Page 621 of From Rakes to Riches

Half an hour later

What Rake hadn’t counted on in his haste and hurry to the London Docks was its hordes and hordes andhordesof people.

People of all sorts. Captains and crew…street vendors…soldiers…men and women of every social tier, from lowest to highest. They walked and ran, hurried and scurried, darted and dashed, paced and raced, strolled, scrambled, and scampered in every direction.

Then there were myriad ships of all sorts and sizes—barques, schooners, brigs, sloops… Oh, the variety and quantity of seafaring vessels went on and on.

Overwhelmed, Rake planted his feet and cast his gaze about. Had he thought to arrive and simply lay eyes on Gemma?

That certainly wasn’t going to be the case.

Frantic, he began asking all and sundry who came within a ten-foot radius if they could point him in the direction of the ship bound for Falmouth today, then on to America. Most avoided his gaze and shoved past. Others gave him the courtesy of an indifferent shrug.

What if she’d already sailed?

He couldn’t think about thatwhat if.

He needed definite answers, and he wouldn’t stop until he’d had them. He could think of only three possibilities.

Her ship had, indeed, sailed.

She was here—and would hear him out and answer him with a firmno.

Or…she would answer him with ayes.

A one in three chance she would be his forever.

With those odds, he had to keep searching.

He felt a tug and glanced down to find a small, grimy hand clutching his greatcoat. A street urchin squinted up at him, a canny glint in his eye. “Ye lookin’ fer theMorgana?”

“I’m not sure,” said Rake, slowly.

“The one goin’ to Falmouth?”

Relief pulsed through Rake. Finally, he was getting somewhere. “That’ll be the one.”

The boy cocked his head and held out his hand.

A universal language, that one.

Rake searched pocket after pocket until, at last, his fingers found coin, emerging holding a bright, shiny guinea. Without a moment’s hesitation, the lad snatched the coin from between Rake’s forefinger and thumb. Rake could only be thankful the lad’s feet were slower than his hands as Rake caught him by the collar before he could disappear into the crowd. “The ship?”

The boy pointed toward the river.

All Rake saw was water. “It sank?”

“’Course not,” the little lad scoffed. He pointed again.

And Rake understood.

The lad wasn’t pointing at the river—but at the ship sailing away upon it.

Unconsciously, Rake’s hand released the lad’s collar, and he seized the opportunity to vanish into the crowd.

The ship was a good hundred yards down the river. Too far away to do anything about.

Gemma was gone.

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