Chapter Nine
THE DOCKS BUILT AT Wapping were well protected with high walls surrounding them. Ships had to pass through basins to get from the Thames River to the dock’s fancy warehouses, which housed only luxury goods. But to find the old stairs that accessed the river at high tide, Jeremy and Jack’s guards had to follow the winding road outside the large enclosed docks to get to Wapping Street, which ran along the riverbank. The street was high enough above the tidewater mark to offer extensive views of the ships on the water, some already sailing toward the Channel. Even this far from the dock entrance a few vehicles were going in both directions.
“Are you still hoping this is legit, Jack?” Jeremy asked.
“Oh, no, I’m hoping it’s not.”
To come face-to-face with Bastard again, to finally have her revenge, that was going to be a sweet dream come true. She would never have guessed that he was behind this new plot if she hadn’t finally recognized his handwriting in that longer note he sent today. At her insistence, her father had showed her the ransom note that the Andersons retrieved from the post office the night she was abducted in Bridgeport. She didn’t have that ransom note so she couldn’t compare it to the one that had been delivered today, but she was almost positive the writing was the same. And “almost” was enough to convince her to come prepared to this meeting and turn the tables on Bastard—if it was him.
She was still fuming over his success at tricking her by wearing that blond wig and a mask that covered his face and muffled his voice. And he’d obviously studied his betters because his gentlemanly manners had deceived her.
If it was him, Jack would prefer to just shoot him, but Jeremy had convinced her that Bastard might have valuable information about his boss and where he was located, information that could help their father. They could send it to him and Drew posthaste in the Caribbean. So Jeremy had persuaded her that the best course of action would be interrogation first—brutal she hoped—then a quick ride to prison, where Bastard would await trial and the gallows.
But if it wasn’t him—damnit, she really did hope her mystery man wasn’t a legitimate suitor despite how much he’d intrigued her. She’d rather have revenge tonight.
They passed a set of stairs where two women and a child had just been rowed ashore from a passenger ship and were waiting for their baggage and probably hoping to hail a passing hackney carriage as well. But with the enclosed docks, it was not an ideal place to come ashore. Most passenger ships that were going to unload prior to getting cleared for a berth did so near wharves where vehicles for hire were more easily obtained. But the river was extremely congested, and captains couldn’t always anchor in ideal spots.
The next set of stairs was quite a distance farther up the street, but as they approached, they could see a man standing at the top of them. If there was a plaque on the wall next to the stairs naming them, they couldn’t yet see it. The vehicle behind them was following closely and had only just cut in front of Jack’s mounted guards and would probably have passed Jeremy’s chaise if a coach up ahead weren’t blocking the other side of the road, making it too dangerous to attempt. But Jeremy waved at it to pass them when he began to slow his chaise.
“At least Percy came through,” he said with a grin, seeing the coach that had stopped a little ways beyond where the lone man was standing, his back turned toward them.
“You had doubts?”
“Well, we put this scheme together at the last minute. And Percy has been known to muck things up.”
“Known? It used to be guaranteed!” Jack said. “But that hasn’t happened in years, correct? Or you wouldn’t have enlisted his help.”
“Indeed, Percy can be depended on these days to follow instructions to the letter. He even writes them down!”
Percy had been sent to Knighton’s Hall to hire every brawny fighter he could find and to go elsewhere if there weren’t enough there, until he couldn’t fit any more in his large coach. The lone fellow stood gazing in the opposite direction, not even glancing back their way. He appeared to be watching Percy and his driver, who were bent over, pretending to inspect one of the coach’s wheels.
“The moment of truth has arrived,” Jeremy said.
“He’s tall enough to be the mysterious chap,” Jacqueline told her brother. “And has the same color hair, though I didn’t think it was that long.” The blond queue fell halfway down the man’s back. “But Bastard has black hair, so if that was him at the ball, he was wearing a wig then and is now.”
“So you think it’s Bastard?”
