He wasn’t sure he possessed any such instincts at all. Any caution he brought to bear derived from a single-minded drive to succeed, to win—a recognition that sometimes winning required caution. In pursuit of a prize, he could be cautious. He could be patient.
He was going to have to be patient to win the particular prize he’d set his heart on. Dealing with Isobel had never been easy. Challenging, exhilarating, and satisfying, undoubtedly. Easy, no.
But she’d admitted to a “might be,” and at present, that was enough. He wasn’t going to push her; that way lay dragons.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t shore up his position. Not sharing all aspects of his life with her had been his critical misstep in the past; that wasn’t a mistake he would make again.
By the time Duncan had scraped every skerrick of blancmange from the bowl and downed the last of his milk, Royd had decided on his next step.
He waited while Isobel oversaw Duncan’s nighttime ablutions, then tucked him into the bed built out from the ship’s side and dropped a motherly kiss on his forehead. Royd stepped back from the doorway as she returned to the main cabin. Once she’d shut the connecting door, he tipped his head toward the door to the cabin he was using. “Now you’ve caught up with the past, perhaps you’d like to learn what I know of what’s going on in Freetown.”
Curiosity flared in her eyes.
His words hadn’t been any real question; he didn’t wait for an answer. She followed readily as he walked to the connecting door, opened it, and went in. He’d left a lantern burning. She hesitated on the threshold, then her gaze fixed on the documents he’d left on the bed’s coverlet.
He waved her to them. “That’s all the information I’ve received to this point. The letters are in order.”
She walked in, picked up the sheaf, sat on the bed, and started reading.
He leaned against the washstand and indulged himself by watching her. The decision to show her the letters hadn’t been a difficult one. He’d unwittingly taught her she couldn’t trust him to be entirely open with her; it was therefore up to him to demonstrate that he’d changed his tack and that she could henceforth have confidence that he would share all with her.
Fifteen minutes later, she reached the end of the last missive—Wolverstone’s recent summons. She set the sheet down on top of the inverted pile, then raised her head and met his gaze. “You said you were on a mission that echoed that one eight years ago. I can see why—it’s white slavers again. And in Africa, although a different part.” Her eyes searched his face. “In the letter from Declan, he said his wife, Lady Edwina, believed several young women had been taken by the slavers. Do you think Katherine might be among them?”
He caught her gaze. “It’s possible—perhaps even likely—but with luck, we’ll learn if your quest and my mission are one and the same soon enough.” He paused, only then realizing she might not be all that keen to meet his brothers again, not in his company, not in the present circumstances. Regardless... “The Corsair is headed for Southampton to provision for the voyage to Freetown, but I have to go to London—to receive my orders, learn everything Declan and Edwina, and also Robert and Miss Aileen Hopkins, can tell me, and most important of all, to be there when Caleb gets back, so I can hear his report firsthand and glean the most detailed information on the slavers and the suspected mining camp. If I’m to successfully take the camp, I need to learn as much about it as I can.”
She gestured at the letters. “They don’t spell it out, but I take it your mission will be to rescue those taken and capture the villains behind the scheme.”
He nodded. “In that order, at least in my mind. As you no doubt noted, there’s political pressure building over bringing the perpetrators to justice, and from the tone of communications thus far, I expect to be charged with securing evidence sufficient to convict whoever’s involved. I will if I can. However, my overriding objective will be to get the captives—however many there are and whoever they are—to safety.”
“Indeed.” She folded her hands in her lap and met his gaze challengingly. “I’ll accompany you to London.”
She expected an argument. He hid a grin and inclined his head. “We’ll leave the ship tomorrow morning. I’ll have Liam lay in to Ramsgate so we can go ashore, then the ship will proceed to Southampton, provision, and stand ready.”
She frowned. “Duncan.” After a second of staring into space, she refocused on his face. “Do you think there’s any viable way to send him back to Aberdeen?”
“Quite aside from the battle you would have to pry him from the ship, I can’t imagine any way I would want to risk it.” He paused, then said, “He stowed away. From what I gathered, he managed the feat of escaping Carmody Place and all those who no doubt keep an eye on him there and managed to get himself to the docks and aboard The Corsair all by himself. If you try to send him home now, after he’s had his boots on my deck, what do you think is most likely to happen?”
She grimaced.
Dryly, he added, “You only need to consider how his parents would react in the same situation. He is, after all, both of us combined. Attempting to send him home at this point will be wasted effort—and, incidentally, effort and time neither you nor I have to spare.”
Isobel stifled a sigh. “You’re right. If we try to send him home in the care of anyone but you or me, I wouldn’t put it past him, glib-tongued and quick-witted as he is, to slip his leash and board some other ship bound for Freetown...and the risks of such an action don’t bear thinking of.” She paused, then refocused on Royd. “So what do you suggest?”
He told her.
Of course, he’d already seen the potential problem and had worked out a solution.
She had to admit it was a workable plan, one that would assuage her motherly concerns while at the same time allowing Duncan to do what he now needed to do—namely, to get to know his father. And that was best done on The Corsair. Regardless of what happened between her and Royd, Duncan’s relationship with Royd was now a nascent reality, one that needed to be given time to develop and evolve.
She’d always felt deeply guilty over denying Duncan the father he’d desperately wanted. Now that, viewed through his ship-mad boy’s eyes, he’d discovered his father far surpassed most normal mortals, she couldn’t in all conscience deny him more time with Royd. And she harbored no doubts that on The Corsair, Duncan would be safe.
“All right.” She thought, then added, “If you can convince him to stay aboard while we go to London, we’ll follow your plan.”
That plan hadn’t specifically covered what to do with Duncan while they detoured to London, but Royd nodded. “While in London, I’ll need to focus on the mission, on learning everything I can and dealing with Wolverstone and Melville. Especially Melville and his political pressures. I assume you’ll be similarly involved in pursuing all pertaining to Katherine and her whereabouts. Leaving Duncan in the care of people he doesn’t know, and with whom he shares no affinity, would be senseless, and neither you nor I will need the additional distraction of having to explain his existence to Declan, Edwina, and Robert at this time.”
As usual, he saw the situation as she did. She was well acquainted with his natural protectiveness; she could rely on him to ensure their son was safe. Truth be told, it was something of a relief to have someone she trusted with whom to share parental responsibility—a lightening of the burden she’d carried entirely by herself since Duncan was born.
Although Royd had remained leaning against the washstand, as far from her as he could reasonably be in the confines of the cabin, even though she’d left the door to the main cabin open, she was nevertheless intensely aware of him, his physical presence—that he was just a yard or so away and she was sitting on his bed. A sort of sensual fluster, a tempting distraction, had risen inside her, but she’d be damned if she let him see any hint