When he’d elected to follow in his father’s footsteps, he’d known it wouldn’t be easy. Still, he’d enjoyed the challenge of smuggling, enjoyed thumbing his nose at the revenuers when they gave chase. They never came close to catching him when he was in the Channel. But constantly having to find new places to store his cargoes had taxed his patience and caused him no end of frustration.

He’d thought he’d finally solved that problem a few months ago when he’d figured out the perfect hiding place: the abandoned house a little ways inland in Hampshire. The house had an extra advantage as its closest neighbor was the Duke of Wrighton. No revenuers would dare snoop around there. But he hadn’t counted on the duke’s having nosy servants. If that wench hadn’t come ghost hunting or meeting up with her lover, which is what he suspected she’d really been doing, he wouldn’t have been forced to move the cargo so soon and wouldn’t have gotten caught because of it.

After he’d sent word to his crew in Southampton to bring the ship to their usual unloading cove, so it could be reloaded, one of his crew must have mentioned the plan to someone in Grigg’s crew. Or maybe someone in Grigg’s crew had heard his men talking about it. It wouldn’t be the first time the two crews had ended up in the same tavern. He preferred to think that than that he had a traitor in his crew. But the ghost-hunting wench was still ultimately to blame.

He hadn’t been joking when he’d told Burdis he blamed a woman for his capture. He should have put more effort into securing her silence. A kiss usually softened them up, but not her. He’d gambled that he’d be able to get her feeling friendly and agreeable toward him, so she’d keep his presence a secret. Maybe he should have lit her lantern so she could see whom she was dealing with. One of his smiles tended to work wonders on wenches, too. But kissing her hadn’t yielded the result he’d hoped for, and he had ended up insulting her instead. He hadn’t needed to see her to tell she was bristling from it.

“We’ve time for a pint and a quick tumble, Cap’n. You game?”

“Thought I asked you to stop calling me that? I’m not your captain for this trip.”

Nathan was bored, though, just standing around waiting for wagons to show up. He glanced around the London dock, but the last wagon had left ten minutes ago and no others could be seen heading their way. There would probably be more, though, and he didn’t want to risk a delay in sailing to America by getting fired because he wasn’t there to unload wagons. Every day mattered with The Pearl on her way to being altered and sold. It was annoying enough that the ship he’d signed on to in Southampton was making this short detour to London to pick up passengers.

“Come on,” Corky cajoled. “We were told to wait, but no one said we couldn’t do that waiting in yonder tavern. Watch from the door for the next wagon if you’ve a mind to, but the rowboat ain’t even back from the ship yet to carry another load. And it’s going to be a long voyage. One more wench to see me off is all I’m interested in tonight.”

Nathan snorted. “You just enjoyed the company of a wench three nights ago in Southampton. Were you too drunk to remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” Corky grinned. “But that was then and this is our last night on land. Three weeks at sea is a bleedin’ long time.”

“The voyage could be as quick as two weeks and besides, you don’t need to be here. You can still head back to Southampton to wait for my return.”

“And leave you without a first mate for the return trip? It’s a shame we heard about this ship too late to get the rest of our boys on her.”

“I wouldn’t have known that her captain was hiring a crew at all if I didn’t stop by to tell Alf and Peggy I’d be gone for a few months.”

Old Alf was the caretaker of a cottage a few miles up the coast from Southampton. Nathan had been steered to the couple when he’d been looking for someone to care for his nieces while he was away on The Pearl. It had proven to be a nicer arrangement than he’d first thought, since the cottage had its own private dock, and Alf let him use it as a berth for The Pearl.

Alf had been generous in that after his wife, Peggy, had agreed to watch the girls for Nathan. He hadn’t even charged Nathan a fee, merely laid down the rule that no cargo was ever to be unloaded there, since he knew what business Nathan had got into. Alf refused to say much about the bigger vessel at his dock, or why she sat empty, and Nathan was in no position to pry when the elderly couple was doing him such a big favor.

“At least you got me on her with you,” Corky said.

