The Seduction of Phaeton Black (19 page)

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Authors: Jillian Stone

BOOK: The Seduction of Phaeton Black
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“Not at all, Mr. Moore, please do have your pipe.” That beautiful bow of a mouth of hers fell open, slightly, her eyes riveted on Moore. Phaeton suddenly wanted nothing less than all her ships returned to her. By the look on his face, it was clear Dexter felt the same way.
Her straight posture softened as she leaned forward. “Do you have a description of her?”
“Two masts and a single smokestack, near the tonnage you described as the vessel presumed lost in the Bay of Bengal, Miss Jones.”
Phaeton settled down beside her. “How do we plan to get access to the records?”
“We have a man in Rotterdam knocking heads with the registrarship. You called it earlier, Phaeton; we have no time to wait for records or warrants. The ship remains tied up at dock, transferring cargo.” Dex tapped down the tobacco in his pipe. “We go tonight, or risk losing this one.”
“I’d know the layout of this ship in the dark, if that helps. My father’s first steamer, a right beauty she is, I practically grew up on her. If this is the
Ruby Star
, I can identify every scratch and repair on her.”
A thrill ran down Phaeton’s spine, which quickly turned into a chill as he watched America brighten with anticipation. “Dangerous work, Dex. Besides you and I, do we have any other trained agents here? Who are your contacts?”
Dexter’s description of the local police force and the Harbor patrol was interrupted by a knock at the door. The blessed tea and whiskey had arrived. Phaeton sampled a few sandwiches and washed them down with a good tumbler full of spirit.
“We can’t bring any of these men in unless we are in some kind of serious trouble. We can’t even alert them to our plans.” Phaeton mulled over their circumstances. Drat it all, they were in a tight corner. “Any local blokes on the pay ledger?”
“Just Percy, at the Blue Anchor. I have a room above the pub—”
“Keep it.” Phaeton was beginning to formulate a plan. Albeit a perilous one. “We can’t do much of anything before nightfall.”
Dex leaned forward, eyes alight. “You mean to board her? It will be risky. The crew goes ashore most every night, but there’s a watch. Several men patrol the decks at regular intervals.”
Phaeton looked up from his empty glass. There would be no more whiskey this night. “We’ll need clothing. Whatever vestments merchant sailors wear these days and the loudest, most conspicuous doxy frock we can find.”
America rose to leave.
“You must remain in the hotel, Mrs. Black.” Her brows gathered as her bottom lip protruded. “Whatever for? I would be most helpful picking out a wardrobe for you and Detective Moore.”
“I have no doubt of it.” He sighed. “I think it is safe to assume we arrived unrecognized. I would like to keep it that way, until this evening.” Phaeton took her hand. “Trust me, my dove, you have a very important role to play, but it must wait until tonight.”
He kissed her knuckles. “And do not bother unpacking your trunk. We will likely have to quit town in haste.”
Chapter Nineteen
A
MERICA STUDIED HER REFLECTION IN THE VANITY LOOKING GLASS
and sucked in a breath. A pivot sideways revealed an alarming profile of bosom. Phaeton had some sort of ruse planned for the evening and her body, poured into this skimpy red dress, played a feature role. Her pulse raced in anticipation of the unknown, adventurous night ahead.
A knock at the door signaled help had finally arrived. She let the top of the dress fall to expose her new strapless corset.
“Come in.” America took up a tin of loose powder and puff. “I need assistance with my corset and gown, please.”
Adept hands loosened strings. She trembled at the light touch of fingers moving under the silk and whalebone undergarment to cup her breasts. She met his gaze in the vanity mirror. “Dear husband, I fear you misunderstand. My garments are to be fastened, not undone.”
He nuzzled the side of her neck and earlobe as his fingertips played over nipples. “Mrs. Black, have I ever told you how enchanting you are as a common pub trollop?”
America shrugged off his kiss with a grin. “Not too tight, you know how I hate being trussed up like a roasting hen.”
Those talented fingers pulled on laces, which magically tucked in her waist and pushed up her breasts. “As appealing as this undergarment presents your wares, I do believe the corset is unwarranted.”
“If you have any hope of closing up this gown, sir, the stays are required.” He helped her pull up the top half of the dress. As he fastened many small cloth-covered buttons, she examined the roughneck sailor standing behind her. Phaeton wore a short wool jacket open over a heavy cloth shirt and corded trousers. Wide, striped braces held up the pants. A woolen scarf wrapped loosely around his neck reminded her of the chill in the air. He needed a shave; the dark shadow along his jawline completed his disguise to perfection. She shivered. “You make a rather handsome seaman, Mr. Black.”
He shot a flirtatious grin back in the mirror. “The exulted duke of deckhands will be in sore need of relief later this evening. I do hope your door remains open.”
