Page 19 of Against the Wind

“Martin Powell,” she said aloud, as if trying the name out to see how it fit.

“We will wait just a bit longer and then I’ll get you to safety.”

“Where?”

“Trust me.”

The look on her face said she far from trusted him, but he knew she would come nonetheless. She had few options if she wanted to escape the earl. Martin could not protect her if she returned to her friends or left on her own. He had survived the years in France by his wits and the cloak of stealth he could wrap around himself in an instant. Surely he could do the same for her. But into his mind came the unbidden memory of a night when he failed to safeguard another woman, a woman who had even greater claim to his protection.

With a deep sigh and a resolution that belied his fear for Kit’s safety, he silently stepped toward the curtain. “Come.”

He would get her out of Claremont House unseen.

It was after midnight, and rain had begun to fall when the carriage stopped in front of a house in the area of London known as Adelphi Terrace. Just south of Somerset House on the Thames, the neighborhood was familiar to Kit as one of her tutors had lived near there. Though more of the ton lived in Mayfair and Albany, Adelphi was home to many prominent people, and she knew the homes to be costly. Whatever this man Martin’s status in London society, he had to be a man of means. But then, had not Abby promised Willow House catered only to the wellborn and their friends?

The silver fabric of her gown was thin, but her rescuer had given her his coat to protect her from the cold. There had been no time to gather her cloak, no time even to bid the de Courtenays goodbye before she fled. It seemed to Kit she was always saying goodbye to someone she held dear. Now all she had was a man she considered a stranger.

The warm superfine wool wrapped around Kit retained the heat of her rescuer’s body, and it was much appreciated. Drawing the warm coat around her, she inhaled the scent of him. Martin Powell, he’d called himself. The coat was almost like having his body next to her again, for it brought back the memory of that night she lay in his arms.

“This is my family’s residence,” Mr. Powell explained as they reached the door. “I have not returned in more than a year, even for a visit, so we’ll be finding out together who is at home tonight.” He must have seen the concern on her face because he added, “Not to worry, you will be welcome.”

He took a key from his pocket and slipped it into the lock. As the door opened, he whispered to her, “Just as well it is late. The servants will be asleep.”

Tiptoeing across the threshold, he took her hand and guided her into the entrance hall. Kit could see it was beautiful, even in the faint light. A brass chandelier above reflected a crackling fire from a room off to the right.

Someone is awake.

A thick rug cushioned her slippers as she took a few steps. Ahead, a wide stairway curved up to the next floor. Mr. Powell tugged her toward it. Kit wasn’t certain she wanted to go upstairs, where she knew the bedrooms would be located, but she had come this far so she followed. Could she trust this man whom she did not know? He was a man whose very presence, she reminded herself, made her heart flutter like the wings of a bird.

As they climbed the first steps, heavy footfalls sounded behind them. A deep voice very much like her rescuer’s asked gruffly, “Martin, is that you?”

Mr. Powell backed down the staircase, pulling her along. His quick reaction protectively thrust her behind him, but his posture was relaxed. He recognized the voice.

“Ah…Nick. Thank God it’s you. I thought perhaps Mother and Father would be gone, as they usually are, but I’d rather not deal with servants or our younger brothers tonight.”

Kit peeked around Mr. Powell’s shoulder to see the man named Nick staring intently at her. It was obvious to Kit he had not been expecting company. He resembled Martin Powell though his disheveled hair was more ebony, and he might be a bit older, a bit taller. His face, even in the dim light, was bronzed and weathered as if he spent a great deal of time in the sun. She could not discern his eye color.

She had never seen a pirate, but this man surely looked the part; the only thing missing was the golden earring. He wore a linen shirt, open at the neck, and black breeches tucked into tall boots. There was something of the gypsy about him, too, a suggestion of another place and another time.

“You’ll not be facing the family soon, brother,” Mr. Powell’s kin said as he leaned against the doorpost to what had to be a study, the source of the firelight. Crossing his arms over his chest, he casually slipped one booted foot over the other. “Mother has sailed with Father, and our two younger siblings have tagged along as crew. The great run to the east for tea, you know. They will be gone for months. The only ones here tonight are Cook, a new maid, and our old butler Morris. All of them retired for the night. It’s a skeleton crew with the parents at sea.”

“Just as well. I’ll deal with the servants in the morning,” said Mr. Powell.

Glancing at Kit, the brother said, “I’ll be gone when you greet the day. I’m taking the Raven out.”

“Oh? Where?”

“To the Caribbean, then up to Baltimore.” Nick’s eyes darted from Kit back to his brother, lips twitching up at the ends. “You will have the place to yourself.” The light was dim, but Kit didn’t miss his white teeth and wolfish grin. “I see you brought home another stray—a beautiful one.”

“Stray?” Kit repeated, her eyes narrowing.

“Oh, he’s always bringing home strays,” the man explained. Then, to his brother, “Remember the time you rescued the cabin boy? The one who had fleas?”

Annoyed at being compared to a boy with fleas, Kit returned the pirate a glare.

He just laughed. “Mother never let you forget that escapade.”

Martin Powell gritted out, “The boy would have been beaten if he’d returned to his ship. I could not allow that to happen.”