The package arrived a week after Ivory left Max at the docks.
When she had left him standing in front of his ship, she had fled, tears blinding her eyes. Roddy, who had been waiting unseen somewhere, had appeared and simply slipped his hand into hers, silently leading her in the direction that would take them home. She had wiped angrily at her eyes, furious for allowing herself to feel this much when she had known better. She had known he would never allow her to possess him any more than she herself could be possessed. They were too much the same, she and Max. Both unwilling to be caught in a cage that was not of their making. She didn’t fit into his world any better than he fit into hers.
So when Roddy came into the study with the bulky package wrapped in plain paper and tied neatly with red ribbon, Ivory was brooding miserably.
“What is it?” she asked dully.
“Dunno,” Roddy answered.
“Well, who delivered it?”
“One o’ Gil’s boys.” He placed it on the desk in front of her. “You want me to open it?”
Ivory shrugged listlessly. “Go ahead.”
Roddy grinned. “I love opening presents,” he said, attacking the bow with his small fingers.
“I know.”
The ribbon fell away, and he turned the package over, peeling away the paper. A swath of velvet suddenly spilled out, a pure midnight blue, trimmed with satin of the same hue.
Ivory stared, transfixed. “Stop,” she said.
Roddy looked up at her. “What is it?” he asked.
Ivory stood and bent over the desk, her fingers hovering over the pool of blue. Very carefully she picked it up, the fabric slipping and revealing a wide collar of silver fur.
“It’s a cloak,” she said into the silence.
“For a bloody queen?” Roddy asked, his brows hovering near his hairline.
It was exactly how he had described it that day. Blue velvet, edged with satin, trimmed with what Ivory could only imagine was silver fox. She was afraid to even guess what this meant.
“There’s something else,” he said, reaching into the paper, his eyes wide.
Ivory saw the flash of green even before Roddy gaped at the emerald he now held in his hand.
“Are you working for the prince again?” he asked, turning the large gem over in his small fingers.
“No,” Ivory said.
“Then who’s it from?” the boy demanded.
Ivory could only shake her head. “Well, there’s a letter,” Roddy piped up helpfully, bending to pick up the folded paper that had fluttered to the floor as he opened the package.
Ivory took it and hesitated, almost afraid to open it. A letter that would indicate that this gift was a gesture to assuage whatever guilt he was feeling at his departure? Perhaps he had sent his sister the same. Or was it something else?
“You need me to open that too, Duchess?” Roddy asked, watching her with a puzzled expression.
“No.” This was ridiculous. She unfolded the paper, finding two sheets. Very slowly she began reading. She read both pages twice and then refolded them precisely and neatly.
“What’s it say?”
Ivory cleared her throat. “Please head over to the Finish, Roderick,” she said evenly. “And see if you can find the Harris brothers. I have some work for them, this evening, should they be interested.”
“They’re always interested,” Roddy opined.
“There is also a job available for you.”
The boy grinned. “I’ll get my coat.”
She glanced down regretfully at the beautiful velvet. She would not wear this where she was going. “Fetch my cloak while you’re at it. I’m going out.”
* * *
The Odyssey was long gone but the Azores still waited patiently in her moorings. Ivory waited equally patiently on the docks in front of the Indiaman while the captain was fetched. She shifted the heavy basket in her arms.
“Miss Moore,” Captain Black called, standing on top of the portside railing, grinning down at her. With his tricorne and his beard, he looked like a character from a novel. “It’s really you. I thought they were making it up.” He disappeared, only to reappear a minute later on the docks.
“To what do I owe this utterly delightful pleasure?” He bowed, sweeping his antique hat from his head.
“I brought you dinner.”
“Dinner?” He straightened so fast he almost lost his balance.
Ivory gestured at the basket she held. “I believe I owe you dinner as part of our bargain. The information you provided to Captain Harcourt did indeed assist us in retrieving his sister.”
Black blinked at her before breaking into another wide grin. “Clever and honorable. I do so love a woman who keeps her word.”
“I suspect you love a lot of types of women.”
“True.” He gallantly took the basket from her.
“And is your word still good?” she asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You once offered me your favor. Is that still the case?”
“Of course it is.” His eyes narrowed. “What do you need, Miss Moore?”
Ivory smiled at him. “Let’s discuss that over dinner, shall we?”
* * *
The Earl of Barlow was in a foul mood.
He sat hunched over his cards, watching the coin he had brought dwindle away into nothing. Again. He scowled, mentally cataloguing what remained in his estates that might yet be sold. He hated dealing with that smug bastard King, who sorted through his family’s heirlooms like a country wife at a market, picking only the choicest offerings and discarding the rest like so much refuse.
