“She’s not in Bristol,” India said irritably. “She’s a hundred yards away. We can swim a hundred yards. We could not swim to Bristol.”
“We won’t have the opportunity for swimming.”
“Not unless we look for one.”
“William’s crew will be crawling the ship like ants.”
“There won’t be that many of them. If we can escape while it’s dark—”
“That will only make it more dangerous.”
“Fine,” India snapped. “We won’t escape. We’ll be locked away in this cabin forever, and William will likely not bring us any dinner—” her stomach spasmed a little “—and we shall waste away until we starve to death and he throws our bones to the fish.”
India reminded herself that Millie was afraid, had always been afraid even though she would rarely admit it, and that it was only natural for the fear to grow worse after what she’d suffered at her brother’s hands. But still...
She imagined having Gavin Germain at the business end of her pistol. It would be less than he deserved.
“Or until Lord Taggart marries you,” Millie said, “and I am hanged or thrown in prison.”
She hadn’t come all this way only to be captured and dragged back to England, where she would exchange one gaoler for another: her father for a husband who would have complete control over her, would do with her as he pleased, would own her. Who would discover how useless she was and be ashamed of her, but by then it would be too late.
No. She could not let that happen. At sea, she felt useful. Knowledge came easily. The ropes, the pistol... Father would never, ever have allowed her to touch a pistol.
“You know what happens to women in prison,” Millie said now.
“Stop it, Millie.”
“The same thing that will happen if we manage to escape but can’t retrieve the money.”
India knew Millie well enough to know exactly what she was thinking. “We’re not going to end up as prostitutes.”
“You won’t—you’ll be married to Lord Taggart.”
“The devil I will,” India said sharply, reaching for anger as a lifeline, and finally she sat up, steadying herself in the hammock with toes that barely touched the floor. “We haven’t failed yet. We’re on a ship, aren’t we?” It wasn’t logical, but being on a ship seemed better than not being on a ship.
Millie let out a strangled laugh. “As if we could take a ship from William.”
Under no circumstances could they possibly take the ship from William. But, “We could take a longboat. We could float in a barrel if we must. Or perhaps we’ll be attacked and captured.”
“Being taken captive by Barbary pirates is your solution?”
“We only have to escape. We’ll find our way back to the Possession before William has a chance to reprovision it for sailing. We’ll sneak aboard—at night if necessary—and we will get the money.” Already half a dozen new thoughts tumbled through India’s mind. “Someone will bring us a meal, and that someone will have to open the door. And that someone—” hopefully not William “—will likely be male.”
“How is that supposed to be comforting?”
How much would Nicholas Warre want her if she bedded one of William’s crew? “If our chance for freedom equals my opportunity to ruin myself—”
“What fascinating mathematics!”
“—then the odds that we can—”
“It’s your father’s money Lord Taggart wants, not you. You’d wait until some poor sod delivers our gruel, bed him in the hammock and discover that Lord Taggart still plans to wed you and we are as far from that money as ever.” Millie exhaled. “You’ll likely not have the chance to ruin yourself anyhow. Lord Taggart will do the deed himself at the first opportunity—only wait.”
India grew warm, remembering how he’d touched her in the alleyway. She rubbed her arms, pacing a little. “What else can I do to deter him?”
“Likely nothing. God, I hate men,” Millie said bitterly. “I hate them, India.” Those normally soft brown eyes grew hard and cold. “Arrogant sods, expecting everyone to submit to their whims.”
“Indeed.”
“A pox on them all.”
“I shall show him, Millie. I shall show Lord Taggart exactly what kind of wife he would have if he goes through with this, and believe me, he will quickly find some other way to pay off his debt.”
* * *
NICK PACED THE quarterdeck, already feeling a little queasy from the roll and sway of the ship, and stared at the near-dark city where that blessedly motionless bed would never see use now—at least, not by him. The injustice of it made him want to cry. Or kill someone.
If that someone weren’t the key to his financial solvency, he might have done just that.
Climbing out the window—God’s blood, he’d been careless, letting himself fall asleep with her there. He was lucky she hadn’t slit his throat.
There were footsteps behind him, and Jaxbury’s voice cut through the night. “India said you threatened to shoot her. Threaten her with your pistol again, and you’ll find your own way back to England.”
Nick didn’t bother to turn. “Now that we’re aboard, there won’t be a need to threaten her.”
“Believe that, and you are a damned fool.” Jaxbury laughed and crossed his arms, joining Nick at the railing.
“We’ll be underway in the morning, soon as I find the rest of my crew.”
“Can’t make England come quickly enough to suit me,” Nick muttered, and contemplated taking a longboat to shore for half a night’s rest.
“Then you’d better hope the roads through France are passable.”
Nick’s gaze shot to Jaxbury. “What are you talking about?”
“Change of plans,” Jaxbury said.
Now Nick straightened. “Devil there are. You’ll return us to England as you promised.”
“Happy to, if you’d like to wait a few years.”
“Now listen here, Jaxbury.” Nick advanced on him. “The agreement was you would help me find her and return us to England along with that ship you were hunting. Immediately.”
Now Jaxbury’s expression hardened. “Helped you find her, and I don’t care to do anything more. Damned unpleasant business, Warre. Ought to leave you here to find your own way, but I’ve got to get those two away from the Possession. After that—” He shrugged. “Got a mind to stay here awhile and do a bit of trading.”
“That was not the agreement!”
“Ought to be plenty of priests in Marseille to do your job for you.”
France was absolutely, positively out of the question. “You know bloody well a trip through France will present a thousand opportunities for her to run off and get into God knows what kind of trouble.” And would require passage through Paris.
“Not my problem, Warre.”
He’d spent fourteen years avoiding Paris and the man who lived there—a man he never cared to meet. Whose existence he tried to forget, but couldn’t.
“What about Miss Germain?”
“Miss Germain is my problem. Not yours. We require passage