Chapter 5

Alex smiled and bid the ladies an enjoyable night before heading out of the club.

He had to hope that returning to his estate with Hestia disguised as a man, while her maid impersonated the grieving daughter, and with Stephen staying in London until needed, would pacify Fredrick’s suspicions long enough to get ahead of any warning he might send to his men. Alex’s ship was large, and with extra sail, making it fast. But often large and fast did not outrun smaller and speedier ships, especially if they already had a head start.

Hestia would be on his ship again, and this time their enemy would likely chase them all the way to and from the Mediterranean. Danger would be ever present. The other difference was, this time she was a beautifully stunning grown woman on a ship with hardened sailors. Not a good mix.

On the carriage ride to his London residence he began planning ahead. Hestia was in danger, and he also worried what her father would think about him dragging her all the way to the Mediterranean again.

Four years ago she’d been but a child, six and ten, and dressed as a young lad so most of his men had left her well alone. Hestia had rebounded well from her treatment at the hands of Murad. She’d refused to wallow in embarrassment or self-pity. She’d helped on the ship considerably, repairing the sailors’ clothes, tending to their small scratches and wounds, and between those self-imposed chores, he remembered with a wry smile, she’d followed him like a small, obedient puppy. His men teased him about her hero worship, and he’d felt flattered.

His smile faded.

Arriving back in England and handing her over to her father had brought him back to reality with a crash.

The Earl of Pembroke immediately saw the infatuation glowing in his daughter’s eyes. Unfortunately, he also knew Alex’s sordid history, having saved him from the clutches of Murad and the drug-induced haze he’d lived in for almost two years. The earl also knew what Alex had done while in captivity and how he struggled with his love for the opium pipe.

Alex shuddered in the warm night air as he walked up his front steps. He’d never forgotten the embarrassing meeting he’d had with the earl on Hestia’s nineteenth birthday.

“She’s not for you, Alex.”

Alex had tried to deny he’d known what his lordship meant. “Who, sir?”

Her father had placed a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “You know I think of you as the son I never had. You think you owe me, but you don’t. Our cards were squared when you returned Hestia to me. I owe you so much.”

With a growl Alex said, “You owe me nothing. I owe you my life.”

“Not true, son. Hestia means the world to me. She’s the only truly good thing that came out of my marriage.” He paused and looked into Alex’s eyes. “And I know you care for her.”

Alex had returned his stare without any comment, pain welling in his chest at what he knew was coming.

“If you do care for her, you will discourage this infatuation. If I thought for one moment you’d conquered your demons, I’d not hesitate to approve a match. But can you look me in the eye and tell me that your nightmares are under control? That it’s dead and buried—conquered? That you’d never in a million years hurt her?”

Alex had closed his eyes, hating himself. He stood paralyzed, his mind refusing to acknowledge the earl’s words, but in his soul, Alex knew he could never take Hestia into his world. He had never felt more of a failure.

His lordship hadn’t held back, his words slicing through his heart like a knife. “How you live your life is your own affair, but I know you are honorable, and I am pleading with you not to encourage my daughter. Promise me you’ll leave her alone.”

Alex had run his hand through his hair, overcome with self-loathing, and nodded. “I swear to you I’ll not encourage her.” He admitted that it was for the best. A lump of despair rose in his throat as he promised the earl he’d leave Hestia alone.

He was too flawed. Too imperfect.

And in the earl’s eyes, nothing had changed since then. Yet Alex had not smoked opium for almost two years. Since the year his father died.

His mouth firmed. He’d find her father and bring them safely back to England. Then he would have repaid his debt to the earl. More important, he could also seek revenge. Murad, if he was still alive, would pay for what he did to Alex.

He dismissed his valet and shrugged out of his jacket. He poured himself another brandy from the decanter by his bed and walked to the window.

He would admit to no one, much less himself, that he too was afraid. Not that he’d succumb to temptation, but afraid to face Murad. If Murad captured him, he did not have to worry about being turned into an opium lover again—Murad would simply kill him. Then who would protect Hestia and her father?

The worse scenario would be that Murad might tell Hestia his dirty, disgusting secrets. She’d be sickened if she knew what he’d done, and with whom, just to get more of the sweet mind-alleviating smoke.

With a sigh he turned from the window and walked to the writing desk. After pulling out a sheet of paper, he began a note to Jacob. The Angelica was docked at Great Yarmouth; he told his captain to ready her for a voyage to the Mediterranean and to pick him up in Portsmouth in a few days. He’d arranged for one of his trusted servants to deliver the note by horseback.

Alex drained his drink, and rather than sleep he rolled up his sleeves and made his way down to his study. He needed to ensure the estate business was well in hand before disappearing for a few months. He also had to send his apologies to Lord North for his absence. Lord North was expecting his support on a couple of votes likely to occur in the House of Lords while he was away.

As the sun began to rise he finished his last missive and wearily made his way upstairs to change into his riding gear.

Riding hard, he and Hestia could make Bracken Park, his estate near Bedford, by nightfall. Then they would wait until the next night and try to sneak away. It would take three days to reach Portsmouth on horseback, and he worried it might be longer if Hestia couldn’t keep up. To his mind it would be well on a week before they set sail. He hoped the Angelica could make up time on the seas. Fredrick likely sent his men back to the Mediterranean the day he arrived in England with the body. Plus his trading network in the Mediterranean would likely be looking for the earl too.

He hoped Hestia was not getting her hopes up. His driving need for this trip was to kill Murad. Her father could be dead by the time they arrived in Greece. If the earl was dead, then Hestia needed to marry immediately or she’d be Fredrick’s next target.

Thank goodness she was strong both mentally and physically. She had a stronger constitution than some men he knew.

Her treatment at the hands of Murad proved how resilient she was. But she’d been younger, and the young tended to recover quickly.

Hestia was a woman now, and to his horror his tired body quickened at the vision of womanhood she’d blossomed into.

He ruthlessly pushed his desire aside.

His mission would take all his skill and concentration. He had dangerous enemies in Greece and Turkey, plus if Fredrick guessed their plans…

Staying alive, keeping Hestia alive, meant he had to crush this obsession with her.

As he made his way downstairs to the stable it crossed his mind that the only thing he wanted to crush was her naked body against his.