My Dangerous Duke (38 page)

“My father is dead.”

“Really?” he answered in a pleasant tone. “Then, tell me, who is that?” Falkirk turned with an urbane gesture toward the river stairs, where the lone figure of a man was now getting out of a rowboat.

Kate stared, riveted by something familiar in the way the brawny figure moved.

O’Banyon let out a low snort of disgusted laughter, staring. “Well, well. The Sea Fox has arrived.”

Papa?

Time seemed to slow. Her heart was thudding in her throat. She barely felt Rohan’s hand steadying her with a subtle press of her elbow. She was riveted by the large, rugged silhouette striding slowly up the docking stairs.

“You’re sure it’s ’im?” The eye-patch man glanced over.

O’Banyon nodded. “Aye, that’s him, all right. The illustrious Captain Fox.”

Kate let out a small cry as the men with rifles surrounded her father; it dawned on her that they had been waiting down there for him.

It hit her then. Truly hit her.

Not only was Papa alive. He had walked into this fully prepared to sacrifice himself so she could go free.

“Come along,” Falkirk instructed in a most polite tone. “Let him see we have her. Then we can proceed without delay to more important matters.” He walked ahead of them toward the river’s edge. His two younger associates followed, flanking him.

Rohan nudged her gently into motion; they all walked slowly toward the others.

“Captain Fox!” Falkirk greeted him. “It was wise of you to come alone, as we requested. You can no doubt guess why you are here, but suffice to say, I learned from your former shipmate that you are in possession of rare and wondrous information—namely, the whereabouts of the Alchemist’s Tomb. All you need to do to ensure your daughter’s safety is to lead us to it. We will do the rest.”

“You claim you have my daughter,” the newcomer spoke out boldly. “Let me see her first.”

At the familiar sound of that gravelly, defiant voice, Kate’s mind reeled.

“Bring the young lady forward.”

“Come on,” Rohan whispered, tugging her into motion.

Kate walked in an amazed trance toward the burly outline of Captain Gerald Fox. He stood tall, still looking hearty and hale enough to thrash any unruly crewman.

As she went closer, she saw that his square, rough-hewn face was lined now and even more weathered than she remembered. His once-thick hair was gone, now a bald pate shining in the moonlight. The same rectangular goatee beard that he had always worn surrounded his mouth, still shaved neatly to cover just his chin, only now, it was white.

But when she stood before him, it was his eyes, as green as her own, that left no doubt of who he was. They still blazed with the same fiery spirit that she remembered from those days so long ago when she had stood at the helm of his frigate pretending to steer the great vessel, though the wheel had towered over her.

Papa stared back uncertainly, squinting in the darkness. “That’s not my daughter,” he said gruffly.

“Yes, Papa, it is,” she choked out.

“Well, I certainly hope so,” Falkirk said sardonically. “Otherwise, I’m afraid we should have no use for her.”

Cautiously, Kate lowered the spectacles, letting her father see her eyes. “Don’t you recognize me, Papa?”

Profound amazement overtook his manly features. “Katy, me wee barnacle,” he whispered. “It is you.”

She stepped forward suddenly and hugged him hard, squeezing her eyes shut against the threat of tears. When she felt his arms encircle her artificially plumped-up waist, she somehow managed to put aside the storm of her emotions. She had to let him know there was help at hand that he was not aware of.

Still hugging him, she breathed the message in his ear only loud enough for him alone:
“Warrington is here.”

She felt her father pause, absorbing the news.

“Well, this reunion is all very touching, I’m sure,” Falkirk interrupted dryly, “but we have a schedule to keep, if you don’t mind.”

Shrewd as he was, Captain Fox did not so much as glance at the tall “smuggler” standing next to her, but instead, kept his fond gaze fixed on Kate as she released him from her embrace and stepped back between her guards.

Her father glanced grimly at Falkirk. “Very well, I’ll do what you want. You’ve got me now. You don’t need her anymore. Let my daughter go.”

“Oh, we’ll be holdin’ on to her until you’ve kept your end of the bargain, Cap’n Fox,” O’Banyon spoke up, gloating at his former employer.

Papa glowered at him. “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance.”

