Walking down the narrow alley back to the Serpent, he realized he was a changed man from the one who had left London mere weeks before. He stopped, looking around at his surroundings. Soon this would all be in his past. Before, he’d been a man who trusted no one. Now, he searched for the good and meaningful in life. The dream he’d had of finding freedom, of building a new home for his family was now in his grasp—and all because of Lyssa.
He found her sitting by the window, waiting for him while enjoying a cup of tea. Dropping his knapsack on the floor, he took the chair opposite hers at the table and asked, “Do we need to send the note?”
“We need the money my father promised you for finding me,” she answered, a practical wife already. “Besides, it’s already gone. Roddy had his son take it. We have only to wait now.”
Wait. He didn’t know if he could. As if reading his mind, she reached over and squeezed his hand. “It won’t be long now.”
“It could be hours.”
“Ian, not with my father.”
She was right. Within the hour, Harrell’s fine carriage rolled up to the inn door.
Lyssa caught sight of it out the window and sat up straight. The carriage door opened and Parker climbed down. “He didn’t come alone,” she said, her voice tight. Ian didn’t answer. Parker’s appearance could mean anything.
They watched as Harrell climbed out of the coach and then turned. He held out his hand for his wife.
“He brought her,” Lyssa said as if betrayed.
The former duchess moved slowly because of her advanced stage of pregnancy. She seemed calm, but her expression was one of worry. Ian couldn’t judge whether her concern was for her stepdaughter—or because she was about to be found out.
Grossett followed her out of the carriage but instead of moving on, he held out his hand and another woman came out of the coach. She was some twenty years older than Mrs. Harrell and dressed expensively, although her clothing appeared gaudy next to Mrs. Harrell’s simple elegance. She and Grossett bore an uncomfortable resemblance in their bulldog jowls and squinty eyes.
Lyssa looked to Ian. “That is Robert’s mother. A more unpleasant person you could never hope to meet, and she despises me. I don’t know why she is here. Ian, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t be,” he ordered. “I’ll not let any harm come to you, and we might as well face them all. Come, let’s get this over with.” He stood, inviting her to do the same. Together they faced the door, her hand in his.
There was a moment of silence where the footfalls and sounds from the rest of the inn masked the opening of the front door, and then she said, “I wonder if Father will notice that I’ve changed?”
“That you are well loved?” he asked.
She laughed, not mistaking his meaning, but then sobered. “I feel I left London a child and I now return a woman. I’ve grown up so much, Ian. Let us pray Father can see beyond my worn clothes and wild hair and see what it is I have.” She gave his hand a squeeze for meaning.
Her words mirrored his own recent revelation. But before he could speak, Harrell’s voice came from out in the hall, demanding Roddy take him to his daughter.
The door opened without a knock and Lyssa pulled her hand from Ian’s. Her fists clenched…and Ian took a step back, trying to understand.
Pirate Harrell marched into the room. He was an imposing figured dressed in his black superfine down to his polished boots.
For a second, he and Lyssa faced off. “Father,” she said, acknowledging him.
“Daughter,” Harrell answered. His green gaze, so much like his daughter’s, swept her person from head to toe.
The tension stretched taut—and then Lyssa broke it by stepping forward. “I am so sorry.”
Her words seemed to linger in the air for a second before her father reached for her. They fell into each other’s arms, and he hugged her as if he’d never let her go.
And Ian feared the worst.
The others crowded in, Roddy shutting the door behind them. Grossett appeared as pompous as ever with his expensive hat and artfully combed hair. Ian was too conscious of their contrasts, of the fact he wore no coat, having left his off because of the torn sleeves. His fortunes seemed to have been halved over the past weeks while everyone else had prospered.
Mrs. Harrell glided over to her husband and stepdaughter while Parker made arrangements for more chairs and drink.
She still didn’t strike Ian as a murderess.
At last, Harrell and Lyssa parted. “I was so afraid for you.”
“I was safe, Papa,” she said.
