Smuggler's Captain: Part of the Conrad Chronicles (Nadia and James Book 1) Page 2

  That meant—

  Her stomach dropped. Icy tendrils of fear spread through her veins. Had Shona been moved? None of the ships on her list had left port. Unless she had an incomplete list of potential ships.

  “You said no one was in there save the guards?” Nadia fought to keep her voice even, but it hitched.

  He nodded once, his face unreadable. His entire body stood stiff and unmoving. Another blast of icy wind whipped around her, and she suppressed a shudder.

  She was not too late. She was not.

  “What sort of rumor?” The question slipped out before she thought to stop it.

  Damn, but she knew better than to ask such obvious questions. Still, the nameless man before her seemed to have resources—and access to gunpowder and other incendiary devices.

  “What do you know of the warehouse?” he demanded in answer to her question. “Who were you looking for?”

  Trust. She rolled the word over her tongue. It tasted as sour as she remembered. Meeting his gaze, Nadia resisted the shiver wanting to work its way up her back. She clamped down on that annoying hint of desire she wanted no part of and relied on the facts.

  This man had saved her life when he didn’t have to. He set fire to a known human smuggler’s warehouse. At the very least, that earned him a modicum of respect.

  Trust, no. However, he could be an ally of sorts, perhaps.

  “What do you know about the people they kept in that warehouse?” Nadia ran her tongue over her lower lip.

  Closer to the canals, the heavy scent of the marshes settled over them just as his gaze settled on her, watching her tongue. That foreign stir of arousal stroked her skin again, spreading through her and refusing to be ignored.

  Then he blinked and shifted infinitesimally, just enough to shake her from the strange spell.

  “What do you know about it?” Once more, he watched her, penetrating, concentrated.

  Nadia met his focused gaze as if no one else in the entirety of London mattered. She lifted her chin. She would not be intimidated. “I don’t have time for this.” Annoyance won over fascination.

  She’d survived her mother and the vicious gossip of court in St. Petersburg, a mad trek through rapidly diminishing Polish lands, which had led her to relative safety in Brandenburg, and a harsh crossing of the North Sea during winter, which Nadia never, ever, wanted to repeat. One Englishman, no matter how tall or well-muscled or capable of leveling an entire warehouse district, did not scare her.

  She refused to dwell on the other feelings he ignited.

  “I know there was no one inside.” His voice quieted, but she heard an undercurrent of—tension? anger? sorrow? It coated the words in a thick layer he clearly tried to control.

  Nadia pressed her lips into a flat line. “So you said.”

  “Only the guards,” he repeated with harsh satisfaction.

  “Where could they have gone?” She wondered half to herself aloud. Her fingers worked her soiled gown, a nervous habit she immediately stilled.

  “There are far too many to have transferred to another warehouse.” His soft words did nothing to dispel the worry churning her stomach. “Even with bribery and threats, someone would’ve noticed.”

  Sickened, Nadia nodded. “Someone would’ve sold them out for the right price no matter who they are.”

  “Over two hundred.” His words were still quiet. But they were harder now, angry and quietly furious. Rage thrummed along each syllable. “My information said there were over two hundred waiting to be shipped.”

  “Two hundred.” Nausea rolled through her. She found his gaze in the uncertain light, stunned at the scope. “Two hundred people,” she repeated. “If they didn’t sail, then where are they now?”

  “I don’t know.” He remained still with his wide stance and quiet anger.

  Frustrated, tired, cold, scared, defeated, Nadia watched him. He didn’t flinch, and gave away nothing more. She had questions about this man and his role tonight. His name.

  Nadia held her tongue. Of all people, she certainly understood the need for discretion.

  “Thank you.” Inclining her head slightly, she studied him for one final moment. “For saving my life.”

  His lips twisted in a semblance of a smile, and he sketched a bow that looked incongruous in the alleyway by the canals. “You are most welcome, my lady.”

  Nadia flicked up the hood of her cloak as if she were a lady merely out for a midnight stroll. Alone. Through the wharves and canals connecting Limehouse with London.

  She almost laughed, but it caught in her throat, a hysterical sound she suppressed.

  Curling her fingers into her cloak, she swallowed hard against the defeat pressing in on her and stepped back. Back from the shadowed eyes, the rigid stance, the expectation and waiting. And something else.