“I’m not absolutely sure, but I’ll know as soon as he turns around. I’ll never forget that face.”
Jeremy jumped out of the chaise, looking up at her to say, “Wait—”
She jumped down beside him before he could finish, eliciting a distinct sound of annoyance from her brother. But they approached the man together. And the man must have finally heard them because he turned. He was wearing the damned mask from the ball? A suitor wouldn’t at this point—would he? But Bastard certainly would, because he knew she wouldn’t go near him if she saw that he was the man who had abducted her in Bridgeport.
She was incredulous that he would still pretend to be her mystery man. Jeremy put his arm out to stop her from getting any closer.
“That’s not going to do, mate,” Jeremy said in one of his more unfriendly tones. “Take off the mask or my sister gets back in the carriage.”
“I will,” her mystery man said.
But he made no move to do that—and that’s when men charged out of the coach behind them, which hadn’t gone around them after all, and more men were hopping over the low wall by the riverbank beside them. Percy and his men, some twenty feet away, were running forward to help, but they weren’t close enough yet. And despite the extra thugs who had jumped over the wall to surround Jeremy, someone still tried to disable her brother with a board to his head. At the horrible-sounding crack Jack turned with a gasp to see her brother stagger, but he had a hard head. He shot that fellow, then dropped another with the butt of his spent pistol and took his fists to a third. And where the devil was her escort?
Also surrounded. She saw it now beyond that other coach. Her guards had been rushed upon, too. She wasn’t even sure those four bruisers, as big as they were, could win against dozens of men trying to get at them.
It was a bloody army of riffraff, back there, here, and she felt a moment of terror when she saw that some of them looked like pirates. Those near her had split up, half of them surrounding Jeremy, and the other half turning to deal with Percy’s men. But Jeremy was holding his own. He was extremely tall like Anthony and just as muscular. And while he wasn’t as good with his fists as their father was, he was still an exceptional fighter, brutal when needed, and had already dropped four more of the attackers to the ground. But when one fell, another took his place. There were simply too many of them! He got tripped, and the moment he was down, fists and boots descended.
Jacqueline went a little crazy seeing that and leapt at the men blocking her view of Jeremy, afraid they were going to kill him. “I don’t think so” was said as she was yanked out of the fray and then cheekily, “I knew you couldn’t resist me, Jack.”
She sucked in her breath, recognizing that voice clearly now and started to reach for her pistol. But Percy had reached her by then, yelling, “Jack, let’s go!” He grabbed her arm, which yanked her hand out of her pocket! Damnit, bad timing as usual for him, yet he let go after nearly dragging her down with him when one punch knocked him out. And the puncher was the Mask. Bastard!
Fear and fury overwhelmed her, that she’d underestimated him. They were supposed to capture him, not be captured! And she felt horrible that she’d put Jeremy and Percy in danger, for nothing! And even worse, she’d given her father’s enemies exactly what they wanted—something to use to manipulate him.
In a rage, she turned with her right fist swinging, only to get instantly flipped about, but he’d already removed the mask, revealing that handsome hated face. “Tactics I remember well,” he said, actually sounding nostalgic! Then to his men: “Bring the gents if they still live.”
He’d already put a hand over her mouth so she couldn’t scream at him. His arm went around her waist now to clasp a steely grip on her other arm near the elbow. She was lifted off her feet and only saw in the briefest moment that the eight burly men surrounding her brother had stepped back—because Jeremy was no longer moving.
Horrified that Jeremy might be dead, she clamped her teeth on the palm across her mouth, then tasted blood, she had no idea whose, then the hand pressed tighter against her mouth.
But she was halfway down the stone steps by then, he was hurrying so fast with his prize.
Carrying her like that, he might as well have tied a strong rope tightly around her arms and torso. She couldn’t maneuver either of her hands to reach her pocket and the weapon in it. But her feet weren’t restrained and were dangling near his shins, so she lifted her legs to slam her boot heels back against Bastard’s knees to cripple him, bracing herself for a fall down the remaining stairs if she was successful. It would have worked if he were shorter, but all she got was a hiss out of him when her heels slammed against his lower thighs. Well, the arm about her middle tightened, too, which cost her some breath.
