There they would have a chance to scheme, to plan, but Darius had a feeling anything they did wasn’t going to be enough. They would be outnumbered. The rest of the men wouldn’t make London until the next day with Sarah and the carriage. They would probably be outsmarted as well since none of his men were familiar with London or her docks or her stinking waterways.
They had to rest and think but their large party was going to attract all the wrong sorts of attentions from the ton. As they passed what would likely be the last posting house before traffic and houses thickened, leaving farms long behind, Darius called the order to pull in and dismount.
“We can’t ride through the streets on horseback. We’ll have to stop and find a carriage.”
“What’s the plan?” Wes asked.
“I don’t know yet. I need more information. We need to take care of Harold’s wounds and wake him so he can tell us more.” Darius nodded towards Baggens. “Is he still alive?”
“I would have tossed him off if he were dead, Cap’n.”
They needed an ally. They needed to regroup and hatch the perfect plan. Unless they stole onto the ship in the dead of night they were also going to be in need of more manpower. It would be out-and-out murder that way but it would be done. Quickly. And then it would be over. The nightmares his father presented again and again would be over. He could hardly believe it might happen. He would end the day free from the part of his past that haunted him the most.
Darius used the last of his coin to hire a carriage and a driver, paying extra to be neither seen nor reported. Twelve men climbed in. If anyone looked closely, they would see the carriage weighed down so it almost scraped the cobbles but it was growing dark, evening encroaching, a storm building over the city. No one would pay attention to them.
He gave the driver the only address he knew in London and instructed him to enter via the mews, drive right in rather than letting them alight on the street. The tiny wiry man nodded and pocketed another coin. The very last Darius had. If Anthony Germaine wasn’t in, they were done for. If he turned them away, they were done for. Harold needed a doctor, though if Darius didn’t need his information, he would have left him back in the village to die.
The ride was a short one for him but for the four of his men who had to stand, stooped over and holding on to worn leather straps to stop from tumbling onto the other men who were seated, it probably felt like hours. Harold sat wedged in a corner and groaned with every turn and bump. He was more conscious now than he had been on horseback.
A series of holes and a misstep from the team had them all jostled in the confined space. When eventually they stopped at the rear of Anthony Germaine’s home he let out the breath he’d been attempting not to hold in. Their presence was noticed immediately, the butler of the home exiting via the kitchen entrance, all flustered and obviously wary. “Good day to you, milord.”
“Is Germaine in?” Darius responded without preamble or niceties. If they lingered in the yard, there would be talk. Already he could feel the eyes of gossiping ducks on him.
“I will have to check for you, milord.” Darius couldn’t remember the butler’s name from his last visit but the most proper servant certainly remembered him. Censure built behind the man’s expression before he whirled in his shiny black shoes to re-enter the house.
Darius wasn’t going to wait for Germaine to bar the door so he followed and gestured for his sailors to do the same.
There were shrieks from the cook and three maids as they barged into the kitchens but Darius didn’t stop there either, though the smells of supper made his mouth water. He would have eaten straight from the spoon and pot if they’d had the time.
When the butler discovered he was followed, he didn’t lift an accusing finger, he only hurried on farther into the house.
Darius recognised the way now. He slowed and turned to Wes. “Why don’t you men wait here while I apprise our host of the situation?”
Wes chuckled as he halted, the rest of the men doing the same. Three footmen came at a run, skidding on the tiled floor, sputtering and gaping. “It’s all right, lads,” Wes said, addressing them when they looked as though they would turn tail and run. “We’ve not come for trouble.”
Darius didn’t wait. He barged into Germaine’s study where the butler looked on the verge of an apoplexy as he rushed to tell him who his caller was.
Germaine reclined on a settee, one leg raised on an ottoman and a book on his blanketed lap. He didn’t appear anywhere near as surprised as the butler did. He was angry though. He had the same eyes as his pirate father and right now they flashed with something akin to murder.
“Darius,” he acknowledged with a nod as he closed his book and placed it on the table at his elbow. He paled slightly as he rose to his feet, one leg held lightly off the ground. Darius remembered the last time he’d been there, Germaine had suffered a broken limb and a leg shacklement all in one day. He’d been trying to get drunk over it when Darius had discussed his sister, Daniella, with him. God, it seemed like years ago rather than mere months.
There was no time for pleasantries. “I have a pressing problem that I need your help with.”
“I have already repaid my favour to you, well, rather your man, Marcus. I have given him all the information he required on your Mr Smith. Our debt is settled.”
“Then I come begging for another favour.” His next request was cut off when
