With hands that shook, Emma searched the guard’s body, removing a pistol and a vial of clear liquid, which she passed to the dowager. Just as she was reaching for the rope on the man’s belt—she planned to truss him up—a beefy hand gripped her wrist. She jerked, her gaze flying to the guard’s face. His eyes were open, and he bolted upright, his expression menacing.
A scream rose in her throat—
A small hand with a red ring slapped fabric against the brute’s face. He let out a moan and fell backward, his head whacking against the floor. This time he didn’t move.
“See how you like a taste of your own medicine,” the dowager said.
Emma saw that Lady Patrice had dumped the contents of the vial onto the hem of her petticoat, using it to subdue the cutthroat.
Emma’s brows rose. “Your grace, I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“I may be a duchess, but I am Scottish,” the other replied tartly. “Now how are we getting out of here?”
Emma clasped the pistol. “We’ll locate the lifeboat. If we can escape before Alaric arrives, he needn’t bargain with that monster.”
“An excellent plan.”
Emma led the way out of the cabin and into the dark and narrow corridor. Listening to the pattern of footsteps overhead, she headed in the direction away from the activity. Minutes later, she saw steps up ahead, light filtering in from a trapdoor at the top.
Emma crept up the steps and carefully pushed the trapdoor open, just enough for her to peer out. Daylight shocked her pupils, momentarily blinding her. When the dots cleared, she could see that they were below the quarterdeck. She spotted a pyramid of barrels just paces away—possible cover. Boots suddenly crossed her line of vision; she let the trapdoor fall immediately, her heart thumping like a rabbit’s.
A minute or so passed. She cracked open the door once more.
The way looked clear.
“I’ll have to go out and look for the lifeboat,” she whispered. “Wait here, your grace.”
The dowager nodded.
Inhaling for courage, Emma pushed the door open and scrambled out, making a dash for the barrels. Pulse racing, her back against the curved containers, she waited for a bark of discovery. None came. Scouting the environs, she estimated about a half-dozen yards to the side of the vessel, where a lifeboat might be located. Her muscles readied to make the sprint.
Mercer’s voice in the distance made her freeze.
“Welcome aboard, Strathaven,” said the earl in snide tones. “I have been expecting you.”
***
Alaric took quick stock of the situation.
Mercer and six cutthroats, plus the other two bringing the trunks up from the barge.
Nine villains in all—not the best of odds, especially since Alaric’s hands were bound and he was flanked by a pair of brutes. Yet if he bought some time—distracted Mercer—Will and the others might yet arrive. He didn’t dare scan the surrounding water to see if Johnno’s barges had managed to follow the cutthroats’ snaking path to the present ship. If Will and Kent had lost the trail, finding Mercer’s ship amidst the flotilla of vessels in the harbor would be akin to searching for a needle in a haystack.
He couldn’t worry about that now.
You have to trust Will and Kent. Stay focused. Be on the lookout for Emma and Patrice.
Coolly, he said, “This wasn’t our agreement, Mercer.”
The earl gave a harsh laugh. “There is no agreement, your grace. In case you haven’t noticed, I hold all the cards. You’ll do as I say.”
“I brought the money,” Alaric said evenly. “Count it, if you wish. But you must honor your word as a gentleman and release Miss Kent and the dowager duchess.”
Mercer stepped forward and backhanded him. Alaric’s head snapped to the side.
“You’ve ruined me. Thanks to you, I’m not welcomed in Society any longer.” The earl’s urbane face contorted with rage. “You’ve destroyed everything!”
“You did that to yourself. Or perhaps you needed help even for that,” Alaric said in tones designed to goad. “Perhaps Webb came up with the stock scheme, and you were merely his lackey, following his orders.”
