He’d like to meet the person responsible for that—meet him and have five minutes alone with him and a cricket bat.
Before rendezvousing with the steamship, Alastair took sole control of the steering and began the task of slowly raising the sub at the right speed and angle. Too fast would cause problems for both himself and Claire. Too slow and they’d miss the boat.
It had been a long time since he’d docked a submersible to a ship, and he didn’t have time to second-guess himself. He watched through the viewing window of the submersible, and used the periscope during the process. They broke the surface right beside the Mary Katherine. As soon as he got the signal from the crew member on the deck, he engaged the magnetic docking mechanism that would “lock” their vehicle to the ship’s retrieval apparatus.
There was a long, whirring sound and the screech of metal on metal as the sub was grabbed and pulled into place. Once he heard, and felt, the “arms” clamp around them, Alastair disengaged the engine, and silence fell.
Suddenly the sub gave a sharp jerk. He had to grip the chair vssen d silence for support. Claire clung to the wall. Then came the sound of a winch, and the sensation of rising, such as in a lift or ascension chamber. As they were pulled from the water, the late-afternoon sun brightened the interior of the vehicle, casting the impressive visage of the ship in an almost-celestial glow. The relieved expression on Claire’s face was rivaled only by her obvious anxiousness to get the hell out of the sub.
The locking system gave a loud thunk, which was followed by a knocking above their heads. Alastair pulled a set of small folding steps from the wall and climbed up to turn the wheel on the door. He pulled it open and moved just in time to avoid a trickle of water that spilled into the chamber. Next he reached up and turned another wheel on a second door that he then pushed up. Gloved hands appeared not far from his, pulling the heavy hatch completely open. Alastair looked up.
A young man in a simple uniform smiled down at him. “Lord Wolfred, I presume?”
“You are correct, sir,” Alastair replied with a grin. “Permission to board?”
A woman in a crisp navy jacket and her blond hair tucked beneath a cap joined the crewman. “Permission granted.”
Alastair stepped down to the floor. Seconds later, a metal ladder was lowered into the cabin. He guided the feet of it into the slots on the steps that were designed to hold the ladder in place. Then he gestured for Claire to precede him. “You first.”
She didn’t argue. She merely flashed a grateful smile and practically jumped up the steps. Quickly she climbed up into the chilly ocean air.
Before exiting himself, Alastair handed all their luggage up to the crewmen above. Only then did he turn off the lights so the storage cells wouldn’t drain of all power, lock the starting mechanism, engage security protocols, and finally climb the ladder to the outside world.
The wind was bitter despite the sun’s warmth, and his cheeks soon stung from it. The deck was devoid of people save for the crew, and he concluded that either they’d been taken aboard in a restricted area, or the passengers were simply too smart to brave being outside.
“I took the liberty of having your lady friend escorted to your cabin,” the captain explained to him. “It was too cold out here for her to be standing about.” She was a handsome woman, with dark brown eyes that were warm but stern.
“Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate your cooperation in this matter.”
“It’s Crown business. How could I possibly refuse? Besides, I don’t much like the idea of such a villain using my girl to escape justice. Come with me, Lord Wolfred. I’ll escort you to your cabin.” Then, to the crewmen, she said, “See that those bags are brought to his lordship’s lodgings immediately.”
There was a chorus of “Yes, ma’am” as they walked away.
“What do you need from me and my crew?” The captain walked with her hands clasped behind her back, not the least bit off kilter with the floor gently rolling beneath her feet.
“Cooperation. I ask that anything suspicious be reported to me immediately, and that no one be allowed to leave the ship under any circumstances without my c { winything sonsent.”
“We are in the middle of the ocean, my lord. Where would they go?”
He arched a brow. “If I managed to get on, someone else could manage to get off. Just tell your crew to be careful and diligent. We don’t want to alarm your passengers, so I’d prefer that no one say a word about this to anyone.”
“Of course. We’re at your disposal.”
He stopped her before she could open the door to the interior of the ship. “I would also appreciate it if your crew kept me apprised of any strange behavior on the part of my companion.” It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Claire. . . . No, it was exactly that he didn’t trust her. After watching her with the Doctor earlier, an uneasy suspicion had begun to take hold of his mind. It made sense, given that she’d agreed so easily to help hunt Howard down.
The captain didn’t even blink. “Of course, my lord.” She opened the door and preceded him through it at his gesture.
Alastair suspected that Claire planned to kill the bastard, either for her own revenge or for the Company, though he was inclined toward the former. In fact, he was rather annoyed with himself for not having thought of it before this. He’d been so caught up in her being a traitor to her agency that he hadn’t thought of just how far she’d go for justice—how desperate she truly was.
He couldn’t let her do it—not just because of all the information they could get out of Howard, or the number of Warden agents who were being held hostage that he might be traded for, but because if she killed Howard, she would surely be executed, if not by Company operatives, then by the W.O.R. for her betrayal.
A few days ago he hadn’t cared if she lived or died, but then he caught a glimpse of the real her, and that little peek was enough to make him question his own judgment. He was starting to respect her, and that had nothing to do with how attractive he found her—though perhaps it made her even more attractive. Her intense loyalty, her determination and her selflessness were amazing. She had hunted her brother’s killer, despite the man’s being an incredibly dangerous spy. She had turned her back on her agency without a whimper. She didn’t lament her lot in life or whine about it. She acted. Regardless of the goal, if Claire Brooks wanted it, she went for it.
And he knew by the way she looked at him that it wouldn’t be long before she gave in and came after him as well. What a mess that would make of things, because he wouldn’t stop her.
Yes, he had the worst luck with women, but Claire was no danger to him provided he kept his heart out of it. They had no future—her best-case scenario involved being a W.O.R. prisoner for most of the rest of her life. And he—well, he couldn’t afford an alliance with a woman who betrayed her own agency. His father had made certain of that.
In fact, he blamed his father for his lack of judgment. Surely it had to be a hereditary fault. But in all honesty, if the circumstances were different, there’d be nothing to stand in their way. If she was just an American woman and he was just an Englishman, they could be together. The class difference would matter to some, but not to him.
What the hell was wrong with his head? How had he made the jump from wanting to bed her {g tidth="1em"to thoughts of marriage? Class didn’t matter at all in an affair.
“There is a telephone in your suite that has a direct connection to the bridge, and to my own quarters should you require anything,” the captain informed him as they walked down a softly lit corridor. It was just wide enough for the two of them to walk side by side. The wood paneling on the walls gleamed, and the carpet beneath his feet sank with every step—and not just because his metal-enforced bones made him weigh more than the average man.