Chapter 18

18

Waves crashed into the ship,splashing Spencer with icy salt water. The floor rocked under his feet as though thrown up and down by a giant snake. Men screamed around him as they recharged muskets. From time to time, the explosions of the muskets made him shudder, and the firing of the naval artillery from the belly of Concord made his stomach drop to his feet. The air was acrid with the stench of gunpowder, burning wood, flesh, and hair, and the pungent smell of brine.

Enemy ships were everywhere…surrounding Concord… The coast of Lake Erie was colorful, with red and yellow and orange foliage, colors he didn’t see often in England.

He aimed his musket at the closest ship and fired, the recoil in his shoulder a strong force he was able to resist. He had just reached out for the bag where he had paper cartridges containing gunpowder to recharge his musket when a movement in the air made him raise his head.

A cannonball was flying towards Sam Holter, the Whitechapel lad who was the closest thing he’d had to a true friend on this cursed journey.

Spencer didn’t think. He leapt, pulling Sam under him.

The explosion of wood was deafening, and the ship shook from the impact. But it was the tearing agony from the splintered wood shredding his leg that made him scream. It was as though someone was searing his flesh with a hot iron.

His lungs hurt. He was thrashing. Drenched in sweat. His back, his stomach, his neck aching.

Gentle fingers smoothed his forehead, and there was a warm, soft body pressed against him.

“Spencer,” said a voice that was like a light in the darkness pulling him out. “Spencer, you’re safe.”

He opened his eyes. He could see Joanna’s face over his, could feel her arms wrapped around his shoulders. He blinked. His heart pounded hard and fast, almost breaking through his ribs. He was soaked with sweat, and his thigh hurt.

But he wasn’t at war. He was in bed with a beautiful woman. His Persephone.

He sighed out a long breath of relief, pushing his fingers through his wet hair. He closed his eyes. There was no rocking of the floor, no smell of brine, no gun smoke, no death.

Just the intoxicating smell of her, soft bed linens, and a quiet, safe room.

“You’re safe,” she repeated as she pulled him closer. He could feel her soft breast pressed against his forehead and turned to her, savoring her scent and the softness of her skin and the abundance of her beautiful flesh. “You’re safe.”

“Keep talking,” he murmured as he turned to her completely. His head lay nestled in the crease of her breast and arm. “Your voice is so soothing.”

“You’re safe,” she said again, and he felt her comforting presence push back the devastating memories that lived inside him like invisible blood. “You’re safe.”

They made love twice more before they both were sated and fell asleep again. He was her first, just as he wanted. All her kisses belonged to him, her body belonged to him, her pleasure was his. She didn’t think him hideous. She accepted him the way he was.

And that was just what he needed. The broken pieces of his soul felt like they were coming together.

But what he hadn’t expected was that he didn’t want it to end. He never wanted to imagine a night where she wouldn’t be in his arms and in his bed. He wanted more of her.

In the dark stillness of the night, the soft steps of several feet approaching in the hallway roused Spencer from kinder, happier dreams. A floorboard screeched.

He rose on his elbows and listened, feeling Joanna stir, as well. There were quiet whispers of voices.

Alarmed, he silently stood from the bed and gestured for Joanna to hide in the wardrobe. She put on her chemise and, silent as a cat, proceeded towards the wardrobe and got inside. Spencer’s pistols were in the carriage. Goddamn it, what had he been thinking? Two butter knives lay on the tea table next to the teaspoons and cups by the window. As quietly as he could, he stepped on the soft rug and took the dull knives.

That would have to do.

His heart drummed fast as he proceeded silently to stand behind the door. He had had the brains to lock the door with the key, but now he could see it was turning as someone was opening the door from the other side.

His worry was only for Joanna. How could he protect her with two dull knives against who knew how many assailants?

And was the innkeeper in on this? Who else would have the key to open the door from the outside?

Finally, the key fell out and the door opened. One by one, three male figures entered, their pistols and knives glistening in the moonlight.

