Smuggler's Captain: Part of the Conrad Chronicles (Nadia and James Book 1) Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Smuggler’s Captain: Nadia and James Book 1

  Part of the Conrad Chronicles

  COPYRIGHT © 2022 by Emelia Publishers LLC and C.K. Mackenzie

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Lynn Andreozzi

  Publishing History

  First Edition, 2022

  Digital ISBN 9798985052626

  Published in the United States of America

  Thank you for all your support

  Chapter One

  London

  December 1796

  “This is not the cleverest idea I’ve ever had.”

  The mist sank through her cloak and slithered down her back. What a miserable night to be wandering about. Nadia Koltsova shivered against the damp, grit-covered building and cursed her habit of speaking aloud.

  Most likely to get her killed—or worse.

  Sneaking into a known smuggling warehouse on a shifty part of the Thames during a waning moon was more than a foolhardy idea. Doing it alone at midnight in Limehouse? Downright dangerous.

  “Sophia is not going to be happy.”

  Nadia needed to stop talking, even if the sound of her voice offered scant comfort. The thought of her closest friend discovering what she was currently attempting settled uneasily in her chest. No, Sophia was not going to be happy. Not that Nadia had gone to the wharves—that she’d gone alone.

  No help for it now. Fingers stiff with cold and nerves, Nadia felt for the knot that held the dark scarf wrapped around her blond hair. Her other hand gripped her double-edged kindjal dagger.

  Foolish to venture out alone, perhaps, but she didn’t risk the wharves unprepared.

  Nadia sucked in a breath of fetid air. Her eyes watered, and she choked on the stench but continued. She hadn’t a choice.

  She’d promised. Two days ago, someone took little Shona. Nadia had sent the child on a quick errand, to deliver a message to a neighbor down the street. Shona never returned. Now guilt and terrifying fear ate at Nadia. It was her fault Shona had been taken, and she bore that guilt as she did so many of her sins.

  Tugging her black wool cloak more securely around her, Nadia left the hood down to keep her vision clear and listen for any noise, anything out of place.

  No sentry. No child lookout to sound the alarm for a few pennies. Though her heart thudded in her chest, Nadia hoped luck fell on her side.

  That uncommon optimism guided her footsteps.

  Long shadows secreted her from the sickly yellow glow of the sporadic candle lamps. The gusting wind carried the boisterous shouts of drunken sailors. She skirted the rows of overfull taverns, letting the mist hide her steps.

  Her skirts held close to her sides in the whipping wind, her dagger a comforting weight in her hand as she steadily made her way across the open expanse of the wharves. Heaviness, like the air before a thunderstorm, slowed her steps. A slight tremble shook her straining shoulders as she waited for a shout. A warning she’d been discovered. A cry for help.

  Nothing. Her heart pounded like thunder in her ears, and her breath skipped and jumped.

  Three more steps.

  Fear and anticipation and hope urged her forward. Her information had to be right. Please. For the first time since fleeing Russia ten years ago, Nadia prayed. Please let Shona be here.

  One more step, and she slipped through the distressingly unguarded doors of the warehouse. Unnatural silence greeted her.

  Rats skittered in the darkness.

  “Oh!” She stopped and swallowed. “It’s all right.” But her breath stopped, and her chest tightened. “I’ll be all right.”

  Nadia had expected this, braced for it. Yet still her stomach flipped in memory. The dank, cramped space. The hungry, caged rats. Despite her desperation, Nadia stopped and forced the memory away. She swallowed bile and rubbed her suddenly slick hands down her skirts, careful of her dagger.

  Her past did not define her.

  Curling cold fingers around her kindjal, Nadia forced down nausea and numbing fear. Her own terrified screams echoed in her memory. Those cages had opened, and the rats had attacked, and even now her screams deafened her.

  “Stop!” Nadia barely heard the sound of her own voice over the blood pounding in her ears.

  Not now. Not now. She had no time to dwell on fear. But her feet remained rooted to the floor, and she struggled to breathe. She rubbed her lips and ignored the all too vivid memory of pain and terror. Not tonight. Shona was depending on her.

  One step. She needed only one step to start. One, then another. The second was easier and soon she was moving, hurrying through the cavernous opening of the empty building. Nadia let her need for justice push her forward.

  If this was a smuggler’s warehouse, there’d be activity, noise, people lurking about or standing guard.

  Odd, there was noth—

  The crash of metal on metal jerked her to a stop. Kindjal at the ready, Nadia flattened herself against the wall. All thoughts of rats and half-formed ideas of how to sneak about a place fled.

  The yawning silence taunted her. Even the rats stilled, which made her nauseous and shaky. She waited another heartbeat.

  Heavy boots thumped on the creaking wood floor. Shouts echoed. Lanterns waved like frantic fireflies in the distant blackness. The rats fled. Nadia spun on her heel and ran, spurned by a deep-seated survival instinct.

  Guttural, indistinguishable shouting bounced off filthy walls, closing in around her. Heavy footsteps pounded perilously close. Nadia bit back a string of curses and did not look at the rats fleeing alongside her. She fumbled trying to sheath her dagger and nicked her skirts, but she didn’t stop running.

