“I plan on returning later tonight and opening the crates that remain,” Bridges announced.

  “I’ll go with you,” John answered.

  “I was counting on it.”

  “What of us?” Geneviève asked. She wasn’t about to return to Acker’s home and sit around, waiting for word of what they discovered.

  “It is no place for a lady,” Bridge’s insisted.

  “Especially given the location,” John reminded her.

  She glanced at Elizabeth who seemed unconcerned that the gentlemen were going off without them. She tilted her head and studied her sister-in-law. Perhaps Elizabeth wasn’t remaining behind. She had met John while they both spied. They were accustomed to danger and the docks were probably no more than a walk in the park for them.

  It wasn’t fair that they were going without her. “So, I will be sent home like a child while you investigate further.”

  “It is too dangerous for a lady,” Bridges insisted.

  “And,” John added. “I will not allow it. What if you were hurt? Bentley would have my head and I would never forgive myself.”

  Her brother should have known better than to tell her what she could or could not do. How dare he not allow her to do something? Geneviève gritted her teeth to keep from telling him that he could go hang and that she had every intention of joining them. But, she also knew if she announced her intentions they would find a way to keep her away. Probably locked up in a room somewhere. “I expect a report the moment you are done.”

  “It could be the middle of the night or early morning,” Bridges exclaimed.

  “I won’t be able to sleep until I’ve heard from you.”

  John tilted his head and looked at her. “How do you intend to explain to Acker our visit at such odd hours?”

  She hadn’t considered that. “I will stay here.”

  “By yourself?” Bridges demanded incredulity.

  Geneviève rolled her eyes. “It is fully staffed and on a safe street. It isn’t as if I will be alone in the middle of Seven Dials.”

  “I would rather you were on the docks than in that cesspool of crime,” John grumbled. With a sigh, he stood. “I will send word that you will remain with Elizabeth and myself again. We will wake you when we are finished.”

  This was working out perfectly but she tried not to smile too much or they may become suspicious. “If I don’t hear by the morning, I will come to the warehouse.”

  Bridge’s eyes widened. “You will do no such thing,” he ordered. “It was bad enough you were there in the light of day but there was much activity and less likely to be harmed. In the morning hours, anything could happen.”

  “I will use my best judgment.” She assured him.

  John narrowed his gaze on her. Did he know what she was planning? No, he couldn’t.

  Finally, her brother turned to Bridges. “What time will you be returning to the warehouse?”

  “At ten.”

  John gave a quick nod. “We…I mean,…um I will see you then.”

  He was taking Elizabeth. She knew it. Well, if Elizabeth was going, so was she.

  John grasped Elizabeth’s elbow and escorted her to the door. Geneviève watched and waited. Would he finally leave her alone with Bridges? If he did, would Bridges kiss her again? Not that he could convince her to remain behind, but she wanted to revisit what she had experienced yesterday.

  Her brother paused in the door. “Bridges, are you coming?”

  Drat. Her brother ruined everything. All of them did.

  She bid her three guests goodbye and as soon as she saw the carriages pull into traffic she rushed upstairs and into the room Hélène, her sister had occupied on occasion. She yanked open the trunk. There they were. Her sister’s costumes from days gone by, and right on top, was clothing for a man.

  Jonathan dressed completely in black, leaving off a cravat. It would not do to be seen entering the warehouse, or anywhere on the docks this time of night. He was secure in his ability to defend himself or fight off any attacker, he simply didn’t want the interruption.

  As he neared the door, two figures slid out from the alley, also dressed in dark clothing, and moved toward him. He uttered an oath, withdrew the pistol from his pocket, and abruptly turned on the two. They stumbled back, hands raised in defense.

  “Don’t shoot us,” Trent hissed.

  Jonathan shoved the pistol back into this pocket. “Don’t sneak up on me.” He slid the key into the lock and gave it a turn before opening the door. The three of them slipped inside and Jonathan bolted the door behind him.

  “Where to?” Trent whispered.

  “One moment.” He moved forward, his eyes adjusting to the darkness, and located the lantern hanging not far from the door where he had left it earlier. He was just about to strike the flint when he heard voices coming from the back of the warehouse. He signaled to Trent and his wife to be quiet and crept further inside. A cool breeze wafted through the expanse of the warehouse. The large doors at the back were open. That part of the warehouse faced the Thames and was used for loading and unloading cargo. The three quietly walked forward, staying to the shadows.

  Jonathan recognized two of his current employees, two more who had disappeared, his former secretary, and there were three men he had never seen before. Shock held him in place for a moment.

  Trent touched his arm and Jonathan followed until they were just outside the reach of the lights the men had placed.

  “We need to get these out of here tonight,” one of his current employees was telling the men as he gestured to the mysterious crates. “Bridges is going to want to look in them tomorrow.”

  What did they hold that they couldn’t risk being discovered?

  “It’s about time,” Thaddeus White, his former secretary, grumbled. “Hugh’s been harping about these shipments for weeks, wanting them returned.”