  It niggled along her nerves, as if trying to convey a silent message. He was no doubt the least appropriate man for her.

  Without another word, she spun from him and left. He didn’t follow. She didn’t expect him to.

  Chapter Two

  Feet aching, fingers numb, head pounding, and half asleep, Nadia finally—finally—stepped onto her unassuming street off Cavendish Square. She’d doubled back and taken multiple hackneys to throw off any potential followers. Including the stranger.

  No one stirred. Not even Mrs. Hawthorne next door, who apparently did sleep despite her perpetually active busybody schedule.

  Nadia waited. A headache pounded steadily behind her eyes. She needed a cup of coffee before the kitchen fire to thaw out her frustration. Two days of failure slowed her steps. She’d promised, and tonight she’d failed. Fiona, her trusted lady’s maid, needed answers and her niece.

  “I will find you, Shona.” The promise seared past her shivering body straight to her soul.

  Home loomed before her. Guilt clutched her, roiling through her and pressing in with the weight of her failure.

  She crossed the quiet street and easily opened the well-oiled gate. Silent as thief, Nadia slipped into the courtyard. Before she climbed the first step, her front door opened as soundlessly as the gate. No light shone from the doorway. The crescent moon illuminated only a dark shadow.

  “Paul.” Her voice hitched at the surprise appearance of the man who had helped save her so many years ago.

  “Get inside, out of the cold.” He stepped onto the sidewalk and bundled her through the door without another word.

  “What are you doing here?” The words slipped out before she realized how foolish they sounded.

  From the light of a single candle a footman had been concealing, Paul shot her an annoyed look, and she grimaced. “Nadia, you sent a messenger about Shona.”

  “Yes, I know.” The words lacked bite, exhaustion dragging her down.

  The moment Nadia realized Shona had disappeared and not simply stayed out later than allowed, she’d sent a footman to Nelda Hall. Paul and Kaya, her own rescuers ten years ago and more of a family than she’d ever known, had apparently decided to travel to London.

  She should have known they would have done so,

  Fingers numb with cold and exhaustion, she fumbled to unfasten her cloak and set it across the chair. The faint light from the single candle hurt her eyes, and she closed them, hoping to stave off both the headache and the inevitable lecture.

  “At least you brought your kindjal.”

  She met Paul’s heavy stare, and he jerked his head to where her dagger lay sheathed on her hip. Fingers curling into her skirts, she boldly met Paul’s gaze, though she wanted to fidget. Even in the bare light, his blue-green eyes pinned her in place.

  “I didn’t want anyone else in harm’s way.”

  He snorted but pulled her close into a brief, tight hug. It was as if she were sixteen again, terrified of her own shadow and so alone in the world. “Kaya’s in the kitchens.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and stepped to the side. “Fiona’s with her.”

  She looked up at the man who had
been more of a father to her than her own. Her own father, who was not in the foyer to greet her, was no doubt drinking with his worthless friends or passed out drunk in his bed.

  Nadia swallowed sour, acrid tears and nodded. Turning for the hall that led belowstairs, she hurried toward it.

  Behind her, the metallic clank of the deadbolt echoed symbolically through the foyer. A perfect symbol of her futile night. Enclosed in the only place she’d ever thought of as home, Nadia’s walls cracked. Warm, inviting light breached the barren night. The scent of heavy Irish stew and Kaya’s delicious Egyptian coffee drew her to the kitchen.

  In the doorway, watching Fiona stir a pot over the fire and a heavily pregnant Kaya fussing over the maid, Nadia crumbled. Chest tight, breathing labored, she choked. Then, swallowing hard and clearing her throat, she sniffed back her tears and straightened.

  “I’m sorry, Fiona.” The words shot out before Fiona had fully turned from the fire. Nadia’s throat closed, but she crossed the room and embraced her lady’s maid. “I’m sorry. Shona wasn’t there.”

  “Whe—” Fiona’s voice hitched, and her arms tightened around Nadia. Shaking, Fiona pulled back. When she eventually spoke, her voice wavered. “What happened?”

