Historical Romance Boxed Set (31 page)

When Nathaniel awoke, he could barely open his eyes for the pounding in his head. He squinted at first, trying to take in his surroundings.

“I think he’s waking up.”

The voice, though muted, had a quality Nathaniel recognized.

“He’s beginning to stir. Go get my father.”

Where was he? The blurry images surrounding Nathaniel were unfamiliar. Everything was strange except for that voice.

“Where am I?” he croaked, tasting dried blood. He tried to lift himself from the bed on which he lay, but fell back as a wave of nausea overcame him.

“You’ re where you’ve always wanted to be, big
brother
,” Lord Clifton responded. “With your family. Do you find it to your liking?”

A flood of memory engulfed Nathaniel, and he closed his eyes against it. His half brother had been there, as well as the duke. He had been surrounded, attacked from all sides. Though he had fought as best he could without a weapon—and had taken down more than a few men—he had been too befuddled from their initial blow to last very long, or to escape. There had been too many of them.

Nathaniel opened his eyes again to survey the room. While expensively decorated, it was too lavish for his tastes and rather impersonal. A hotel perhaps?

“Back with us, eh?” The voice had changed. This time Nathaniel was sure of the speaker: it was his father.

“For now,” he managed, licking his swollen upper lip.

“We were beginning to wonder if perhaps we had been a little overzealous in apprehending the thief who has plagued my ships these past months.”

“Zealous
is a good word.” Nathaniel blinked as the man leaning above him came more clearly into focus. It was indeed Greystone, his handsome face twisted in a sneer.

“You gave us little choice, Mr. Kent. Believe me, a few of my men are not as well-off as you seem to be.”

Nathaniel struggled to voice some response, but his eyes closed of their own accord, causing the duke to speak sharply to someone who stood at the periphery of the room.

“Fetch a glass of water. I don’t want him lapsing into unconsciousness again.”

It seemed as though an eternity passed before someone raised Nathaniel’s head and pressed a glass of water to his lips.

“Drink.” The word came as a command, but it did not need to be repeated. Nathaniel was parched. He greedily gulped the cool water while trying to determine how many men were in the room. At some point, he had to get away.

He counted at least five, including his father and Clifton. Unfortunately, he was in too much pain to handle even one.

“How did you find me?” he asked, becoming lucid again.

The duke laughed. “A little money in the right places usually provides what I want. Your crew is not so loyal as you may think.”

Nathaniel knew differently. He’d trust any one of his men with his life—any one except… He groaned. “Rat.”

“There’s always a weak link.” Greystone gave him a dramatic sigh. “Unfortunately, you found one in my world, as well. Mary. Wasn’t that her name?”

“What have you done with her?”

“Thanks to your man, Richard, she escaped. But I believe he received his just due for that one.”

Nathaniel nodded, remembering Richard’s bruised face. So that was the crux of it. Leave it to him to make light of his bravery.

“Where is my cargo?” the duke asked.

The marquess’s hate-contorted face came into view as the two of them waited anxiously for Nathaniel’s answer.

“I don’t know,” Nathaniel said with a smile.

“Come now. I’ll find out eventually, you know. You’re in no condition to refuse me.”

“You’ll rot in hell before I tell you anything.”

Nathaniel was unprepared for the vicious blow Clifton struck him from the other side of the bed. His head swam. He groaned and struggled against the darkness that threatened to overtake him again.

“Jake!” the duke bellowed. “I’ll not have you knock him senseless before I find out what I want to know. Are you as big a fool as he?”

“But father—” Clifton protested.

“Leave!”

The marquess shuffled reluctantly from the room.

When the door closed behind him, Greystone turned back to Nathaniel.

“You are a stubborn man,” he said, “but then, so am I. Perhaps you don’t understand the depth of my power. I am a peer, a cousin to royalty. I help to control the electoral system, fill the benches in both houses of Parliament, command the militia, and monopolize the magistracy.”

“Who gives a damn? You don’t control me.” Nathaniel’s words were soft, but he had never meant anything more in his life.

The duke’s jaw clenched. “My servants would say you have a good deal of
pluck,
but do you truly think you can withhold anything from me?”

