Page 25 of Valour

“Nothing,” Septimus said, frowning and pushing Hester out of the way to look into the corridor.

Hester sidestepped Septimus and followed the distant, muffled banging down into the hold. Septimus followed close behind. She raced down the steps into darkness, her heart pounding in her chest. Bastards. They had no right taking her mate. No right at all. “If you’ve hurt her I’ll paint the fucking walls with your blood, I swear to God.”

“No one was under any orders to take her. You have my word.”

“And what good, pray tell, is your word?” Honestly, she would bring the world down upon him if there was so much as a scratch on Fliss.

“Granted, it’s about as good as your word.”

Hester grumbled and hurried around corner after corner. A sickening thudding sound was coming from somewhere close by.

Good God. She had to find Fliss. Quickly.

She reached the end of a corridor. A door stood in front of her. She threw a fearsome look back at Septimus and wrenched the handle, flinging the door open.

She stumbled back into Septimus.

Emlyn’s naked ass was thrusting.

Fliss’s legs were wrapped around his waist.

Heat coiled in Hester’s core. “Felicity Wild,” she breathed, gawping. She cocked her head, a grin spreading over her face.

“Close—the—door!” Fliss gasped, her eyes wide, face flushed.

Hester did.

Reluctantly.

“I suppose someone ought to enjoy themselves after two months at sea,” she sighed, turning to Septimus in the narrow corridor and leaning in close. “Speaking of which, if you could point me in the direction of your bosun, I’d be very much obliged.”

Septimus’s face twisted in rage, and he pressed her into the wall. That old thrill ran through Hester as she smirked up at him. “Is that your pistol in your breeches, or something else?”

“Get. Out.”

10

IN WHICH THERE IS NO TIME FOR A DALLIANCE AND A CLOSE CALL

Hester couldn’t get the image of Emlyn and Fliss out of her head. A deep ache had nestled inside of her; insistent, demanding. She loitered by the Intrepid, hidden in the afternoon shadows.

Victor walked across the gangplank with James, one of the deckhands and the navigator, Frank. She raced to catch up with them as they hurried into the crowded streets and caught the back of Victor’s shirt.

She had to have him.

He spun to face her, his eyes widening. “Hester. Now isn’t the time.” Victor slowed down to lose his crewmates in the crowd.

“I have a proposition for you,” Hester said, winking and puffing her chest forwards. She glanced down an alleyway, tugging him towards it.

Victor stopped dead in the street, grasping her wrist. People jostled around them, tutting. “We have a ship to provision, because apparently Septimus has gone mad and believes he can mount an expedition in two days to beat you across Antarctica. I’m afraid I don’t have time for dalliances.”

Hester stilled. “You truly have nothing on board?” This was utter lunacy.

“We have the cold weather gear, and the sleds from the last expedition, and we brought some dogs, but not enough. There is no food, no coal. The hull needs some repairs, and the rigging too, if we are to sail into the Southern Ocean.”

“Good God,” Hester breathed. “This is folly.”

Victor let go of her wrist and smiled ruefully. “If we are to survive this, I’m afraid I have no spare minutes to spend with you.” He brought her hand up to his lips, kissed her knuckles and then disappeared into the crowd.