Chapter 32

32

Calliope waited and waited.He had said it would be only a few minutes.

The street was quiet. She saw the sex worker she had talked with on her first visit walk around the corner and lean against the wall, looking around. Someone passed by at the end of the street.

With every minute that passed, her worry grew.

She knew she promised to stay put, but something must have happened to Nathaniel. She could just feel it.

Retrieving her two muff pistols from her reticule, she opened the carriage door with a shaking hand.

“Your Grace,” said Carl, who heard her and descended. “Please go back into the carriage.”

She checked both pistols. Loaded. The hammer was in a half-cocked position, which prevented the guns from discharging unless the trigger was intentionally pulled.

She tucked them under the ribbon of her dress, beneath her spencer.

“I’m afraid I can’t. I’m worried His Grace is in trouble.”

“Your Grace, let me go into Portside and see if he needs help. Please, stay in the carriage.”

Calliope hesitated. She had already put Nathaniel and his sisters through enough. She needed to be more careful now that she may be pregnant. She did think it would be wise for Carl to go and see if anything was amiss. Besides, she had given Nathaniel her word. And if she had any hope of happiness with him, she should better give him what he needed. Her safety.

Unwillingly, Calliope nodded. “All right. Go on and take a look, please. I’ll wait here.”

Calliope was just about to climb back into the carriage to wait for Carl when the blond, busty sex worker said loudly, “You’re right, luv.”

Calliope looked at her. She still stood with her back against the wall of the building, fingering her nails.

“Excuse me, what did you say?” Calliope asked.

“You’re right. Somethin’ ’appened. If you’re lookin’ for that pretty duke, I saw some navy officers beat him and drag him into a warehouse.”

A cold shadow cloaked Calliope’s heart. She couldn’t feel the ground under her feet.

“Where?” she demanded, her voice raspy and low.

“Two warehouses down that way.” She pointed in the direction opposite of where Carl had gone.

Calliope broke into a run. As she approached the building, she walked quieter, her breath heavy in her chest, her stomach churning with bile. Terror for Nathaniel made her legs feel limp and cold.

Lord, was this how Nathaniel felt when she was in danger? This was horrible.

The warehouse loomed ahead, its dark brick facade battered by time and weather, casting long, foreboding shadows in the faint moonlight. Cranes and pulleys jutted out from its upper levels, hinting at the hard labor done during daylight hours. A few dim lanterns flickered at its entrance, revealing an occasional rat scurrying past, while from a small, high-set window, a muted conversation drifted out.

“Either you give me your word of honor, in which case I’ll leave you and your wife alone…”

Calliope had an odd sensation of falling. The voice sounded familiar, although she couldn’t place it. The speaker sounded well-bred, and the “word of honor”…he could demand that only from a gentleman.

She frantically looked around and noticed some crates and barrels nestled against the wall.

“Or I will need to have one of these men kill you…”

Her hands shook, her ankle twisted a little as she heard that, and she stumbled. No, Nathaniel!

“Which will it be, Your Grace?” said the voice.

Your Grace! That must be Nathaniel.

She needed to look through that window. With trembling fingers, she pushed a barrel to stand under the window. Thankfully, she needed to move it only a few inches. Then, she picked up an empty box and placed it on top. That should be high enough.

She heaved herself to the top of the barrel, then climbed onto the box and looked.

Her heart shuddered. Three officers… Two of them held Nathaniel down on a chair while the third one beat him. There were three more officers, one of them holding his wounded arm. The admiral she’d met at Emma’s soirée stood watching. It was dark, and only the candles in the candelabra directly above them had been lit.

“Which will it be, Kelford?” demanded the admiral.

Calliope’s hands shook.

“You won’t kill me,” growled Nathaniel.

“Ah, but I will. There’s much more at stake than your life. And I will sacrifice it, even if I don’t want to.”

Nathaniel said nothing, just glared at the man. His lip was cut and bloody, his right eye was swelling, and blood dripped from the side of his head. The admiral nodded to one of the thugs who took out his saber and stood behind Nathaniel. He grabbed Nathaniel’s head, pulled it back, then pressed the blade against Nathaniel’s neck.

Calliope felt the crate under her feet wobble. No!

