Chapter Six

A gust of wind threatened to blow off her bonnet. Hannah put a hand to it and continued her pacing.

She had been walking along the harbor since early morning. A storm had come in off the sea overnight, and puddles pooled between the cobbles. She lifted her skirts to avoid getting too wet as she walked briskly past the wooden bollards and eyed the few fishing vessels lined up alongside.

Her skirts were less of a concern than the Endeavor, however. What if it had become caught in the storm? What if it had sunk with the stone on board? What if they had not caught up with her father or he had moved elsewhere, giving up on hope of her sending someone to collect it?

She made her way to the long stone jetty that signaled the entrance to the harbor. From here, she had a fine view of the sea. The line of grey ocean revealed a depressingly empty sight. No sails could be seen. She paused by the lighthouse that sat at the end of the pier and rested against the stone.

Hannah covered a yawn. She had hardly slept the previous night, knowing the stone would be on its way to England and if all went well, the ship would be back today. Excitement and anxiety bubbled in her stomach. Red might not understand the importance of such a find, but this artifact was entirely unique and unlike anything else found in Egypt. They would be able to learn so much from it.

"How long have you been here?"

She whirled and her hem caught under her heel. Red put out a hand to steady her, and she instinctively reached for it.

"Careful now, I have little intention of getting wet today."

"Why would you?"

"If you fall in, I'd have to rescue you."

She peered at him and finally glanced at their hands which were still joined. Withdrawing her hand quickly, she tried to force away the memory of his touch which had left an odd warm sensation on her skin, even through her gloves. She ran her gaze over his clothing. From his hessians to his tail coat, he was every inch the gentleman. She cocked her head.

"What is it?"

"I do not think you would rescue me."

"You have me pegged as quite the rapscallion, do you not?"

"You are a smuggler, are you not?"

He leaned in. "You must stop using that word, Miss St. John. You do seem to forget that being a smuggler is not the most honest means of making a living. I would rather most people remained in ignorance as to my...occupation."

She laughed. "I am not sure many would be bold enough to call it an occupation."

"Oh, and what would you call it?"

His closeness addled her wits. It left her usually clear and sensible mind fuzzy. Hannah could not say why but the fresh, soapy scent of him that had suddenly curled itself about her like a vine might have had something to do with it.

"A criminal activity," she said, trying to keep her voice strong.

"Do not forget, Miss St. John, that you are now associated with criminals." He eased back and straightened. "I should be careful what accusations you throw about."

"I throw nothing about. I merely speak the truth. Accusation implies that there might not be truth behind it."

He grinned as his gaze landed on something behind her. "Ah, that will be them." He pointed to the merest dot on the horizon.

She narrowed her gaze. Sure enough the dots turned into the hint of a sail and eventually a ship.

"I am glad they made it through the storm," she murmured.

"Drake is the finest captain at sea. He has faced worse than a small squall."

"Some of the fishermen said it was one of the worst they'd seen in several years."

Red shook his head. "Drake's come up against worse."

"Where exactly did you come across him? How does one persuade someone to step onto a path of criminal behavior?"

He twisted to view her. Goodness, she wished he did not have such wide shoulders or penetrating eyes. They burrowed into her, ensuring she was left a little breathless. He had to be the most—she wanted to say intimidating man—but that was not it.

The most intense man she had ever met.

"One persuades a man down such a path with ease when one offers him the right things."

"Coin, I suppose."

"Something like that." He peered at her down his nose. "Miss St. John, you are very intent on insulting me at every turn, are you not? Considering I have aided you and that the stone is not yet in your hands, I do not think it remiss of me to expect a little more politeness."

Hannah dropped her gaze to the stone surface of the pier. She eyed the dips in it, worn from years of sea spray and footsteps. She was never normally so rude...and he was right, she was being rude. There was something about him that immediately drew up her defenses. Whenever she saw him, she felt like a castle under siege. She had to draw up the bridge and prepare the boiling oil.

"I—"

"Of course, I could just drop the damned stone over the side of the ship then you would learn your lesson."

A furious sound escaped her. To think she was about to apologize to the man. Why, he did not deserve a moment of her politeness.

"You, sir, are a scoundrel."

"Of the highest measure," he said smugly.

Blowing out an exasperated breath, she focused her attention on the nearing ship.

"Let us make our way down the harbor," he said, offering her his arm.

He knew she would ignore it and ignore it she did. His chuckle as she marched ahead had her spine straightening a little bit more. If she became any more rigid, she would snap in two. What was it about this man that did this to her?

As the ship approached them, Hannah became aware of the tattered state of the sails. It seemed the ship had gone through the storm and barely survived. In her ears, her heart drummed a heavy beat. She had to keep herself from jumping from foot to foot. Any moment now, she would be able to see the stone, to touch it. Something that was thousands of years old. She could not help herself—she grinned widely.

