“The devil she has.” Thomas’s lime-green eyes came back to Georgina, flared with upset. “Georgie, you couldn’t be that foolish—”
“Couldn’t I?” she cut in sharply, but then unexpectedly her eyes filled with unwanted tears. “It’s your fault that I’m—I’m…oh, here!”
She tossed the vase at him as she ran out of the room, ashamed to be crying again over a heartless Englishman by the name of Malory. But she left pandemonium behind, and not because anyone had noticed her tears.
Thomas caught the vase she’d thrown to him, but not before four grown men fell at his feet in their efforts to catch it if he didn’t.
Chapter Twenty-eight
James stood impatiently at the rail, waiting for the small skiff that had finally been sighted on its way back to the ship. Three days he’d waited in this little bay on the Connecticut coast. If he’d known it was going to take this long for Artie and Henry to return with the information he wanted, he would have gone ashore himself.
He almost had, yesterday. But Connie had calmly pointed out that his present mood was a deterrent, that if the Americans didn’t clam up simply because he reeked of British nobility, authority, and condescension, his mood would make anyone distrustful, possibly even hostile. James had objected to the condescension part. Connie had merely laughed. And two out of three had still made his point.
James was totally unfamiliar with these American waters, but he’d decided not to follow the vessel he’d been trailing into port, since he didn’t want to give Georgie any prior warning that he was here. He’d merely assured himself that her ship had actually docked at the coastal town, rather than sailing up the river she had entered. He’d then anchored theMaiden Annejust around the point of land that jutted out at the mouth of the river and sent Artie and Henry into the town to find out what they could. But it shouldn’t have taken three days. He’d only wanted to know where he could find the wench, not details of the whole town.
But they were back now, and the moment they climbed aboard, he demanded, “Well?” only to change his mind and snap, “In my cabin.”
Neither man was overly concerned with his abruptness. They had an earful to report, and besides, the captain’s manner was no different than it had been since leaving Jamaica.
They followed him below, as did Connie. But James didn’t even wait to settle behind his desk before he again asked for an accounting.
Artie was the first to speak up. “Ye won’t like it none, Cap’n…or maybe ye will. That ship we was after followin’, she’s one o’ the Skylark Line.”
James frowned thoughtfully as he slowly eased into his chair. “Now why does that name have a familiar ring to it?”
Connie’s memory had no trouble supplying the answer. “Maybe because as the Hawke, you had encounters with two Skylark ships. One we captured, the other got away, but not before we did considerable damage to her.”
“And this Bridgeport ’ere is ’ome port o’ the line,” Artie added. “There’s more’n a ’alf dozen o’ their ships docked right now.”
James accepted the significance of that with a grin. “It appears my decision to avoid that harbor was a fortuitous one, don’t it, Connie?”
“Indeed. TheMaiden Annemight not be recognizable, but you certainly are. And I guess that settles the matter of your going ashore.”
“Does it?”
Connie stiffened. “Blister it, James, the wench isn’t worth getting hanged for!”
“Do try not to exaggerate so,” came the dry reply. “I might have been easily visible whenever we bore down on a prize, but I also sported a beard in those days, which you’ll notice I no longer do. I’m no more recognizable than my ship is, and furthermore, the Hawke retired more than five years ago. Time dims all memories.”
“In your case, it must also have eroded good sense,” Connie grumbled. “There’s no reason you have to take any risk a’tall, when we can just as easily bring the brat to you.”
“And if she doesn’t want to come?”
“I’ll see that she does.”
“Are we considering abduction, Connie? Strike me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that a crime?”
Red-faced with frustration, Connie demanded, “You just aren’t going to take this seriously, are you?”
James’s lips twitched the slightest bit. “I’m just remembering that the last time we tried abduction of a fair damsel, we ended up pulling my sweet niece out of the bag. And the time before that, when Regan was quite willing to be abducted, I ended up being disowned and soundly thrashed by my dear brothers. But that’s neither here nor there. I didn’t come all this way to let your worry over what is no more than a slim possibility at most change my plans.”
“Just what are your plans?”
That particular question brought back James’s irritation, and then some. “I haven’t any yet, but that’s beside the bloody point,” and then, “Artie, where the hell is the wench? You two laggardsdiddiscover her whereabouts, didn’t you?”
“Aye, Cap’n. She lives in a big ’ouse just outside o’ Bridgeport.”
“Outside? Then I can find her without actually going through the town?”
