Page 52 of The Allure Of Lord Devlin
“How is your shoulder?”
“I’m fine. What do you need me to do?”
Devlin asked, “How many men do you have with you? I have a fair idea of where Fencourt will be headed. He knew his father was being investigated. He’s not the idiot we took him for he’ll have a plan. I suspect he’ll flee England. And if he wanted to take Dharma, he’ll have a ship nearby.”
“God almighty. Fencourt could race to any port. How do we know which one?”
Sin was right. He closed his eyes momentarily. “It has to be somewhere in London, on the Thames. Fencourt has to flee quickly. He knows we will be right behind him.”
Tobin swore. “Does anyone know the tide schedule? Could he sail tonight from the Thames? If he can’t sail on tonight’s tide, then Great Yarmouth could be where he is heading.”
Sin gave him a blank look. “Don’t look at me.” Walking to collect the horses, he called over to his men. “Does anyone know if ships can sail from the Thames tonight?”
Silence.
Devlin uncoupled the carriage horses. He’d need one to ride.
“I know.”
He looked at their captive on the ground and wished he could plant his boot in his face, but if he knew something… He squatted down next to their captive. “And what do you know?”
The man licked his lips as he looked at the hostile faces surrounding him. “I know the tide turns at twelve tonight. I also know Fencourt is leaving from a dock on the Thames. I know exactly which one.”
Sin made him very aware of the knife he was carrying when he handed it to Devlin. “And the dock is where exactly?”
The man held his nerve. Devlin would give him that. “I want your word that I’ll not hang or be sent to the colonies. A term in the Newmarket gaol. No more than twelve months.”
His gut clenched at the idea that he would have to agree, but he’d do or promise anything to get Dharma safely home. Safely back in his arms where she belonged. He could no longer pretend he didn’t love her, because the idea of losing her would see his world end. Funny that it wasn’t the fact he would have to rely on a parchment, not Longton’s word, to clear his father, that paled in comparison to the fact he could lose Dharma.
“I give you my word as the Marquis of Devlin that you will not serve longer than twelve months in the Newmarket gaol, as long as Mrs. McTavish is still alive.”
“She was when Longton and I left.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about. So, information please.”
ChapterSixteen
Dharma fought down her panic and if it wasn’t for the fact Fencourt had pulled a pistol on her, she wouldn’t be scared. But it was obvious Fencourt would kill her if she did not play into his fantasy of them being a couple.
True to his word, he had released Fiona on the outskirts of Mayfair. She prayed Fiona had the strength to make it to Clayton House and alert the men as to where Fencourt was taking her. Her stomach cramped and her limbs shook as they reached the dock because there may not be much time and Fiona, alone and on foot, could take hours to reach help.
The moon hung low in the London sky, casting a silvery glow over the bustling docks. The scent of saltwater and adventure lingered in the air as a magnificent ship, the “Lady Seraphina,” loomed tall, its masts reaching for the heavens.
The ship was being prepared to sail, and deep inside, she knew it was Fencourt’s ship. How long had he been planning this escape? Most likely from the moment his father knew Devlin was closing in. Even as dusk fell, she could see there was no point appealing to the battle scarred crew for help. Better the devil she knew came to mind.
Fencourt relied on the fact she couldn’t trust the crew too, because he hadn’t locked her in a cabin. She was in a well-furnished stateroom room which had an open-air balcony at the end.
“Don’t think you can call for help by running onto the quarter-gallery.”
Is that what the balcony was called? She merely tilted her head in acknowledgement before Fencourt left the stateroom, leaving her guarded by a dangerous-looking sailor.
Thoughts raced through her head. Could she jump from the ship if she had a chance? The deck was a great height above the river. She could break her neck, or a leg, or arm, or anything. The thought of being held captive by Fencourt, the real Fencourt, the one he’d hidden from her, made her think she’d rather drown than live a life as his captive.
If she asked for fresh air, would her guard let her onto the balcony or, at the very least, open the door?
Whatever happened, she could not sail on a ship with him. She’d rather die. For once they left England, Devlin might search for her, but he might never find her. She’d lose the man she loved, and there was no way she could survive being with Fencourt—not for months or years, anyway. She would escape from the ship before it hit open sea, or die trying.
She moved near the jib doors, which opened onto the quarter-gallery, and it suddenly dawned on her. There was no way Devlin and her brother could storm the ship without risking injury or death. Her rescuers would be extremely vulnerable from above. The well-armed sailors held all the power. She had no choice but to jump, but she needed to time it perfectly. The minute she heard the rescue begin, or the ship got underway, she would dive off the balcony. She could swim, her brother used to call her a fish, but her dress could drag her under. She’d have to loosen the ties before she jumped so she could slip out of the gown. If she could make it across to the big rope anchoring the ship next to them, she just might make it.