She rose from the vanity seat. “Are your rooming arrangements with Mr. Moore cramped? I hope not.”
His gaze traveled over burgeoning bosom, up her throat to a pout that she would soon form into a frown if he did not stop his ogling.
“Come here.”
She tilted her chin in defiance, and he yanked her close, covering her lips with his. He entered her mouth with his probing tongue and a great deal of vigor. A tingle shot through her body and he did not relent until she returned his ardor. She wrapped her hands around his neck and tussled the short waves at his nape. He spoke softly against her lips. “The gentlemen’s accommodations are tolerable.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Two narrow single beds, which prevent me from accidently nuzzling up against Dex in the middle of the—”
A rap came at the door. She caught a flash of annoyance in his eyes. He stole a quick kiss before crossing the room. Detective Moore, Greek seafarer cap in hand, stood at the threshold with a bit of a glower on his face. “We should get down to the pub.”
“What’s the dinner fare like? I’m starving.” Phaeton turned to America. “Hungry, Mrs. Black?”
America covered her outrageous attire with a warm black coat. “Famished.”
“Love a woman with healthy appetites.” Phaeton carried on in his usual carefree jovial manner, but America could not help but attune herself to the nervous undercurrent in his demeanor. She very clearly sensed him steel himself for the evening ahead as he and Detective Moore jockeyed to escort her down the servants’ stairs and out the back alley of the hotel.
America sighed. As amusing as both these handsome men’s attentions were, their relentless male posturing quickly proved tiresome. Her hopes and attentions were focused on a bigger prize. A nine hundred ton freighter moored dockside. When they reached a narrow concourse between a crisscross of streets, she could stand it no longer. “If you two continue to act like smitten schoolboys competing over the headmaster’s daughter, I shall be forced to—” She tried to think of something to threaten with, but these Yard men held all the cards. Except one.
Phaeton’s churlish grin did not help matters. “Forced to what, luv?”
She nailed them both with a sultry look. “Withhold my affection.” She backed away and slowly opened her coat. “The man most likely to receive this gift will be the one who gets down to business.” After a sufficient period of leching she buttoned the coat up to her neck and clarified. “For the rest of the evening, we shall concentrate on my stolen shipping business. Gentlemen?”
Phaeton’s sable eyes narrowed into thin slits.
Dexter swallowed. “The Blue Anchor is just round the corner.”
Several pints washed down a plate of chops and two baskets of fried fish. The hot meal put them all in better temperament, ready for news. Detective Moore went after another pint and returned with word from his informant, Mr. Percy. “Several of Yanky Willem’s men have been spotted in Weippert’s casino—on the canal walk.”
“I know where that is,” America piped up.
Phaeton shushed them both and signaled for Dexter to sit down. He spoke in no more than a whisper. “Excellent news. We can make more of a show of Miss Jones in a saloon dance hall than stuffed away in a grimy dockside pub.”
She spoke up. “I’m to be the focus?”
Phaeton set his mouth in a grim line. “Never believe I relish the prospect of using you as a live decoy, but if all goes well, your presence will serve to roust Yanky Willem and most of his crew out of that ship and scatter them about Portsmouth in search of the enticing Miss Jones.”
Both she and Moore grinned. Dexter leaned further into their small circle. “And while Willem’s men run about town, we will be—”
“Searching the ship.”
“Might be brilliant, if it weren’t so bloody dangerous.” Moore groused a bit more, but his eyes sparkled with excitement.
America set her shoulders back. “How much time will we have, before they start to suspect something?”
Phaeton shook his head. “We can’t count on much more than an hour. Two at most.”
She turned to Moore. “In order to make my claim, how many proofs do I need?”
“Three should do it, witnessed by myself and Phaeton.”
She thought about the size of the ship and the areas she needed to locate and examine. “It’s not enough time.”
Phaeton rose to leave. “It’s going to have to be.”
Unlike the more elegant establishments in London, Portsmouth’s casino turned out to be more of a fancy public house with a stage for musicals and a band for dancing. The gambling hall would be located in the rear of the building, one presumed.
Phaeton made something of a show of removing her coat. A number of heads turned along with a rude gesture and a few lurid queries. “Pay no attention to them.” Phaeton held her firmly by the shoulders. “How many pirates might you recognize on sight, my dove?”
Glancing around the room she lifted her chin. “Very few. And I am not afraid.”
He studied her resolve. “Well then, we shall flush them out of hiding.”
A number of couples assembled on the dance floor as the band struck up a popular military waltz. Phaeton removed his scarf and jacket and tossed all the coats into Moore’s arms. “Hold these.”
“Whatever for?” The detective frowned.
“I am going to take Miss Jones for a spin around the floor. You will station yourself at the door and observe who takes note of the young lady and dashes off toward the harbor.” Moore appeared far from resigned, but obeyed orders.
