Chapter Twenty-Two

It took Nate another twenty minutes to find the Western Star and as soon as he'd identified the ship, he took Duchess to the nearest tavern, back along the wharf about a quarter of a mile. Fortunately, the establishment had a small, if crude, stable attached to the side.

Ignoring the mare's reproachful looks as he struggled to take off her saddle using one hand, Nate brushed her down as best he could and gave her some oats. He'd paid for a full night, with instructions that if he didn't return on the morrow, the innkeeper was to send word to the Countess of Cottesmore, who would arrange to have the horse collected.

Ruby, he trusted to find her own way home should she need to.

Once he was certain the mare was safe at least, Nate returned to the jetty on which the Western Star was moored. It was flying an American flag and the number of sailors running up and down the rigging gave every indication that her leaving was imminent. There was no hint as to whether Reinhardt was on board, but somehow Nate didn't think so. The bastard wouldn't have had time to get the marriage ceremony over with and would be unlikely to want to spend his wedding night in the same pokey cabin he was going to have to live in for the next couple of months.

Shoving down the rage that consumed him at the thought of Reinhardt forcing Mercy into his bed, Nate looked back towards the wharf. There was a lodging house about another fifty yards along. Could that be where Reinhardt was holding Mercy?

There was no sign of Christian and the others. Surely, they should have been here by now. Had he got it wrong, or had they?

He stood for a moment, debating his next move, when all of a sudden Ruby gave an excited bark at his feet before dashing towards the Star's gangplank. Hurriedly, Nate started after her, worried the dog might take it into her head to run onto the deck. But as she reached the ropes tying the plank of wood to the jetty, Ruby simply stood, wagging her tail. Seconds later, to Nate's complete amazement the diminutive shape of Flossy appeared on the other end of the gangplank with something incongruously dangling from her mouth.

The Viscount glanced over to the nearest sailor, but he seemed oblivious to the little dog's presence.

Heart in his mouth, Nate called softly to her, crouching down in invitation and praying she wouldn't turn round and go back the way she'd come.

Instead, with every evidence of satisfaction, Flossy jumped onto the gangplank and ran towards Ruby. As she reached the terrier, the little dog dropped what she was carrying and rolled on to her back, clearly delighted to see her friend.

Nate hurried over to them and quickly scooped Flossy up with his good arm. He couldn't even begin to guess where the Reverend was, and a sudden sick feeling assailed him. Could the clergyman somehow be on board the ship? Keeping the little dog under his arm, he crouched down again to see what she'd dropped, wincing as he picked it up using his injured arm.

It was a tiny key, not even half an inch across, threaded onto a narrow satin ribbon. Clearly old, he couldn't imagine what it opened, or why Flossy might have picked it up.

Climbing back to his feet, he managed to tuck the key into the pocket of his breeches. Then he carefully eased Ruby's lead from around his neck and clipped it onto Flossy's collar before finally setting her back on the ground.

Then he walked back towards the wharf, wondering what the hell he was going to do with her.

His plan for what came after he'd reached the ship was sketchy at best. In his head were two priorities – stop Reinhardt from taking Mercy onboard the Western Star and if all else failed, kill the bastard. It certainly hadn't included looking after the Reverend's diminutive terrier.

Or agonising over where her bacon-brained owner might be.

***

Christian Stanhope was finally reaching the end of his tether. The four men had found the warehouse easily enough and had spent the last hour visiting every lodging house within a halfmile radius. Despite showing the drawing of Reinhardt's face to every person they met, no one recognised him and none of the proprietors they spoke to had had any American guests lodging at all.

In the end, they had to accept they'd got it wrong.

Finally, in desperation, Christian asked a Quayside worker if there was anywhere else spices were stored. The man had scratched his head and frowned. ‘I reckon it depends what spices you're lookin' fer yer ludship.'

‘Cloves,' Adam interjected promptly.

The man thought for a second. ‘I reckon there might be a shed wi' a small stash o' cloves back that way.' He tilted his head in the direction of the Eastern Dock. ‘Belongs to some toff – couldn't tell you who though.' He paused then added, ‘I reckon it's near to the Sail Loft lodging house. Can't say I'd fancy stayin' there meself, the place is allus full o' bloody ‘mericans.'

***

The only thing Reinhardt could see through the filthy window was a small boy running backwards and forwards, yelling at the top of his voice. Of who, or what was about to murder him, there was no sign. There was also no sign of either of his accomplices. The American narrowed his eyes. Something didn't fit.

