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“She’s bringing a companion with her. Don’t you see? She didn’t marry Fredericks. They’re going on this expedition as colleagues only. I heard it from Beale who heard it from—” Rotherby waved his hand. “Doesn’t matter. But I wanted you to know. She’s unmarried. And her ship departs from the London docks this morning.”
Seb’s exhaustion disappeared. Energy shot through his body and woke his perplexed mind.
Grace hadn’t married Fredericks. She’d refused the naturalist’s proposal.
Seb saw in an instant what he had to do. It was a massive gamble, and one that might cause him unimaginable pain, but if he didn’t try, he’d regret his inaction for the rest of his miserable life.
“I need a horse,” he said.
“Done,” Rotherby replied immediately.
“Already summoned someone,” Beale said, his hand on the bellpull. He eyed Seb. “Given the circumstances, Mr. Holloway, I will refrain from making any comment on the condition of your . . . person.”
Seb dragged a hand over his jaw, feeling the rasp of his whiskers. Damn. There wasn’t time to shave, much as he wanted to look his best. Hell, he probably appeared at his absolute worst but there was no helping it.
Rotherby’s staff moved quickly. In five minutes, Seb found himself in the stables, slinging himself up into the saddle on a sleek chestnut gelding.
“Do you know the way?” Rotherby asked as Seb took hold of the reins.
“I’ll find it. I’ll find her.” The horse danced beneath Seb, impatient as its rider to move.
“Godspeed.” Rotherby slapped his hand on the gelding’s flank.
The animal surged into motion.
Never had Seb sped through London at such speed. The city rocketed past him in a blur as he urged the horse to go faster, and faster still. His heart pounded in time with his mount’s hooves, and sweat slicked his back as he leaned low over the horse’s neck. Angry shouts from drivers and pedestrians trailed in his wake. He didn’t give a sodding damn. He could run down Prinny himself and not care. All that mattered was reaching the docks in time.
Please, God, let there be time.
Soon the hulking warehouses of Wapping surrounded him. He guided the horse around massive stacks of crates, and wove between drays loaded with cargo. The sharp tang of river water announced that he was almost at his destination. Closer. Closer.
Have to reach her.
A moment later, he was on the docks themselves. But which ship was hers? He slowed the panting horse to a walk.
“Mr. Holloway?”
He swung the horse around to find Mrs. Argyle and her husband looking up at him with astonishment.
“Where is she?” Seb clipped.
Mrs. Argyle pointed toward a ship that—hellfire—was sailing away, some two hundred yards from the wharf.
His heart seized. Too late.
No.
He swung down from the horse and threw the reins to a mystified Douglas Argyle.
Seb’s gaze moved quickly along the water. A rowboat could never outpace a tall-masted ship, but he had to reach the vessel somehow.
There. Yes.
Seb charged toward a trim pleasure yacht that was at that very moment preparing to push away from the dock. A quintet of well-dressed men and women lounged on the deck while the crew operated the boat.
“Hold!” Seb shouted. There was no time to think or analyze. He could only act.
Everyone aboard the yacht stared at him. They gasped as he leapt from the dock onto the deck of the boat. The impact jarred him, yet he managed to stay on his feet.
“See here—” someone began.
“The woman I love is on that ship,” Seb snapped. He pointed to the vessel growing smaller as it sailed farther away. “I’ll pay you whatever you want. Just go after her.”
Everyone exchanged glances. Then one of the well-dressed ladies said in a commanding voice, “You heard him, Captain. We must catch that ship.”
“Yes, ma’am,” a man in the rugged garb of a sailor said with a nod. “All right, lads,” he bellowed to his crew, “let’s give chase.”
The fine ladies and men on the yacht cheered. Seb barely heard them. He strode to the prow of the yacht as the small vessel pushed away from the dock. His heart was a cannon booming in his chest as he willed the yacht to go faster.
