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She watched him. There was something more here that he wasn’t saying. “Why can’t he come to see you?”
“He’s a Frenchman,” he said. His voice was impatient, as if he didn’t like her questions. “He can’t leave the ship.”
“You must be very good friends, then.”
He shrugged and looked away from her, not answering.
They rode in silence until they made the hotel where Alistair had purchased a room for them both.
“I’ll return shortly,” he said before she descended the carriage. “We’ll talk then.”
She watched as the carriage pulled away, her eyes narrowed, and then she glanced at the hotel. It was quite nice, an expensive establishment, but she had no wish to sit in the elegant room and twiddle her thumbs waiting for him.
She turned to one of the hostlers lounging about the front of the hotel. “Can you find me a sedan chair?”
“Aye, mum!” The boy took off like a shot.
She smiled. Alistair needn’t be the only one to keep secrets.
THE MAN WHO’D followed them from Lister’s residence to the hotel continued to trail Alistair after the carriage pulled away. Alistair grunted in satisfaction and let the window curtain fall. The man was on foot, a rough fellow dressed in a buff waistcoat, black coat, and wide-brimmed hat, but the carriages rolled so slowly in London that he could easily keep up. Interesting that Lister wanted to know where he went as well as Helen. The duke had obviously pegged him as a threat, sight unseen.
Alistair’s lips curled. As well Lister should.
An hour later, the duke’s man was still trailing the carriage when it stopped in front of the dock master’s office. Tall ships were crowded in the middle of the Thames, where the channel was deep enough for their hulls. Smaller boats and ships were in constant motion, ferrying goods and people to the anchored ships. The smell of the river was sharp here, part fish, part rot. Alistair jumped down and strode inside the dock master’s office, pretending not to notice the follower, lounging now against a warehouse wall. There were several men milling about inside the dock master’s office, but everyone fell silent when Alistair entered. He sighed. They would begin talking again, avidly, when he left. It became wearying after a while to always be the most bizarre part of other people’s days.
He was able to ascertain that Etienne’s ship was still scheduled to dock in London. That was good news. If he must leave his home and go scurrying all over England, then at least he could find out about the Spinner’s Falls traitor while he did so. More troubling was the information that Etienne’s ship was only docking in London to pick up supplies. The captain wasn’t even letting his men have shore leave. The time period when Alistair might visit the ship was very slim—only a matter of hours. Dammit. He would have to check back regularly at the docks to make sure he didn’t miss Etienne’s ship altogether. Once Etienne sailed, he’d be going around the Horn of Africa. It would be months, maybe years, before Alistair would be able to contact him again.
Alistair left the dock master’s office and paused to don his tricorne. He glanced quickly from under the brim and saw that his tracker was still waiting. Good. He leapt into his waiting carriage and banged on the roof to signal the coachman. Hopefully the man was well rested, because he’d be jogging another hour or so before they made the hotel.
Alistair smiled and tilted his hat over his eyes, prepared to use that time in a nap.
* * *
“I KNOW HE would not see me before,” Helen said patiently to the butler, “but I think he will now. Tell His Grace that I am alone.”
The man obviously didn’t want to bother his master, but with perseverance and much repetition, Helen was finally able to send the man on his errand. He placed her in the same sitting room she’d inhabited with Alistair not an hour before. Alistair would be angry if he knew she was visiting the duke alone, but she couldn’t simply wait passively for Lister to respond. She had to at least try to reason with him. And she knew that if she came alone, he’d see her. She could talk to him, beg if she had to. Abigail and Jamie were the only good things she had to show from a life less than wisely lived. She would do whatever it took to get them safely back.
Half an hour later, when her nerves had stretched taut enough to snap, the Duke of Lister entered the room. She’d turned at the sound of the door opening. Now she watched as he strolled toward her and remembered that first sight of him over a decade before. He’d changed very little in that time. He was still tall, his head held arrogantly erect. He’d gained a small amount of weight about his middle, and she knew that beneath his curled wig his hair had receded, but otherwise he was much the same—an older, handsome man who knew very well the power he held. What had changed was her. She was no longer a green girl over-awed by a man’s rank and wealth.
She dipped in a tiny curtsy. “Your Grace.”
“Helen.” He stared at her, his eyes cold, his pale lips thin. “You have made me very, very angry.”
“Have I?” she asked, and she saw a quick flash of surprise in his light blue eyes. She’d never challenged anything he’d said in the past. It was what had made her an exemplary mistress: her willingness to accede to his every wish. “I didn’t think you would notice my absence at all.”
“Then you are mistaken.” He gestured her to a seat. “I’m afraid you’ll have to work hard to regain my esteem.”
She sat and tamped down anger. “I want only my children.”
He sank into a chair opposite her, flicking aside the skirts of his velvet coat. “My children as well.”
She leaned forward, unable to stop herself from hissing, “You don’t even know their names.”
“James, and the girl”—he snapped his fingers as he searched for her name—“Abigail. You see, I do know their names. Not that it matters when all things are considered. You knew very well what the price of leaving me would be. Pray don’t feign shock now.”
“I’m their mother.” She tried to keep the pleading from her voice, but it was hard. Impossible, really. “They need me, Lister. Let me have them back. Please.”
He smiled, his lips spreading without any humor—or indeed any emotion—at all. “Very pretty, but your pleas do not sway me. You’ve crossed me, Helen, and now you must be punished. Come, now. Agree to move back into the town house I gave you and then I may be more amenable to discussing the children.”
