“Don’t be tiresome and scream,” he said.
That was exactly what London intended to do. She took a deep gulp of air.
He moved like a striking snake, a blur of motion she barely saw. He turned her around and wrapped her in the steel of his arms, one hand covering her mouth. A spike of terror clawed its way up her throat. She tried to scream. His clamped hand stifled the sound. She struggled against him, but he was solid with muscle, immovable. London thrashed about, yet all she managed to do was exhaust herself.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmured in her ear. “We don’t hurt people.”
We? Who was we? She wasn’t soothed at all. She didn’t care what Drayton said, she had to get free, had to fight him. Her muscles screamed with effort as she struggled. She couldn’t even put her feet down or gain enough space to open her mouth and bite him.
Drayton glanced over at the small brass clock on the desk. “Look at the time. Blast. We’ve got to go.” He didn’t sound winded or troubled at all, more like he was mildly concerned about missing a train, whilst London panted for breath.
He loosened his hand from her mouth. Thank God! London gulped in enough air to scream. Before she could, he slipped his cravat from his neck and gagged her with it. She tasted the musk of his skin in the silk. Not that long ago, she would have gladly learned what Drayton’s skin tasted like. Now it only reinforced the fact that he completely overpowered her.
He pulled off the belt from London’s robe and deftly wrapped it around her pinned wrists before knotting it. She tugged at the belt. It wouldn’t give. She was bound, and helpless.
Anger was better than the fear that threatened to swallow her.
“Next time,” he grinned as she glared up at him, “I’ll let you tie me up.”
Fortunately, she was gagged, otherwise her mother never would have forgiven her for the curses that she tried to spew at him. And then she was easily swung up and slung over his shoulder like a sack of feathers.
“You need to eat more,” he said.
She didn’t hear him open the cabin door, but suddenly they were slipping noiselessly into the passageway. He shut the door and fiddled with it for a moment, and she understood he was locking it. If he got her off the ship with no one noticing, they would probably assume she was safe in her cabin. London’s absence would only be known in the morning, when Sally tried to come in. Panic fueled her into another struggle. If she could just stay in her cabin, surely everything would be fine. But that feeble hope died as Drayton eased down the passageway.
She prayed they would meet her father, the captain, a sailor, anyone, but fortune didn’t favor her that night. Once, an armed sailor neared, en route to his duties, but Drayton held back to the shadow of a bulkhead. London tried to shout, despite the gag. Maybe even a small noise could alert the sailor.
“Quiet,” Drayton said lowly in her ear. “A peep out of you, and that trigger-eager bloke will fill both of us with bullets. Don’t take that chance.”
Was he right? London was afraid to find out.
The sailor continued on his way.
Drayton climbed the steep iron stairs that led to the top deck. A peculiar, sweet fog embraced the steamship, rendering everything dreamlike and murky. Sailors patrolled, yet none saw her and Drayton as he slid to the railing. No one was coming to her aid. Drayton was going to abduct her. Off the ship, she would have no chance. No! She fought anew, twisting her body this way and that.
Yet she couldn’t break Drayton’s hold. With one arm clamped firmly around her waist, he grasped a rope tied to a small, thick hook hitched onto the railing, and eased them both onto the other side of the rail. Then he rappelled silently down the side of the ship into the darkness. London could not believe he possessed the strength to hold her and his own weight with one hand, expecting at any moment that they would both go plummeting into the sea. But hold them, he did, all the way down the rope to a tiny canoe-like boat, anchored to the other end of the rope.
She felt herself lowered to the floor of the boat, and watched as Drayton unhitched the hook with a nimble flick of his wrist. He caught the hook as it sailed down.
“A little gift from our friend Catullus Graves,” he whispered at her with a wink.
London had no idea who Catullus Graves was, and didn’t much care as the boat, free from its tie to the steamship, glided back and away. London raised her head enough to see the ship steam on into the night, leaving her behind.
Father! her mind screamed.
“Now,” Drayton said softly, “it shouldn’t be long now before—ah! Here we are.”
Appearing from the darkness like a ghost ship was a caique, wreathed in the same sweet fog that had enveloped the steamer. A few dim lanterns hung from the mainsail boom, allowing London to see the hazy shapes of people moving around on deck. She’d been taken. She was alone. Alone with a boat full of strangers. London began to shake. She flinched when Drayton put a large, warm hand on her ankle.
“Don’t be frightened,” he said with surprising kindness and sincerity. “We truly won’t harm you.”
London tried to turn away, blinking back tears. She wished she’d never met Ben Drayton. She wished she hadn’t seen those blasted writings on her father’s desk. She wished she was back in her own home, safely ensconced in her library, reading old tomes in front of the fire and merely dreaming of faraway places.
They were idle wishes. The caique drew up next to the canoe, and London squeezed her eyes shut.
“You certainly know how to treat a lady,” a woman’s accented voice said dryly. “The poor thing is terrified.”
“I know, Athena,” Drayton said, impatient. “Give me a hand, Kallas,” he added in Greek.
London felt herself picked up and passed from one set of hands to another before being set on her feet. Opening her eyes, London found she was on the deck of the caique. Two Greek sailors stared at her before slinking away, bearing the little canoe. There was another sailor, not particularly tall, but built like a bull, looking at her with an unreadable expression as he worked a pipe stem back and forth in his teeth. A woman, dark and regal, came forward, dressed more appropriately for an afternoon salon than a nighttime kidnapping in the middle of the Aegean Sea. London shied away when the woman reached for her.
“Come now, I only mean to untie you,” the woman said gently in English. “But, mind, if I do, do not try and jump over the side. Your father’s ship is long gone, and we are far from the shore. You could not swim the distance. Yes?”
Seeing that the woman was right, London nodded. Quickly, the binding at her wrists was loosened until London was able to pull her hands free. She snatched the gag from her mouth, then coughed to clear her dry throat.
Finally, she rasped, “Who are you people? What do you want with me?”
“Everything will be revealed, in time,” Drayton said, coming forward. He held up his hands, placating, as London edged back. “All we want is to have a conversation with you.”
“A conversation,” London repeated in disbelief. She was certain that at any moment she would be assaulted or murdered.
“A conversation,” echoed Drayton evenly. “Merely that, and nothing else.”
London’s fear shifted, reshaping itself. Hot, unchecked anger poured through her. She’d never felt anything like it before, but it filled her with a newfound power. When the woman and Drayton took a few steps toward her, London grabbed a nearby bottle from a crate and brandished it like a club. Miraculously, both Drayton and the woman stopped their advance.
“You abducted me from my cabin in the middle of the night, forced me off my ship, stuck me in a minuscule boat, and then brought me here,”