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  Devon Blackmore, or Viscount Barclay, was the leader of Tristan’s select unit within the agency. He had not been available to brief him prior to this mission. Another of their group, Merrick Sinclair, recently dealt with this same sect, but he was somewhere in India for a delayed honeymoon with his beautiful wife, Catherine. Tristan thought India was an unusual choice for a honeymoon. However, as luck would have it, Travis Tenet, the Earl’s cousin, was also involved. Travis was an invaluable source at the British Museum and was able to give Tristan some information about the recent encounter with this groups use of Greek fire.

  The agent Tristan was being sent to locate also dealt with this group once before, and almost didn’t make it back alive. It was this missing agent’s initial disappearance last year that brought theis dangerous group to the agency’s attention. They went to a lot of trouble to try and silence him. By the time the agent was located he was half-dead, and another agent was missing, along with a large amount of gold. With little else to go on, Tristan was going to check the ships in the harbor.

  FOUR

  “That’s impossible. I can’t believe you would even suggest it.” Derek growled as Morgan paced in the parlor. “Jack wouldn’t be pleased to have you gallivanting about the countryside and he would have my hide in the process! Keeping an eye on you was one of the reasons he kept me around. No governess would stay!”

  “Well I can’t just sit here and wait for the situation to get worse. Lord Montrose could cause real trouble for Jack’s business. There’s also my reluctance to be carted off to either an infirmary or a wedding!”

  “And you think the ton will consider tearing off after your brother as any more reasonable?”

  That gave Morgan pause. Derek did have a point, and he was in a difficult position. In Jack’s stead, his presence allowed her to stay in town and enjoy some measure of freedom. Freedom she took for granted at times, but that did have some limits. He was in charge, but wielded no real power within the ton. There were times Morgan wondered if he regretted not being the Earl, but if he did, Derek certainly gave no indication. Montrose’s knowing smile flashed in her mind’s eye and her breath caught as she was struck by a sickening thought. Her skirts twisted about her ankles as she spun around, “Derek! What if Jack never received the letters? What if they were somehow intercepted?” She wasn’t quite ready to share her suspicions about Montrose, although she wasn’t entirely sure why.

  Derek scowled and stood up “Don’t be ridiculous. Who would do that? What would be the purpose and how would they know we were even sending a letter?”

  Morgan felt she was on to something, but Derek was not going to hear her. Frustration crept into her voice. “It wouldn’t be unusual for me to take a trip to our manor house. We can say I was sent to tend an ailing relative. We might be able to get more information in the area.”

  “You know your brother is not the best at regular correspondence or at letting others know his plans. For all we know, Jack could already be making his way back here.” When Morgan took another breath to argue, he held up a hand and favored her with a somewhat patronizing smile. “If it will make you feel better, I’ll send one of the staff to personally carry a letter to Jack.”

  Morgan stayed quiet this time. She knew Derek would not agree with the plan slowly taking shape in her head, and that he was most likely just trying to pacify her with the offer of sending the letter. She was also aware that Derek was watching her response carefully. Unlike most men, he would not underestimate Morgan. She was smart, resourceful, and stubborn.

  Morgan let her shoulders sag in defeat as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re right; it’s just so hard to wait.” Despite his frequent and extended absences, she and Jack were very close. She felt the real sting of tears behind her eyes and her breath hitched.

  Derek was horrified. He could not abide a tearful female. “Maybe you need to lie down; you’ve had quite a morning.”

  Morgan watched him frantically peer around for an escape and enjoyed his discomfort. But she had things to do. “I believe I will retire to my room for awhile, Derek. I just need to rest.”

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Derek backed quickly from the room, just in case she erupted before he was out of her presence. “You do that. Go lie down and I’ll see about one of the men taking a letter. Would you like Mrs. Finch to send up a tray?”

  “No, Derek. Thank you, I just need to rest. As a matter of fact, I would prefer to not be disturbed, so could you inform Mrs. Finch I won’t be taking dinner?”

  Derek frowned. Morgan had a solid appetite, not like many of the girls who barely picked at their food and then wondered why they fainted like wilting flowers. He opened his mouth to say something, but she dropped her head and let her shoulders shake. Derek heard what sounded like a muffled sob. Maybe she really was a bit overwrought. She was still a female after all. Making a quick evaluation of his options, and coming to an even quicker decision, Derek nodded, “I’ll be sure to let her know.”

  Morgan glanced up in time to see his retreating shoulders.

  FIVE

  If Morgan felt any remorse for her slight manipulation of Derek, it didn’t show as she paced in her room. She only had two weeks according to Montrose’s threat, and couldn’t risk waiting any longer. If nothing else, she certainly wouldn’t be here when Montrose returned. But she still needed to find Jack. His last absence brought the family perilously close to scandal, and Morgan even closer to an unwanted marriage. Only the intervention of a family friend, Devon, the Viscount Barclay, prevented those catastrophes.

  Morgan was beyond trusting another person to deliver messages. As she saw it, and she always prided herself on her logical thinking, that only left one choice. She had to find Jack herself, but she needed to act quickly, and she had the information to do so.

