Prisoner of Desire (28 page)

She returned to his mother's house, skirting around the back to see the garden in the daylight. She had to circle the stables to gain access to the path which led to the garden. It was a cobblestone one, her shoes crunching into the pebbles. The traffic noise still filtered in from the main road.

"I told ye, easy as can be."

Lorena turned her head, but her feet left the ground before she got a look at who had spoken.

" 'Course you made it real simple like, by walking out and giving us a clue as to where you were."

Hearing a British accent had never filled her with such fear before. Timothy dropped in a limp heap at her feet, Scott followed after a sickening thump. She turned to stare at her countrymen, horrified by the look of glee in their eyes. She heard the swish of whatever weapon had laid the boys low right before pain exploded through her skull. Blackness sucked her down instantly, her body collapsing.

"Well now, not bad at all."

"Did you have to hit the lady? She's going to be the commissioner's wife."

"Shut up. We ain't got no time for talking. Women like to make a fuss over everything." Bart Carroll tossed the woman in question into a handcart, pushing her feet up so she curled into a ball. "Drag them two into one of the stalls."

His friends hurried to do as ordered. Bart tossed a rough horse blanket over his prize but

hesitated as he spied one trim ankle completely uncovered. He licked his lower lip, reaching out to touch that ankle. A shiver went down his back. Damn fine piece of female flesh. She was

satiny and smooth. His fingers crept higher, onto the first swell of her calf.

"We done it. Left them in the corner. It's dark back there."

Bart jerked his hand off his commanding officer's bride. A scowl twisted his lips.

"Right then. Let's finish this job."

He tossed the horse blanket down to conceal all of their slumped-over prize. Bart moved around the cart to the long poles that extended from the front of it. They might be hitched to a horse but he took one handle while his shipmate manned the other, and they began pulling the two-wheeled cart out of the barn. The three men easily maneuvered it into the flow of traffic.

They became one more cart amidst the bustle of ship loading. The fact that they stopped near a small lifeboat once they reached the harbor didn't attract any attention.

Several of their comrades sat waiting for them and their cargo. Their caps pulled low and their eyes on the planks of their boat. No one spoke, making sure to keep their British accent from drifting to the ears of the Americans surrounding them. A hasty coat of blue paint on the lifeboat made it as common as twenty others in the harbor. With dock space so prized, many ships

dropped anchor a few hundred feet off shore. Several small boats were crossing the distance to shore.

Getting their cargo loaded presented some challenges. With only a horse blanket tossed over her, scooping up an unconscious lady was liable to attract the wrong sort of attention. Bart sniffed and leaned against the pull cart, waiting for the men around him to be busy with something.

Sweat trickled down his back. He didn't like waiting. Patience had never been one of his virtues.

He had a few scars on his back to attest to that.

Not that a lashing here and there was anything to worry about. It was just part of being a sailor.

The first one was the hardest but it separated the men from the cowards. You learned a lot about a man when he was being tied up to the rigging for the kiss of the whip. The ones who sobbed were the sort you wanted to avoid. Cowards. Men who would sell out every friend if it meant avoiding the whip.

Not him though. It had made him stronger. He was only sweating now because he wanted this

business finished. The lieutenant had promised him a position if he delivered the woman. It wasn't fear of reprisal, nope, not him. He wanted that position. Something to raise him up out of the ranks of sailors. Something that would bring him respect. A man could serve

twenty years and never get the chance to gain position. It took luck and catching the eye of an officer. Being so close, he had to clamp down on the urge to dump his prize into the long boat.

His fingers were tingling with excitement, but being stupid wasn't going to get him what he wanted, so he waited.

Finally, the men working near him moved off, their attention on a wagon lumbering down the

street.

"Hurry now." Bart kept his voice low but that didn't disguise the venom edging it. "Let's be on our way."

