“Call your brother,” Michael said, his thoughts once more concealed beneath a stern facade as he patted Ryan roughly on the shoulder. “We have a boat to catch.” He then emptied the remainder of his beer and strode away in search of his horse.
Ryan watched him go, unable to shake the unnerving sensation that Michael might pose a much greater threat to his sister than the French soldiers ever would.
They reached Brighton by lunchtime—the salty scent of the sea greeting them before the town itself came into view.
Slowing their horses to an easy gait, they made their way through the cobbled streets toward the docks. The sea looked calm as it lapped against the pier, sending a soft spray of seawater onto the wharf. Alexandra breathed in the pungent smell of discarded fish, increasingly thankful for the scarf that she wore about her face. A pair of seagulls squawked as they bobbed up and down overhead like a couple of marionettes, their beady eyes searching for an easy meal. Teams of men busied themselves with hauling crates back and forth, yelling instructions while a handful of street urchins ran to and fro between them.
“We’ll be sailing with Captain Grover,” Michael said. “Would you two see if you can get us a table at that pub over there while I make some inquiries about his whereabouts?”
After tethering their horses to a couple of iron rings that were set in the outside wall of the tavern, Alexandra followed Ryan inside, her eyes squinting against an onslaught of smoke as they adjusted to the dim lighting. The place was teaming with noisy and hungry men, all pushing each other about to attract the attention of one of the waiters.
Ryan elbowed his way past a couple of brawny chaps and made his way toward the back corner of the room to an empty table with a couple of benches alongside it.
Striding after him and stepping over a grizzly canine in the process, Alexandra was just about to sit down when she felt a heavy hand settle upon her shoulder. “I believe that table is ours,” a mocking voice grumbled behind her.
Instinct roared to life inside her like a furnace. She spun smoothly away, ducking low to avoid the blow that she sensed would be coming. No man would ever lay a hand on her without facing the consequences. Metal flashed as she unsheathed her sword in so swift a movement that the man was caught completely off guard. He’d had no time to gather his wits about him and now stood staring down at the tip of Alexandra’s blade where it pushed against his chest, pressing into his coat. Her scarf had loosened, exposing most of her face as she stood there now, staring up at her adversary with eyes of steel, her mouth drawn tight in a menacing smirk.
“You . . . but you’re a . . . a . . .”
Alexandra cocked her head to one side, only slightly amused by the man’s apparent awkwardness. “And you’re a bully.” Her voice was as cool as an autumn breeze. “I suggest you find yourself another table before I decide whether or not you’re worth troubling myself over.”
The man shot a hasty look in Ryan’s direction, but Ryan merely threw up his hands and took a step backward. “I would do as she says if I were you,” he said with a lopsided grin.
To underline her brother’s statement, Alexandra added a hint of pressure to the man’s chest and raised a challenging eyebrow. It took no more than a second for her assailant to quietly back away to the safety of his comrades. They’d undoubtedly ridicule him later, but for now, none of them were eager to draw attention to themselves. Five minutes later, they gave up on their food and left, passing Michael in the doorway.
The moment she spotted him, Alexandra immediately lowered her eyes to the table, her face once again concealed by her hood.
“Our ship’s not far from here,” Michael told them as he seated himself next to Ryan. He cast a quick glance at Alexandra, once again wondering at how withdrawn Ryan’s brother seemed. He wasn’t anything like what he might have imagined based on Sir Percy’s description. In fact, he’d been sure that Alex would have been arrogant—too big for his own boots so to speak. But the man who sat across from him appeared to be anything but. And then there was his peculiar habit of constantly wearing his hood.
Michael shrugged. Who was he to question the man’s reasoning? Perhaps he had an ugly scar that he was somehow embarrassed about, or pockmarked cheeks. He remembered the glimpse he’d caught of his eyes. Surely his face must be handsome with eyes such as those.
His thoughts were interrupted by Ryan, who’d finally managed to draw one of the waiters’ attentions. A potbellied man swaggered toward them and lazily asked them what they’d like.
“We’ll have three stouts—Barclay’s if you have them,” Ryan told him. “And then something to eat. What do you have to offer?”
The waiter scratched the back of his head while his belly bounced up and down. “I have some pan-fried fish and vegetables if that’ll do. If not, I can offer you some cheese and cured meats.”
“The fish will be fine,” Michael told him, not sure of when they’d be having their next hot meal. Whatever the case, they would need something to keep them going until they were well out to sea later on in the evening.
As it turned out, the food wasn’t even warm—in fact, it had most likely been sitting around for the last couple of hours, but the flavor wasn’t too bad, so they did their best to finish what was there, following each bit with a sip of Barclay’s.
“You’re not much of a conversationalist, are you?” Michael asked, his eyes pinned on Alex. His head was bent over his plate with his hood pulled so low that not even his nose could be seen.
