Chapter Thirty-Two
Waiting for the last man on deck to slide down the railing and land on his arse seemed to take an eternity but Darius and Marcus agreed it was the only way they had half a chance. If indeed Mr Smith, or whoever she claimed to be, had drugged the wine on board then it would work in their favour, not against. But it was the waiting that was the hardest of all. Every minute they sat there in the dark was another minute the children were in danger. It was another minute Eliza would be at the mercy of his sire. Darius had no doubts that if Wickham were to discover Eliza had married him, the earl would be beyond furious. Eliza would suffer. He was sure of it.
“I say we go,” Darius said quietly.
“We should have gone an hour ago,” Marcus grumbled.
Trelissick still disagreed. “If it was only your necks at stake, I would have let you go two hours ago, but I like my head where it is. We wait thirty more minutes and then we go. I’ll pass the word down the line.”
Everything and everyone was set. Their number sat at forty-nine so they wouldn’t be completely outnumbered. Darius knew how to fight in close quarters, as did Marcus, but the Bow Street Thief-Takers might not. He’d bet by the look of most them, they knew how to fight dirty and that’s all he needed.
For the hundredth time, Darius checked his dagger and made sure his pistol had its one shot. He wished he had his sword at his waist but he had left it behind on the Persecutor. Stupid decision, he knew. But at the time he’d been casting off his captain persona and taking on that of a bastard gentleman. Country gents didn’t gad about with steel strapped to them. Not in their century anyway. Modern-day pirates and sea captains who had spent half their lives in battle, they were the ones who required their swords to be at hand every moment of the day.
“Right-oh,” Trelissick said with a tap to Darius’s back. “Get your wife and the children out first. Deal with Wickham and the others second. Agreed?”
Darius shook his head. His decision was a difficult one but one he wouldn’t budge on. “You go for Eliza and the children. I’m going to take down Wickham—and Percival. It’s the only way this will really be over.”
“You can’t kill a peer of the realm. I can’t stand by and watch you do it.”
Darius only glanced over his shoulder for a second, the sincerity on Trelissick’s face real although there was a flash of regret there too. “Don’t watch me then.”
He left Trelissick’s men and the runners to check the state of the sailors on deck. He’d given directions to Trelissick’s men to the holds below but he had kept to himself the location of the captain’s cabin. Wickham would have taken the most opulent and the largest space for himself. He just hoped his sire was there and not somewhere else on the ship. He hoped he was alone so no one else had to witness what he was about to do.
All was eerily silent as they crept along the corridors. They came upon a man perched on a chair but his head was tilted back, his hands held loosely at his sides. Darius shook his head to let Marcus know to leave him be. They edged around the sailor and kept going. When finally they reached the door to the room where he would have his reckoning with his father, a scream rent the air followed by curses and the scrape of chair legs against timber boards.
A woman’s cries reached him and he reacted without thought. Eliza? He threw the door open with a slam and a roar. But he needn’t have bothered with all of that.
The room was in chaos but all eyes were riveted to the table before them. Wickham’s surprised look seemed to pass right through him as he held a hand to the side of his neck. Blood pumped through his fingers though he tried uselessly to stem the flow. Darius had seen enough. He swung his pistol towards Eliza where she struggled to pull away from the tall thin man who held her, the man masquerading as the real Mr Smith, the odious Sir Percival at his side, the two henchmen behind them.
Held in Eliza’s fingers was a butter knife. On her hand was a spray of crimson that went up her arm and had spattered half her face. Her swollen and scratched face. Her gown was torn from the neck to one side of her hip and her beautiful blonde hair hung in tatters.
This faux Mr Smith put one arm around her chest and took the knife from her hand with the other, holding it to the delicate skin of her neck.
Eliza met Darius’s gaze, moisture pooling against the blue depths. “I’m so sorry, Darius. I didn’t want to… He was going to make me… I’m sorry. I had to.”
He couldn’t quite believe it was over. His sire was dead.
But he was mistaken. Wickham might be dead as dead could get, but it was far from over.
Mr Smith held her tighter, using her as a shield of sorts. “You lot, away from the door.” He gestured with his chin, the knife indenting against Eliza’s neck. It probably wasn’t sharp enough to slice her, but it was obviously pointed enough to stab an earl in the neck.
Eliza called out to him, “Save the children—they’re below. Don’t worry about me.”
Darius heard her but he wasn’t about to leave her there. Alone with the rest of the pond scum. He raised his hands, his pistol swinging loosely around his thumb. “We have the ship surrounded. You can’t get away.”
The crazed, trapped look in the other man’s eyes was enough to have Darius and
