An Unexpected Earl (Lords of the Armory #2) - Anna Harrington Page 0,61
against her wet hair. “You just shot London Bridge and lived to tell about it.”
“Barely,” she rasped out hoarsely.
Despite her attempt at humor, concern tightened his chest. He glanced behind them at the bridge and the black, churning water beneath.
They’d lost the men who were chasing them. Thank God. But those men were also smart enough to know that the waterman would have to pull up onto one of the steps just past the bridge. The men might still come looking for them tonight. And Pearce needed to have Amelia well out of sight if they did.
“Take us to the Pelican Steps,” Pearce ordered the waterman, who had fully regained control of the boat and was using the tide to his advantage now rather than fighting it.
“Aye, sir.”
As Pearce worked loose the strip of her hem that tied them together, the waterman guided the boat gradually toward the north bank as they drifted downstream, following the current as the river turned gently at Wapping and curved away toward Greenwich on the opposite bank. Slowly, he guided them across the dark ribbon of water to the set of stone stairs tucked up beside the old Prospect of Whitby tavern.
The boat smoothly slid to a stop at the stone steps, and the waterman grabbed for the piling post to hold the boat in place while Pearce carefully helped Amelia onto the small landing, then climbed out after her. Pools of water formed beneath their feet from their soaked clothes. Amelia wrapped her arms around herself, unable to stop her shivering as the unseasonably cold air engulfed them and chilled them through to the bone.
Pearce knelt down to hand the waterman his promised sovereign.
“Thank ye, sir.” The man shook his head. “Wish I could say I enjoyed th’ fare.”
Pearce held up a second coin. “You didn’t see us, and you didn’t shoot the bridge. You’ve been working this side of the bridge all night because you’d heard there was a boxing match set for midnight in the old warehouse on High Street. You know the one I mean.” He placed the coin onto the man’s palm, which was callused like a piece of leather from years spent working the oars. “Understand?”
“What bridge?” the waterman asked dryly, slipping the coins into the inside breast pocket of his jacket. “Been workin’ Wapping all night. Gave no ride to no gentleman an’ his lady friend.”
Pearce slapped the piling post as he pulled back up to his full height. “My gratitude to you.”
“Waterloo, huh?” The waterman shoved the boat away from the steps. “My gratitude to you, sir.” He gave a small salute. Then he was gone, slipping away into the darkness of the river.
Pearce took Amelia’s arm and felt her shivering violently. Guilt gripped him. He needed to get her warm and dry before she froze.
He led her carefully up the steep steps that lined the stone wall of the Prospect of Whitby and toward the street. The old tavern had perched here above the river for three hundred years if the stories the tavern keeper and bar wenches liked to tell were true. Although tonight, judging from the noise coming from inside and the lamplight spilling out through the wide rows of windows, the man and his maids were too busy to tell any tales at all. Good. Exactly what Pearce had hoped for. The best place to be lost was in a crowd.
“Your lady friend?” Amelia repeated through chattering teeth with a backward glance at the river. “He thinks that I’m—” She lowered her voice despite no one else being in sight. “That I’m your lover.”
“Not exactly.”
“Oh?” She let him help her over the last step and onto the narrow road above. The welcomed gravel of solid ground crunched beneath their feet, but he didn’t ease his hold on her arm. He didn’t trust that they were yet safe.
“He thinks you’re a prostitute I’ve hired for the evening.”
“He’s thinks I’m a—” Amelia halted, coming to a dead stop in midstep. Her mouth fell open as she stared at him. “You didn’t correct him!”
“With what, the truth?” Pearce led her toward the tavern’s front door. “That we were being chased because your corrupt brother is involved with a criminal organization?”
Her shoulders sagged, and she muttered, “When you put it like that, perhaps the truth isn’t such a good idea.”
With a grin, he opened the door to the tavern and guided her inside with a hand to the small of her back.