Hannah caught Red's bemused look but ignored it. He would not ruin this moment for her.

The men tied up the ship and set out the gangplank. It took far too long in her opinion. She twined her hands together and rose onto tiptoes for sign of the stone. Several men disembarked and approached them both.

"What the devil is wrong with you?" Red asked one of them—a large man that she recalled seeing at the inn. He was nearly doubled over, his skin pasty, with his arm around another man.

"He's sick," said the man holding the giant up. He pushed his glasses up his nose. His hair color was similar to Red's and they were close in build with wide shoulders and a dip in his jaw.

The third man came forward. "Hell of a journey. Never had one like it. Knight got sick as soon as we left Le Havre. We were hit by a severe squall last night. There's damage to the rigging and the sails. It's going to take some repairs."

Red cursed under his breath. "I should never have sent you lot over. You'd have done better with a more experienced crew."

The man, who she assumed was Captain Drake, shook his head. "These two made a good replacement for the crew that were on leave and it should have been an easy trip, but I tell you, Red, it was a memorable one. What with Knight being sick everywhere and the waves we faced..." He shook his head. "The sooner that stone is off my ship, the better."

"Is it here?" she asked eagerly.

All heads whipped around to face her.

"Is this her?" the Captain asked.

Red nodded. "Gentlemen, this is Miss St. John, our temporary employer." He motioned to the ship. "Let us get that damned stone off, and we can get this over with."

Drake signaled to two men on board, and they began down the gangplank with the stone. It was wrapped in fabric so she could see nothing of it yet, and she would not unwrap it until she was safely ensconced in a private room somewhere. The stone would need careful handling and studying. She certainly was not prepared to awe over it in front of these men.

"You had better get Knight home," Red said to the man propping him up.

The man nodded. "I'll see you at Whitechapel?"

"I'll be home shortly," Red agreed.

Hannah could not keep her gaze off the bundle of fabric. The two men laid it down on the harbor side.

She could not prevent herself from shouting, "Careful," as they put it down none too gently.

"Miss St. John, my men have been through hell and back for that stone," the Captain declared. "They have little intention of breaking it. I do hope it's worth it."

"Oh it is, Captain, it really is."

Drake turned his attention back to Red. "I'll have to arrange repairs if we're to set sail again in a few weeks. It will be costly."

Red waved a hand. "Do what you must."

Running his gaze over Hannah, she tried not to squirm under his perusal. The Captain was a handsome man in spite of his limp and several small scars on his forehead. No doubt he was used to women swooning at his feet. However, she was utterly unused to men eyeing her figure so closely.

"Oh, I have a letter from your father." The Captain drew out some paper from his breast pocket.

She took it eagerly and popped it open.

"Thank you, Captain."

"You were right," he said to Red with a twinkle in his eye and made a cupping gesture with his hands. "Good day to you, Miss St. John. I hope you enjoy your stone and it brings you better luck than it did me."

She frowned while the Captain made his way back onto the ship. "Whatever did he mean?"

Red shook his head and chuckled. "You do not want to know, Miss St. John."

She cast her gaze over her father's scrawled letter. It was much as his communications usually were—vague, hurried, and full of excitement over history.

"He has tracked down another few artifacts. He will be several more months it seems." He eyed her until she was forced to ask, "What is it?"

"And you will be well, being on your own for several more months?"

"Of course." She urged a smile across her face. "I am used to it. Father has travelled since I was a child. Sometimes I went with him, but obviously he would not let me go to a war zone."

Shrugging, he offered out his hand. "Well, Miss St. John, I would say it has been a pleasure, but it seems you have cost me a fair bit in repairs and well..."

"I have yet to pay you the rest yet, Mr. Red. It will more than cover your expenses."

"Far be it for me to be rude and request payment, but I certainly would not complain. Shall we complete our business here or at your lodgings?"

"Complete our business? I still need to get the stone to London."

"And you will go with my blessings. The men seem to think it is cursed. The sooner it is gone from our town, the better."

Hannah huffed. That was exactly the reason no Frenchman would help. This idea of a curse was beyond foolish. "I do not want your blessings— I want your help."

He stilled. "Pardon?"

"To get to London." She gestured to the stone. "How am I to move such a thing to London? The deal was you would help me get it there. Half before you left, half when the stone was safely in the museum."

He shook his head vigorously. "No, Miss St. John, you never said that at all."

"I said half when it is done."

"Done, yes. As in across the ocean. Away from France. In your hands. Not carted all the way to London. Frankly you and your stone have caused me more trouble that its worth and I have little intention of spending more time with either of you."