“We can’t outrun them.”
“No, but if we’re moving too quickly for them to get a good shot at us, perhaps we’ll stay out of their hands long enough to make it into town.” When he shook his head and turned away from her, as if intending to leave the shed, Georgiana clamped her hands around his wrist. “Some chance is always better than none.”
“And any risk to you is too much.” But his eyes narrowed, as if he was thinking it over again. “I’ll make a run in the coach alone. The airship will come after me. You send a wiregram to town, ask them to round up carts and send as many men as possible. When he sees them coming, the bastard might decide to fly off.”
Not by yourself. Georgiana closed her lips against that automatic response. If the pirates caught up to Thom, she didn’t want him to be alone. But she knew this was the most practical plan, and offered the best chance of keeping them both alive and safe.
Still, her throat tightened with worry and fear. “Be careful, Thom.”
“I will.” For a brief moment, his gloved hand cupped her jaw, his gaze softening as he looked down at her. “You wait for the airship to turn around before you come out of the shed.”
Georgiana nodded. Her heart an aching hammer in her chest, she stepped aside and watched Thom climb into the coach. The driver’s bench creaked under his weight. He engaged the engine and the vehicle rattled to life.
His eyes met hers through the plate-glass windshield. Then he was off on a great huff of steam, the coach quickly picking up speed. He reached the road and sped toward town, out of her sight.
Concealed by the shadows within the shed, Georgiana stood in an agony of tension, waiting for the airship’s sails to furl and draw in against the sides of the wooden cruiser. It flew less than a hundred yards from the shed now, but an airship couldn’t quickly turn around. It would take a few seconds to haul in the canvas.
The pirates must have realized they’d been spotted. The engines fired, breaking their silence with a heavy thrum across the sky. The propellers began a lazy spin.
Yet their heading didn’t change. They weren’t following Thom.
Perhaps he’d been wrong and they hadn’t been coming after him. Perhaps their appearance was only a coincidence, and they were headed to some other destination.
Georgiana couldn’t assume that, though. She had to prepare for the worst: that they had seen her outside earlier, and guessed that she’d remained behind.
But what sort of preparations could be made against pirates? She would be far outnumbered. She might be able to shoot one or two before they returned fire and killed her.
No, shooting meant certain death. She would only use her pistol as a last resort. If she waited, though . . . perhaps there would be some chance. Thom would alert the town. And she would fetch any pirate a healthy ransom, as long as he left her alive.
The engines became louder. Blocked by the roof, she lost sight of the airship as it neared the shed, but its oval shadow darkened the ground outside. Directly overhead now. Keep flying on, keep flying on. Her pulse pounded in her ears at a dizzying pace.
The rattle of chains sank her heart. The cargo platform was being lowered. Someone was coming down.
Oh, God. What to do now?
Only what she could. Straightening her shoulders and steeling her spine, Georgiana tucked her pistol into her reticule. She could reach it quickly enough. And if she was to be taken, perhaps they would assume that she only carried frivolous items and overlook the weapon.
A clank sounded beside the shed. The rattle of chains stopped. They’d lowered the platform to the ground out of her sight—either fearing that she’d shoot their legs as they came into view or concealing their numbers. Georgiana strained to hear anything more over the thrum of the airship’s engines.
In all the noise, the man who appeared at the shed entrance could have stomped his way there and she wouldn’t have heard him. Georgiana’s fingers tightened on her reticule. He didn’t hold a gun. That didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous.
And he must have been the nobby gent whom Thom had spoken of. Tall and wiry, with lightly tanned skin and brown hair tied back in a queue, he was smartly dressed for a pirate. His black silk waistcoat and buff breeches didn’t show any stains or signs of wear. His tall boots gleamed with high gloss.
He stepped into the shed and offered Georgiana a charming smile. “Mrs. Thomas, I presume.”
This gent could presume all he liked. Georgiana raised her voice over the airship’s thrum. “If you are seeking my husband, I must tell you he’s left.”
“He’s abandoned someone as beautiful as you? No. He’ll soon return.”
The pirate spoke in English, not the trader’s French commonly used with strangers. He had a Manhattan City accent—and though that city lay just across the river from Prince George Island, where her own family hailed from, each word he said marked his higher class and education.
Why would such a man resort to piracy? Georgiana couldn’t imagine. And she didn’t care to. She only wanted him gone.
“I’ve always looked the same, sir, yet my husband has managed to leave me before. He’s quite adept at it. He’s never been as good about returning.”
The pirate only shook his head.
His condescending smile irritated her. How could he be so certain?