“If you don’t release me, my first mate will send a message to Chief Commissioner Mayne informing him about the rifles you tried to sell to the czar. I think we both know the punishment for treason.”

“You’re joking, of course.” The duke stared daggers at Nathaniel. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. How dare you threaten me with such nonsense.”

“Call it what you will. I’ve seen the guns with my own eyes, and so will Commissioner Mayne.”

“There is nothing you can do to hurt me, you arrogant bastard,” Greystone bellowed, his nostrils flaring. “I can crush you, put you away until you rot, until you beg for a morsel of worm-eaten bread. Who do you think you are?”

“I’m your son.” Nathaniel said it through clenched teeth, struggling to sit up despite the two burly fellows who came forward to shove him back. “You deny it to the world, but we two know the truth.”

Greystone’s face flushed red. “You have no idea what I have in store for you.”

“Another carriage accident perhaps?”

“Nothing so short and sweet. You’ll pay for your insolence. I’ll see to that.” The veins in the duke’s neck throbbed for a pregnant moment, then he whirled and left the room.

* * *

A hand covered Alexandra’s mouth. Coming out of the depths of sleep, she struggled against it, trying to pry it away so she could scream.

“Alexandra!” Her name came as a harsh whisper, but she stopped fighting as soon as she recognized the voice. It was Trenton. He stood above her, his face shrouded in darkness.

Tentatively pulling away, he said, “It’s only me.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Where’s Nathaniel?”

Fear tightened Alexandra’s chest. Nathaniel had left the day before to meet Trenton and the others. Why wasn’t he with them?

She started to answer, then froze as she heard shuffling from above. Tutty’s voice called down the stairs. “Alexandra, dear? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Mrs. Tuttle. Just a little restless. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“No, no, don’t worry.” Alexandra could hear the sleep in her voice. “Just checking.”

The ceiling creaked as Mrs. Tuttle made her way back to her bed. Trenton and Alexandra didn’t speak again until the house fell silent.

“He left yesterday to find you,” she whispered at last.

“He never arrived.” Trenton moved away from the side of her bed and crossed to the window. Moonlight poured into the room as he pulled the drapes back to gaze outside.

“Where could he be?” Alexandra heard the tremor in her own voice, and swallowed.

“Rat disappeared a few days ago as well,” Trenton explained. “He must have gone to see the duke.”

Alexandra gasped as her mind briefly conjured Rat’s face. She remembered Nathaniel’s anger when the dirty little man had attacked her, and the punishment that had followed. “What does that mean?”

Trenton glanced back at her, his profile outlined in silver. “If Nathaniel’s father has captured him, there’s no telling.”

“Why didn’t Nathaniel stay with you in the first place?” she asked. “You would all be at sea by now.”

Trenton didn’t reply, but Alexandra could feel the accusation in his stance.

“He came back here to see me,” she said, answering her own question. “And when he arrived, I was gone.” Alexandra shuddered to think what might have happened to her had Nathaniel not come back for her. But she also realized that the time he spent searching for her might very well have cost him his life.

“We must go to Bow Street,” she exclaimed. “We have to take a constable to see the duke—” She started to get out of bed, but Trenton’s bitter laugh robbed her of the energy.

“The constabulary won’t believe us. They’d never question a man like Greystone on our word alone. The guns are our only hope, and we have to deal with them the right way, or the authorities will think we stole them from somewhere else in order to entrap a powerful peer of the realm.” He jammed his hands into his pockets. “Nathaniel said he was going to write to the Lord High Admiral at Doctor’s Commons. I think we should do the same.”

“But that will take time.”

“I know. Meanwhile, we’ve got to figure out where the duke is keeping Nathaniel and see if we can help him.” Trenton didn’t add, “If he’s still alive,” but he didn’t have to. The words hung in the air between them, too heavy to be spoken and too real to be ignored.

“There must be some way of finding out what Greystone has done with him,” Alexandra whispered. She had to believe Nathaniel was alive. She couldn’t bear the alternative. “The duke might have attempted to smother an infant on the day of his birth, and he might have hired some men to run a carriage off the road. But even Greystone couldn’t get away with capturing a man and having him killed, could he?”