Their cargo was lowered onto the floorboards and the oars lifted. Each man dipped his oar into the water with plenty of motivation to pull hard for the ship waiting for them in the harbor. They were British men. The Americans around them unlikely to be friendly if they realized they'd snuck in. Tensions were still high between their countries. A wise man didn't linger in an

unfriendly port.

The boat slid through the water, cutting across the distance quickly with the aid of the outgoing tide. Their passenger never moved. A few pairs of curious eyes drifted over the heap in the middle of the boat but they didn't linger. Commissioner Mordaunt wasn't a man to disappoint.

Warren scowled at the stack of sales slips still waiting for his attention. This side of being a captain irritated him to say the least. But handing it off to an assistant or even Kurt wasn't acceptable. A good captain knew his ship and everything on board her. Coming into home port meant a solid week of paperwork, sometimes more.

As the afternoon dragged on, he found his mind wondering more often. The reason was simple.

Lorena. Things lay unsettled between

them and he didn't like unsettled. No captain did.

One corner of his mouth curled up. Ah now, there was his problem with Lorena. She wasn't

taking his demands and it was damned frustrating to discover a woman with the same stubborn determination he had himself. It was as exciting as it was annoying. The doorbell tinkled as the front door was pushed in.

"Rawlins shipping? I've a few words to have with the bastard who runs this outfit."

Only the two new associates rounded on the newcomer with frowns on their faces. Warren poked his head out of his office, a grin splitting his lips. His father always did enjoying making an entrance, usually a loud and obnoxious one.

"And here my mother told me I was legitimate."

Sebastian Rawlins raised one black eyebrow. Beneath it his eyes were as blue as the sea.

"That you are, my lad, but only just barely. Your mother's a stubborn one."

"Does that mean I owe my mild temperament to you?" Harrison asked, his lips twitching with amusement.

Sebastian scowled at his youngest son. "You were abandoned on our doorstep. That's where you get that limp spine from. Rawlins are pure hell fire, nothing mild about us."

His father threw his head back and laughed, the office echoing with it. He hugged his sons before shaking his head. He still sported a beard, that he only shaved when near his wife. Sebastian was fresh from the sea but not on his way home.

"It's good to be home, boys. Now what's this I hear about Bermuda?"

Playtime was over. Warren watched the way his father's eyes turned hard. News might travel

slowly over the ocean but it still moved. His father looked at Garrick.

"The Golden Dawn is looking mighty sad."

"She'll mend," Garrick defended his ship. "Thanks to Warren and his quick thinking, everything is on the path to being right."

"So tell your father about this quick thinking. I hear on the docks you arrived with an additional passenger."

Warren didn't shirk under his father's scrutiny. He stared back at his sire, sure and straight.

"That would be Lorena St. John, the woman I plan to marry."

Because he wasn't going to let her go. He'd find the way to skirt the issue as many times as he needed to, but there was no way he was setting her on her way back to Northfleet. If seduction failed, he'd have to chase her down again.

One way or the other, Lorena, my sweet...

No Rawlins knew how to be defeated.

Eula brandished her wooden spoon in the air. "Don't make me lose my temper, you lackwits. Get that table set and the milking done right quick. The master's returned and he'll not be waiting on his supper." She pointed her spoon at one maid.

"You there, Alice. Find those lazy boys and set them to milking. You belong up here at the house."

Alice was happy to obey. She scurried off to the back of the house looking for Timothy and Scott.

She detested evening milking. The cows would be tired and grumpy. They kicked more in the

evening than any other time of day.

"Timothy! Scott! Answer up now. Eula says to get the cows and do the evening milking."

She hurried through the yard, disturbing the chickens. They clucked and squawked at her, but she didn't pay them any attention. Night was quickly falling, the light fading. If she didn't find the boys soon, one of the men might

take them off to help with laying fires and lighting lamps, leaving her with the chore of milking.

"Timothy! Scott! Answer up."

The barn was dark in the center now, only a smattering of light making it past the doorway. She frowned because all the horses were still in the small yard outside. Looking behind her, she noticed the chickens pecking in the garden and frowned. Nothing was done, half the stalls

cleaned but not laid with fresh straw for the night. Chores that should have been finished hours ago sat untouched.