“Aye, you should’ve. Because when all this is over, I’ve got a score to settle with you concerning Newgate.”

“That is exactly where you belong, you gallows rat!”

O’Banyon merely smirked at the insult, then he glanced at Pete and Rohan. “Go on. Take her away, like I told ye.”

“Not so fast,” the eye-patch man spoke up. He beckoned to his rifle-toting henchmen to come and take hold of Kate. “My men will take over from here.”

O’Banyon turned to him indignantly. “What do you mean by this? That’s not our agreement! My men are to keep watch on the girl!”

“Our agreement?” the ruthless, one-eyed Promethean replied. “You’re the one who broke it. Nobody told you to bring outsiders into this. I’m afraid your men’s services are no longer required—and frankly, you piece of dung, now that we have the good captain, neither are yours.”

Without another word, the eye-patch man pulled out a pistol and matter-of-factly shot O’Banyon dead.

Kate’s jaw dropped, but even as her kidnapper’s body crumpled to the ground, the man turned with a second pistol to do the same to O’Banyon’s “smuggler” assistants.

Rohan was already shoving Kate behind him; reaching with both hands under his coat, he withdrew two pistols, took aim, and almost gaily blew a hole in the eye-patch man’s forehead, dropping him to the ground; he almost simultaneously leveled his left arm and shot the first Promethean henchman taking aim at him.

Everything happened in the blink of an eye.

Shots flashed everywhere, blinding bursts of gunfire, sharp reports bounding off the brick box of crowded buildings at the river’s edge.

Rohan had already drawn a third pistol, aiming at Falkirk. But when Drake stepped in front of the old man and blocked the shot, Rohan held his fire with a low curse.

Drake immediately hustled Falkirk to safety, taking cover behind a wall off to their right, while a surge of yells erupted from the direction of the river.

Half a dozen of her father’s sailors rushed up from unseen hiding places, barreling into the fray against the Promethean henchmen.

As the two groups began to battle each other, Kate peeked out from hiding behind Rohan to see what was happening. She spotted Papa through the mayhem as he pulled out a gun and shot a Promethean foot soldier in the back. The man had taken aim at Pete, who was crouching low to the ground, covering his head.

Another shot flashed at once from off to the right; Gerald Fox let out a curse.

“Papa!” she cried in horror as he fell, shot in the leg by Falkirk to stop him from getting away.

The Prometheans had not come this far only to fail to get the information Captain Fox possessed.

Rohan spun around to Kate, his eyes gleaming cold above his folded cloth mask. He grabbed Pete by the arm, as well. “Get out of here, both of you! Go!”

“Rohan, save my father! I can’t lose him now!”

“I will. Now, go!” As several more Promethean henchmen advanced on him, he turned back to them, positioning himself to cover their retreat. He drew that long, lancelike sword to hold the enemies off while Kate and Pete started running away.

As soon as they ducked behind the corner of the nearest building, Kate looked back in terror.
God, please keep him safe.

But in the next instant, she realized that she needn’t have worried. Indeed, it was not until that moment that she understood Rohan truly.

He attacked with overwhelming force, an onslaught of sudden, wild aggression from which any normal man would cower.

He destroyed them.

She watched, riveted, unable to look away as her lover ran a man through with his lance, yanked the blade out covered in gore, and swung to face the next, lunging at the second man with his left-hand dagger. The bloodcurdling scream was still fading from the first dying man when the second Promethean dropped to his knees, clutching his throat, blood pouring out between his fingers.

Rohan kicked the second man to the ground, and strode toward the fray, seeking a third, who tried to back away. Terror flashed across the third man’s face as Rohan swiftly advanced and mowed him down.

Pete pulled on her arm. “Come on!”

“Wait,” she forced out. She felt nauseated, but she could not stop staring at Rohan. He was fighting his way through the melee of clashing sailors and Promethean henchmen toward her injured father.

Papa was down on one knee, using his sword to hold at bay the Prometheans who were trying to capture him. As Rohan approached, one Promethean after another turned to face him; again he was hotly engaged, fending off three enemies at once. But when he reached her father and began helping him to his feet, Pete tugged more insistently on her elbow.

