Charlotte tightened her hold on Raven. Not for anything would she give up the wondrous joys of love. But it came with a fearful symmetry. That it brought such happiness also meant it could bring terrible pain. The boys had come to think of Wrexford and Tyler as family . . . along with Alison, McClellan, and now Hartley. It made them vulnerable . . .
But it also makes all of us strong.
“Y-You think we will find Mr. Tyler . . . alive?” asked Raven in a small voice.
“I do, my love,” she answered without a qualm. “Wrexford would beat the Grim Reaper to a pulp if he dared to swing his scythe at any of us.”
That drew a soft laugh. “Mr. Sheffield says even Lucifer himself would run like the devil when Wrexford is in a temper.”
“A very wise move. Otherwise, there would be hell to pay.”
The rattle of the side door announced that Hawk and the urchins had arrived. Raven wriggled free and swiped his sleeve across his eyes.
“Quite right,” he said, blinking away the last of his uncertainties. “The miscreants be damned. We shall find the ship, and then they shall suffer the consequences of their evil.”
The next few minutes passed in a helter-pelter of activity. A sharp whistle summoned Wrexford, who gave the motley band of ragamuffins strict orders on how to conduct the search, and what risks to avoid, before passing out the coins.
“Now off you go,” he finished.
Charlotte sighed as they scrambled out the door, led by Raven and Hawk.
“Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war,”murmured Daggett, who, along with Sheffield, had accompanied the earl down to the cellar.
“I’m surprised you read Shakespeare,” quipped Sheffield. “ThatisShakespeare, isn’t it?”
“I read a great many things,” answered the American. “Between the occasional moments of storms and battles, a naval captain has endless hours for other pursuits.”
All of which, guessed Charlotte, he used for sharpening both his intellect and his physical skills. She turned away from the lamplight. No wonder that from the very first, he had struck her as dangerous.
“Wrexford!” called Cordelia from the top of the stairs. “I have found the nautical charts you requested.”
“I think we should have a look at the likely hiding places upriver,” he said. “Kit, you’re familiar with the West India docklands and may know of some hidden nooks among its many docks where a ship would be shielded from prying eyes.”
“There are one or two places . . .” Deep in conversation, the two of them headed up together.
Daggett turned to follow, but after a step or two, he stopped.
The back of her neck began to prickle. If he hadn’t been between her and the side door, Charlotte would have bolted for the alleyway. Instead, she slipped deeper into the shadows.
He started to move again, his boots scraping lightly over the stone flaggings. She held her breath, waiting—nay, praying—for the sound of his tread on the stairs.
The gloom suddenly seemed to come alive with a crackling tension. With the rush of her pulsing blood filling her ears, Charlotte felt rather than heard him come closer.
“You make a very fetching urchin, Lady Charlotte,” whispered Daggett.
“An astute observation, sir.” She turned to face him. “And one, I trust, that you will keep to yourself.”
“Your secret is safe with me. We Americans may abhor the idea of an aristocracy, but I do consider myself a gentleman when it comes to the personal life of a lady,” he answered. “Though it does raise a number of intriguing questions.”
“None of which I intend to answer.”
A flutter of the lamp’s flame caught the twitch of his lips. “A lady’s prerogative.”
“Speaking of questions, how did you know?”
Daggett hesitated, as if wondering whether to play tit for tat, and then shrugged. “Your eyes are the exact shade of blue as those of my late sister.”
He said it in an offhand way, but it didn’t fool her. Charlotte now was sure that this mission was a very personal one for him.