Trenton shrugged. “The question isn’t what His Grace could get away with. It’s what he
thinks
he could get away with that matters.”

* * *

Nathaniel stared into the somber face of his father’s friend and political ally, Sir John Ballard. The duke had called the magistrate from his bed, and now, despite the late hour, Nathaniel, Greystone, Clifton, and two of the duke’s men stood in Ballard’s study while Sir John sat behind his oversized desk and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“What are the charges?” Sir John asked the duke. Evidently, the judge hadn’t taken the time to put in his teeth. A distinctive lisp slurred his words, and his mouth looked oddly sunken.

“Piracy.”

The magistrate’s brows raised beneath the gray stubble of his hair that had probably been covered by a white-powdered wig earlier in the day. “A serious charge,” he commented. Taking up his quill, he began to scratch something on the papers before him. “Do you have any evidence against him?”

“Just sign it, John,” Greystone insisted. “The details don’t matter.”

“I’ve got my own arse to consider,” the magistrate cried.

“Then invent whatever is necessary. Just sign the order and let’s be done here.”

Sir John’s frown deepened. “I’ll take care of the details in the morning,” he relented. “Now, what is it you want done with Mr. Kent? I doubt we could get away with having him executed on my signature alone, if that’s what you’re hoping.”

“Why not?” the duke asked.

“Because it will incite a great deal of interest—”

“We can’t kill him yet,” Clifton interrupted. “He’s got an entire shipload of our cargo, and it’s worth several thousand pounds. Send him to the hulks. Perhaps a good long stay in such a place will make him more cooperative.”

Nathaniel threw a smoldering glance at his younger brother, but couldn’t move for the two thugs who held him fast on either side. He pictured the decaying line-of-battle ships moored on the banks of the Thames near the royal arsenal at Woolwich. Essentially prison barges, notorious for their poor living conditions, the hulks housed hundreds of hardened criminals and were probably the place most like hell on earth.

“He’ll be secure enough there, for the time being,” Greystone added, sounding amused.

Sir John snickered. “Capital idea! We’ve had few escapes from Woolwich.” His quill went back to work on the documents before him. “Most of the men there are too sick to attempt any such thing, and the shackles are a convincing deterrent.” He paused. “The only problem is that most of the convicts aboard those rotting ships are awaiting deportation. Where do you want Mr. Kent to go? Australia? Tasmania?”

“Nowhere,” the duke returned coolly. “He might someday find his way back, and such a surprise would be unfortunate. Sentence him to remain forever in England, yet laying foot on English soil only to work in a heavily guarded gang.”

Nathaniel began to struggle, even though he felt barely strong enough to stand. He could not allow his father to send him to the hulks. Such a sentence was far worse than spending the rest of his life at Newgate. Prison barges were even more rife with disease, violence, and corruption; it was a miracle anyone survived them.

Greystone scoffed at Nathaniel’s feeble efforts. “I’m afraid you’re in no condition to object.”

Sir John rose from his chair. “Take him over to the gaol. I know the gaoler. There will be no questions asked.”

“Excellent.” The duke smiled. “I won’t forget this little favor.”

“What are friends for?” Sir John clapped Greystone on the back as the duke’s men dragged Nathaniel out of the room.

When they reached the main entry hall, Nathaniel began to shout. He hoped to rouse a servant or a family member who might help him, but a meaty fist thudded against his skull, and once again he saw only darkness.

* * *

At dawn Alexandra stood outside the ornate iron gate that circled Greystone House, dressed as a maid and carrying a tin box that contained everything she owned in the world. She couldn’t see anything beyond the plethora of windows that winked at her in the early sunshine, reflecting the trees in the yard, the small lawn in front, and the fashionable square across the street with its flowers and cherry trees, but she hoped to find something that would lead her to Nathaniel.

After taking a moment to gather her nerve, she lifted the latch and forced her feet to move along the flagstone path that approached the house, then veered off to circle behind. Not knowing whether the marquess would deem her friend or foe, should he see her, left her frightened and more than a little nervous. He knew she had been captured against her will. Had he discerned the softening of her heart toward the pirate captain?