“Come on, we’ve got to go!” Pete pulled her away from the corner, and this time, she willingly followed.

The next thing she knew, they were running through the labyrinth of the narrow docklands streets, looking for the safe house. Through a lightless passage between two buildings, they raced across a cobbled courtyard, where their trespass awoke a huge guard dog.

It let out a burst of vicious barking, but they pressed their backs against the opposite wall and passed out of the reach of the animal at the end of his chain.

When they dodged out the other end of the courtyard, Pete glanced around, then pointed to the right. “There it is! Hurry!”

The galleried inn sat at the end of the block. They sprinted the rest of the way and went barreling up the outdoor stairs, running across the long wooden balcony until they reached the door of the room.

Eldred must have heard them coming. He opened the door and hurried them into the room, shutting the door and locking it behind them.

“They should be along any moment now,” Pete told him, panting.

“Miss Madsen, are you all right?” Eldred asked gravely.

“Papa’s alive!”

“Yes, and you look rather green.”

“Do I?” She sat down heavily on the nearby chair, staring straight ahead, diverse bloody images stamped upon her mind.
God, it’s true,
she thought, still shaking.
He really is a killer.

Pete was peeking out from behind the ratty curtains, watching for them. “I see them!”

“My father was shot in the leg. I doubt he’ll be able to climb those stairs.”

“Then let’s go down to him,” Pete replied at once.

“Let me ask first what His Grace wants us to do. You two stay out of sight,” Eldred murmured, going to the door.

Eldred stepped out onto the gallery as Rohan came into view, helping her father limp along down the dark street. He returned in a heartbeat. “He’s signaled for us to come down.”

“Bring the medical bag!” Kate said.

Eldred picked it up as Pete helped himself to an extra pistol. Kate ran out first, rushing down the stairs.

“Are you hurt?” she asked Rohan as she strode toward them. To her relief, he shook his head. “Papa, how are you holding up?”

“Eh, never better,” he said with a wince just as Parker brought the carriage clattering into their midst.

“Get in.” Rohan opened the door, waved Kate in, then helped her father climb into the coach. Eldred followed a moment later, bringing the medical bag.

Rohan ordered Pete up onto the top of the carriage with Wilkins and finally vaulted in himself with an agile spring. He had barely shut the door before the carriage was in motion once again.

“I am so glad to see you two,” Kate uttered. “Were you followed?”

“No,” Rohan murmured.

“The bleeders ran away—from him!” her father said with a hearty laugh and an approving glance at Rohan. “Your father would be proud, lad.”

“Where are we going?” Kate asked in a shaky voice.

“Back to my house to get the book,” Rohan answered. They had not dared bring
The Alchemist’s Journal
anywhere near the battle to avoid the least chance of the Prometheans getting their hands on it.

“As soon as we have it,” Rohan added, “we shall put out to sea.”

“You mean … to the Alchemist’s Tomb?” she asked, with an uneasy glance from him to her father. “So quickly?”

“No choice. They got Tewkes,” Papa muttered, grimacing as Eldred tried to begin bandaging his leg. “I can do that my bloody self! Give it ’ere.”

“Who’s Tewkes, Papa?”

“You don’t remember him? My old bo’sun, after Charley. Spectacles. White hair sticks straight up like a little downy chick’s.”

“Ohh! Old Tewkes! Lord, is he still with you?” she exclaimed, remembering him vaguely. “He must be eighty by now! How did he get captured?”

“Not so quick as he used to be. Damned fools, I told them all to stay on the ship. But m’crew feared for my life. When they heard the shots, they came running. Trouble is, old Tewkes knows as well as I do where we found the Tomb.” He shook his head. “O’Banyon must have told those blackguards that some of my old-timers were there when we found that cursed place.”

“Yes, we’ll have to be under way as quickly as possible,” Rohan confirmed. “The last thing we saw was the Prometheans boarding their ship. They dragged Mr. Tewkes away with them. Considering they’ve already embarked, they’ve got a lead on us. So I’m afraid it’s a race now. We’ve got to beat them to the Tomb.”

“Yes, well,” her father added, “even if they force Tewkes to show them where it is, they’ll not survive the traps inside that wicked place without your mother’s book.”