Spencer attacked the first one, stabbing him in the ear with a forceful thrust. As the man screamed in agony, Spencer grabbed the thug’s pistol and shot the second man in the stomach. Bright light flashed, a bang deafened him, and in the cloud of smoke, the man dropped on the floor with the familiar acrid reek of gunpowder.

But the third man fired his gun in Spencer’s direction. Another bright flash and a boom made Spencer’s nerves prickle with the same sense of panic he’d had in his nightmare. His thigh burned, but not from a wound… In fact, he couldn’t feel any new pain in his body—the man had missed.

Spencer launched himself at the man and pushed him. Then, using the intruder’s disorientation, he instinctively assumed a boxing stance and jabbed the man in the nose. Blood sprayed as the thug’s nose broke under the force of the blow. Stumbling back, he unleashed a string of obscenities, wiping at the blood streaming down his face. His eyes, filled with rage, darted around the room, looking for any advantage.

Spencer threw the next punch, aiming for the thug’s chin, but the man ducked, retaliating with a swift jab aimed at Spencer’s midsection.

Pivoting on his heel, Spencer blocked, but as he moved, a sharp pain flared in his injured thigh. His wound sent a bolt of agony up his leg, causing him to stumble. The thug seized the opportunity and lunged forward with a flurry of blows, most of which Spencer managed to deflect. But one solid punch connected with his jaw, sending him reeling backward.

Holding his side, Spencer tried to regain his footing and his focus, but every movement resulted in a searing pain in his thigh. Sweat dripped down his face, and a predatory grin formed on the thug’s lips.

Spencer was backed into a corner. Each time he tried to advance, his leg would buckle, and the thug would counterattack with renewed vigor. A particularly brutal uppercut sent Spencer’s head snapping back, stars dancing before his eyes.

The intruder closed in, his fists raised and poised, no doubt, ready to deliver the finishing blow. In that moment, something shifted—a sudden blur of motion at the edge of Spencer’s vision, drawing his assailant’s gaze away from him. Before the man could react, a heavy iron fireplace poker collided with the side of his head. With a grunt, the man’s knees buckled, and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Joanna stood, breathing heavily, the poker in her hand. Panting, Spencer tried to push himself upright, wincing as pain lanced through his thigh. Joanna dropped the poker and hurried over, her eyes full of concern.

“You…you were remarkable,” Spencer rasped, a shaky smile forming on his lips.

Joanna returned the smile and gave him her hand to help him stand up, which he did with a grunt. “We make quite the team, don’t we?” she whispered.

“What happened, my lord?” came from the corridor, and Spencer saw the innkeeper with a candle in his hand. Behind him were several guests of the inn who watched the scene with wide eyes. “I heard gunshots?”

Spencer looked at the three bodies on the floor and realized he was still completely naked. He picked up his trousers and quickly put them on. His body still ached from the beating he’d just received. Upon inspecting the door, he noticed a slender makeshift tool—likely used for picking locks—inserted in the keyhole.

“If you could please take care of these men…they tried to rob me.”

“Of course, Mr. Hadecliff.”

When they were left alone, Joanna dampened a cloth and pressed the cold compress to his bruised ribs and knuckles. “Who do you think they were?” she asked.

“Ashton’s people. Somehow, he knows.”

“Should we leave?” she asked. “If he knows, could he send more men?”

“It would be more dangerous to leave and be on the road in the middle of the night. We’d be at the mercy of anyone who might want to attack us.”

She nodded. “Are you feeling all right? That was quite a fight, and after your nightmare…”

Her care for him was a relief, soothing him more than the cold cloth.

“I’m fine. I was just worried about you,” he said.

She smiled and it lightened his heart.

“Tell me about it…” she asked as she put the cloth to his temple. “About the ship…about the nightmare… How did you end up there?”

He cleared his throat. Having the thugs attack them had made him relive his nightmare.

But Joanna, just like always, pulled him out of it.

Perhaps sharing with her—no matter how hard—would be healing, too. His family kept asking him to tell them about his experience…but he couldn’t.