  “Who the hell is Hugh?” Jonathan whispered to Trent.

  The man shrugged and shook his head.

  “If you had done your job and not made a mess of things Bridges would have never known,” another worker by the name of Willy argued.

  “Enough,” White ordered. “We need to be about this quick and get out of here. Valentine has been snooping all over the place and we don’t want to be caught.”

  Jonathan hoped Valentine would come across them now, with the entire Thames Police with him.

  Or, perhaps not. As he was here too, they might not believe he was never involved.

  He, Trent, and his wife ducked behind a tall stack of crates. “What do we do?” Jonathan asked.

  “There are too many of them to take,” Mrs. Trent offered.

  “I agree,” Trent whispered and peeked around the corner. “Our best alternative is to follow. Then we can find where they are taking the shipments and inform the authorities.”

  It took the smugglers well over an hour to move the crates onto a boat tied to the dock outside of Jonathan’s warehouse. As the last one was removed, the men left and White moved to shut the doors. Instead of following, Jonathan, Trent, and his wife retreated to the front of the warehouse, where they exited and hurried down the alley leading to the river. They stopped short at the end of the long building.

  “We need a boat,” Trent hissed.

  Jonathan nodded to the small vessel tied not far away. It was what he used when he had to visit ships anchored further out.

  “Elizabeth and I have horses,” Trent explained. “We will follow along the road. You follow by boat.”

  He didn’t relish being alone, but it was best to split.

  “They might not notice a fisherman going out, but a boat with three people tailing them may draw unwanted attention.”

  Jonathan nodded. The question remained, would he be able to keep sight of them. He studied his boat. It was a small sloop and he should be able to manage on his own. He just hoped the sail caught the wind and he was able to stay far enough back not to be noticed but close enough that he could follow.

  Trent and his wife slipped away in the darkness and Jonathan darted for the boat. He was just about to unfurl the sail when another person jumped in behind him. Jonathan reared up and withdrew his pistol. He was taking aim when the reflection of the moon highlighted the features of the new passenger. “Bloody hell.”

  Chapter 18

  Geneviève anticipated his anger, but she wasn’t about to let the three of them go after the smugglers without her. It was bad enough that Bridges had bolted the warehouse doors before she could enter behind him. It was when she had walked toward the back, looking for another entrance, that she found the smugglers loading the cargo onto the sloop. She had assumed Bridges discovered them as well, and waited, biting her nails in fear that the three of them had been discovered. She hadn’t bitten her nails since she was fifteen when her mother forced her to wear gloves constantly to break the habit. With each loud noise, she jumped, waiting for the sound of a gun. It never came. She was just about to go inside when the three of them dashed down the alley. Geneviève quickly pulled back into the shadows and waited. As soon as John and Elizabeth were gone, she didn’t waste any time in joining Jonathan in the boat. She was not about to be left behind.

  “Where did you come from?” Bridges hissed.

  “The house on Henrietta Street.”

  He glared at her. “You need to get off this boat right now.”

  She glanced around. “Where do you suggest I go?” She settled down on the seat. She had no intention of getting out of this boat. He would have to throw her over first and Geneviève was counting on him being too much of a gentleman to do so.

  “Back home, where you belong.”

  She blinked up at him innocently. “Won’t that leave me all alone in this part of London?” She opened his eyes wide and pouted. “Why, anything could happen to me.”

  “Then I’ll lock you in the warehouse until I get back.”

  Oh dear, she hadn’t considered that possibility. She glanced behind him, the sloop was pulling further away. “If you do so, they will be gone.” She pointed upriver.

  “Damn and blast,” Bridges muttered and began unfurling the sail. “Stay put! Do not move and stay low.”

  She did as he said and hid her grin. He really had no choice now. Not if he wanted to find out where the smugglers took the crates.

  Once the boat was in the channel and Bridges had the sails angled to catch the breeze, he turned on her. “And, don’t speak,” he whispered. “Voices carry on the water and we don’t want to be noticed.” She nodded and settled back. Pulling the greatcoat around her, she marveled at the comfort of men’s clothing. There was so much more freedom, especially about the legs. She would have never been able to slip into the boat so quickly and quietly had she been in her skirts.

  Bridges sat facing forward, using a lever to make slight adjustments to the sails when necessary. His back was rigid with either anger or tension. Probably both. One thing was for certain, he was not happy with her at the moment. A part of Geneviève didn’t care because she was not about to miss out on this for a moment. Besides, he might need her in the end.

  She kept an eye on the ship ahead of them but occasionally glanced about. She hadn’t realized there was so much traffic on the river at night. Mostly were yachts and a few pleasure barges, though it was rather cold to be out for the fun of it.

  Soon they were no longer seeing the City of London and the buildings were set further and further apart, melding into wooded areas and grassy knolls. Larger houses came into view and if it were light enough, and summer, she imagined she would be able to see the manicured lawns and tended gardens of estates. After a bit, little was seen on either shore. Did no one live this far upriver or were the houses set further from the water?