Phaeton returned to her. “Shall we?”
She hesitated.
“You do the waltz?”
She frowned. “Not this queer jig.”
“Three beats with skips rather than gliding steps.” He grinned that cajoling, winning smile of his. “Come, let me show you.”
Under the brightest chandelier, in the middle of the floor, Phaeton swung her up off the ground and into the waltz. He apparently thought to make a spectacle of them. And damn, if the man wasn’t an accomplished dancer. He led in such a skillful manner, she easily followed the faster paced steps.
The dance featured a hesitation before a turn, and he would lift her up in the air as he completed the rotation. The sudden elevation had the effect of raising her petticoats, which received a great deal of attention from the gents on the sidelines. Otherwise, he led her in lovely circles about the room as she relaxed in his arms.
“Now we will wait for them to show their hand.”
She managed a dainty shrug. “I can’t very well identify pirates while occupied in bawdy saloon dancing.”
“But are you enjoying yourself?” His eyes crinkled as she locked onto his cheerful gaze and leaned into the next turn. She lifted the corners of her mouth. “I am.”
A loud jerk of chairs and a grumble of customers alerted them to several large bodies moving through the casino in a hurried manner. Phaeton tensed slightly as he spun her along the dance floor. She watched him sneak a glance through the couples surrounding them. “I suspect you have been recognized, my dear.”
Her heart thumped an erratic beat inside her chest. “Where are they now?”
Phaeton maneuvered them deeper into a thick group of dancers, and craned his neck. “They’re at the door.”
“Does Inspector Moore see them?” She pressed dry lips back and forth to moisten them. Phaeton lowered his chin in a nod aimed at Dexter.
“Now what?”
His attention returned to her. “We finish our dance, my dove.”
She stepped down hard on his toe. “Ouch.” He winced. “You little virago.”
She chuckled. “Surly, cock-up.”
He pulled her close. “We’ll meet up with Dex outside. First, we need to make this look good, like we’re headed upstairs for a quick tumble.”
Phaeton hauled her off the dance floor, tossed a man half a shilling for a room, and chased her up a flight of stairs. She giggled and carried on, until they reached the end of a long hallway with no exit.
They retraced their steps and found a side door that opened after Phaeton gave it a hard shove. A zigzag of wooden stairs led down to a narrow side yard. The sound of a safety match being struck revealed a spark of light in the dark.
She turned to Phaeton. “Mr. Moore?”
He nodded. “After you, my dove, with the elephantine feet.”
She chuckled softly all the way down the stairs. They found Moore behind a large refuse bin. “Glad you two are having a jolly good time.” Dexter handed over their coats and hats.
Phaeton wound the scarf round his neck. “In which direction did they head?”
“Two of them took off at a run toward the harbor, two others spread out. I suspect one is in the alley behind us and the other is stationed somewhere out front.”
He shrugged into his coat. “Pull your cap low and stay hunched over until we cross the street. If you spy one of the blokes, give us a sign.” He turned to her. “As far as anyone knows, you’re tasting the better part of me in an upstairs room. Keep that pretty head down and don’t fall behind.”
Single file, with Phaeton ahead and Dexter behind her, they snaked their way up the side yard and slipped across the street.
“Up ahead on the corner.” Dexter jogged around her. Things moved rapidly as the two men greeted the lookout and asked for a light. Phaeton knocked the man up against the wall. She had no time to grit her teeth before she heard a head crack against brick. He signaled her to keep watch while he and Moore pulled the half conscious seaman down a narrow arcade of shops. They left him tied and gagged in a dark corner.
“Let’s get to the harbor.”
Dexter nodded, wild-eyed and out of breath. “She’s in the great basin, north of Queen Street.”
“Lead the way, Mr. Moore.”
Shaking off a tremble, she inhaled a deep breath and coughed. Phaeton checked on her. “Are you all right?” She nodded. His arm went around her, gentle and soothing, before he nudged her up ahead. Once again they wound their way through the irregular streets of the port town, keeping to the shadows and away from streetlamps.
Dexter led them along the stone wall of an HMS storehouse and halted. “Round this corner, a number of casks are stacked on a large pallet. When I give the sign, make your way there as quickly and quietly as possible.”
She nodded and Phaeton signaled a thumbs-up.
Just as they were about to make a dash, Moore turned around and herded them backward, into an old carriage passageway. He placed his finger to his lips.
A clatter of footsteps and shouting could mean only one thing, Yanky and his crew had taken the bait. At least she hoped so. She could just make Phaeton out in the deep shadows of the niche. He winked at her.
When the footsteps faded, Phaeton edged his way to the entrance and took a peek. He waved them forward and once again, they made their way to the corner of the building. “Ready?”

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