“I think so,” he said faintly.
Alex came up behind Freddie, and Lucia gave him an imploring look.
“Freddie, get on one side and I’ll take the other.”
With John supported between them, Alex and Freddie made their way to a rowboat. As they rowed toward the waiting ship, Lucia was glad for the thick fog enveloping them.
Please, please, she prayed.
They were so close to safety.
A man Lucia assumed was the captain of the vessel met them as they boarded. “You’re late,” he said in French.
“We’re here.” Alex helped Freddie get John below deck and into one cabin, then steered Lucia to another beside it.
It was scantily furnished with two cots and a table, all nailed to the floor. On the table was a pitcher of water, a bowl, and hanging above it a lamp, giving her enough light to see that everything was clean, at least.
Lucia crossed the room and leaned on the table for support. “I can’t believe we finally made it.” She turned, beaming at Alex. “That we’re safe.”
He nodded, but his look was grim. “If you need anything, ask Dewhurst or the captain. He’s an old friend of mine.”
“Will we be sailing soon?”
“In the next few minutes. The captain will want to take advantage of the darkness and fog to run the British blockade.” He leaned against the door and crossed his arms.
“Blockade?” She’d forgotten for the moment that the British navy had sealed up the French ports. She gripped the table. “What if we don’t get through?”
“You’ll make it. The captain is the best. He’s done this dozens of times. You should have no problems.” Lucia frowned, noticing now that Alex wasn’t including himself. Her nails bit into the wood of the table. “You’re coming with us, aren’t you?”
“No.”
She gripped the table with her other hand.
“Someone has to take the information John gleaned to Nelson. The Incognito is anchored a few miles up the coast. As soon as I gather provisions, I sail for the West Indies.”
“I see.” This was it. She would have no reprieve this time. Lucia squared her shoulders. “When do you expect to be back in England?”
“I don’t know.”
“Will you write?”
“No.”
“I see.” She looked away.
From his post at the exit, Lucia heard him say, “Go back to London, Lucia.” He paused. “Marry Dandridge.”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Lucia, I want you to go through with the marriage.”
She took a deep breath. “And I want you to stay, so it appears neither of us will get what we desire.”
His eyes were cold and hard, emotionless.
“It won’t even matter if I tell you that I love you, will it?”
His eyes softened, and for a moment he looked as if he’d take her in his arms. Then something changed. A veil descended, and he looked away, effectively dismissing her.
