The Heiress of Winterwood - By Sarah Ladd Page 0,94

out what you can and report back to me. Pay heed to happenings with the Barrett Trading Company.” He pulled out half the contents from the pouch and slid it over to Kingston. “Take this now, and I’ll see you get the rest when I have the child.”

The smell of sea and fish clinging to Kingston wafted across the table, contesting the strong scent of the smoking fire. Kingston narrowed his eyes on Graham as he crossed his arms over the broad expanse of his chest and leaned back in his chair. “Well now, I’m not so sure about that, Cap’n.” The man nailed Graham to his seat with an icy stare, all trace of a smile vanished. “See, a man can get hisself killed snoopin’ round.”

Graham clenched his jaw. He knew this man’s angle. It was one of intimidation, one he’d not cower to. He locked eyes with the man, refusing to look away. He’d not waver, nor was he prone to negotiation. But he needed help and quickly. The image of Lucy’s eyes flashed in his mind for the thousandth time. Be it the lack of sleep or pure desperation, he consented and dropped the pouch and all its contents into Kingston’s outstretched hand.

Indeed, he’d give far more to see his daughter safe.

A satisfied smile curled on Kingston’s face, puckering his scar and wrinkling his eyes. “Tomorrow, then.” He bounced the pouch in his hand before it disappeared into the folds of his rough coat. “Can’t make no promises, mind you that.” He tipped his hat with mock formality. “Sulter. Cap’n.”

“I’m not asking for promises,” Graham muttered as the character exited the pub. “I’m asking for a miracle.”

Footsteps outside the Sulters’ door demanded Amelia’s attention. She held her breath, waiting, praying, and tucked her trembling hands beneath the folds of her shawl. The rest of the house had retired several hours hence, and the clock had long struck midnight, but Amelia sat awake in the Sulters’ modest parlor, unable to find any manner of rest. The agonizing day had rolled into an excruciating night. Hours had passed with no word to offer hope or comfort.

But then the footsteps stopped, a muted voice sounded, and something rubbed against the rough wooden door. Her book of Psalms fell to the cushion beside her as she stood.

The latch lifted and the heavy wooden door swung open. Blustery wind spun through the opening. At the very sight of Graham, with his hat pulled low and his cheeks red from the cold, her optimism soared. Amelia hurried toward the door and held it open. “You’ve returned. Thank heavens!”

Graham stepped in first, the cold clinging to his wool coat. His words were gruff, his tone made hoarse by the bitter cold. “What are you doing awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Her words spilled forth in jumbled anticipation. “Did you learn anything?”

It was Captain Sulter, not Graham, who stepped past her to the coatrack and spoke first. “We are closer, Miss Barrett. Rest assured. We will have the little one back to you in no time. Right, Sterling?”

Graham looked up from pulling off his gloves but only nodded.

Captain Sulter removed his coat and hat and patted down his thinning hair. “We’ve done all we can tonight. I suggest you get some sleep.” He clasped a hand down on Graham’s shoulder and turned a warm smile toward Amelia. “Good night, my dear.”

Amelia watched the man lumber down the corridor, leaving her alone with Graham. Her lungs refused to expand as she watched him remove his hat and greatcoat. So handsome. So strong. And he alone could help her get Lucy.

“Where are you going in the morning?” She felt her smile fade when Graham pulled a flintlock pistol from the folds of his coat and placed it on the sideboard. “What is that for?”

Graham raised an eyebrow at her. The fire’s dying embers cast a russet glow on his shadow of a beard and caught on the glint in his gray eyes. “I’m going to get Lucy back.”

She swallowed the lump of fear and stood perfectly still.

Graham crossed in front of her to the settee and dropped down on the tufted cushions. He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again and stared unblinkingly into the fire. Though weariness played on his every movement, his posture remained alert, as if at any moment he expected Lucy’s kidnapper to burst through the door.

Amelia studied him, attempting to read the nuances of his expression. Was