“So you regret it then?”
“No. I should, but I don’t. I regret the circumstances surrounding us. Were things different . . .”
“Were things different, we’d still be at the inn and we’d still be in bed. I think both of us can admit that.”
“Yes. Impulsive as it would be. So, maybe it’s better that things are as they are.”
“Maybe,” he agreed, and when he looked at her, she saw the desire in his eyes. It wasn’t a burning desire—he didn’t want to take her right there in the carriage, but he wanted her. It made her a little sad—thinking of “might have beens” and “if onlys.” “You can be a top-notch bitch, though.”
She laughed at that, and he grinned, softening the lines of his face. Those brackets around his mouth weren’t a lie after all; they just didn’t get used as often as they once did.
It wasn’t until he turned his face toward the window that she noticed the lines around his eyes and mouth had deepened. There was tension in his jaw and shoulders. He was as concerned about losing Howard as she was.
They sat in silence for what felt like forever, but it was probably only a handful of minutes. Claire watched the countryside give way to more urban surroundings, until they were driving through the streets of a bustling town.
“We’re here, aren’t we?”
“We’re in the town of Ayr, yes. We’ll be at the docks in a few moments.”
She didn’t ask if he thought they’d catch them. It didn’t matter what either of them thought or feared or hoped. They would either catch them or they wouldn’t.
The carriage got held up in traffic, much to Claire’s chagrin. She was literally chewing her nails by the time they started moving again. The fingers of her other hand—already chewed—gripped the strap just above her head, knuckles white.
Finally she saw it—water. There was water ahead. She pressed her face against the glass. “I can see the docks.”
Alastair leaned forward as well. “Yes. I think I see the ship.”
Claire didn’t ask how he could possibly know which one they were after. A port this size had to have any number of ships in and out of it during the course of a day. Still, she hoped he was right, and that they were about to catch their prey.
The carriage stopped, and the two of them practically dove out of it. They ran toward the ship, Claire managing to keep up with Alastair’s slightly longer stride despite wearing a skirt. She’d wrap the damn thing around her neck if she had to.
“There!” she cried, pointing. “The Doctor!”
The thin, unassuming man also heard her as he stood on the docks, looking as though he’d been used as a punching bag. There was blood on his coat, and his face was battered. He didn’t look like the monster he was. Unfortunately, he had heard her exclamation, and he took off running at the sight of them. Or rather, he took off at a hobble. Someone had beaten him soundly. Had she had her pistol, she could have already shot him.
Alastair caught up with him quickly and tackled him to the wooden slates. People skirted around them, staring and pointing, but no one tried to interfere or help. The difference in their sizes made it easy for the earl to overpower him. But as Claire neared them, she saw something in the small man’s hand. It was a syringe.
“Alastair!” she cried, running closer. She wouldn’t get there in time.
He glanced down, saw the syringe just inches away from his arm and gave the Doctor’s wrist a wrench. Claire’s stomach dropped as she heard bones snap. The smaller man screamed in pain.
Alastair stood, hauling the Doctor to his feet by the throat. “Where is he?” he demanded. “Where is Howard?”
The Doctor snarled at him, clawing at Alastair’s fingers with his good hand. It didn’t matter how much he struggled; he’d never loosen that augmented grip of his. “I’m not telling you anything.”
Lifting him so his feet left the dock, Alastair shook him like a dog would a rabbit. “Tell me where he is and I’ll let you live, you worthless piece of shite.”
The threat seemed to work, or perhaps it was the sight of Claire that loosened his tongue. His pale, scary blue eyes actually brightened. The malicious glee there froze her on the spot. She’d never seen such evil in anyone’s eyes before. Never. “The bastard double-crossed me. Beat me, stole my case, and boarded the ship.”
“Which ship?” Alastair’s expression was a mask of fury. If she had been the Doctor, she’d have been afraid for her life at that moment.
“The one that just left,” the smaller man told him with a grin, revealing bloody teeth.
Claire turned her head at the same time Alastair did. Her heart plummeted as she saw the large vessel plowing through the waves at least two hundred feet from the docks. It was already leaving, and there’d be no calling it back.
Stanton Howard had escaped.
Chapter 9
Alastair thought Claire was going to have a hysterical b n="-ce3emreakdown right there on the docks. He’d never seen such rage and anguish on a woman’s face before—on a man’s face, either, for that matter. She literally crumpled to her knees as the ship put more and more distance between them and it.
At that moment, he would have jumped into the water, swum after the damn boat and hauled it back to shore himself if he could have. Instead, he turned to the Doctor, whose jaw was resting between his thumb and forefinger.
“Where’s it going?” he asked, giving the vermin a little shake.
The man had stopped clawing at his fingers, and he now held on to his wrist in an effort to support his own weight. He smiled. It was an unsettling expression, given that his face was already distorted by Alastair’s grip. “America. New York City. You’ll never catch him.”
Alastair tightened his hold ever so slightly. “You seem pretty happy for a man who was just double-crossed.”
“Anything that makes life difficult for the Wardens makes me happy.”
“You know I’m going to send you to the W.O.R.”
“They won’t break me.”
“Lucas Grey might.” He had the satisfaction of seeing real fear flicker in the worm’s eyes.
Tavish arrived then, with the shackles Alastair had brought along for the Doctor’s capture. There was a set for Howard as well.
Damnation.
Once the Doctor was locked up and immobile, Alastair tossed him over his shoulder like a sack of apples and carried him back to the carriage, locking him securely in the boot. For a moment, he leaned against the side of the vehicle and silently swore. If only they’d been a little earlier. If only he and Claire had spent less time needling and challenging each other—flirting—they might have arrived in time.
Sighing, he straightened and looked out at the water. The ship sliced through the waves like a hot knife through butter. He could almost imagine Howard on deck, waving a gleeful good-bye.
As his gaze turned toward the woman still kneeling on the docks—the woman he felt he had disappointed beyond repair—he spied a submersible peeking out above the surface of the water.
“Will we be leaving then, my lord?” Tavish asked.
Alastair shook his head. “We’re not defeated just yet, my good man. Keep an eye on the lady for a moment, will you?” He didn’t think Claire would run off on him, but losing both Howard and her would be more than his pride or reputation could take. People would wonder if he hadn’t taken after his old man after all. Plus, he wasn’t certain that she wasn’t contemplating jumping in after the bastard as well.
It took nearly a quarter of an hour for him to locate the dockmaster, and then another ten minutes to find the owner of the submersible, but another five minutes after that, he returned to where he’d left Claire.