This was what he must have felt like that night when he watched the highwaymen threaten his mama. The fear, the desperation digging at her, making her entire body go numb, invisible pain tearing at her very soul. If they killed him, she would never be the same.

A big part of her would die with him.

“For the last time, Kelford,” said the admiral. “What is it going to be? Your silence? Or your life?”

She couldn’t take it anymore. She had to act. Do something.

There was a row of very large, iron-hanging candelabra along the length of the ceiling of the warehouse. Each of them had twenty or so candles in the large circle to illuminate the work in the dark months.

She just needed to scare the men, to give Nathaniel a chance to run. She took out her first muff pistol and aimed at the chain of the candelabra above the admiral.

Her hands trembled, and she told herself to breathe. Just like Nathaniel had taught her. She needed to breathe. She aimed, calming her nerves.

Removed the safety.

And pulled the trigger.

The force of the explosion sent a jolting recoil through her body. As the ground seemed to sway beneath her, Calliope’s feet skidded on the uneven surface of the crate. Desperately, her arms flailed in the cold air, grasping for something, anything, to steady herself. Her fingers managed to catch the worn edge of the window just as the weight of imbalance threatened to tip her over. Using every ounce of strength, she hauled herself up and braced herself against the window’s frame, her heart pounding fiercely in her chest.

Below, a wild interplay of shadows and dim light drew her attention. The chains of the heavy candelabra groaned, weakened by her shot. Then it split and started a nightmarish fall. Every candle flickered wildly as it spiraled downwards, casting an eerie dance of light across the large space of the warehouse. With an ear-splitting crash, it found its mark. The admiral, perhaps too stunned or disoriented to react, had remained rooted to the spot.

Now he lay sprawled beneath the weight of the twisted iron candelabra, its heavy arms pressing him into the wooden floorboards. His uniform was marred with melted candle wax. A few, still lit, cast a flickering glow on his pallid face, highlighting the shock that was frozen in his wide-open eyes. His tricorn hat had been knocked askew, revealing strands of silver hair slicked with sweat and seeping blood.

In their panic, the other officers’ gazes darted about, trying to piece together the situation. Seizing the opportunity, Nathaniel pushed himself up with the strength of his legs. Despite his hands being bound behind him, he launched himself shoulder-first at the nearest officer.

The man was caught off guard, and the force sent him reeling backward onto the fallen candelabra. A sharp spike from the iron fixture penetrated through the breast of his coat, immobilizing him with a combination of pain and shock.

As the room continued its descent into chaos, Nathaniel managed to maneuver himself to the admiral’s side. With a swift movement, he used the tip of the admiral’s own saber to slice through the bindings, freeing his hands.

An officer attacked him, and Nathaniel hit him with his fist, the man collapsing into the crumbled mass of the candelabra. Grabbing a dropped saber, Nathaniel brought the blade up as another officer lunged. Metal sliced through the air, Nathaniel’s saber drawing a red line across the officer’s chest.

From the corner of her eye, Calliope saw movement. Another officer, pulling free his pistol. The world slowed. She had to protect Nathaniel! She fumbled with the ribbon of her dress, frantically pulling at the second loaded pistol. Finally, it came free and she took the position Nathaniel had taught her.

Breathe, aim, pull. The explosion of her second pistol shook the window frame, and the officer dropped, saber clattering against the warehouse floor.

Nathaniel looked up and saw her in the window. Their gazes connected, relief…love…fear…all mixed in her chest, and she saw the same in his eyes. He ran, the remaining officers at his heels. He opened the door of the warehouse and disappeared behind it. She heard his running footsteps against the cobblestones.

She quickly descended from the crate, and there he was, appearing from around the corner, eyes wide, saber dripping red. Relief shuddered through her, potent and sweet. And together, they sprinted back to the carriage.

Thankfully, Carl was nearby, his eyes mad with worry. Calliope looked over her shoulder. Three officers were running after them, sabers glinting in the light of lanterns.

“On the box!” called Nathaniel. “Be ready to drive!”

Calliope’s legs burned with effort as they approached the carriage. Carl swiftly opened the door of the carriage and climbed onto the driver’s seat. Nathaniel helped her climb in, and as he followed her, he roared, “Go!”

He closed the door behind him, and hooves pounded against stone as they escaped into the night.