Turning back into the room, he strode over to Percy. ‘Who the devil are you?' he ground out, grabbing the curate's arm and shaking it.

‘I… I don't know what you mean,' Percy stammered, glancing wildly towards Mercy who was still sitting paralysed in the chair.

Reinhardt brought up the hand holding the pistol, pointing it directly at the curate's face. ‘One more lie,' he snarled. ‘Just one more…'

‘He's my grandfather's curate,' Mercy blurted out.

Without relinquishing his grip on Percy's arm, Reinhardt looked over at her. ‘Your grandfather's the priest who was with you in the inn?' Mercy nodded.

‘Where is he now?'

‘Gone to fetch reinforcements, and there's nothing you can do to stop him,' Percy declared in a sudden show of defiance.

The anger in the American's face as he digested the curate's words was terrifying. For a few seconds he didn't move. When he finally spoke, however, his voice was eerily calm. ‘You can marry us.' It wasn't a question.

Percy shook his head. ‘You need witnesses,' he whispered. Reinhardt stared at him for a second, then shoved him away so violently, the curate fell to the floor.

Still gripping his pistol, the American abruptly began pacing the room. He didn't know where Davy and Smith were, but in truth they'd become a liability. If the bitch's words were true, he needed to get out of this room before the priest returned with help. That wasn't a problem - everything he needed was already on board the Western Star . Provided he married Mercy before her father got here, there was nothing the bastard could do. He had all the witnesses he needed on board the ship and he'd paid the captain enough to turn a blind eye to any pleading the chit might do.

‘Stand up,' he ordered them both coldly. With the pistol pointing directly at them, neither Percy nor Mercedes dared show any defiance. ‘We're going downstairs and if either of you so much as speaks, so help me I'll put a bullet in the curate's head.'

As they headed towards the stairs, Percy prayed that Finn had already scarpered. He had no idea where the Reverend might be but could only hope his superior had one last card up his sleeve, though he was well aware that a frying pan was no match for a gun. Mercy had said nothing, but her chest rose and fell unevenly, revealing her terror. ‘You first,' Reinhardt barked at her when they reached the top of the stairs. Percy gave her a gentle push when she hesitated, and picking up her skirts, she finally started down.

***

Once both Reinhardt's accomplices were out of the way, Reverend Shackleford knew that even if Percy was forced to continue with the ceremony, the marriage wouldn't stand up in a court of law.

Still on his chair, the clergyman looked down at the American's two co-conspirators. With a bit of luck, they'd be unconscious for hours yet. He only hoped the real deuced priest didn't pop up anytime soon. Finn had stopped shouting and was now looking at him wide eyed, waiting for the next part of the plan. Unfortunately, there wasn't one. In truth, the Reverend hadn't thought beyond getting rid of Reinhardt's cohorts. But at the end of the day, there was only one thing for it. He needed to go up those stairs.

Reluctantly he climbed down from the chair, and making sure he stayed under the eaves and out of sight of the window, he gave Finn a thumbs up sign. The only person Reinhardt would have seen had he looked, was the boy. Hopefully as yet the American had no idea what had happened to his accomplices.

Beckoning Finn over, the Reverend gripped the frying pan in both hands, grimacing at its weight. There was no doubt about it - it was feeling significantly heavier than it did half an hour ago. Likely one of the two unconscious men would have a weapon, but the clergyman knew very well that even if he took it, he wouldn't be able to bring himself to use it. The last time he'd hesitated, his son-in-law, Jago, almost lost his life. No, the frying pan would have to do.

Squaring his shoulders, he looked at Finn, then nodded towards the door latch. ‘On three, lift it and push,' he whispered. ‘Then step back and get yourself out of sight.' The lad nodded, reaching out for the metal latch.

Flexing his shoulders and making sure he had the pan in a secure grip, Reverend Shackleford was finally ready. ‘One, two, three .' The door crashed inwards and after the smallest hesitation, Reverend Shackleford rushed inside – only to look up at the shocked face of his granddaughter halfway up the stairs.

For a second no one moved, then with a roared expletive, Reinhardt took the next two steps, shoving both his captives to one side, and pointed his gun towards the clergyman. Seconds later the gun went off. Instinctively, Reverend Shackleford lifted the frying pan and the bullet ricochetted off, flying straight back up the stairs and catching Reinhardt in the shoulder.

With a snarl that sounded hardly human, the American ignored his injury, and grabbed hold of Mercedes, holding the pistol against her head.

