“Rory…” Longing made her voice tremble. “I don’t know…I don’t know what the future…”
The list of things she didn’t know was so long…would she be married in a month? Would she be living in England? Playing the part of a marchioness, something that meant nothing to her?
“It’s all right,” Rory murmured against her neck. “We have now, don’t we?”
She let out a gurgle of laughter. “Yes, we have now. Imprisoned on a Darth Vader yacht going who knows where for God knows what reason.”
“Right? It’s like a perfect honeymoon.”
They laughed at that, then cuddled together in quiet, lulled by the motion of the waves. She even drifted to sleep a bit, exhausted by the night they’d just experienced. Even though she ought to be too scared to sleep, being with Rory made made her feel protected and safe.
Sometime later, the door burst open and a familiar man walked in. His glasses glinted in the light and his gray hair was mussed. His jungle camo outfit had been replaced with a windbreaker and chino pants.
“Philip Phelps?” Mathilda scrambled off Rory’s lap and jumped to her feet. He was the very last person she’d expected to see. “What are you doing here?”
Her thoughts scrambled in a zillion different directions. Was this Duncan Aberdeen’s yacht? Was the lawyer here to rescue them, make more trouble for them, or drag her off to sign a marriage contract?
“Please tell me you aren’t in love with this gentleman,” he said with a sniff. “I do so detest a broken heart.”
25
Rory forgot all about his throbbing nose and aching muscles. “Are you part of all this?”
“Of course not. I don’t even know what all of this is. Plausible deniability, don’t you know.” He smiled thinly. “I ran into these jolly fellows on that black sand beach after I left the camp. They wanted some information, which I provided, after some negotiation. They were about to trek toward the camp when you so obligingly emerged onto the beach.”
“You ratted us out?” Mathilda planted her hands on her hips. “What happened to client confidentiality?”
“You, my dear, are not my client and never have been. But you are my mission. My job has always been to bring you to Duncan Aberdeen. That is what I intend to do.” He checked the fancy Apple Watch on his wrist. “We should be reaching the rendezvous point shortly. Say your goodbyes.”
“Wait.” Rory struggled out of the lower bunk so he could deal with this situation upright. Just then the boat slammed into a wave and they all staggered. Mathilda grabbed his arm to keep from falling. That contact sent strength shooting through him. Actually it might have been a stab of pain, but he chose to think of it as strength. “You’re taking Mathilda off this boat?”
“Mathilda has a date with my client. Sadly, your presence is required here.”
“Why? What do you know? Where is this boat going? What do they want with Lincoln and me?”
Phelps showed his palms. “None of that is my affair. In fact, part of the negotiation process was to promise not to say anything about…all this.” His wave encompassed the stateroom, the boat, the ocean, maybe all of Hawaii.
“Then I’m not going anywhere with you.” Mathilda pressed her body against Rory’s side, making him hide a wince. “I will not leave Rory in the hands of bad guys when we don’t even know what they want. That is absolutely not going to happen.”
“Mathilda…” Rory tugged her so they were face to face, and lowered his voice to exclude the lawyer. “You have to go with him. Please. I want you to go. That’s why I got myself all beat up, so you could escape. Don’t make all these bruises go to waste.”
“But Rory?—”
“Please.” He held her gaze, as tears turned her eyes to glistening blue jewels. “You’ll be safe, that’s all I want.”
“That’s all you want?” she whispered.
He poured his heart into a silent communication that he hoped she understood. Of course he wanted more. But what about Duncan? What about this mess? Right now, “safe” was the best either of them could hope for. “Please go with him,” he repeated.
“I hate to interrupt this touching moment, but the fact is, she doesn’t have a choice,” said Phelps.
Mathilda whirled on him. “But I do have a choice about marrying Duncan. I’ll tell him no unless you give us some clue about what’s up here. I know you know something. The least you can do is tell Rory so he has a chance to defend himself.”
“You’re in no position?—”
“Yes, I am.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I can and will say no. Screw the Aberdeen Bequest. Duncan can figure something else out. There’s probably some distant relative somewhere he can dig up.”
Rory had a flash image of poor Duncan unearthing the bones of some deceased debutante, and shook his head at his morbid imagination. Why did he always pick such dire moments for his ridiculous mental scenarios?