  “Sit,” Kaya commanded, intervening as Nadia struggled for the right words. Though eight months pregnant, she pushed Nadia onto the bench by the long table as if it were nothing. “Eat.” Kaya glared at her, but the lecture Nadia expected never came. “You’re frozen clear through.”

  “Thank you.” Nadia accepted the bowl of hot stew, warming her cold, stiff fingers. Fiona’s fingers twisted her apron, much like how Nadia’s stomach turned as she sought the words to explain her night.

  Despite Kaya’s dark, piercing gaze—a look Nadia knew all too well—she only adjusted the heavy scarf over Nadia’s head. Warm, graceful fingers tucked errant strands of hair beneath the wool and lingered on her cheek. Kaya’s comforting touch nearly brought Nadia to tears again.

  Staring into the stew, Nadia fought to keep her own emotions at bay, but all she saw was the stranger from tonight. His direct gaze, the touch of his hand. The security of his arms wrapped around her waist to stop her from falling.

  “Eat up.” Paul’s voice jerked Nadia from her memories. Damn stealthy man—she hadn’t heard him enter. “And then you can tell us why you went alone.”

  “I’d think that answer is obvious, given Kaya’s pregnancy.”

  Paul’s challenging stance and Kaya’s direct glare told her they did not agree. They should have. It had been they, after all, who’d instilled in her such a strong sense of justice.

  Oh.

  Oh, but if Kaya was here, then her midwife had followed. And if Tetya Cedella was in London but not in the kitchens, then she was visiting her daughter. Nadia sighed. So much for keeping her solo trip to Limehouse a secret from Sophia. Her friend was going to be livid.

  Unable to summon the strength to worry about that now, Nadia glared back. One thing at a time. “I am no longer the spoiled princess you rescued. You taught me strength and survival and the courage to help others.”

  “That does not mean you go out alone,” Paul snapped.

  Nadia held his gaze and sniffed. “As far as I’m concerned, it means exactly that.”

  Paul growled that low sound of frustration she’d often heard. “Now.” She heard acquiescence in his voice. “What did you discover?”

  “Our information was wrong.” Nadia let the warmth of the mutton stew seep into her.

  Closing her eyes, she slowly chewed and willed her thoughts away from the man who’d set the warehouse ablaze. There were more important matters. She wanted to stare at the fire, into her bowl, anywhere but at Fiona. But, lifting her chin, Nadia looked at her lady’s maid. She owed her the direct truth.

  “There was no one at the warehouse.”

  Fiona’s breath hitched, and her hands clenched her apron. The lilt of her Irish accent danced along her remarkably calm words. “Where is she, then? Did they sail? Or was she sold to a workhouse here? Or—or worse?”

  Fiona’s questions settled the stew like a rock in Nadia’s stomach. Once more, nausea threatened to choke her, and Nadia set the bowl aside. She rubbed her temples and pressed her fingers to her eyelids.

  Kaya’s voice cut through the room. “Which warehouse?”

  Nadia met her gaze. “Dunbar Wharves, Limehouse.” Kaya nodded, and Nadia’s gaze returned to Fiona. “I don’t know what happened to them.”

  Fiona, her apron still clenched in her fingers, silently cried. Shrugging off Kaya’s hand, she turned from the table and faced the fire. Nadia half stood, but then slowly sank onto the bench, leaving Fiona to her grief. For want of anything else, she scooped up another spoonful of stew, only to drop it back into the bowl.

  What she needed to do was find Alistair and question him about this warehouse. However, Alistair, much like her father, was no doubt in his cups.

  “We have to keep searching.” Nadia’s voice sliced the weighty silence, each breath palpable with fear and despair. She hated this, losing, failing. Hated having to be the one to tell Fiona she’d failed to find her niece.

  Nodding, Fiona turned from the fire, dabbing at her face with a well-used handkerchief.

  “And we will.” Kaya slid away the half-eaten stew and squeezed Nadia’s shoulders. The gesture reminded Nadia of their first meeting. Then, Kaya had held her as she shivered in the warm Prussian summer, terrified and hungry.

  “No, it has to be now.” Nadia’s voice broke. Tired and frustrated, she pushed away from the table. Time was ticking down. She hadn’t long before it disappeared altogether.

  Kaya pulled her as close as her belly would allow. Her fingers were warm around Nadia’s frozen ones. “We will find her.” The words, spoken so confidently, wrapped around Nadia as surely as Kaya’s embrace.