She shivered. Dread creeping down her back. Hugging herself, she fled back to the house.

"Eula! Eula! Something's not right!"

Nausea woke her. Lorena felt her stomach heaving before she was even fully awake. She had to fight off slumber in order to open her eyes. She looked around frantically, but the world tipped and spun, refusing to right itself. Slapping a hand over her mouth, she couldn't quite contain the groan that made it past her fingers.

Pain speared through her head, almost sending her back into the dark embrace of slumber where she didn't have to suffer. But her stomach rolled and heaved. A hard hand gripped her, lifting her up and over a rail.

Several minutes later she stared at the water below in confusion. Her hands were curled around the rail of a ship once again, the deck gently rolling. Lifting her head sent a wave of white-hot pain through her skull that buckled her knees. She leaned on the rail, gasping for breath.

"See? I told you I didn't hit her too hard."

Her vision returned but her eyes focused slowly. Turning around she kept a firm hand on the rail.

She remembered that voice. Memory rushed back as she forced her brain to begin working. The pain was still nearly blinding.

"You hit her too hard. Her knees are still buckled."

Her abductor and another man stood two feet away arguing about her. The man she'd last seen in the barn shrugged. Their faces showed the wear of life at sea. Tough skin with red splashed down the bridges of their noses.

"Don't see as how that matters much. I got the job finished. Done it when you didn't even know where to find her, and I didn't have no time to be discussing things with no woman.

She might have started shrieking and spoilt the whole deal."

The second man looked at her. His face was hard, his gaze moving over her in a calculated look.

"Well said, Mr. Carroll. That will be all."

The seaman looked like he wanted to argue. He glanced between her and his superior. The

relationship was clear even if neither man had on a uniform. They wore common wool clothing, the only thing betraying their British heritage was their speech.

"You shall have your reward shortly, Mr. Carroll."

The sailor grinned. It was a greedy expression, one which made her stomach queasy again. He tugged on his cap.

"Right then. Thank you, sir."

Her strength was returning, the rise of her temper aiding her in straightening her knees and back.

The officer returned his attention to her, watching her from a formal pose. The sails above her crackled, wind filling them. The sun was gone and the night moonless. Lanterns flickered about the deck but they were few. In the distance, she could see the lights of the harbor but they were hazy and far away.

Too far to swim.

"I am Lieutenant Bridges." His eyes remained cold. "Nasty bit of business with these Americans."

"Indeed." Her voice was still shaky but her fury was filling her with renewed strength. Or maybe it was the pompous air of her companion. In any event, she raised her chin in the face of his attention.

"Commissioner Mordaunt will be most satisfied to see you back aboard a British vessel."

His voice was filled with victory. It tore a hole through her, hurting far more than the blow on her head. This wound was centered on her heart. Anguish ripped through her, the lights in the distance taunting her with how far away Warren was now.

She had been rash.

Foolishly choosing her pride. It was cold and hard now that Warren was too far away to comfort her.

"Better to wipe that look off your face, Miss St. John." Lieutenant Bridges snapped out his words like a whip. "Commissioner Mordaunt has little tolerance for anything or anyone who does not follow his plans. He wants his fiancee returned."

"Indeed, sir. It is 1837, not some time of pirates and raiding Scots from the past. I believe I shall make the choice on what ship I board."

The lieutenant stiffened, his face taking on a disgusted expression.

"Quite correct, madam. It is 1837 and civilized behavior demands you make good on the promise your family made." Command sat easily on his shoulders, he never even blinked. Arrogance flashed from his eyes along with the firm notion that he was better than the men who served beneath his authority.

"Being among Americans has softened your spine. Or perhaps the ordeal has merely

overburdened you to the point that you are unaware of what you are saying."

She reached up to investigate the source of pain on the back of her head. A lump the size of an egg sent twinges of new pain through her from even the lightest touches.