  No one was aware she knew of the northern contact system as she accidentally eavesdropped when Jack was recovering. She was in his washroom cataloging items used for his care. He was much better, but after coming so close to losing him, she’d insisted in double checking he had everything he needed. Morgan was trying to be quiet so as not wake him when she heard his door open and the murmur of voices. She really planned to let her presence be known, but the conversation caused her to pause...

  “Jack, I want you to know how personally sorry I am about the failure of the operation. You were right, Rodney was a new agent, and we should have listened. We were not aware of how badly the operation was compromised. I thank God you made it back by some miracle. As you requested, we relocated the northern contact point back to Whitby. The local pub owner has also been reinstated with the agency.”

  Jack made some response, but she couldn’t hear what was said. The speaker continued.

  “Of course, we will try to recover the scrolls at some point, assuming they survived the fire, but the trail was lost. Those higher up believe we have other matters that are more pressing than chasing after a small group with fantastical claims. The official announcement is the Priapus club was an isolated group, but the investigation is suspended until further notice.”

  At the time she was furious knowing that her brother almost died for something this man was now casually dismissing as unimportant. It was all she could do to stay in the other room until the visitor left. Morgan departed through the servant’s entrance so he would not know she was there.

  Some of that anger returned now and hardened her resolve. She would go north herself. Although he was supposed to be dealing with his shipping business, Morgan thought it more likely he was following a lead on these scrolls. Either way, if her brother was in the area, certainly someone there would know how to contact him. Whitby was the seat of the family’s original manor home. She knew the area well and had to try. It should take less than a week, giving her brother plenty of time to deal with the situation. She refused to even consider the possibility that he would not be there.

  SIX

  Derek’s insistence that she “stay out of
it” echoed in Morgan’s head now as she surveyed the dock area. Derek didn’t get suspicious when Morgan wanted to go in to town the next morning; after all, she was dressed for shopping and had her maid with her. He also didn’t suspect that she wore other clothes underneath, and had placed a small bag in the carriage late last night, which she now carried with her. She planned for everything; well almost everything. Morgan surveyed the dock area from underneath her veil. Trade had been profitable and men were busy unloading cargoes of spices, sugar, coffee, and other wares from the ships. She was certain one of her brother’s ships would be at the dock, and planned to use her brother’s name to get on board. She even knew some of the captains. But she did not recognize any of the ships in their berths, and the docks were a little seedier than she remembered. Morgan had never been to the docks by herself, she always went in the company of her brother and some of his men. To be fair, she only went to the shipping office, but assured her companions that she knew what she was about. Now, she wasn’t all that sure what she was about.

  She surveyed the ships one more time, and noticed the attention their little party was attracting. Her maid’s eyes were about to pop out of her head, and the stable boy she coerced into bringing them here looked like he was ready to bolt. It was daytime, and there were plenty of people about, but that did not stop the hair from rising on the back of her neck, and her maid now looked as if she were about to dissolve into hysterics. Morgan was not prepared for the crowds, the roughness of the men, and the smell. She was thankful for her light breakfast. Even the dagger in her pocket, which she was very capable of using, provided little relief.

  With eyes as round as saucers the maid now hovered at Morgan’s elbow. “Miss, I think we’d best leave.”

  Morgan silently agreed, but she came this far and was reluctant to give up just yet. Morgan stepped aside as a particularly foul-smelling sailor came a bit too close for comfort.

  “We’ll be fine Maddie. I just need a moment to think.” Morgan could only think of one way to handle this—they would simply have to find passage on another ship. That was the most logical solution. With a determined set to her chin, she set off for the nearest merchant vessel that looked seaworthy; that criteria alone narrowed her choices considerably.

  Morgan knew better than to board a ship without permission. Calling up all the bravado and haughtiness she could, she marched up to a deck hand helping with cargo. “I need to see your captain.” She had his attention, but when he did not respond, she plowed on, “I need to purchase passage to Whitby.” The man cocked his head to the side and grinned, showing the rotting teeth he had left.

  “Cap’n don’t allow no women to sail, but I’d be glad to take you for a ride.” The sailor spat a stream of brown juice that came too close to her maid’s skirts, causing the girl to give a little yelp and jump to the side. His considering glance had turned to a leer, and Morgan began to doubt the wisdom of her plan.

  Morgan decided to pretend she didn’t hear him. She noticed their only way back to the main dock was now blocked by a several unsavory-looking men. Going forward was definitely their best option. “I will speak directly with your captain.”

  “Oh I see, us common deck hands isn’t good enough for the likes of you.”

  Morgan became aware of the group of men now loosely circling them and felt her stomach knot with real fear. She again chose to ignore the suggestive words and looks, and proceeded doggedly ahead, while her mind searched for a way out of this. She never liked to admit she was wrong, but also recognized the real danger she and her maid were now in. “I simply wish to speak with him and would be glad to pay you for your trouble.” Morgan immediately realized she just compounded her trouble, even before another man behind her joined the conversation with, “Well, well, pretty and rich”

  “Why would we want to share what we don’t have to?” another said as her maid pressed closer to Morgan. There was no sign of the stable boy who she had left with the coach. Morgan gripped the dagger in her pocket and prepared herself.

