Hand over hand, Wrexford slid his way along the varnished railing. Closer . . . closer . . .
NOW!
The earl yanked himself upward with all his might. But his movements were sluggish from the cold and his fingers slipped. The boat rocked, but only enough to knock von Stockhausen from his seat. As Wrexford fell back into the water, he saw the Prussian scramble to his feet, snatch up one of the heavy oars, and lift it high over his head with a bellow of rage.
Damnation.There was no time to swim out of range. His only hope of avoiding a lethal blow was to dive—
Crack!
The oar fell harmlessly against the gunwales as von Stockhausen teetered for an instant before dropping like a stack of stones over the stern and disappearing beneath the water.
Wrexford blinked the brackish spray out of his eyes and looked up to see the wherry bearing down on him. McClellan was balanced on the bowsprit, one hand clutching a shroud, the other a still-smoking pistol.
Behind her were Charlotte and Sheffield, who were just lowering their own weapons.
“You should have let me shoot him,” said Sheffield.
“No, better me than any of you,” said the maid cryptically.
The earl was about to speak, but then all of a sudden, hands were reaching down and hauling him up into the blessedly dry cockpit.
“T-Tyler,” he sputtered as Charlotte draped him in a blanket.
“Yes, yes, we saw him.” Sheffield rushed to take the tiller from Raven. “We’ll have him safely aboard in a moment.”
“You bloody idiot,” said Charlotte before wrapping the earl in a hug and kissing him full on the mouth.
Wrexford couldn’t recall having ever tasted anything so exquisitely sweet.
“What the devil were you thinking?” she murmured, her lips now feathering against his cheek. “That madman had just shot two men. How could you be sure he didn’t have a third weapon?”
“Nobodycarries three pistols,” he answered. “It defies logic—two hands, two pistols.”
“Be damned with logic.” She hugged him tighter. “Don’t ever attack a ruthless murderer with naught but your bare hands again.”
Raven peered over one of the crates, his look of concern giving way to a grin. “Oiy, you’re supposed to be setting a good example for me and Hawk.”
“Ahoy there,” warned Sheffield, slowing the wherry as it approached Tyler.
McClellan leaned over the rail and lifted her cousin and his bedraggled sack into the boat.
“Are you injured?” she demanded after clasping him in a fierce embrace.
Tyler smiled. “Just a few scrapes and bumps.”
“Good.” The maid cocked a meaty fist and smacked him square on the tip of his chin, knocking him out cold. “Let that be a lesson not to draw the Weasels into danger in the future.”
She caught him as he slumped forward and quickly wrapped him in a blanket before laying him gently on the cockpit floor, sheltered from the wind. “Now, I suggest we all return to His Lordship’s townhouse as quickly as can be arranged . . .” She cracked her knuckles. “And break open a bottle of his most expensive Scottish malt.”
CHAPTER 29
Alas, it quickly became apparent to Charlotte that the celebratory libations would be delayed for some time. On docking at Nereid and Neptune’s wharf and returning to the company’s office, they found the place crowded with a contingent of Bow Street Runners left by Griffin as reinforcements. The acting commander had no idea as to where the Head Runner had gone, but there was little time to ponder that conundrum in the frenzy of activity needed to bring the chase for the villains to an end.
Wrexford busied himself with dispatching a note to Daggett at Greenwich explaining all that had transpired. The American and the Royal Navy would need to stand down from the blockade and turn their efforts to retrieving the disabled Baltimore Clipper.
As for the dead bodies . . .
Charlotte shivered, thankful that she had only seen Lyman’s skull shatter from afar. Wrexford’s grim account of the details had been bad enough. Griffin’s second-in-command hadn’t been at all pleased that he and the other Runners were tasked with rowing out and searching for three corpses in the river. But that, she decided, was a skirmish for Griffin to face.