‘I have one more bullet,' he ground out. ‘Don't think I won't use it.' Then he manhandled Mercy down the stairs and past the shocked clergyman. ‘If I so much as see your face again, I'll blow her brains out.' Blood was pouring out of his wound, covering both him and his captive in crimson rivulets. Mercy's face was expressionless, but silent tears were trickling down her cheeks.

Seconds later, both of them disappeared into the alley alongside of the lodging house.

***

Reaching the point at which the jetty joined the wharf, Nate stared towards the lodging house. Was it the right place? It was close to the ship and Reinhardt would no doubt want to hurry his new wife on board in as little time as possible. He looked to his right. A few yards away there was a smallish shed. He strode towards it quickly, looking for something to tie Flossy on to. As he got closer, there was a sudden intense smell – of cloves.

With savage satisfaction, Nate realised his hunch had been right. He was definitely in the right place. Spotting an unused cleat behind the shed, he clumsily managed to attach Flossy's lead. Just as he finished, a sudden shot rang out.

Pulling out his pistol, Nate ordered Ruby to stay and quickly retraced his steps to the front of the shed and stared towards the lodging house, instinctively knowing that was where the shot had come from. The temptation to run towards the house was almost overwhelming, but the Viscount knew he'd be no use to Mercy if he ran straight into Reinhardt. There'd only been one shot, so if it had been the American, the varmint still had at least one more unused bullet.

Seconds later, his heart thudded as Reinhardt emerged from an alleyway next to the lodging house. He was dragging Mercy by the arm, a gun held firmly to her head. Quickly, Nate stepped back round the corner of the shed, careful to keep them in his sights. By now it was getting dark, and the wharf was much quieter than when he'd first arrived. It was very unlikely that anyone would intervene, even if they saw what was happening.

As they got closer, he could hear Mercy's soft sobbing. Had the marriage already taken place? No matter, the bastard wouldn't survive the night. Nate looked back along the jetty - clearly Reinhardt was headed to the Western Star and there was no one between the American and the ship to challenge him.

Remaining where he was and simply watching was the hardest thing the Viscount had ever done, but he knew that to stand any chance of saving his betrothed, he had to wait until they reached the point closest to him. He dared not shoot for fear of hitting Mercy, so his only option was to come up behind Reinhardt in the hope of taking him by surprise.

The next two minutes passed agonisingly slowly as Nate watched them approach, until finally they stepped onto the jetty, only feet from his hiding place. Every muscle in his body tensed. Could he take Reinhardt down if he moved now?

And then Flossy howled.

Hearing the noise, Reinhardt swung his captive towards the sound, and caught sight of the Viscount. Immediately, Nate sprang forward, knowing he had seconds.

Shoving Mercy away, Reinhardt raised his pistol, but just as he was pulling the trigger, a streak of russet fur shot from the side and jumped, snarling at his injured shoulder. The American's shot went wild as he screamed, and a second later Nate crashed into him.

Both of them went down in a tangle of limbs and Nate fought the throw up as his injured arm took the brunt of the collision. Seconds later he thought his wound had reopened, but quickly realised that Reinhardt had been shot in his shoulder. Without hesitation, he put his thumb on the bleeding wound and pressed down.

The American screamed and dealt Nate a glancing blow with the now useless pistol. Momentarily stunned, the Viscount collapsed to the side, giving Reinhardt the chance he needed to stagger to his feet. At first Nate thought he was going to seize Mercy again, but in the end, he lunged forward, seized hold of the necklace round her neck and wrenched it off.

As Nate got to his feet, Reinhardt started running towards the Western Star, clutching his shoulder, the stolen locket clearly swinging between his fingers. Ignoring him, the Viscount ran to help Mercy to her feet. She was crying softly, and he simply gritted his teeth when she threw her arms around his neck, and buried her head into his chest, taking no heed of his wound. Ruby whined faintly, nudging against her skirts and seconds later Flossy appeared, her lead trailing behind her.

‘I have to go after him, love,' Nate said at length, gently putting her away from him. ‘I cannot allow him to escape.' Mercy sniffed and nodded, stroking over Ruby's head before bending down to pick up a delighted Flossy.

‘Be careful,' she murmured brokenly. ‘I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you.'

Nate cupped her face, bending forward to kiss her forehead. ‘I'll never leave you, Mercedes,' he whispered hoarsely. ‘You're stuck with me forever.'

Then he turned and ran towards the Western Star .