2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

T he setting sun cast long shadows on the cobblestone street where Edward Dalton stood, feeling the other man's eyes upon him. An English lord of no more than three and twenty years, the young man's look was haughty and impatient, as if he expected to be obeyed instantly.

"Mr. Dalton," the young lord said with obvious disdain, "you have put me off paying your debts for too long. You lost heavily at cards, and I hold your IOUs."

Edward shifted uncomfortably, feeling a trickle of sweat run down the back of his neck. He could not immediately think of what to say; he had hoped to avoid this meeting altogether but found himself cornered in an alleyway by two armed men and forced to walk several miles in the heat of the day to present himself before his creditor. "I assure you, my lord, I will have the money soon enough," he said finally, attempting to sound confident.

"Indeed?" The lord raised one eyebrow. "And how do you intend to come up with such a sum?"

"Well, I…" Edward looked around nervously, then lowered his voice. "I am in pursuit of an heiress," he confessed. "A lovely young lady with a very large dowry. I believe I shall offer for her hand within the week."

The sun dipped lower, casting an orange glow over Athens. The other man considered his words, eyes narrowing with suspicion. "And why should I believe you, Mr. Dalton? You are a man known for making grand promises and leaving your creditors unpaid. Your presence in Greece tells the story of how you had to flee England because your debts grew too great."

Edward's heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to smile and appear calm. "I understand your reticence," he said, putting on his most sincere expression. "But this time is different, I assure you. This young lady is the daughter of a rich earl, her sister married to a duke. Her family is both influential and wealthy beyond belief. I am an old family friend, and I believe she already has some small tendre for me."

He watched the other man's face for any sign that he'd convinced him. Finally, the young lord sighed, looking resigned. "Very well," he said. "You have one week to provide proof of this engagement, Mr. Dalton. If you cannot, I will tell everyone I see that you are unreliable and untrustworthy."

Swallowing hard against the lump in his throat, Edward nodded, smiling weakly. "Of course, my lord. I will not disappoint you."

As the lord turned and walked away, Edward stood alone on the cobbled streets, the last rays of sunlight fading away behind him. The weight of his lies stole the breath from his chest, but he could see no other way ahead. Desperation drove him now; Edward Dalton was a man on the edge of ruin or redemption. Only time would tell which way he fell.

As soon as the young nobleman was out of sight, another man emerged from the shadows. Edward's heart gave a sickening lurch when he saw the Greek moneylender, his gaze fixed on Edward with a cold intensity that made him shiver.

"Mr Dalton," the man said in heavily accented English, his voice low and menacing. "I hear you speak of dowries and future wealth. I want my money now. Your promises mean nothing to me."

Edward struggled for composure, though his heart was pounding and sweat prickled his forehead. He knew better than most that this was a man not to be trifled with, and though he had been patient up until now, Edward could sense his patience was running out.

"Please, sir," he began, cursing himself when his voice shook despite all his efforts to sound confident. "I swear to you, once I marry Lady Clarissa her dowry will be more than enough to pay my debts to you and everyone else! You have my word."

The moneylender sneered in unconcealed contempt. "Your word is worth less than nothing. And how do you plan to get your hands on her money? Travel back to England and never return here, forgetting your debt to me?" He shook his head slowly. "No, Mr Dalton. I want my money now."

Panic tightened Edward's throat. Desperately, he searched for some way to mollify the dangerous man standing before him - and then an idea came, so repulsive it made him feel physically ill even to contemplate. But if it would save him…

"Perhaps there is another way," he said hesitantly, forcing himself to meet the moneylender's eye. "Lady Clarissa is the daughter of a wealthy earl, and her sister is married to a duke. If something were to happen to her…" He swallowed hard. "She might be worth more in ransom than in dowry."

He could hardly believe what he'd just suggested, but it seemed to have the desired effect. The moneylender's eyes narrowed, and for a moment Edward dared to hope his desperate gambit might work.

"Go on," the man said, a dark gleam in his eye.

"Her family would pay anything to see her safely returned," Edward said, although his voice was barely above a whisper. "And if you were to deliver her…"

His implication hung in the air between them. The moneylender was silent, his eyes fixed intently on Edward's face.

A trickle of cold sweat ran down Edward's spine as he awaited the Greek moneylender's decision. The air felt heavy, pregnant with a sense of impending doom.

"Is she pretty?" the moneylender asked at last, breaking the tension.

"Wh-what?" Edward stammered, caught off guard by the question.

"Lady Clarissa," the man said impatiently. "The English girl you are putting forward as collateral. Is she pretty?"

Baffled, Edward hesitated. Why did it matter whether Clarissa was attractive or not? But he dared not refuse to answer. "Yes," he admitted reluctantly. "She is."

"Good." The moneylender smiled, a chilling expression that sent a shiver down Edward's spine. "Then I find your offer acceptable. But remember this, Mr Dalton," he leaned in close, his breath hot on Edward's ear, "if you betray me, you will live to regret it."

With that dire warning, he turned and disappeared into the darkness, leaving Edward to bear alone the weight of his terrible choice. He felt as if he were standing on the edge of a precipice, legs shaking and ready to collapse beneath him. What had he done? Desperate to avoid bankruptcy, he had delivered Clarissa - sweet, innocent Clarissa, who trusted him implicitly - into the hands of an unscrupulous stranger.

Sinking down onto a nearby bench, Edward buried his head in his hands. The cold stone seeped through his britches, but he barely noticed. Wrapping his arms around himself, he tried to still the shivers that ran through his body. It felt as though the darkness that had swallowed the moneylender was closing in on him now, drowning him in guilt and despair.

