“So, I’d best take a look at the spoils,” the man continued. “I don’t buy sight unseen.”
“How much are you interested in buying?” Godfrey forgot confusion. His heart beat faster as he saw salvation.
The other man shrugged. “Depends what I see. I buys what I likes. If ye’ve goods that please me, then I might take the lot. As I say, it depends.”
“The full consignment…” Godfrey fought to conceal his jubilation. He said decisively, “For the full consignment I’ll be asking a thousand.”
The other man merely raised an eyebrow. “If ‘tis worth it, then I’ll pay it.”
Godfrey considered. Now he was unsure. How could this miserable-looking man have the means? Fear prickled his spine. Was it a trap?
“Don’t worry, my young lordling, ye’ll not be betrayed by me.” The voice was soft, indolent, and the eyes were suddenly clear and to Godfrey’s astonishment youthful.
And once again came the sense that all was not as it seemed.
“When do you wish to look at the consignment?” he asked, forcing himself to speak firmly and steadily.
“Tomorrow, at midnight. Meet me in Puckaster Cove.” The man stood up, pushing aside his stool. He stood for a minute, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his patched britches, looking down on Godfrey. “I’ll wait no more than a quarter hour. Come alone. Ye’ll find me alone.”
“How can I trust you?” Godfrey demanded.
The man shrugged. “Same way as I can trust you, I reckon.” Then he turned and strode from the inn.
Godfrey watched him go. He seemed to stoop but it did little to disguise his height and nothing to conceal the lithe, supple strength in his slender frame. Who was he? What was he? Not what he seemed, that was for sure.
Godfrey’s expression darkened. He hated mysteries and this one was a dangerous puzzle. If he didn’t know with whom he was dealing, if he underestimated him, it could bring utter ruin. He must control his impatience and tread carefully. He looked up and caught the landlord’s eye. Mine host was regarding Godfrey with an unholy gleam, as if he was reading his thoughts.
Deliberately Godfrey spat his indifference to the landlord’s challenge into the hearth before stalking from the inn. His horse was stabled at the rear. He retrieved it and rode back to Carisbrooke Castle, his mind in a ferment. That little glimpse at the man behind the unpromising exterior had convinced him that whoever his unpleasant and insolent customer was, he would be able to come up with the required funds. That was really all that mattered.
The guards at the gatehouse challenged him as he rode up the ramp to the arched entrance to the castle. They opened the gates and let him in and he went straight to his quarters in the governor’s mansion. His room lay beyond the guarded chamber in the north curtain wall that now housed the king.
The king’s three escape attempts had exhausted the patience of both the governor, Colonel Hammond, and Parliament. His Majesty had been moved from his commodious quarters in the Constable’s Lodgings to a more secure and easily guarded location. He continued, however, to conduct daily audiences in the great hall adjoining his previous bedchamber.
Godfrey, Lord Channing, was one of the governor’s equerries. A post that, while it brought little in the way of financial recompense, was prestigious, provided comfortable room and board for himself, and maintenance for his horses-a great drain on any nobleman’s purse.
Such considerations for the impoverished scion of a proud, ancient, but penniless family were not to be derided. They were not, however, sufficient for a young man of Godfrey’s personal ambitions. He was heavily in debt. The lifestyle he believed was due his family name and position was a hugely expensive one. Clothes alone cost him a small fortune, and while smuggling and wrecking offered some remedy for his financial ills, the trade and his own desperation put him at the mercy of men like the landlord of the Anchor and potential customers like the villain he’d had to placate this evening.
When he entered his chamber, he was still seething over the insolence he’d had to endure.
“You look as if you lost a sixpence and found a groat,” Brian Morse observed. He was sitting at the table in front of the fireplace, a sheet of parchment in front of him. He moved the candle so that it illuminated Godfrey’s face. “Did your business not prosper?”
Godfrey shrugged and filled a pewter goblet with wine from the leather flagon on the table. He noticed sourly that in his absence the flagon had become very light. Brian Morse had obviously had a thirst on him. “The man’s a villain,” he observed.
Brian chuckled softly. “Aren’t we all, my friend? Aren’t we all?” He drank from his own goblet. “I’ve been composing a letter for your potential father-in-law.” He indicated the parchment on the table. “You need the right words to get his attention. And when you meet my little sister, you’ll need to have something to offer her. A knowledge of the Greek poets might help… a talent for chess… a delight in Pythagorus’s theorems.” He raised an inquiring eyebrow.
Godfrey sat down on a stool beside the fire, stretching his booted feet to the fender. “I’m a man of action,” he stated with a touch of complacency. “I have no scholarship… no time for it.”
“Well, you’d best cultivate some,” Brian said harshly. “Because I assure you, this particular little prize won’t fall to a man who rejoices in a lack of learning.”
Godfrey frowned. “If there’s one thing I detest, it’s a prating woman scholar.”
“This one is very rich, and quite tasty too, as I recall.” Brian’s thin lips flickered in a reminiscent smile. “Her nose is somewhat long-the Granville nose always is-and she has the devil’s own stammer. But a man can get used to anything with the right incentives.”
Godfrey regarded him sardonically in the candlelight. “And of course, once I’m wed to the heiress, I’ll be keeping you too in high style.”
“Well, you wouldn’t expect me to offer my help for nothing,” Brian said, clicking his tongue reprovingly. “This will suit me very well. I’m in need of a modest income, and in addition I have a private score to settle. Seeing Cato’s daughter married to a man of your… your unformed morality, shall we call it, will do just that.”
Brian got to his feet, pushing himself up against the edge of the table. He reached for his cane. “Read the letter, make changes if you wish, but keep to my gist. Believe me, I know the Granvilles very well. Write it in your hand and have it delivered.”
Godfrey said sharply, “My family, my lineage, are all worthy of a Granville.”
“Oh, yes, dear boy, no doubt about it. But you, my friend, are not.” Brian laughed and limped to the door. “I’ll see myself out. I’ll not show my face in the castle again. I’d hate to run into my adopted father. He thinks me dead and buried in Rotterdam. You’ll find me in Ventnor, putting up at the Gull. I’ll plot your campaign from there.”
Godfrey was too angry to bid his guest farewell. For two pins he would have told Brian Morse to go to the devil. But the man had offered a seductive pact, and one couldn’t always choose one’s partners.
Adam took one look at Anthony’s face as the master climbed from the dinghy onto the deck of Wind Dancer and decided to hold his tongue. Anthony was in a foul mood. It was not his habit to take his moods out on his men, but they all recognized the wisdom of steering clear of the master when his eyes were as cold and distant as they were this evening.
“Brandy, Adam,” he said shortly as he brushed past him on his way to the companionway.
“You want food?”
“No.”
Adam shrugged and went to find the bottle.
Anthony entered his cabin and stood for a minute in the pale wash of moonlight from the open window. He drew in a breath and thought he could scent Olivia.