But somehow, she did it. And managed to walk away.
She did not look behind her, to see if he watched, to see if passion still darkened his eyes, to see if perhaps he’d made a step forward as if to stop her. If she’d done so and seen any of those things, she might not have been able to continue her lonesome path back to her bedchamber. She told herself it was better not to know... yet made her way directly to the closest window to spy upon the rock garden.
But by then, he was gone.
Chapter 30
Although he now knew tonight’s destination wasn’t his dead brother’s final port of call after all, Evan couldn’t wait to step foot on the ship. He brushed past the deckhands who were milling about telling jokes and climbed aboard.
Usually he loved the excitement. The adventure. The danger. Tonight, he appreciated the ability to forget his “real” life, if only for a short time. Whenever Miss Stanton was within sight, he lost his ability to focus on anything else. But such an all-consuming fancy was as dangerous to his neck as to his heart.
Because now Forrester was here. Notherehere, of course. Evan glanced down the length of the beloved ship and smirked. That little prig would wet his nappies if he ever came in contact withrealpirates. Which could happen, if Forrester was nosing about town in the manner Evan suspected. However, the magistrate didn’t have to be the one to single-handedly bring down the crew in order to ruin—well, end—all their lives. He simply had to get the right information to the right superiors and the government would take care of the rest in a heartbeat.
Evan crossed to the helm and ran his fingers over the wheel. The idea of visiting the gallows for ladies’ daywear was preposterous. Of all the goods Evan and his crew had smuggled in over the past six months, the odd thing was—French fashion wasn’t one of them. So if Miss Devonshire was truly spinning illegal silk in her web... wheredidit come from?
He moved into the shadows as a cacophony of footfalls indicated the rest of the crew starting to board. The sight of their ruddy, laughing faces sparked an idea. The other crew might’ve smuggled the silk. He’d always suspected Poseidon’s men—who had once been true pirates—of dealing in something a bit more dastardly than mere cloth. At the least, they’d no doubt taken it by force. Spilled blood over stolen fabric.
Smoking supplies and strong alcohol were more the style of Evan’s crew. Snuff boxes, brandy, apparently the occasional hand-painted tea set... that sort of thing. They didn’t kill, they didn’t steal. The majority were more like illegal businessmen than true pirates. Just a few gents out to help the economy. Evan grinned at this notion. His crew didn’t give a fig about the economy. They drank and smoked their half of the spoils. The other half—the nonconsumable half—went to the captain, whose onshore contact made quick work of subtly dispersing the goods along the entire coast, thereby leaving the actual smugglers’ hands clean of the merchandising portion of the process.
Could Miss Devonshire have innocently gotten the silk through some such salesman? Was she the last in a series of transactions that could be traced back to the ship—and Evan himself?
Christ, he hoped not. Evan splayed his fingers against the worn wooden column of the main mast. If that henwit Forrester brought down the entire smuggling operation because he’d followed the breadcrumbs of illegally imported French fabric, Evan was going to be furious.
If that turn of events was remotely possible, he was running out of time.
No, he wasalreadyrunning out of time. The coin in Timothy’s house had proved that. The crew knew better than to steal the captain’s gold. One thoughtless jack had lost his hand just for picking a piece up from the captain’s table. It was simply not done, much like stealing pages from any of the logbooks. The wardroom was Evan’s next stop. Quick, before the captain came aboard, or the crew got restless enough to seek out Evan.
He opened the door to the wardroom. The current ledger lay open, with the last page still missing. He hadn’t imagined it.
Evan paged backward in time, smiling at a few of the memories and scowling at others. His fingers froze in the act of page-turning. A month had disappeared. How had a month disappeared? He looked closer, seeing the subtle proof in the slight gap between the pages. Another missing sheet. He began to turn the pages more slowly. Ten in all, seemingly at random. But you didn’t just happen to accidentally rip out ten nonsequential sheets from the captain’s log in careful, perfect strokes that only someone looking for such a thing would have noticed.
What about previous logs? Evan jerked his gaze to the shelf containing the old, dated logbooks.
Empty.Even the dust was missing.
He slammed the current logbook closed and strode for the door before the captain showed up and thought Evan responsible for the thievery. He tried to think of a logical explanation. Without the threat of retribution, the crew wouldn’t have stolen any log sheets, simply because they didn’t care. What was a jack to do, frame a favorite itinerary in his bedchamber?
Evan headed back to the main deck, his steps as slow and plodding as his brain. He had to be missing something. Well, obviously he was missing something.Manysomethings, going back well before Evan ever joined the fun. If he could just read what was written on the pages, maybe he’d finally understand what was happening. Of course, he’d have to find them first. Given he hadn’t had any luck finding one missing sheet, chances were low he’d happen across all the rest.
Frustrated and discouraged, he rejoined the crew. Their ribald jokes were sure to raise his spirits, if only for the duration of the journey. The sheer joy of smuggling goods across international borders would take over from there.
But the crew was neither ribald nor joking. They were unsettled. Worried.
Evan approached with caution, keeping a fair bit of distance as he remembered Ollie’s nervous comment that this voyage would be cursed. Ha, ha, ha. Sailors were always a suspicious lot. And setting sail with the worst of them when they were of a mood—particularly with the sea in high dudgeon, as it was tonight—might not be the wisest of choices.
The voices grew louder.
“You really think so, then, do you? I don’t know... Wouldn’t the cap’n have said so if he were?”
“Why would he, ye fool? Right before we hoist anchor? Captain’s the last cove as would curse a ship about ter set sail.”
Curse.There was that word again.
“Bothwick’s brother hasn’t been about either, in case you haven’t noticed. Supposin’ it’s not true, then. Supposin’ the two of them ran off together.”
“Whereabouts, Gretna Green? You’re a right cork-brain tonight, Jimmy.”
“Look here, both of you—Bothwick’s at the foremast, and you know his brother’s never more’n eight feet from him. Sure as pudding, he knows what’s what.”
