Darius had known there would be variables and unaccounted-for events on this trip to London, but he sure wished it easy. Well, a part of him did. If it had all been too simple, he would never have met Eliza Penfold again. He still couldn’t be sure if this was a stroke of good luck for him or the worst of luck for her. Perhaps a little of both.
If he’d had it his way—and he was still searching for a solution, he hadn’t given up yet—he would call his father out and put a bullet in his head. Not just for the people he’d wronged in this current fiasco but also for the half-siblings he’d known nothing about. Darius had had Eliza repeat over and over the words the maid said the day she delivered Sarah to them.
“It wouldn’t be the first bastard he’s had show up on his doorstep. Not really sure what happens to ’em but they never come back.”
Each time he considered what might have befallen them all he felt a deadly chill. He wondered just how many illegitimate children his father had spawned. He wondered how many of the women had actually said yes to his attentions. None, he’d bet money on it. His father was a rapist of housemaids and servants, women he obviously thought had no right to the two little letters that made up a no.
Marcus’s final task, before fitting the Persecutor out with enough supplies for their extra passengers, was to hire a private investigative man to unearth all he could about Wickham’s bastards. Darius wanted to know how many there were to begin with, how many still breathed and where they were now. Perhaps when he returned to London after Nathanial had come of age, he would deal with Wickham then. If someone else didn’t get to him first.
Marcus returned that morning with a report that while his father owed money to many gentlemen, his brother, Harold, owed money to the underground. Harold had been gambling with more than his future with a character who went by the name Mr Smith. Not a soul could claim where the man lived, where he conducted his business or even what he looked like. He owned clubs, which resembled high-priced mud huts in the London slums. He dealt in women, cards and liquor and was purported to be ruthless in his punishment of those who couldn’t or wouldn’t pay.
He summoned fear in just about everyone, so much so that Marcus had had to part with a fair amount of Darius’s dwindling blunt to encourage gossip. Not many had wanted to say anything at all, which told Darius all he needed to hear on the matter. Harold would be dealt with and Darius’s conscience could remain clear on that count. He’d never come for Harold anyway. It was their sire he wanted to see on his arse.
Now Darius had other responsibilities. It galled him to leave Wickham to wreak more havoc but he had to get Sarah and Eliza and her brood far away from the gentlemen of England.
Scanning the thronging street once again, Darius failed to find the head he searched for. He needed to locate Penfold’s previous man of business, a Mr Prendergast, but most of the village had turned out for what appeared to be a market day of sorts.
Part of the bribe to get the man to assist them with obtaining Eliza’s dowry had been to place him in charge of both houses, Darius’s grandfather’s house and the Penfold ruins, until Nathanial returned. He needed to find the man to tell him they were to depart at first light. Darius estimated they would be gone for around six to eight months. He was also going to leave a handful of older sailors behind to ensure it was all done right and above board. Some of the men had become quite happy with life on the land and didn’t wish to return to the sea. They would be in charge of the massive pine forest and fixing the lumber mill that had also gone to ruin.
Darius wanted to see the land that was now his turn a profit. He was a businessman and it would be nice to have something of his own. A legal income not dependent on the tides or him keeping his position with Deklin. An income he could use to help Nathanial regain his feet when he took the ducal title.
Pride warmed his insides in a dangerous way yet he couldn’t help it.
He meant something to someone.
To several someones.
Never in his life had he been needed like this and instead of seeing them all as burdens, he saw them as a misfit family that were now all his. His to protect and support. From his sailors and friends to his wife and all the way through to his fragile, tiny sister. Even though barely two weeks had passed since he’d stepped off his ship and into a nightmare, bumping into Eliza in the snow and mistaking her for a trespasser, he felt as though years had gone by.
Finally glimpsing Prendergast’s light brown hair as the man stooped over a stall table, Darius wasted no time. He had to get to him and let him know of their imminent departure. About halfway, as Darius squeezed between bodies—Tarquin, Wes and another sailor by the name of Leno trying hard to keep up behind him but failing in the crowd—Darius was halted by none other than Harold.
“Not now, brother, I don’t have time for you today,” Darius warned, attempting to go around.
Harold shot out a hand and placed it to Darius’s shoulder. “I think you need to hear my words, brother.”
Darius’s nape prickled as Harold spat
