The Scoundrel and I - Katharine Ashe Page 0,57

it move down Gracechurch Street. Then she dragged shut the door to Brittle & Sons, locked it, and hailed a hackney.

~o0o~

Captain Masinter was not at home. No one was. Mr. Cob did not answer her knock on the front door, and when she went around to the rear entrance no one answered there either. Even the stable boy was not in sight. Neither were the captain’s big horse nor his new carriage and pair.

She found another hackney cab and went to Seraphina’s house. Penelope told her that Madame Étoile had gone to call on Lady Bedwyr to make alterations on a gown, and she gave her the address.

But when Elle arrived at the elegant home of Lord and Lady Bedwyr, she did not find the modiste fitting anybody for a gown. Instead, in a spectacularly luxurious drawing room Seraphina was sitting with the earl and countess around a tea table, speaking closely and quietly.

The footman announced her and the earl rose languidly to his feet and bowed. But his dark eyes were hard. The ladies did not smile or even nod in greeting. None of them said a thing.

“Good—Good day,” Elle stuttered.

They continued to stare without pleasure.

“I—I wonder if you might tell me—if, that is, you know where Captain Masinter could be. At the present moment,” she added idiotically, twisting her fingers in the ribbon of her pelisse and entirely unable to cease doing so.

Finally Seraphina stood up.

“He is at the docks,” she said. “His ship departs in five days.”

“His ship? Five—Five days?”

“Yes, Miss Flood,” the earl said. “Our friend has decided that a bachelor’s life at sea is much more to his liking than the alternative. Now I wonder how he came to that decision? Hm?”

“No!” she blurted. “He mustn’t go. Why is he going?”

“Well, what else did you expect my brother to do after you broke his heart?” Seraphina said. “He is a sailor.”

“But—but—”

“But what?” the earl said grimly.

“He is the son of a baronet,” Elle exclaimed. “He is a victorious naval captain. His closest friends are earls and princesses, for goodness’ sake.”

They stared at her.

Her composure broke. “Why doesn’t anyone seem to have noticed that I am not his social equal?”

“I daresay because he has not,” the earl said.

“Miss Flood,” the countess said, “We have just now been discussing how we could convince Anthony not to depart like this. Yet we are stymied. Have you, perhaps, any idea that might meet with success?”

“I think I have.”

Abruptly, all three of them looked a lot less hateful and a lot more hopeful.

Within minutes Elle was tucked into the corner of the earl and countess’s carriage and flying across town.

Having adamantly avoided sailors until very recently, Elle had never been to the London docks. Stepping out of the carriage, she was overwhelmed. There was industry everywhere, from the quays busy with people going and coming, and carts laden with goods and pulled by massive horses, to the dozens of little boats moving here and there in the water, and to the decks of massive ships parked alongside the docks.

She allowed her gaze to follow the nearest ship’s central mast up its noble length to the top that poked into the summer blue sky, and a wonderful calm blanketed her. This was his world, the world that had embraced him when others had rejected him, the world that had seen in a boy—a boy who could barely speak, read, or write—a hero.

It was also, however, a vast world and she hadn’t any idea where to start looking for him. The coachman helped. Mentioning the captain by name, he gained them entrance onto the closest wharf. Another man that looked vaguely official pointed them toward a ship flanking a dock.

She found him there.

He stood on the highest deck of the massive vessel, so confident and captain-like that her heart gave itself one last violent squeeze, decided it was through with wringing forever, and abruptly ceased functioning. She mounted the gangplank and walked on wobbly knees to the deck. Covered with crates and barrels and ropes and sailors working diligently, the wooden planks seemed to stretch a mile to the stairs that led up to the deck upon which she had glimpsed him.

Then he was there, at the top of those steps, looking at her.

With her nonfunctioning heart in her throat, she went forward. He descended the steps and met her partway.

As though by magic all the sailors seemed to vanish.

“How did you do that?” burbled from her lips.

His beautifully intense eyes frowned.