Though King had taken the Harcourt girl off his hands, and as far as he knew, that problem was long gone. Barlow had been so sure she would agree to anything he asked when he had found her half naked and fleeing from her house. Her dowry would have been the answer to all of his problems, and he could have played the hero, saving her from ruin. She should have been eternally grateful to him. But just as with this card game, nothing had gone as he had planned.
Instead her brother had shown up, and after his first abortive attempt, Barlow had known there would be no negotiation on that front. And the girl had proven to be a truculent madwoman who’d refused to see reason. And then it had been too late. He hadn’t been able to let her return home. And he’d been too squeamish to kill her himself. So he’d done the only logical thing and offered her to King.
But the two hundred pounds he’d gotten for his trouble was almost gone, the remnant sitting in front of him forlornly. He scowled again as he caught sight of Alexander Lavoie. The man was leaning up against the wall of his club overseeing the crowd like the merciless scavenger he was. Picking clean the carcasses of men, and becoming filthy rich for it.
Disgusted, Barlow pushed himself away from the table, sweeping what little was left back into his hand and then into the small purse at his waist. There was no point in remaining. The stars were not aligned for him tonight. Barlow fetched his coat and stepped out into the night. He hunched himself against the chill and began the long walk home. He hadn’t gone more than two dozen steps when a boy crashed into his side.
“Beggin’ yer pardon,” the urchin said, before hurrying off in the opposite direction.
Barlow swore and jammed his hands inside his coat, only to realize with mounting horror that his pocket watch and his purse were no longer on his person. He spun, and the boy was still visible up ahead on the pavement. How dare the little wretch take what wasn’t his? With a shout of anger, Barlow took after the thief. The boy turned and saw him coming, then darted into an alley that led down in the direction of the river.
In a blind rage Barlow followed, only to be brought up suddenly by the sight of three hard-looking men, each with a sword gleaming dully in the moonlight. The thief was standing behind them, watching him with interest.
Barlow swallowed hard, fear rising.
“Thank you, Roderick,” the tallest of the men said. “We’ll take it from here.”
* * *
Barlow awoke slowly, his head pounding.
One of those thieves had hit him with the hilt end of his sword, and the last thing he remembered was an explosion of pain before everything went dark. He blinked in the dim light, trying to focus, but his head was still spinning and the floor seemed to tilt beneath him. He was lying on his side, and he realized he no longer had his coat. In fact, he no longer had his clothes. Instead he was dressed in rough peasant clothes, layers of scratchy material that made his skin crawl. He sat up, only to be pitched sideways.
He waited for the ground beneath him to stop moving, but it continued to pitch and roll, and it took Barlow a good minute to realize that this was not an effect of the blow to the head. The ground was moving beneath him. He jerked up again, wincing at the pain in his head and the queasiness that roiled through his stomach.
A shaft of light suddenly pierced the dimness, and a figure was framed in silhouette.
“Ah, my sleeping beauty awakes,” a man said. Barlow peered up. The figure had something perched on his head, a long feather swaying in the gusts of air that were now swirling around them.
“Am I on a ship?” Barlow asked with mounting horror.
The man laughed. “Can’t get much past you, can we?”
“I can’t be on a ship,” Barlow croaked.
“You’ll be pleased to know I’ve made you a bos’n’s servant,” the man continued, as though he hadn’t heard him. “You may get started immediately.”
“Do you know who I am?” Barlow demanded. There had been some mistake. He wasn’t sure where he was. But he certainly wasn’t where he should be.
“Yes. I just told you. You’re my boatswain’s servant.” He pronounced each syllable slowly and loudly.
Barlow hauled himself to his feet, belatedly realizing his boots were gone too. “I am the Earl of Barlow,” he said as loudly as his aching head would allow. “And I demand to speak to the man in charge.”
“Well, that would be me,” he was told cheerfully. “You may call me Captain Black. Or just Captain works equally as well.”
Barlow blinked. “Did you not hear me? I am the Earl of Barlow.”
“Yes, yes. You keep saying.” The man paused, stroking his beard. “Unfortunately, no one onboard cares. The only thing they’ll be caring about is how fast you learn your duties. If you aren’t up to snuff by the time we reach the Cape, I’ve told my men they can feed you to the sharks.” He paused, considering Barlow. “I’ll give you another hour or two to rest before we begin your education. You still look a little peaked.”
The ship heaved beneath his feet, and Barlow fell to his knees in despair.
“Mind the rats down here, though,” Black said. “They can get a little cheeky. I’ll be back for you shortly.” He turned to go, but then stopped. “Oh, and one more thing.”
Barlow peered up at him blearily.
Black smiled. “On behalf of Lady Beatrice and himself, Captain Harcourt sends his best regards.”