"God help me," he whispered brokenly. "What have I done?"

The full enormity of what he had just done crashed over him, and Edward doubled up, wrapping his arms around his ribs as fear gripped his heart. He had delivered Clarissa into the hands of the unscrupulous moneylender, ruined her reputation, almost certainly condemned her to death... all to save himself from financial ruin. And now, there was no going back. The decision was made, and all Edward could do now was wait for the consequences to play out.

It was the middle of the night, the hotel cloaked in heavy silence. Flickering light from the lantern cast eerie shadows on the walls as the Greek moneylender led a party of men through the darkened hallways. With every step they took, their looming presence grew more threatening, like a noose tightening around the necks of the unsuspecting guests slumbering behind closed doors.

When they reached Clarissa's door, the moneylender withdrew a key, the metal catching the lantern light. Inserting it into the lock, he turned it with a soft click that echoed in the quiet hallway. Slowly, carefully, he pushed the door inwards, and his men slipped inside, silent as shadows.

Clarissa lay sound asleep in her bed, unbound curls framing her face. Her breaths were slow and even, her dreams undisturbed by the menace creeping ever nearer.

She came awake suddenly, starting up in bed as rough hands grabbed her, a cloth covering her mouth before she could scream. Her eyes went wide with terror as her heart raced, and she struggled against her captors. Their grip was strong, though, and within moments she was bound hand and foot and deposited in a sack like so much livestock.

"Let me go!" she cried, but her voice was muffled by the thick fabric. She kicked out, trying to scream again, but the ropes around her wrists and ankles held her fast.

Her cries for help went unheeded as one of the men slung her over his shoulder and carried her outside. The cool night air made her shiver, but it wasn't just from the cold: she was terrified. Whatever was happening, her life had been turned upside down in an instant.

As they moved away from the house, Clarissa tried to make sense of what was happening, her thoughts racing. How had they gotten into her room? Who were these men, and what did they want with her? But the biggest question of all was: What was going to happen to her now?

As scared as she was, Clarissa knew she couldn't let herself give in to despair. If she gave up, she would be lost; the only chance she had was to keep her wits about her and to watch for an opportunity to escape. If she could get free, she'd be able to find help and get back to safety.

"Think, Clarissa, think," she whispered to herself, the words inaudible over the men's footsteps and heavy breathing. "You need to figure out a way to get out of this."

It seemed impossible, of course, but she had to consider her options. However long the odds, she refused to accept that there was no hope.

They're not Greek , she suddenly realised as the men spoke to each other. She had lived in Athens long enough to recognise the language, even if she didn't understand much of it. These men were speaking a different tongue, though, and while she couldn't identify it, she was certain it wasn't Greek.

The sound underfoot changed from boots on stone to boots on wood, and the man carrying her stopped. Clarissa thrashed against him, and received a hard hand against her leg for her trouble, making her cry out in pain. An angry voice shouted something at her, the words unintelligible but their meaning clear.

Clarissa's heart pounded as the voice continued angrily. She had no idea what was coming next, but she knew it wouldn't be good. She tried to look around, but the thick fabric of the sack over her head blocked out all light, leaving her in complete darkness.

Suddenly she was tossed onto a hard surface. A moment later, the sack was pulled from her head, and she found herself blinking against dim lamplight. After a few seconds she was able to see properly.

She was in a tiny room, she discovered, with nothing in it except the narrow bunk attached to the wall, the same one she was sitting on.

"Who are you?" she demanded, fear and anger making her voice shake. "What do you want with me?"

One of the men who had snatched her from the house sneered at her, looking her up and down in a way which made her feel deeply uncomfortable, especially given that she was still dressed only in her nightgown. She snatched the thin blanket from the bed, wrapping it around herself.

A sharp voice barked an order in that foreign tongue, and the man's eyes widened fearfully, nodding and backing out of the room.

No, the cabin , Clarissa realised, feeling stupid that she hadn't recognised it at once. She must be aboard a ship.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, her voice high-pitched with fear.

Another man stepped into the doorway, tall and burly, scars marring a face which might once have been handsome. He smirked at her and spoke in heavily accented English.

"Your father," he said in a mocking tone, "will pay whatever I ask for your safe return, yes?"

Clarissa swallowed hard, forcing her voice to remain steady despite the terror coursing through her veins. "Yes," she replied, her chin held high with defiance. "He is the Earl of Creighton, and will spare no expense to ensure my safety."

The captain let out a guttural laugh, his eyes narrowing with amusement. "Do you think I would risk sailing anywhere the English Navy holds sway? Your father's gold is of no use to me if I end up with a stretched neck."

He leaned in closer, his breath hot and foul against her face. "No, my dear girl. It's the slave markets of Algiers where you shall fetch a pretty price for me."

Clarissa's stomach churned at his words, bile rising in her throat. She fought to keep her composure, her thoughts racing as she considered her next move.

"Please," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I beg you to reconsider. There must be another way."

The captain merely smirked at her plea, clearly enjoying her fear and desperation. "Keep your begging for the market, girl," he sneered, before turning away and slamming the door in her face. A key turning in the lock cemented her new reality – a prisoner.

Don't panic. Don't panic , Clarissa tried to order herself. But as she looked around the dingy little cabin, desperate to find something useful which might aid her escape, the sound of creaking timbers and the slow sway told her that even if she could get out of the cabin, it was too late.

The ship had set sail.