Page 15

Rodrick crossed the hold before the bell rang a second time. Louise followed. They emerged onto the quarterdeck into cold air and sudden activity. Men crossed the deck at a run, hauling line, shortening sail, answering the captain's clipped Danish orders. Beyond the starboard rail, low on the gray water, a cutter drove toward them under British colors.

Louise's stomach drew tight.

The captain came toward them through the commotion, ducking beneath a line as one of his men hauled it in. Tall and fair like Nikolaj, he carried the resemblance in an older, leaner frame, all the wildness pared away. He looked once toward the cutter, judged the distance, then fixed Rodrick with a level stare.

"The river patrol means to board us."

Even from this distance, Louise could see the grappling gear being readied.

The captain's pale eyes shifted to her. "This cargo was described to me as discreet."

"I'll increase your payment," Rodrick said.

"Provided we remain alive to collect it," the Captain said and turned away before Rodrick could answer.

Louise watched him leave.

"What do you wish me to do?" she asked.

Rodrick's brows rose. "Are you proposing to obey me? I should like a witness. No one will believe this later."

"This is no time for jokes. I don't want to endanger anyone here."

His amusement faded by a degree. "Then for once, Princess, we are in complete agreement."

He took her hand. Louise kept her fingers straight in his palm. Linking them would have been absurdly intimate, and danger was no excuse for sentiment. Yet as the cutter closed the distance and the black water narrowed between the two vessels, she wished with embarrassing force that he would hold on to her.

Rodrick turned toward a fitted bench built against the quarterdeck structure. He lifted the lid, reached inside, and pressed somewhere along the interior. A panel gave beneath his hand. Behind the false back lay darkness.

"You cannot be serious."

"I am rarely more serious than when presenting ladies with holes." He pulled the concealed panel wider. "It will be all right."

The cavity ran beneath the raised quarterdeck, shallow enough that she would have to crawl inside and lie nearly flat. Rough timber framed the opening.

"We used it for dispatches, prize money, contraband," he said. "Occasionally weapons."

"How comforting. I have always wanted to know how a pistol feels in storage."

The corner of his mouth moved, but his attention had already returned to the approaching cutter. "Now."

She hated the darkness even more than she hated the thought of being placed in it while men moved above her, deciding what happened next. But France lay beyond the cutter, so she gathered the tulle beneath the coat, lowered herself to her knees, and crawled into the compartment.

The timber caught at her sleeve. She shifted one shoulder, then the other, finding just enough space to lie upon her side before turning almost flat. The roof pressed close above her face.

His gaze held hers. "Whatever happens, you stay here."

Before she could answer, he closed the panel, and darkness swallowed her. She bit her lip to keep from calling him back.

Every groan of timber seemed magnified inside the cavity. Her own breathing was the worst sound of all. A commander did not abandon a post because it was dark.

She had managed to calm her breathing when a sharp impact forced her shoulder into the compartment. The ship lurched sideways, timber groaning around her. The patrol cutter must have come against the brig's hull. Water churned, and then she heard a long scrape of iron across wood as something caught the rail.

"Prepare to be boarded!"

The command was so close Louise could distinguish the clipped English vowels. A second metallic scrape followed, then the deck answered with the weight of men coming aboard—one hard landing, another, then several sets of boots crossing overhead.

"Who is the captain?"