But slaves had made Liverpool. Not with their hands, but with the sale of their bodies. As Catullus watched the bustling dock draw closer, it didn’t escape him that Liverpool—and England—once grew wealthy from the slave trade. Ships had sailed from the Liverpool docks, laden with guns and beads, to trade for men, women, and children ripped from their West African homes. Those same ships then made the grueling voyage to the Caribbean and the American South, and there sold their surviving human cargo—including Catullus’s own family, generations ago. Then back to Liverpool with sugar, rum, cotton, and profit.
The slave trade had been officially abolished in England almost seventy years past, but Catullus felt its presence as the steamship approached the thriving docks.
All this, built by blood. Blood that ran in his veins.
Yet, despite this, he felt glad to be back in England again. It was, in all its conflicting existence, his homeland. His friends, the Blades, and his family were all here. He missed his workbench, and his tools, and the smell of oil, metal, and electricity. His workshop, nestled in the basement of the Blades’ headquarters, remained his truest home.
He glanced over at Astrid, who was also watching the dock come closer. Her mouth was pressed into a thin, tense line, and her hand was threaded tightly with Lesperance’s, her knuckles showing white.
“Back again,” Catullus said gently.
She gave a tight nod. Four years ago, a grieving Astrid had fled England, and the Blades, after her husband had been killed on a mission. She had exiled herself in the Canadian Rockies, until Catullus had been forced to bring her back. But she wasn’t returning with a broken heart.
Lesperance spared not a look for the bustle of the docks. His focus remained solely on Astrid, a concerned frown between his brows. “You can face this,” Lesperance murmured, knowing what tumult she must feel. “It’s only a pile of rocks. Nothing compared to the strength of you.”
The thin press of her mouth softened as she turned to Lesperance with a small smile. Despite the fact that they stood in full view of everyone on the ship and the docks, Astrid leaned close and kissed Lesperance. Such unguarded warmth and tenderness in that kiss, returned passionately by Lesperance, who clearly didn’t give a damn that anybody was watching.
Catullus looked away, fighting a quick pain, a sudden loneliness. Astrid had somehow been blessed to find love not once but twice, both times with good men. At forty-one years old, love still eluded Catullus.
His gaze alit upon Gemma Murphy, standing some distance down the rail. A group of passengers separated them, but he met her vivid blue eyes across the crowd.
In that crowd, amidst the cacophonous din rising up like a fist from the docks, Catullus found himself aware of only her. The brilliant gleam of her eyes, alive with intelligence and humor and will. A quick, potent flare of desire answered within him. More than desire. Something else, something deeper than a body’s wants. And, in the way she suddenly drew herself up, widening those astonishing eyes, she felt it as well.
“Haunted still by your redheaded ghost,” Astrid said behind him, her voice hard with suspicion.
Catullus came back to himself, who and where he was. He broke from Gemma Murphy’s gaze to watch the dock.
“No amount of silence on my part will exorcise her,” he said.
“Determined,” Lesperance noted, admiring. Astrid shot him a glare.
Catullus made himself shrug with indifference. “We’ll lose her once we come ashore.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Astrid. “That bloody girl’s resolved to attach herself to us—or rather to you.”
He scrupulously avoided looking at Astrid and her sharp eyes. “I’m the unattached male in our party. For a woman like her, I present the easiest target.”
“For a huntress, she’s damned fond of her prey,” Astrid replied, heated.
The ship finally docking gave Catullus a reprieve. He, Astrid, and Lesperance joined the chattering, excited passengers as they disembarked. Somewhere in the crowd behind him was Gemma Murphy. But ahead of him was the most important mission of his life. He would forget her, as he must.
A few satchels made up their minimal luggage. As soon as it was collected, they started toward the train station. Everywhere was thick with people and voices and heavy drays loaded with cargo. The cheerful chaos of commerce.
Which made for hard going to reach the station on foot. It wasn’t far, a quarter mile, and hiring a cab was impossible in this bedlam. Yet each step found the trio buffeted by movement. At this rate, they would reach the station by nightfall.
“Bugger this,” Catullus muttered under his breath. He signaled Astrid and Lesperance to a narrow side street off the busy dock, blissfully empty.
They both nodded. It might not be a direct route to the station, but they’d reach their destination faster. And, in these circumstances, time was all. They had to reach Southampton as soon as possible.
So the three of them ducked into the side street. The only occupants were a few crates and a dog. The dog noticed Lesperance and trotted forward to him, tail wagging. Lesperance gave the animal a good scratch under the chin before striding briskly onward. The dog scampered away, cheerful in its existence.
“Always making friends,” Astrid murmured.
“They aren’t friends,” Catullus said. He stared ahead, where the large figures of three men swiftly blocked the narrow street. He, Astrid, and Lesperance stopped, tensing. The men loomed nearer. All of them held knives. “Heirs,” growled Lesperance.
“No—they won’t get their hands dirty here,” Catullus said. “Thugs hired by the Heirs to watch the docks. Should have expected this.”
He started to reach for his revolver before checking himself. This was civilized England, where men didn’t wear guns in the streets, including himself. His pistol and shotgun were both packed away in the bags he carried. And, even if he could get to them quickly, firearms were too conspicuous, too noisy, too problematic for close-quarters fighting.
Evasion was a better option than engagement. Only fools raced into battle, if it could be avoided.
Catullus turned, thinking to lead Astrid and Lesperance back to the main dock. They might have a chance to lose their pursuers in the throng.
He cursed as two more men blocked the other end of the street. One of them pulled a cudgel from beneath his heavy coat, and the other, smiling brutally, brandished a dockworker’s hook.
“Hardly ten minutes ashore, and already in a fight.” But Astrid smiled coldly as she spoke, shifting into a ready stance. Meanwhile, Lesperance growled, half in warning, half in frustration. Even this side street was too public for him to truly unleash what he was capable of. His hands curled into fists as a substitute.
“I’ll take the two behind us,” Catullus said lowly.
“We’ve got the other three,” answered Lesperance. A shared, clipped nod, and they broke apart.
Lesperance and Astrid sprang toward the advancing threesome. The thugs stood motionless for a bare second, stunned that those who were supposed to be the victims had, in fact, become aggressors. Catullus had a brief impression of Lesperance’s swinging fists, and Astrid’s own expert fighting skills as she dodged and struck. But Catullus’s attention had its share of distractions and he focused on the two toughs coming