Page 73 of This Earl of Mine

“She and Juliet are attending the opera. I’ve said I hateDon Giovanniand I’ll see them in the morning.”

Pieter nodded. “So, you’ll be sailing a boat, eh? Remember what I taught you. The Thames is a completely different kettle of fish to that pond you have back home.Stay away from the mud banks and watch out for the currents. At low tide, the water’s only around three to four feet deep, but high tide is twenty-two feet or so.”

“I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Along with his note, Benedict had sent her the tube of rolled plans, and she’d studied them again just in case she needed to know how to operate the strange vessel. She eventually decided there would be no need to submerge it fully; they only needed to sail down the river, after all, which could be achieved by steering with the rudder and using the conventional sail and the power of the outgoing tide to propel them.

As darkness fell, excitement coiled in her belly. The breeches fitted snugly over her hips—clearly meant for someone without feminine curves. She donned the clean shirt and shapeless jacket Pieter had provided, then tied her hair in a pigtail like a sailor and stuffed it under the squashy cap. She tied a red spotted handkerchief around her neck as a jaunty final flourish. A glance in the mirror confirmed she looked a perfect urchin, and she practiced hunching her shoulders forward to hide the telltale lumps of her breasts.

Pieter smiled when she met him in the stables and cuffed her playfully on the shoulder. She’d seen him do the same thing to the cabin boys and younger crew members onboard ship; it was the highest form of masculine affection.

“All right, Georgie Porgie,” he said, referencing the nursery rhyme he’d often hummed to her as a child. “Let’s go. And no kissing the boys to make them cry, you hear me?”

Georgie shot him a wide-eyed look of devilry. “Who, me? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Chapter 39.

It took Benedict less than three seconds to recognize his wife as she slipped through the coffeehouse door. He scowled. She probably thought she was being unobtrusive, keeping her head down so the cap shaded her features, but he was so intensely aware of her that he couldn’t believe no one else saw through her disguise.

She slid onto the wooden bench next to him. He glanced at the front of her shirt, buttons straining over her small, pert breasts, and prayed for strength. Her slim legs were encased in tight brown breeches, which outlined her rounded derrière in the most tempting way possible. They weren’t touching, but he caught a whiff of her perfume, the intoxicating scent of her skin as she moved. That unmistakably feminine smell would be a surefire giveaway to anyone who got close to her. Not that he’d allow anyone to get close to her.

He pressed his palms flat on the table to stop himself grabbing her by the lapels, hauling her outside into the alley, and ravishing her up against the wall.

Bloody hell.

“Evening, George,” Alex murmured across the table.

She nodded at him, then at Seb, who was slouched in the corner, cradling his second cup of coffee. Ben glanced over at the large tavern clock positioned next to the bar. Not long to go. He ordered a chocolate for Georgie, and she sipped it dutifully.

Despite the fact that it was nearly midnight, the place was still lively, but the crowd thinned a little as they waited for the tide. He, Alex, and Seb had gone over the plan in detail. After they slipped into the warehouse, they would slide open the rear doors and launch the vessel into the water. He and Georgie would navigate it to the Royal Navy dockyards, while Alex and Seb would remain to dismantle the rest of the smugglers’ paraphernalia and look for further evidence that might incriminate Johnstone and O’Meara.

Benedict kept an eye on the masts of the boats moored in the small dock behind the warehouse. The pool was separated from the main flow of the river by a set of thick wooden gates that could be swung open to allow access. As he watched, the boats turned on their anchor chains, swinging around to face the opposite direction with the turning of the tide. “All right, it’s time.”

He was about to stand when a scruffy figure sidled up to the table, and he raised his brows as he recognized the newcomer. Jem Barnes wiped his nose on his sleeve and gave an eloquent sniff.

“Evenin’, all.” He nodded at Ben, Seb, and Alex, cast the briefest look at Georgie, and added, “Miss.”

Ben snorted. So much for her disguise. Nothing got past a sharp one like Jem. “What are you doing here?”

The scruffy lad hiked up his trousers, which seemed to be held up with gardener’s twine. “I been following Johnstone, just like you said, guv.”

“Then you’ll know he’s in Bow Street. I hope you don’t think you’re getting paid for telling me that.”

Jem shook his shaggy head. “No! That’s what I come to tell you. You ain’t got ’im.”

“I saw him myself in the cells,” Alex said.

“No, you ain’t. Your boys scooped up the wrong man. They arrestedFergusJohnstone, ’is cousin. He’s the coxswain. They look almost identical.”

Ben and Alex shared a glance. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I went to Bow Street meself, pretendin’ to take ’im a meal. It’s Fergus, all right.”

“So where’s Tom Johnstone, then?”

“A brothel in Covent Garden. With three of ’Ammond’s old crew.” He glanced at Benedict. “You know ’em. Shadwell, Finnegan, and Daws. They all dodged the Gravesend raid.”

Benedict cursed under his breath. Those three had been the most vicious cutthroats in the smuggling gang.

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