  Errors like this cost lives. Shona’s, hers.

  No, she was definitely not telling Sophia about tonight.

  The entrance loomed farther away, even as she raced for it. Despite the lack of underskirts and stays, her skirts weighed her down. Nadia hiked the heavy wool higher and forced her legs to move faster.

  Yet the heavy presence pursued her. Harsh curses blasted the cold night. They were too close. Her legs burned from exertion, but she pushed faster.

  “What the hell?” The question came from entirely too close behind her. “Who the damn hell are you?” A strong arm banded around her waist, tugging her along even faster.

  “The empress of Russia.” The tart words lost a bit of their bite, given her situation. Nadia didn’t need to look at the man to see his incredulous look. Her mind raced for a better answer; she only had the truth, and she certainly wasn’t about to tell him that. “Who are you?”

  “The king of America.”

  Nadia absolutely did not snicker. She did, however, jerk free of his hold about her waist and stumble to a stop. She was breathless, and her knees nearly gave out. Through sheer stubbornness, she remained upright. Her fingers itched for the sheathed dagger, but she did not draw it.

  “Well, your highness, what the bloody blazes are you doing here?” He barked the question between them as he hovered over her.

  Nadia forced her legs to hold her, and she
met his gaze in the uncertain light. “Taking in the fresh air of your lovely river.”

  The outrageous answer barely slipped out as she gulped for breath. This wasn’t how she expected to be caught, honestly. Why was he running? Who or what did he run from? And why was he pulling her along?

  “Bloody…” He trailed off into indistinct muttering, still pulling her forward. “Move, move!” Hand clamped around hers, the man didn’t wait for a response and half dragged her forward.

  She was moving, thank you. But the words lumped in her throat. He pulled her out of the warehouse and down the wharves. Despite their pace, an impressive array of curses streamed from his lips.

  “What are you running from? Who was in there?” The warehouse, now a short distance away but still too far to see clearly inside, loomed large and empty. “What are you doing here? Who are you?”

  “If you want to sell your wares, this is not the place.” He didn’t seem to realize he’d taken her arm again and was hauling her forward. “Though you don’t look like a tail.”

  “I beg your pardon!” Bristling at his condescending and derogatory words, Nadia stopped and jerked free. Her fingers closed around her kindjal. “I am not a prostitute! Who do you think—”

  The explosion threw her forward. Heat seared along her spine, its fingers dancing along the back of her skull. Momentarily deaf and off balance, Nadia couldn’t catch herself. The cobblestone road reached up and grabbed for her.

  Just as quickly as the ground closed in on her, it disappeared.

  Nadia strained to catch her breath and figure out what happened. With dizzying speed, the stranger had caught her and set her upright. Before she could admonish her possible assailant—or savior—he straightened, holding her close, his hard body flush against hers.

  “Are you injured?”

  “No.” Shaking her head, Nadia closed her eyes and willed the world to stop spinning. “What—” She looked from the burning building to him. Ash and debris pelted the ground near them. “What have you done?”

  Shona. Throat tight, Nadia pushed from the man and forced her shaking legs toward the burning warehouse.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” He grabbed her again and yanked her against him. “I’m trying to save you.”

  He was tall, much taller even than her own unusual height, and broad shouldered. He moved with graceful intensity. Nadia had the impression of shocking eyes, though in the darkness she couldn’t make out their color. Only their concentration, their power as they bore into her.

  She blinked against the hot air. Save her? Or run her into a trap? Either way, she firmly blamed the near-death experience for her momentary loss of wits. “Was there anyone in there?”

  “No. Now move.”

  Her demand for answers threatened to burst from her straining lungs, but it never broke free. He yanked her against his side and forced her from the warehouse. Annoyed, Nadia latched on to his flatly stated word: No. A band loosened from around her chest. No one had been inside the warehouse. She regained her footing and raced alongside him.

  Despite his assurance, Nadia glanced over her shoulder. She needed to confirm. People lied with blasé frequency. The flames now engulfed the neighboring structures, spreading so quickly they ate the wood buildings.

  “How certain are you?” she demanded, fear making her voice hitch.

  “Quite.” The bitter word held another note. Sorrow perhaps. “I’m sorry.”

  “Empty.” Her voice held no bite. Nadia looked over her shoulder one last time, but, with all their turns through the labyrinthine streets, only the red-orange glow from the blaze indicated where the building had once stood.

  Unaccustomed to being rescued—if one could call this mad dash through the back alleys of Limehouse a rescue—Nadia allowed him to pull her farther from the burning wharves. Around another corner, Nadia pulled him to a stop.

  “What?” In the harsh, flickering, distant firelight, she thought she saw him frown.

  “You claim no one was in the building, but you ran.” In the cramped alley, chest tight from running, she spat each word like a shot. “The guards chased you. Who were they?”

  Hidden from view in the narrow passage, Nadia jerked her arm from his grasp and unsheathed her dagger. In the oddly glowing darkness, she watched his eyes flick to the long blade then back to hers. Even in this forgotten alley, faint light glinted off her kindjal.