However, now he felt strong enough to talk about it and not fall apart. And even if he would, he felt accepted by Joanna. He didn’t feel the need to put on a brave face and act as if he was all right.

She knew he wasn’t.

He didn’t have to pretend. He could just tell her.

Memories surged through him like a relentless tide.

“I thought I was in the middle of a nightmare when I opened my eyes on the ship,” he began, almost feeling the hard wooden floor pressing against his back, the ship’s constant rocking that churned his stomach.

“My head hurt. I’d been beaten up quite badly in Portside. I remembered the press-gang raid…officers running inside, pushing people, grabbing them by the jackets and dragging them. But I was knocked out in the midst of it all.”

The chaos of that night returned in flashes—the sudden invasion of the press-gang, their rough hands seizing unsuspecting men.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Spencer could see the dimly lit brig again, feel the despair hanging thick in the air. “And then I woke up in the ship’s brig. There were others with me,” he continued, his gaze refocusing on Joanna but seeing past her, to the sullen, beaten faces that had surrounded him in the ship’s semidark hold. “Dozens of us, trapped together.”

He remembered the sensation of helplessness, the absurdity of his situation. “I tried to assert my identity.” A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “Wearing only my smallclothes, I grabbed the bars, yelling for someone to let me out.”

He shook his head, the memory of the guard’s disbelief and the other prisoners’ mocking laughter still stinging. “No one believed a duke would be among the press-ganged. My title, my status, everything I was, rendered meaningless in that moment. They all thought I had just come up with a ridiculous excuse and could copy the posh accent and manner of speech quite well. A duke press-ganged onto a ship? Impossible.”

“Oh God,” Joanna covered her mouth with her hand.

“It wasn’t until the next day, far out at sea, that they let us out of the hold,” he said. The memory of the ship cutting through the waves, leaving all he knew behind, made his chest tighten.

“It was brutal. Regular beatings made sure we didn’t mutiny. And then sea schoolings began. How to clean the ship. How to haul the ropes. Climb the sails. Throw and haul the anchor. I learned quickly, out of necessity. One day I could finally speak to the captain…” The frustration of that moment made his fists clench. “But even though I could see in his eyes he believed me, he refused everything. I had no choice but to keep my head down and become a sailor. We were also taught how to fight and how to shoot the cannons. Weeks passed, and I knew we were getting closer to the war zone. We survived two storms.”

He paused, a torrent of mixed emotions churned within him. “I quickly grasped sea navigation. And my skills in shooting, fencing, and boxing didn’t go unnoticed. I was a natural leader among the men and could make good decisions under pressure. Therefore, I was eventually made an officer.”

He could hear the detachment in his own voice. It was as if he were describing the life of another man, not his own. It had been an absurd turn of events: a duke turned sailor, becoming an officer among men who were strangers just weeks earlier.

“I’d never been on a ship for more than a few days before that, but I adapted, became a part of that world.”

He chuckled. “I thought I’d get to Canada, where we were headed, and would be able to reason with whoever was in charge in one of the ports. I hoped to send a letter to my family letting them know I was alive. I had no intention of deserting, but I needed to make sure they knew they’d forced a duke into the navy.

“And then, we arrived at Lake Erie…” He shook his head, bowing. “It was my first ever sea battle. The Americans were much stronger than we thought they were. Good ships. Strong cannons. They shot at us. I remember the moment when everything changed so vividly… The cannonball flying through the air…splinters bursting like a fountain. Pain in my thigh so agonizing I thought it was on fire.”

“Oh, Spencer…” She squeezed his hand. “Oh no…”

“Afterward, I lay for days delirious with fever. There were many of us wounded. Several died. It was the thought of coming back to Penelope that kept me alive. I needed to hold on to something. Something good. Something to look forward to. I remember there was one moment when I knew I was dying. I don’t know how I knew it—I just knew. I could let go and stop fighting. I was so tired…so, so tired. Or I could gather strength and push through. And it was the thought of her that gave me strength. It was my love for her that saved me.”

