The Gift of Love (The Book of Love #8) - Meara Platt Page 0,50

up.”

“What!” The Lord Admiral was livid.

“In Tilbury?” Ronan was furious, but not yet convinced they were being given an accurate account. The Invictus was one of the newer ships of the line and also one of their largest. It was perhaps the finest vessel in their entire fleet. Of course, this is why it had been targeted. But it had been designed for combat on the open seas and was too massive to sail up the Thames, which it would have had to do in order to reach Tilbury.

Had it been on its way to London?

What idiot had ordered this?

And why did its admiral in command not ignore the order?

“How did The Invictus get to Tilbury?” he asked. “Why would this vessel be anywhere near there? Portsmouth or Harwich are the closest deepwater ports able to accommodate these large-hulled ships.”

Apparently, he had asked a sensitive question.

These politicians were glowering at him instead of providing information.

He inhaled sharply. “Oh, hell. Did it run aground?” He bit his cheek to stop himself from saying more. Obviously, one or more of the men seated here, perhaps Liverpool himself, had demanded the ship to call in at the port of London.

No doubt, the intention was to show it off to the local citizenry and the well-heeled members of the ton. It would not surprise him to learn that a young lady or two had been promised a tour of The Invictus by one of these lords hoping to impress said young ladies.

“Watch yourself, Captain Brayden.” One of Liverpool’s cabinet members, a debauched peer he recognized as Lord Peckham, was glaring at him. The man sat on the Admiralty board, a civilian, as most of these board members were, and likely was the one who’d gotten them into this mess. “We are not schoolboys to have our ears boxed by a young upstart such as yourself.”

“Of course, my lord. I meant no disrespect.” Bloody fool. He ground his teeth in frustration. Dahlia had just saved the navy budget, and now Lord Peckham’s idiocy was about to sink it. “Do we know who is leading this mob?”

He doubted there was any leader or organized assault. The mob in question was likely fishermen angered by the presence of this behemoth blocking their vessels from sailing to London to sell their fish or venturing out to the North Sea to catch more.

He did not see how they would have the means to capture such a prize, much less get their hands on explosives to blow it up.

“No,” Lord Peckham said. “Fortunately, this rebellious uprising has been contained to Tilbury thus far.”

Yes, definitely angry fishermen. Ronan doubted they had captured this battleship at all. But they might have surrounded it with a flotilla of fishing boats.

And by rebellious, did Lord Peckham mean they’d been throwing eggs and rotted vegetables at the ship?

Lord Liverpool turned to the Lord Admiral. “Sir William, I do not know that you are well enough to ride to Tilbury. Would you have any objection to my placing Captain Brayden in charge?”

“No, my lord. Indeed, I have every faith he can bring a peaceful end to this unfortunate conflagration.”

Lord Liverpool turned to Ronan. “Then the task is yours, Captain Brayden. Take one of our regiments with you on the chance matters get out of hand.”

He nodded. “I’d also like two barges and all the rope I can commandeer. The ship has run aground, has it not?” He’d asked the question moments earlier but had not received a straightforward answer.

“Yes,” said Liverpool with a sigh. “You have my authority to take whatever materials you need. Get started at once.”

He strode out with the Lord Admiral, slowing his step to accommodate the older man. “My brother, Joshua, still commands a regiment of dragoon guards. They were the soldiers who cleared out the criminal element in Oxford a few months ago. These are disciplined men, not likely to do anything foolhardy and make matters worse.”

“Yes, take them with you. Bah! That Peckham, what an arse.”

“Who is the idiot in command of The Invictus?” Ronan asked. “He ought to have known better than to risk one of our finest ships.”

“Have you not figured it out yet? It is Peckham’s brother, Viscount Hawley. I’ll have him under court-martial if there is so much as a blemish found.”

Ronan’s expression turned grim. “She’ll have scratches along the length of her hull for certain. Let’s hope it is nothing worse. I don’t want to be the one standing in front of Liverpool and his