“Only because they still needed a carpenter and I bargained to have you included. Alf even hesitated to mention the job, since he knows I no longer practice carpentry. It was his wife, Peggy, who brought it up. Every time I visit the girls, she nags me to go back to work that won’t land me in prison. The old gal worries about me.”

“She’s fond of your nieces and worries they will be left without a guardian again. And she’s right, you know. Look how close you came to fulfilling her fears this time. Are you sure you even want your ship back?”

“Are you going to nag now, too?”

“Is that pint of ale suddenly sounding like a good idea?” Corky countered.

Chapter Nine

Nathan chuckled and gave in, steering his friend across the docks. The tavern Corky had his eye on stood between a warehouse and a ticket office. Nathan didn’t know London at all, had never been there before, and had never heard anything good about it either. But taverns were taverns, and this one looked no different from the ones he’d find at home in Southampton. While Nathan had no interest himself in a woman his last night on land because he had too much on his mind to spare any thoughts on a wench, a pint of ale would indeed be welcome.

He’d never asked for them, but now he had responsibilities that he didn’t have last year when he would have been the one to suggest a quick tumble. Not anymore. Not since his sister died and he was the only one left in their family who could care for her two children. Not that he hadn’t had an agenda before that happened. He just hadn’t been in a hurry to achieve his goals.

His nieces, Clarissa and Abbie, were darling girls. He never expected to get so attached to them so quickly, but each time he visited, it was getting harder to say good-bye. At seven years of age Clarissa was the younger and the more exuberant of the two. She never failed to throw herself into his arms with a happy squeal when he arrived. Abbie was more reserved at nine years of age. Poor thing was still trying to emulate her father’s snobby family, thinking that’s how she ought to behave. But she was starting to come around. She expressed delight now when she saw him and he’d even felt dampness on her cheek when she’d hugged him good-bye a few days ago. My God, that had been difficult, walking away from them this time.

They didn’t deserve to live in poverty just because their parents had passed on. He had to do right by them, give them a home, a stable one. One way or another, he was going to provide them with the comfortable life they used to have.

The girls had been raised so differently from him, but then his sister, Angie, had married well. She’d had a fine house in Surrey and her daughters had had a governess, tutors, and fancy dresses. It was too bad it had all come with such disagreeable people for in-laws, the lot of them thinking they were grander than they were just because they held a minor title. Nathan hadn’t liked Angie’s husband because it had become apparent soon after the wedding that he had only married her because she was descended from an earl. Nathan hadn’t even been able to visit her or her children without sneaking in to do it because his brother-in-law had found out Jory was a smuggler and assumed Nathan was one, too.

But everything his nieces had had was gone now, taken back by their father’s family when he’d died, killing Angie with him, because he’d been foxed and driving his carriage too fast. Nathan hadn’t thought it possible, but he’d come to hate the nobility even more than he already did when those heartless snobs turned their backs on their own granddaughters just because they’d never approved of Angie. All the girls had left were the fancy dresses that didn’t even fit them anymore, and an uncle who only hoped to accomplish goals that a sane man would realize were impossible.

He ordered that pint, then another. He was starting to feel the anger that tended to show up when he thought about his situation too long. Maybe what he should be looking for this last night on land was a good fight.

Ale in hand, Nathan turned to glance about the room, looking for someone who might accommodate him, but the tavern was so crowded, he didn’t doubt one punch would lead to a full-scale brawl. While it wouldn’t be the first time he’d spent a night in jail for starting one, he couldn’t afford for that to happen tonight if he wanted to get The Pearl back.

He started for the door, but turned about when five new customers stepped through it and he recognized one of them. What the hell? Hammett Grigg’s men in London, of all places? The last time he’d seen Mr. Olivey, Hammett’s first mate, who was the one he recognized, had been in Southampton five years ago. Grigg and a handful of his crew had tracked Nathan down to find out where Jory was holed up. Still furious with his father, he’d told them he didn’t know and didn’t care. They’d actually had him watched for a while, thinking he could lead them to Jory. But he never saw his father again, and Hammett and his men finally found Jory on their own. . . .