  Clearing her throat, Nadia pulled back. “None of the ships on the list sailed. The gang must have moved their prisoners some other way.”

  Paul made a noise in the back of his throat and tapped his fingers on the table. His gaze held Kaya’s, expressing that hidden communication only his wife understood. Uncomfortable with the intimate exchange, Nadia looked away.

  “And no one saw you?” Kaya’s cultured voice echoed harshly in the silence of the kitchen.

  “No.” Nadia debated telling them about the mysterious man and the warehouse fire. At her hesitation, Kaya stilled. Damn, that woman picked up on even the subtlest of signs. Caught, Nadia moved to warm her hands near the fire and settled for part of the truth. “Someone else was there—the warehouse burned.”

  “Are you hurt?” Kaya sharply interrupted. She spun Nadia to face her, and her eyes narrowed at the rather large burn in her hem.

  “I escaped unharmed.” Nadia waved a tired hand to draw Kaya’s attention back to her face rather than the no doubt disastrous state of her gown. “I’m perfectly all right.”

  Kaya grimaced, her dark gaze watching Nadia critically. For a panicked moment, Nadia wondered if Kaya could possibly see through her, could know about the peculiar encounter with the stranger. How he consumed her thoughts and caused her to warm at the memory of his touch. Nadia carefully blanked her mind of the details just in case.

  Kaya’s powers of observation were oftentimes otherworldly.

  Nadia shook her head and turned. Pressing her fingers into the worn wooden tabletop, she organized her thoughts. “I need to find Alistair.” She scowled. She’d already discarded that line of thought. The stranger from tonight had her all mixed up.

  “I’ll go.” Nadia jerked her head up. Paul wasn’t looking at her but at Kaya. “It’s late, and you’re exhausted.” His gaze flicked to Nadia’s, but she knew his attention rested solely on his wife. “Alistair is deep in his cups, but I’m sure word has spread about the warehouse. One of our contacts will know something.”

  Fiona busied herself at the fire, moving from pot to table and back again in a nervous dance. Nadia made t
o stand near Fiona instead of between the couple, but she stopped herself. Fiona deserved to grieve without Nadia crowding her.

  Kaya spoke low and in her native Egyptian. Nadia traced her finger over a deep gouge in the table and purposely tuned out the words. Paul took his wife’s hands in his and kissed the backs of each. He left without another word.

  In the silence of his leaving, the memory of the stranger’s northern burr made her heart skip a beat. The instinctive way he’d pulled her along, despite his ridiculous comment that she was a streetwalker. Nadia wasn’t sure what role he had in the disappearance of Shona and the rest, but she believed he had nothing to do with it.

  More than that, his righteous anger attracted her. A shiver danced over her arms, and for a moment she once more stood in that dank alleyway, mist clinging to her hair. The man’s gaze pinned her to the spot, his hand large and warm on her waist as he stopped her from falling onto the cobblestones.

  “Nadia.”

  She jerked, blinking up at Kaya, who set a small cup of coffee before her. Accepting the beverage, she eyed the kanaka and hoped there would be enough left over for a second cup. She needed all her wits about her despite the late hour. But she took only a single sip, savoring the hint of cardamom, before Kaya snatched it away.

  “No. I changed my mind. You don’t need coffee. You need sleep. It’s already half four, and I won’t see you staying up until the sun rises.”

  “Kaya.” Tempted as she was, Nadia didn’t try to wrestle the coffee from Kaya’s hand. “I can’t stop, not while Shona is still out there.”

  Fiona stopped her nervous mopping and met Nadia’s gaze. The absolute trust in the eyes of her lady’s maid drove the spike of failure deep into her chest. Nadia rubbed the spot over her heart.

  “Yes. She is.” Kaya rested her hands on her enormous belly, and another spike hit Nadia.

  This was her fault. If she hadn’t sent Shona with that note, the little girl would still be safe in the house.

  Nadia rubbed her eyes. Neither the warmth from the fire nor the stew helped her head. She shouldn’t have sent that letter to Kaya and Paul. Doing so had only caused them to travel the thirty miles from Hertfordshire. She should’ve been more careful with Shona.