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“I told you I will not have you ask any more questions,” said the admiral coolly. “Either you give me your word of honor, in which case I’ll leave you and your wife alone. Or I will need to have one of these men kill you. Which will it be, Your Grace?”
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Calliope waited and waited. He had said it would be only a few minutes.
The street was quiet. She saw the sex worker she had talked with on her first visit walk around the corner and lean against the wall, looking around. Someone passed by at the end of the street.
With every minute that passed, her worry grew.
She knew she promised to stay put, but something must have happened to Nathaniel. She could just feel it.
Retrieving her two muff pistols from her reticule, she opened the carriage door with a shaking hand.
“Your Grace,” said Carl, who heard her and descended. “Please go back into the carriage.”
She checked both pistols. Loaded. The hammer was in a half-cocked position, which prevented the guns from discharging unless the trigger was intentionally pulled.
She tucked them under the ribbon of her dress, beneath her spencer.
“I’m afraid I can’t. I’m worried His Grace is in trouble.”
“Your Grace, let me go into Portside and see if he needs help. Please, stay in the carriage.”
Calliope hesitated. She had already put Nathaniel and his sisters through enough. She needed to be more careful now that she may be pregnant. She did think it would be wise for Carl to go and see if anything was amiss. Besides, she had given Nathaniel her word. And if she had any hope of happiness with him, she should better give him what he needed. Her safety.
Unwillingly, Calliope nodded. “All right. Go on and take a look, please. I’ll wait here.”
Calliope was just about to climb back into the carriage to wait for Carl when the blond, busty sex worker said loudly, “You’re right, luv.”
Calliope looked at her. She still stood with her back against the wall of the building, fingering her nails.
“Excuse me, what did you say?” Calliope asked.
“You’re right. Somethin’ ’appened. If you’re lookin’ for that pretty duke, I saw some navy officers beat him and drag him into a warehouse.”
A cold shadow cloaked Calliope’s heart. She couldn’t feel the ground under her feet.
“Where?” she demanded, her voice raspy and low.
“Two warehouses down that way.” She pointed in the direction opposite of where Carl had gone.
Calliope broke into a run. As she approached the building, she walked quieter, her breath heavy in her chest, her stomach churning with bile. Terror for Nathaniel made her legs feel limp and cold.
Lord, was this how Nathaniel felt when she was in danger? This was horrible.
The warehouse loomed ahead, its dark brick facade battered by time and weather, casting long, foreboding shadows in the faint moonlight. Cranes and pulleys jutted out from its upper levels, hinting at the hard labor done during daylight hours. A few dim lanterns flickered at its entrance, revealing an occasional rat scurrying past, while from a small, high-set window, a muted conversation drifted out.
“Either you give me your word of honor, in which case I’ll leave you and your wife alone…”
Calliope had an odd sensation of falling. The voice sounded familiar, although she couldn’t place it. The speaker sounded well-bred, and the “word of honor”…he could demand that only from a gentleman.
She frantically looked around and noticed some crates and barrels nestled against the wall.
“Or I will need to have one of these men kill you…”
Her hands shook, her ankle twisted a little as she heard that, and she stumbled. No, Nathaniel!
“Which will it be, Your Grace?” said the voice.