Was the Cornish smuggler actually crazy enough to deliver a load of untaxed goods to the biggest city in the country? Not using London docks, he couldn’t. He had to be in London for some other reason, maybe to line up new buyers. But if his men were here on the docks, Grigg might be nearby, too. Could Nathan really get this lucky and find the man before Commander Burdis did?

Well, he’d wanted a fight. Trying to find out Grigg’s whereabouts would definitely get him one, but he preferred that it take place outside if possible. Or he could just wait and follow them when they left. Would he have time for that?

He glanced behind him without turning. The five men were still by the door, looking about the room. There were no empty tables they could use. If they didn’t leave, they’d be coming to the bar where Nathan was standing and that brawl would then be inevitable. . . .

Decision made, Nathan walked to the door and shouldered his way past them. Easy enough to do when he was taller and brawnier than them. And as expected, they followed him outside. Five of them against one of him would make them cocky. They just didn’t know him well, and he’d like to keep it that way for a few minutes. Cocky men tended to have loose lips.

“Leaving without paying your respects, boyo?” Mr. Olivey said, grabbing Nathan’s arm to stop him. “Thought we wouldn’t recognize you?”

“Wot are ye doing ’ere, eh?” another asked. “Why ain’t ye—? Heard ye got locked up.”

“I heard you helped with that,” Nathan replied. “Where’s your boss? I’d like to thank him.”

“ ’Ere now, don’t be blaming us ’cause you got careless, boyo.”

“I bet ’e’s plannin’ to wield ’is ’ammer in London. Now the revs got ’is ship, wot else is there left for ’im?”

The men’s chuckles were cut short when Nathan gripped the man’s throat with one hand and pinned him to the tavern wall. “My business here is none of yours, but yours is certainly mine. I repeat, where’s your boss?”

“You’re in no position to ask,” Olivey said behind him. “Or did you really think you could take us all on?”

“Let’s find out.” Nathan leapt to the side to position himself so that all five men were in front of him again.

Five against one might be lousy odds, but he had passion and purpose in his corner, while he guessed they just wanted to have some fun at his expense. He didn’t have to wait long for the first swing to come his way. He blocked that one and threw one of his own. Two quick jabs at another had a second staggering back.

Blood pumping, Nathan had no doubt that he could do this, despite the odds, and get the answer he wanted before he was done. He just needed to leave one of them standing and able to talk.

The next sailor to come at him he knocked to the ground, but the man got back up too quickly, wiping blood from his mouth. “Should take to the ring, boyo, instead of wasting time with a hammer. You’d make a fortune.”

Olivey’s comment distracted Nathan a moment too long. Bleedin’ hell. Both his arms were suddenly pulled forcefully behind him and Mr. Olivey stood in front of him laughing.

“Should have run while you had the chance. Should have left well enough alone, too. Hammett was done with your family—until he heard you were looking for him. Look where that got you, eh.”

“Go to hell,” Nathan spat out.

But suddenly his arms were freed and he heard the distinctive hollow sound of two heads cracking together. He didn’t need to look behind him to guess that two of Grigg’s men had just been hurt if not put out of commission. Then he was yanked aside, out of the way, and a strong arm fell over his shoulder. He tried to shrug it off, but the hold tightened enough to stop him. Blood still pumping, he was about to swing at whoever was holding him immobile until he got a look at him.

Tall and dark haired with shoulders as wide as Nathan’s and wearing a fine greatcoat, the man could pass for a nabob except for one glaring fact. A member of the gentry wouldn’t get involved in a street brawl, would he? No, he’d merely yell for the watch. Another man, too, a big, blond brute specimen unlike any Nathan had ever seen was pounding Hammett’s sailors with his fists. Were they just a couple of rakehells out looking for trouble? Then they could add him to the count before they were done and he didn’t think he’d walk away from that, could even miss his ship because of it. But right now he needed at least one of Hammett’s sailors conscious so he could question him.