“What?”
Ignoring his friend’s confusion, Wrexford looked to Raven. “We need to find Lyman’s ship—the Baltimore Clipper—as quickly as possible.”
Raven grinned. “That’s easy, sir. I already know that! Strings heard from Whisky that it’s tied up at the wharves behind the coal warehouses at Mill Wall Basin.”
* * *
Rather than go along with Raven and Sheffield as they rushed to join the earl, Charlotte had slipped away into one of the narrow passageways between the buildings. Daggett possessed a very sharp eye, and now that she was no longer a Nobody, the challenge of keeping her secret—along with her unfettered freedom—was growing more and more perilous.
One small slip . . .
A shiver passed through her, and Charlotte couldn’t keep from withdrawing deeper into shadows. Wrexford, she decided, would counsel her to exercise caution.
Or am I simply losing my nerve?
In a fortnight, she would be a countess, expected to do naught but wallow in idleness and indolence. Such strictures would squeeze the life out of her if she let them . . .
A terrifying thought.
The shrill screech of gulls circling overhead roused her from her brooding. Charlotte shifted position to catch a better glimpse of what was happening. The American didn’t appear to be a prisoner. Quite the opposite, in fact. The earl and Sheffield were listening intently to whatever he was saying, while Raven kept a watch on the surroundings.
Wrexford suddenly turned to the boy and flashed a signal. Raven scampered ahead as the three men began walking, side by side.
Surely, he hadn’t forgotten her—
“Wait over by the barrels, Daggett,” said Wrexford, a little louder than was necessary. “I need to speak with one of our other mudlarks, and he’s particularly wary of strangers.”
A blade of darkness cut across the light as the earl moved into Charlotte’s hiding place.
So many queries were on the tip of her tongue. But on seeing the outline of his profile—all the little dips and contours that she knew by heart—the first words to spill out were, “Oh, thank heaven you’re safe.”
The intensity of her emotion seemed to take him by surprise. A ripple stirred beneath his dark lashes, and then a quicksilver smile flickered for an instant.
“I made a promise to you not to stick my spoon in the wall, remember?” he murmured.
“Yes, but . . .” Charlotte reached up and pressed her palm to his cheek, intimately aware of the faint stubble against her flesh. “But the Fates don’t always listen to our mortal promises.”
Wrexford pulled her into a quick hug. “The Fates wouldn’t dare displease you, my love. They would be far too frightened of being skewered by your pen.”
“Never mind my pen,” said Charlotte. Much as she longed to linger in his arms, she drew back. “I thought Daggett was the enemy—”
“Yes, we all did,” he cut in. “I’ll explain, but I must make it quick . . .”
Charlotte listened in stunned silence as he told her about Daggett’s secret mission and how it had come to be tangled in the sinister web of their own investigation.
“Ye gods,” she whispered once he had finished. “And you’re sure that you can believe him?”
“I’d wager my life that the documents are genuine.” His short-lived smile held a hint of dark humor. “In fact, I may already have, as I’m about to accompany him to Lyman’s ship.”
“That’s not funny, Wrexford.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Trust often defies rational explanation.”
She sensed what was coming. “I can’t believe you’re about to throw my words on intuition back in my face.”
His gaze softened, but only for an instant. “I know you don’t like it, but I need for you to take Sheffield and Raven back to Nereid and Neptune. They’ll go if you do.”
“That’s a low blow,” she muttered, hating that he was right.
