“Go!” she snapped again. “Now!”
He frowned. But he went.
Chapter Ten
Jasper had theoddest feeling of doom as he made his way up to the wet dock mooring. He had to bite down on his tongue to prevent himself from looking over his shoulder at Libba, who just now would’ve been fading into the morning mist behind him, leaving nothing but a hazy smear of crimson in the general shape of a woman.
He felt like there was a fishhook in his chest. A big one.
He couldn’t account for it.
And he couldn’t really ponder it just now, either, because the people on the dock were drawing ever nearer.
“We’ll keep it as a store hulk while the new office is built, naturally,” a woman’s voice was saying, brisk and posh, like she’d been raised in Richmond, not some far-flung tropical paradise. “John, did we get everything we need for the house? The cinnamon and graphite has to come off too. They’ve been in the moisture too long and we can’t leave our stock bobbing in the Channel, courting mildew and mold.”
“Not by half,” a man’s voice answered, sounding amused. “And the girls are off hunting cats.”
“Hulk fee is reasonable,” the harbormaster said to the couple, who were standing together under the woman’s parasol, both dressed in white and gray, as though anticipating a hot and cloudless sun today. “Your steward, Mr. Rath, has alreadyarranged a spot just beyond the Reaper… Er, that is the crane near where your plot of wharf is.”
“‘Reaper,’” said the woman. “Ominous.”
Jasper cleared his throat, glancing at the ship, whose name glowed in painted blue letters against the golden brown wood of the hull.Shade of Port Royal.
Ominous, indeed.
“Pardon, Harbormaster,” Jasper called, holding up his hand as he trotted over. “Sorry to bother. East India here. I’m a factor with the company. Just had a question about this month’s consignment.”
The man squinted at him through the couple, his waxed mustache twitching. “Not now, lad,” he said. “Come back ’round lunch.”
“Gracious,” said the man, blinking at Jasper. “What happened to you?”
“John!” His wife gasped, swatting him with the back of her hand.
Jasper chuckled, shaking his head. “No, it’s all right. It’s the funniest story…”
“It is you!” came Libba’s voice, right on cue. “Oh, God has answered my prayers! My hero! Sir!”
They all turned as one to see her hurrying down the planks of the walkway, her red skirts in her fists, cloak billowing behind her.
For a strange, suspended moment, Jasper felt that fishhook find purchase around his ribs and give a hard tug. He stared, stupidly, until she had reached them.
“Itisyou,” she breathed again in her feigned Xandine accent, reaching up to ghost her hand over the side of his face that was bruised. “I thought I should never see you again!”
She turned, blinking at the assembly behind him, and brightened. “Oh! Good morning! Are you all together? I mustexpress my gratitude for the rescue that left this dear man so very injured. It was entirely my doing. Entirely my fault.”
“Was it, indeed?” John Templeton-Rath asked, blinking at her, taking in the textiles wrapped around her body. “And you are…?”
“This is Princess Xandine of the Bedouai,” Jasper said quickly, coughing delicately and spinning around. “My apologies. We shall just take this conversation elsewhere.”
“Now, wait a moment,” said the woman, dipping her parasol down and tapping its point against the wood. “I’m afraid you’ve intrigued us all, now. What isyourname, young man? And how did you rescue Her Highness?”
Libba gave a wan smile, her eyes wide, bright, and guileless, and tilted her head to the side like she was interested in the answer, clasping her hands at her chest. “This man,” she echoed, rapt. “Yes, what is your name, my hero?”
The harbormaster gave a heavy sigh, dragging his fingers down over his eyes and pulling at the bags beneath them.
Jasper was frowning at Libba. Or whoever this was.
He had never seen her so… so docile. So… vacant.
