“And one last thing,” Ian added. “When you return to London, there’s a bank draft to pay off the bill at Sunderland’s. I’d prefer you handle it personally.”
The amount was a cipher that would set up a protocol to communicate with the duke directly. In exchange, Sunderland would apprise Ian if the duke’s sources uncovered information about the players hunting the necklace.
“Consider it done.” Hepburn nodded. “It’s been a privilege, sir. I wish you safe travels.”
Ian cleared his throat, which had grown suddenly tight. “Thank you, Hepburn. And best of luck to you with Henry. You will need all the patience you gained over these last few years with me.”
When the clock tower in the distance chimed ten bells and the crowd had thinned, Ian emerged from the alley and walked toward the dock where the liner rose from its harbor mooring. The ship was smaller than the other hulking vessels in port and designed for both speed and to accommodate the new canal in Suez.
He contemplated how far Diana intended to lead him on this pursuit for the emeralds. Was she bound for Calcutta, or all the way to Melbourne?
“Oi, you.” A burly man stepped in front of him. “Why you hangin’ about here?”
Ian scanned the dock for other shadows, but the man appeared to be alone. “I heard at the Angler’s Arms that this ship is taking on crew.”
“Ya heard wrong.” The guard gave him a shove and sputtered a rough laugh when Ian hardly moved.
Ian placed his valise on the ground. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”
“Then leave.”
“I only want—”
A meaty fist came at his jaw. Ian ducked the blow before it could meet its mark and delivered a right hook that snapped the other man’s head back.
“You’ll regret that, you bloody little—”
Ian socked himin the kidneys.
As the man doubled over in pain, Ian circled him with his fists raised. “Listen, mate, I don’t want carnage here. I only want to talk to the captain of that ship.”
His assailant came from his left side and caught a swipe at his cheek. In doing so, the fool left his own right side unprotected from Ian’s left hook. The force of the punch made the guard stagger back. He fell onto the dock, and his head landed with a thud.
Before he could confirm if the man was temporarily or permanently knocked out, a shrill whistle sounded in the distance.
Six figures emerged from the shadows. Each of them pointed a gun at him.
A tall woman wearing a mariner cap and oilskin coat greeted him with a jagged smile as she snatched the pistol holstered inside his coat. “You’ve stirred up trouble, pet.”
While they marched him into an empty warehouse, Ian silently upbraided himself for not going for his pistol sooner.
He wouldn’t make the mistake again.
A man as brawny as the guard he’d felled searched him for hidden weapons and shoved him through a door.
“Well, you’ve caused quite the palaver,” Amelia Hunter greeted him pleasantly.
Ian’s jaw hinged open before he snapped it shut. Demands perched on his tongue—all of them having to do with Diana—but his attention quickly fixed on the man who sat next to Amelia at a spartan wooden table. He was neatly attired, with a groomed mustache, which made Ian think of every military officer he’d met.
“Won’t you sit down, Mr. Holt?” Miss Hunter asked in a genteel voice.
The nicety grated on his nerves. As he clenched his teeth and slowly sank onto the chair, he hoped he appeared as menacing as Diana accused him of looking.
Miss Hunter nodded at her companion. “May I introduce Captain Virgil.”
Unlikely the man’s real name. But he had the mien of a mariner about him, and Ian tipped his head respectfully.
“Now, Mr. Holt. I believe you were making inquiries about a vessel.”