  “Do you know how to use that?” The clear derision in his voice set her teeth on edge.

  “I’ll happily show you if you don’t answer my question.”

  His gaze settled on hers. The heat of its contact burned through her far more effectively than the fire. Nadia shivered, the cold night a distant sensation.

  “There weren’t—” Even in the darkness, she saw his mouth twist. “Only a handful of guards. That’s who chased me. There wasn’t anyone else in the warehouse.”

  “No one else?” Then Nadia repeated more softly, “No one.” She sheathed her kindjal.

  She couldn’t quite find it in herself to mourn the guards who most assuredly knew. Relief warred with despair, and she floundered. Now what?

  Bells tolled. Smoke choked the air. Calls for the fire brigade echoed through the suddenly crowded streets. Even in their forgotten alleyway, glowing embers rained from the sky. One caught in her skirts, and Nadia batted at her singed clothing. Frustration had her slapping harder than necessary. Giving in to that emotion helped no one.

  Beside her, this strange man stood guard as she smothered the embers. She had not expected that, but then, nothing about this night had gone as expected.

  “This was not how tonight was meant to go.” She spoke in Russian and squeezed her eyes closed. She wanted to cry, rage against the injustice of tonight, but she swallowed all that down. “I’m sorry, Shona. I failed you.”

  Burying her grief and failure, Nadia glanced up at the man. His eyes had narrowed. Without a word, he retook her arm, more solicitous than urgent now, and hurried her out of the alley. Frightened horses tried to trample the few hackney drivers brave enough to wait at this end of the docks.

  Loose tendrils of hair fell from her braid and tickled along her cheeks, but she couldn’t spare a hand to wipe them away. Her impromptu escort easily navigated the streets, as if he’d grown up on these wharves. Or had studied their layout. He didn’t seem to breathe heavy or look back to see if they were being followed. He was confident. Almost like he’d done this before. Set fire to buildings and rescued people as he escaped.

  Self-preservation finally reared its practical head. Nadia’s fingers brushed her kindjal, and she berated herself for sheathing it.

  Finally, he stopped. Nadia gasped for air, her fingers tightening on her dagger.

  Blocks from the fire, the night’s chill froze the sweat to her skin. Shivering, she wrapped her cloak tighter around her. Oh, what she wouldn’t do for the warm fire of her tavern and a nice glass of Madeira.

  “Thank you,” Nadia said quietly. To her left, the fire glowed in the night sky. It had to have spread by now, engulfing the entire row. “Though…” Her breath didn’t gallop through her, and she stepped from this stranger. “I suppose I should ask instead why you decided to burn down the warehouse.”

  “I could ask the same of you,” he said in a harsh northern accent she hadn’t noticed before, what with the running and escaping and warehouses blowing up.

  “I did not set fire to that building.”

  He snorted. “Why were you sneaking around, alone, in the dead of night?” He pronounced “alone” as if that were her most egregious error, the height of impropriety and a slight to his masculinity.

  Nadia wanted to laugh, considering they’d just raced pell-mell though the backstreets of Limehouse as if hell chased behind them. “Why were you there?” she shot back.

  The crescent moon cast shadows over his face. No lamplight shone on this street. He folded his arms over his chest, no doubt in an attempt to intimidate her. It ha
d the opposite effect. The movement made his greatcoat stretch across his shoulders. His very broad shoulders.

  A tingle of arousal brushed over her arms. Shocked to her very soul, Nadia stumbled back. She hadn’t felt such immediate arousal in—well, ever.

  “I’m just a traveler.” His grin flashed, lightning fast, over his shadowed face. It twisted a hot, dark part of her as they stood across from each other.

  “Liar.”

  He merely grinned again, which did things to her insides Nadia would rather not think about. Or acknowledge.

  Taking a deep breath, she banished the sudden need dancing along her skin to the far reaches of her soul. She ignored the way her skin prickled and instead focused on the cold night air, on listening for any sounds of pursuit.

  “I don’t think we’re being followed.” Just as she was about to congratulate herself for her success in ignoring the staring wall of masculinity, he shifted closer. The closeness did little to allow her to decipher his features, but Nadia found herself caught in his commanding gaze.

  The way he watched her, penetratingly, as if he knew exactly what she thought, weakened walls she’d spent years erecting.

  “No.” He said nothing more, this stranger she found oddly compelling. Nadia refused to admit any sense of attraction. Because there was none. None at all. “Not from London, are you?” His tone, combined with his stance, implied he was used to being answered.

  Incredulous, she stared at him in the dim half-light. “Your obvious powers of perception are truly astounding.”

  The comment, dry and acerbic, caused him to lift one eyebrow. Even in the scant moonlight, Nadia saw his mouth twitch in amusement.

  “I heard a rumor,” he allowed. “Thought I’d look into it.”

  “A rumor?” she repeated. “About a warehouse that needed to be burned down?”

  He gave a bark of harsh laughter. “It needed to be razed, yes.”

  Certainty settled in her stomach. Her information had been correct. What were the chances that both she and this man would be creeping about in the same building on the same night?