he couldn't tap into this lucrative market."
Branstoke rose from the daybed and crossed to a side table where Loudon had earlier left a decanter of sherry and some glasses. He poured out two glasses, carrying the second to Cecilia.
"No one knows how he got together with Waddley. Havelock guesses that Waddley had been involved in illegal activities in the Mediterranean that Elsdon knew about from his time there and used them as an introduction. However an introduction occurred, about nine years ago, they began occasionally filling orders. Slowly their reputation grew among those who had an interest in their products. As their reputation grew, so did the demand. Elsdon began using others to scout for likely women. One of the women they abducted eight years ago was Dorothea Rustian."