Michael was surprised to see him freeze—his fork hovering between his plate and his mouth. What was wrong with him? The question hadn’t been meant as an insult. Michael turned to see Ryan’s fork move with a lazy slowness as he pushed his food about his plate, just as uncomfortable as Alex clearly was.
And then, before Michael could manage to say anything else that might alter the mood, Alex simply pushed the chair back from the table, got up, and left without uttering a word.
“I apologize,” Michael muttered after a few moments. “It wasn’t my intention to offend him.”
“You ought not worry about it,” Ryan replied. “Alex can be a bit . . . difficult at times. I’m quite sure you two will get along soon enough. You’ll see.” But even Michael could hear the trepidation underlying Ryan’s hopeful tone.
CHAPTER THREE
Alexandra leaned against the railing of James Grover’s ship while she looked out over the oily waters. She listened to the sound of the crew hoisting the sails as they slid out toward the open sea, their feet a soft pitter-patter upon the wooden surface of the deck. A couple of lights from other vessels were visible in the distance. But what fascinated her most was the night sky upon which were scattered a million stars—like specks of silver on an artist’s canvas.
So lost in thought was she, when Michael’s sudden voice coming from no more than a yard behind her, it startled her. “Summersby?” His voice was soft and cautious, as if he half expected her to turn around and lash out at him.
Alexandra caught her breath, her heart thumping so wildly she thought it might burst from her chest.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said with an element of sincerity to his voice that surprised her. “It’s just . . . well . . . we’ll be spending quite a bit of time together you and I, so I was rather hoping we might be able to get along.”
She remained perfectly still, as if she feared that the slightest movement would give her away. She heard him shift—could almost see the frown that surely graced his face at her lack of response.
“Listen,” he insisted. “I can understand your apprehension, but you must believe me when I tell you that your brother’s case will be treated with the utmost fairness. I’m not the sort of man to act rashly. I’ll look at all the evidence first before deciding how to proceed. If you help me, it would make my job a lot easier.”
Alexandra turned to face him with a glower.
Michael stepped backward as if she’d physically shoved him, seemingly stunned by the blatant anger that shone in her eyes.
“Help you?” she muttered, keeping her voice low and muffled beneath her scarf. “You must think that I am a complete blockhead.”
“No, of course not. After all, I barely know you,” Michael said in a voice of clear exasperation. “But if we work together, we might be able to return to England sooner rather than later.”
Less time spent in each other’s company—it is tempting.
“Lord Trenton, I—”
Michael winced. “Ashford,” he said.
“What?” Alexandra asked, momentarily thrown by his comment.
“I’d prefer it if you’d call me Ashford,” he told her. “Lord Trenton’s too formal . . . too . . .”
“Old?” Alexandra offered, unable to resist the chance to provoke him. She regarded him with some degree of curiosity—it was impossible to discern what he might be thinking. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to take the bait. On the contrary, he merely stood there, watching her in an annoyingly condescending fashion, until she felt herself quite silly. “Very well then . . . Ashford. Let me ask you this—Do you think my brother is guilty or innocent?”
“If Finch’s letter holds water . . .” His words trailed off when she narrowed her eyes.
If the man was hoping to forge a lifelong friendship, then this was certainly not the conversation that would facilitate it.
He sighed. “I have to be honest with you. The evidence thus far doesn’t look good.”
“Then we have nothing further to discuss,” she told him haughtily.
A couple of crewmen ran past them, conveying orders for the ship’s sails to be hoisted. Michael waited until they were well out of earshot before lowering his voice and saying, “Be reasonable, Summersby. Suppose your brother has indeed been supplying the French with information they can use against your own countrymen. Do you honestly believe he should go unpunished?”
“He’s innocent,” Alexandra ground out. “That is the whole point.”
“And you know this beyond any shadow of a doubt?” His voice was barely a whisper on the breeze.
Alexandra tensed her shoulders. She would not be distracted by his nearness. Even now, in the middle of their argument she could feel her heart rate begin to rise.
Ridiculous.
She gave a curt nod and did her best to ignore the effect he was having on her.
“I must say your loyalty’s quite remarkable. There isn’t a trace of doubt in your words.” He paused for a moment. “Do you think Finch is lying?”
“Unlike you,” she said quietly. “I won’t speculate or make assumptions before all the facts are known. I will find William, and once I do, I’ll know the truth.”
“A bold statement, Summersby.”
Michael served her a patronizing smile that rankled her to no end. He clearly thought her naive. Whatever his opinion of her, however, he had no cause to doubt where her allegiance lay. After all, she’d made herself quite clear—she would protect her family with her life, no question about it. “And you,” Alexandra muttered. “From what I understand, you’ve never met him. You know nothing of his character. Hell, you don’t even know the color of his hair. And yet you’re so eager to accuse him—to find him guilty of a crime I can promise you he did not commit.”