That wouldn’t have stopped her from kicking him again, but there was no time left to try it. She’d seen the two waiting longboats at the bottom of the stone steps where the water was lapping at high tide. The two boats were big enough to accommodate ten rowers each, but that didn’t account for all the men who had been on that street, more men than a ship would need for a crew. Were they not all sailors?
Two men had even been left with the boats, one in each of them. And Jack was utterly jarred when Bastard leapt into one of them.
She was set down hard on the back bench to face the ships anchored directly ahead of them out in the Thames. With absolute efficiency one of the other rowers put a gag over her mouth so the hand, bloody she hoped, could be removed. She was reaching for her pocket again but the two men behind her were quicker. Even as the gag was tied, her arms were dragged behind her back and her hands tied there just as quickly.
Another loud thud came from behind her, which she guessed was Jeremy being tossed into the boat as well. They wouldn’t bring him along if he was dead, would they? Small hope, but hope nonetheless. Then the boat swayed alarmingly as the others got into it and took up the oars.
Not much had been said during the entire kidnapping other than shouted curses, groans, and what Bastard had said there at the end. The thugs remained silent as the longer rowboat was maneuvered about and swiftly rowed away from shore. She faced the riverbank now and saw other men being carried or helped down the stairs to that other longboat. She couldn’t see Percy’s coach, but she could just make out the top of Jeremy’s chaise beyond the low wall at the top of the stairs, and the bigger coach behind it. Had it followed them all the way from Berkeley Square?
Were the coaches going to be abandoned there? Someone would find the vehicles, but they wouldn’t know whom they belonged to unless some of Jeremy’s men escaped—if any of them were still alive. But then she saw the coach behind the chaise turn about and head back the way they’d come, and Percy’s was close behind it. So the coaches were going to be disposed of? Oh, God, the bodies, too? And the continued silence was telling. Only the one order had been given, making her realize how well planned this abduction must have been.
And then a sack was placed over her head—again. Why? She knew who had her this time, so what was the point of blindfolding her? Unless it was to cover her face? He’d done that before, kept her completely isolated from his men. Did he not want the pirates to get a good look at her?
A damned small sack had been tugged down over her head and now pressed tightly against her nose. Small compensation that it blocked most of the stink of the river, a smell she was actually familiar with, as many times as her family had come down to the docks to bid one of her five Anderson uncles good-bye before he sailed.
She knew their destination had been reached when the boat rocked against one of the ships. She was picked up, twisted about, and hefted over a shoulder for the climb up the ladder. If that sack hadn’t been so tight, it might have fallen off with her head halfway down the man’s back.
The deck was crossed, a door was opened, and she heard more than one set of footsteps entering the room behind her. She was startled when someone said, “I think he broke my bloody jaw.”
A chuckle. “If it’s broke, you wouldn’t be saying it’s broke, now would you, mate?”
Neither voice belonged to Bastard, but a grunt was the response. Then Jack was dropped on something soft low to the floor. Whoever had carried her aboard had at least bent over to do it, so the landing didn’t quite knock the breath from her. Bastard? She didn’t know if he had carried her or was even in the room.
But she wasn’t untied. Her boots were pulled off instead, though she got in a good kick to someone’s chest before the last boot was confiscated. Her dagger clattered on the floor when it fell out of one. One of the men snickered. But they hadn’t yet found the pistol in her pocket, and she turned over to lie on it, not very comfortable, but she wasn’t about to make it easy for them to find it.
But they weren’t looking for more weapons; they were binding her feet together. Once that was done, she heard a marching away and the door was closed. But one of them might still be in there, unmoving. Bastard. And she wouldn’t know if he was there unless he moved or said something because they hadn’t removed the sack from her head!