As much as James didn’t want to dwell on the morbid side of what he set out to do, he had to face the fact that if this went wrong, he would be going back to his home in a timber box with a ball in his heart or a blade in his back. If Miss Germaine didn’t betray and murder him, he was sure her father would have a good crack at it. Amelia and his mother were dear to him but if he had a daughter and someone made off with her, held her for ransom, he would be out for blood too. Thoughts of young women being treated badly led his mind to wander to the other virgins from the auction block and he swore, his eyes opening wide. He hadn’t sent warning to Wigby at his estate to expect them. Damn the fool girl.
Lord, he hoped the captain really did want her back once this was all over and done with.
*
Sir Anthony Germaine rubbed a hand over his brow and sighed. He’d had the night from hell and hadn’t yet retired, the glass in his hand long since empty and the sun high in the morning sky. Not for the first time he thought about packing up his London townhouse and moving far away. Somewhere he could be accepted for the man he was rather than the tales of his father’s past. There had to be some part of the world the Germaine name wasn’t known.
Of course, the events of the previous night made it impossible for him to run anywhere.
Anthony flexed his toes and had to bite his tongue against sudden and blinding pain in his ankle. Broken. That was the doctor’s educated guess. Stupid. That was his cousin Darcy’s opinion. Irreparably soiled. The young lady’s father’s words. The young lady he had fallen on when he’d attempted to climb over a balustrade in a garden to avoid another woman’s furious glares. He’d hit the ground hard, smashed his ankle on a boulder unseen in the dark and collided with the once honourable Miss Something-or-rather. Elmira? Alvira? He’d never seen the chit in his life, but all in the space of ten seconds, they had become affianced.
Never mind that it was a mistake, a misunderstanding of monumental proportions. She had been alone in the garden and when she shrieked, a passer-by (a vicar strolling with his wife no less) had discovered the pair in each other’s arms. Elmira. Yes, that was her name. She had instinctively reached out to steady him as he barrelled into her. They hadn’t been hugging or kissing or any other such scandalous action. He hadn’t even caught her name until her father was summoned and her mother cried while the miss herself just stared at everyone in confusion. Was she a simpleton or had she been merely swept up in the madness the same as he had?
So there he sat, a debilitating headache from the spirits and a sick stomach from a lack of food, or perhaps it was an overabundance of fear and stupidity that made him feel ill. He wanted to be a respected and respectable member of society. He had saved the prince’s life for God’s sake. But nothing he did made up for his father’s past antics or his half-sister’s current disasters. Perhaps Miss Elmira’s father would have him killed rather than wed his daughter to the son of a pirate? One could hold on to the hope.
“Brahm!” he called over his shoulder. His butler usually hovered somewhere close but theirs wasn’t a large house so in any case he had no doubt he would be heard.
“Yes, Sir Anthony?” he replied seconds later as he entered the room.
“Has my sister risen from her bed yet? I have need of her.” He almost laughed aloud at his own words. Was he seriously considering asking her advice in all of this?
“The lady has not yet come down to break her fast.”
“Wake her at once and send her to me.”
“If you’re sure, milord?”
Anthony stared at him. Even his own staff didn’t give him the respect they should, forever questioning his every command. He knew they meant well but it wasn’t as if he had to like it.
“At once, milord.”
Minutes passed in which Anthony poured himself another drink from the decanter on the little table at his side. He may as well get comfortable since he would not be able to walk for at least a month, after which he would swap this shackle for another more permanent one.
A commotion in the open doorway gained his undivided attention as Brahm entered, followed by a footman and two maids, one in tears, the other wringing a cloth between her hands.
“What has Daniella done this time?” Anthony asked, mentally bracing for another shock. Why so many in one morning?
Brahm drew a deep, steadying breath and then stepped forwards. “It seems that Miss Germaine did not make it home last night, milord.”
“At all?” came Anthony’s mild response.
The crying maid came forwards as well. “She told me not to wait up for her, that she’d be late, but she never said nothing about not coming back at all.”
Damn her. “Send for Pendleton: that boy always seems to know Daniella’s movements and exploits.”
As he said the words, a furious knocking sounded at the front door. Anthony made to stand but the pain shot up his leg and with a mighty curse he fell back into the chair. “That will be the runners,” he muttered under his breath as he gestured for the butler to see what it was about. His sister had probably been arrested. Again.
His butler wasn’t the most circumspect around but he knew his place and he knew society so when voices became raised in the portico, Anthony damned his broken ankle to hell. Daniella needed to be horsewhipped and soon.
Brahm skidded to a halt outside the door. “A captain is here to see you.” He got no more