  SEVEN

  Tristan noticed the girl from the moment he arrived on the docks. Even if she didn’t stand out like a sore thumb in her completely impractical green dress, he would still notice her. It was obvious she was a lady of breeding, but what on earth was she doing at the docks? Especially without an escort. The docks were an unsafe place, even for men. Conscriptions, murders, rapes, all took place here; most in view of witnesses, but few were ever punished.

  Tristan kept his distance, but followed the two women as they moved down a pier toward one of the ships. No one tried to engage him as he made his way through the crowd. His features hardened, and his mouth settled into a grim line. I don’t have time to play rescuer to some English miss! He should just leave them and continue on, but Tristan knew that wasn’t going to happen. Perhaps they were lost. Tristan saw the coach and frowned; the lad looked awfully young to be handling that landau. Something was not right about this. His eyes almost glowed as he felt his annoyance rise. As he made his way closer to the women he was glad for the broadsword he carried. The crowd now gathering around the women didn’t look exactly welcoming.

  Just as he didn’t think things could become more complicated, he heard her ask for passage. Was she daft? There had to be something wrong with his hearing. These were cargo ships. They might agree to take her as a passenger, but she would become cargo. At best, she and her maid would be a short diversion among the men and at worst they would be sold on the slave market if an enterprising captain took an interest.

  Tristan grew increasingly annoyed. He was at the docks on his own business, not to rescue scatterbrained women. This was not his problem, but if he was this close, he might as well hear what was going on. It was obvious from the expense of her clothing that she was ‘quality.’ Tristan smirked to himself; I guess that depends on what one considers valuable. He caught only a glimpse of her profile, but it was enough to discern she had high cheekbones, currently suffused with color. He was slightly taken aback by his strong reaction to her, but he shook it off. This was an inconvenience for him and was delaying his plans. He was certain she was a spoilt, pampered, debutant who somehow escaped from her watchful mother’s eye for a bit of excitement; although he didn’t think the docks were a usual choice. Maybe she was meeting a lover? Tristan sighed with weary resignation. He knew his plans were about to be altered as he overheard one of the sailor’s last comments. He also knew this wasn’t a good idea.

  Morgan felt men moving away from behind her, and was too scared to turn her back on the men in front of her. But her maid’s strangled squeak of fear had her quickly whirling around to face a new threat. Only the finely honed reflexes of the giant now in front of her kept her from being skewered with his broad sword as he maneuvered to place the tip of his sword at the sailor’s throat.

  “I think your conversation is done for now.” His voice was low, and he made the statement in a matter of fact tone, but there was no mistaking the threat in his eyes. Morgan suppressed a shiver. Most of the men scattered on his approach, only a couple of the less intelligent, but determined, remained. Even after dismounting from his horse, Tristan towered over the two men.

  “Now see here, we was just having a little polite parlay with the lady!” one of the larger men protested.

  “I see that, and I’m telling you the conversation is over.” The stranger continued in a deceptively conversational manner.

  Morgan held her breath. For a moment, she thought they would challenge him, but his casual confidence and patience gave them pause. Giving her one last glare, the men turned to go, but not without a parting shot,

  “Yer welcome to her mate, a bit too thin and uppity fer me.”

  Morgan opened her mouth to retort, but thought better of it. She turned toward the man at her side and had to tilt her head back to look him in the face. The sun made it a little difficult to see his features clearly at first. She told herself her heart was still beating fast due to their close call
, and not due to the man in front of her. He was dressed for travel, and his shirt was casually open at the neck, showing an expanse of a bronzed chest beneath the linen. Morgan’s face flamed as she found herself contemplating how he would have looked with his shirt off to get that kind of sun. Exasperated with herself, she finally opened her mouth to thank him.

  However, her relief at having the sailors gone was quickly replaced by annoyance when she found herself being scolded like some wayward schoolgirl. She chose to ignore the logical voice in her head that pointed out that any reasonable person might consider his attitude justified.

  “Would you like to tell me just what the bloody hell you think you’re doing? Did you get lost while out for a stroll or are you just completely daft!?!” Tristan did not intend to shout, but the hammering of his heart continued. He watched as her mouth tightened, pressing her lips into a firm line. Very kissable lips he noted. She crossed her arms over pert breasts, and lifted her chin, the set of which let him know she was ready to battle. He could easily kiss her.

  What the hell is wrong with me? He was working and was never so easily distracted, especially by someone in the social set. He watched her features settle in a haughty expression and felt some of his righteous anger return. But then he noticed her high cheekbones. They were still slightly flushed, and his mind wandered again as he wondered what she would look like with all that hair tousled about her shoulders …after sharing his bed. It was hard to tell its length under her hat. He had to refocus. She was about to speak, but he was sure, by the petulant expression on her face that it was not going to be pleasant. He didn’t bother to hide his impatience to be done with her. She was just one more spoiled and arrogant English miss.