Joanna nodded slightly, wiping under her eyes. He could see sadness in her eyes as he said that, and wanted to add that nothing would ever happen or be possible with Penelope. She belonged to his brother. And Spencer hadn’t even thought about her for days, as his mind and heart were occupied by Joanna…

But he didn’t. Somehow, admitting those feelings was a line he was not willing to cross. She didn’t want to marry—and neither did he. There were many reasons why soon their liaison would be over, reasons why he had told her he would never marry her.

But he hadn’t told her the whole truth—that he would never marry anyone. He was not whole and never would be. Besides, he was no longer a duke, and even though Preston had made sure Spencer had a significant fortune to his name, cutting into his own inheritance as duke, Spencer no longer had a title. He’d been trained his entire life to be a duke, to manage the family’s estates and participate in politics. What could he offer the world now that the only occupation he knew, apart from sailing, had been taken from him? He couldn’t become one of those dandies who did nothing but attend soirées and hunt foxes. He felt lost, in truth. His only plan once he got his revenge on Ashton was to see how much whisky one man could consume. Joanna deserved better.

“I’m so glad you’re alive,” she whispered. “I’m sure your entire family feels the same.”

Realization hit him. His family…they must be wild with worry—for months they hadn’t known where he was, and since he’d been back, he hadn’t made it easier for them when he’d refused any contact.

Because it was too painful to look at everything he’d lost.

But at this very moment, despite the killers sent after them, despite the fact that his enemy was still running around free and unpunished, and despite the knowledge that Spencer would always be wounded and never have Penelope…

For the first time in months, he felt his heart swelling with happiness.

As Spencer reflected on his past behavior, a pang of guilt washed over him. He had been less than kind, even callous, towards his family. They had not deserved such treatment from him. Once back in London, he would get together with everyone, but especially important was to inquire about Calliope’s well-being. She was his favorite sibling, his darling sister, and she wasn’t feeling well, and he didn’t even ask after her. Her difficult pregnancy weighed heavily on his mind.

“Right. Of course they are. My family…”

They talked through the early hours of the morning. With the first light, it was time to find Mr. Pottinger and interrogate him. Spencer helped Joanna dress, and she did the same for him. They acted like a true married couple, the thought making Spencer’s heart ache as, strangely, this was quite comforting and lovely. And even more he felt the emptiness in his soul. This, like many other things, he would never have in real life as he wouldn’t burden a woman, especially one as kind and as full of joy and light as Joanna, with someone as damaged as he was.

He wouldn’t make anyone happy. He’d only do womankind a favor by remaining alone, no matter how much the thought of having Joanna as his wife appealed to him.

After a quick breakfast, he paid, and they were back in the carriage. As Carl drove them through Tilbury, which was waking up, Spencer’s joy and happiness was replaced with determination and alertness in the serious matter of finding Mr. Pottinger.

They parked across from Pottinger Shipping Company and watched the street, which was quickly becoming more crowded and animated than last night, with workers rolling barrels, tugging carts, and gentlemen swiftly walking to their offices.

Spencer didn’t want to release Joanna’s hand from his, her soft, feminine fingers feeling as though they had been made for him to hold. He couldn’t help but admire her and agree that they made a good team, indeed. He could have been dead if it wasn’t for her brave and swift reaction.

“What do you think is Mr. Pottinger’s connection to the duke?” asked Joanna as she watched the building. “What letters could Joseph be taking to him and why?”

“That is exactly what I intend to find out,” said Spencer, who took out his trusty pistol from under the seat of the carriage and tucked it in the back of his trousers. “Persuasion by fear helped with Joseph. Perhaps it will help with Mr. Pottinger, as well. If not, I always have coin. Judging by the poor state of the office, Mr. Pottinger might well be motivated by money…”

He trailed off when the man with bushy hair and a wooden eye walked towards the office of Pottinger Shipping Company, unlocked the door, and went in.