He slowly, methodically made his way toward the cove marked on the map. Along the way, he wondered if his quest for vengeance was turning him a little mad. Not that he’d give up—giving up wasn’t in his nature. But one man against a whole smuggling gang, plus the ineffectual and probably corrupt officials of the British Empire…
“Just buy the guns and sail back to Santo Domingo,” he muttered. “At least some good will come of this.”
After all, would Ximena truly feel better if she was told that the man who killed her brother was dead? Mateo wasn’t coming back, no matter what. Ximena would have to face the rest of her life regardless.
Then he touched the cross at his neck, exhaling slowly. Of course it mattered. He gave his word to Ximena, and he kept his word. He’d fight the whole world alone if he had to.
You’re not alone.
The thought came to him all at once, and it did not feel like his own voice.
He tapped the cross once more, murmuring a thank you to Mateo’s spirit for bolstering him.
Of course he was not alone. He had his crew, the finest crew anyone could ask for. He had friends in England and Hispaniola, if he needed help. And of course, he had the entirely unnecessary and thoroughly irritating assistance from Poppy St George, who had absolutely no reason to take up any pursuit against smugglers or pirates or murderers or any other kind of criminal…yet there she was, insisting on joining him to figure out the secret of the opium shipment and the identity of that mysterious ship with the red and white flags.
He should tell her to mind her own business (well, he had told her that, and it had done no good at all). He should write to Adrian and tell him to somehow pluck Poppy out of Cornwall and keep her safe at his estate with Rosalind. Then Carlos wouldn’t have to worry about her all the time.
Why the hell hadn’t he done that the first day?
Oh, right. Because he liked having Poppy around. He liked how she sparred with him, and pretended to hate him, and how she threw herself headlong into causes that weren’t hers just because she had that innate sense of justice some people were born with.
He saw it in her immediately, during the whole fiasco with Adrian and Rose. Poppy defended her cousin and fought for her like a knight because it was the right thing to do.
Damn. He really did need to send her away. He’d take care of the matter as soon as he returned to Pencliff Towers.
While he was thinking on the matter of Poppy, he noticed sails in the corner of his eye. Turning, he saw a ship approaching the shoreline. Squinting, he counted the masts—three, and scanned the shape of the hull. Once the little red and white flags became visible, he didn’t even need to see them to know it was the same ship.
And now it was sailing for the very same cove a man had just drawn a map for. Carlos didn’t believe in coincidences. It might be divine intervention, or it might be a trap. But he was going to find out what this ship was doing in the cove.
But then he noticed a figure in the far distance, up on the headland looking out to sea.
He knew that figure, and he’d have known it even if it was both foggy and midnight.
Poppy stood on the very edge of the St. Mark’s Head cliff, staring through a spyglass at a shipful of criminals who could definitely see her too.
Criminals with a record of killing people who knew too much.
* * * *
Earlier in the morning, Poppy had again announced her intention to explore St. Mark’s Head. The other guests around the breakfast table approved of the notion. A few hours of rambling along the beautiful, rugged promontory was just the sort of healthy thing a young lady like Poppy ought to do.
One person not at breakfast was Carlos, and Poppy was grateful, because she had no idea how to act around a man after she’d ended up in his bedroom the previous night. She was quite certain that the moment she saw him again, all she’d be able to think about was how it felt to be in his arms.
The cook packed her a picnic lunch and bottle of cider, and Poppy struck out toward the headland, wearing her sturdy walking shoes, a green wool gown, and a short cloak to protect her against any inclement weather.
But from the moment she set off, the sky was summer perfection—cerulean blue, with streamers of white clouds marching west to east. The sun beamed over the whole world, and it would have been hot, except that the brisk sea breeze swept the heat away.
She hiked for a couple of miles, invigorated by the weather and the starkly gorgeous surroundings. From time to time, she saw a boat or ship in the sea. But they were either small fishing boats, or sloops or frigates plying the Channel on ordinary routes. She had to admit that a bright sunny day wasn't exactly ideal for pursuing smugglers.
Just at the edge of the cliff, she stopped, seeing a ship in the distance. Red and white flags…yes, it was the same ship that had dropped off the cargo of opium!
“Now you’re back, hmmm?” Poppy whispered. What caused the crew to sail in the daytime?
She took a spyglass she’d borrowed from Mr. Towers out of the leather pack and lifted it up to get a better look. The ship really wasn’t so far off, and once Poppy got the spyglass into focus, she could see the figures on deck with startling detail. Crewmen moved from one end to the other on their specific tasks, and a young sailor clambered up a rope ladder with the agility of a monkey. She moved to the bow of the ship and read the name painted there: Seadragon. Next, she trained her sight on the man at the helm. He was a burly man with black hair and beard, and he called out orders with confidence that he’d be obeyed instantly.
“Mr. Spargo, I presume,” she mused out loud. Spargo’s face turned into profile, and she realized he was talking to somebody. Eagerly, she shifted her gaze to the other figure. It was a man, about the same age as Spargo, and he also had black hair, though he was clean-shaven and much trimmer. His jacket was a dark cloth—probably linen, Poppy guessed, and quite well made. He did not look like a pirate or a smuggler, though. The contrast between him and Spargo was plain as day.
“Who are you?” Poppy asked out loud, leaning forward and stepping further toward the edge of the land as she attempted to keep the man in her sights. Why would this person be aboard a ship filled with murderous smugglers in the middle of the day?
