“Another time, son.” Lord Gillingham dragged in air. “Now hurry. And pray.”
Ropes, chains, and cables of the ship’s rigging swayed and groaned in the wind. Her hair whipped in front of her face. She limped forward, walking on one side of her foot, lest the glass shard push farther through her arch.
Pain blurred everything. The moonlight on the waves. The dark wood, railings, and ladders of the ship.
The two shadows on the gritty planks. Hers and his. Alone.
“I have some business to attend to, so you must forgive me if I leave you here alone for the remainder of the night.” He yanked open the lattice hatch on deck and threw the door back.
More fear attacked her. She squeezed her hands so tight they cramped, as she stared into the dark space below deck. “Why do you not kill me?”
“I told you. Business must be attended to.” He pulled her around to face him. “I do not suppose you noticed our little cave, did you? Albeit dark and infested with bats, it provides a very well-suited hiding place for our payments from China. You might say, this is our own little private bay—named after one of our first coxswains, Ozias Urban.” The smile again. “He met with a rather unfortunate end, I fear.”
“It is a pleasure to you—killing people.” People she loved. People she could not live without. Disgust lanced her grief, morphing together until it raged inside her stomach. “You killed Lady Gillingham and you killed Captain and you killed my Merrylad—”
“And many more than that, Miss Gillingham, although the pleasure of ending your mother cannot be claimed by myself. My sister had the honor of that, I fear.”
“Sister?”
“Martha Northwood.”
Confusion swept through her, disorienting her vision. Nothing made sense. Everything was tangled, unclear, a fog of dark and terrible truths she was not strong enough to endure.Help me, my God.
“And you.” His fingers swept into the edge of her hair. “Do not forget I shall be killing you too, Miss Gillingham. Are you afraid?”
She shivered and turned her face away from him.
But he pulled her closer, crushed her against him, bent his mouth next to her ear. “Come now. Are you afraid, Miss Gillingham?”
No answer.
His embrace tightened. Her terror spiked.
“You can tell me the truth. You were afraid those long years ago, you know.” Dragging his lips along her cheek. Panting his hot breath against her skin. “You cried. You screamed. Have you grown so strong in your woods, Miss Gillingham, that you can no longer fear me? Have I not haunted you?”
God, please.Couldn’t breathe.
“Hmmm?”
Please.
Then a laugh. Harsh and ghoulish in her ear, sending bumps racing along her skin, as he pulled back and retightened the ropes on her wrists. “Let us say no more now, shall we? I fear, after the events of the day, you are quite exhausted. You must rest.” He propelled her into the black hole.
She smacked below deck with a thud and felt the floor rock beneath her with small waves. She nearly lost her stomach for the second time.
“Until tomorrow, Miss Gillingham.” Above, the lattice hatch door slammed back shut. “Goodnight.”
“I don’t be kn–nowing nothing.”
Felton squeezed past the gaunt-faced woman, pistol drawn, and surveyed the foyer and sconce-lit hall. No shadowy figure loomed. “Where is he?”
“I don’t be kn–nowing. I don’t be knowing n–nothing.” The maid circled in front of him with red-rimmed eyes. “Please, sir. Please leave. If he finds you here…if he knows I let you in—”
“She is here, is she not?”
“Who?”
“I do not have time to talk in circles. Where is she?” When the woman only shook her head, stuttering things that made no sense, Felton stormed the house. He stole a candle from a wall sconce and waved it about the parlor, shoving back a wave of despair when nothing looked out of place.