  How far were they to travel? Was the smuggler’s den so far away from London?

  He had never wanted to throttle anyone so badly in his life. Someone should have taken Miss Mirabelle over their knee long ago and then perhaps she wouldn’t get these foolish ideas in her head. What the hell was she thinking by dressing like a man and coming to the docks? He should have realized back at the house that she was being too amiable about awaiting their return. He may not have known her long but should have anticipated this from her.

  And what of Trent? Didn’t he suspect his sister might try something like this?

  Sister! This knowledge still perplexed him. One lord deceives society about the death of his wife while that wife hides the fact that she has twins, both keeping it a secret until the lord dies after the children become adults. It just wasn’t done! Yet, the Trents had managed to fool all of England. At least, so far they had. He didn’t expect it to remain a secret through the Season. Someone was bound to slip up sooner or later and probably right next to a gossip.

  He glanced back at his stowaway. Miss Mirabelle was crouched low on her seat, snuggled deeper into her coat. What would become of her when Society learned the truth about her family? Would she be shunned?

  He focused back on the sloop ahead of them. If she weren’t married to a gentleman of good standing, or better yet, a lord, to protect her, she could very well be spurned and treated like a leper. It was unfair when she had done nothing more than be born.

  Of all the children, Geneviève was the only one without a spouse. It would serve her best if she married before the gossip made the rounds, as it was certain to do. It would be best if she did marry into a titled family in good standing, but who?

  He straightened. Thorn was showing interest, despite her words to the contrary. A man of Thorn’s ilk does not call on a lady, walk with her and make arrangements for her to meet with his mother to discuss decorating. The women Thorn usually associated with were not the type one took home. Which meant that Thorn wanted more than a simple conquest or enjoyable interlude. But, was Thorn also willing to marry Miss Mirabelle to gain access to her bed?

  Jonathan’s stomach tightened. He refused to let the likes of Thorn anywhere near Geneviève, even if it meant he had to marry her himself.

  What the hell was he thinking? She would make the worst possible wife for him. She wouldn’t give him a moment of rest and insinuate herself into every aspect of his life. He barely knew her, yet she was sitting in the back of his boat in the middle of the night.

  On the other hand, no lady had ever ignited such heat in his body from a mere kiss. There was no question that he wanted her. Nor had he ever gotten carried away as he did earlier when they had been alone. If Trent had not arrived, Bridges would have made love to Geneviève on the settee where anyone could have walked in on them. He had never lost his head before. What was it about her that sent any sense he had scattering in the wind?

  All the more reason she was not the wife for him. She would have him befuddled within a week of marriage and probably attempt a takeover of his company.

  As soon as he had dealt with the smugglers and located her belongings, it would be best to put Geneviève Mirabelle from his mind and continue on as he had before all these troubles visited him.

  The traffic on the river began to thin as they sailed further from Town. Jonathan turned the sail to slow their pursuit of the smugglers. It wouldn’t do to be seen, yet he didn’t want to lose sight of them either. A few times he searched the shore for any sign of Trent and his wife. He had not seen them yet but was confident they weren’t all the far away.

  The sloop also began to slow and he turned the sail further. Had they arrived at their destination?

  Chapter 19

  The sloop did a slow turn in the water and Geneviève searched for a small outlet along the shore. There was none that she could see. The boat continued to turn until it straightened, coming toward them.

  “Bloody hell,” Jonathan hissed.

  “What?” Geneviève asked.

  “I think they’ve spotted us.”

  She strained to look over his shoulder, watching as the ship came toward them. Bridges maneuvered the sail so that they were out of its path. Perhaps the smugglers accidentally sailed too far and were going back to the proper spot.

  Her mouth went dry as it drew closer and closer. The more Bridges tried to move from its path, giving it a wide birth, the more it angled toward them.

  “They are coming to us,” he whispered.

  “What do we do?” Panic welled. She never dreamed they would get caught. Smugglers were dangerous men. Would they be killed? Why hadn’t she listened and remained behind? However, if she had, Bridges would be out here all alone with no one to help.

  “Can you swim?”

  She stared down into the black, inky water.

  “Can you?” he demanded.

  “Yes.” After Hélène had accidentally fallen into the Seine as a child, her mother had taken them to a lake in the country and hired someone to teach all three girls to swim. If one was walking through Paris, there was a good chance they would be around water and the mother had not wanted to lose one of her children to accidental drowning.

  “Good.” Bridges let go of the sail and turned toward her. We are going to slip over the side and start swimming toward the shore. He pointed to her left and the sloop was bearing down on them from the right. “We need to hurry so we are not caught in the wake of the ship.”

  “Why?” She had never spent much time around large ships, other than the time they sailed from Italy, but she had been on deck or in her cabin most of the time.

  “It will drag you under and drown you.”

  Geneviève swallowed past the lump in her throat.

  “Are you ready?”

  She gave a quick nod.

  “Let’s be quick about this.” Staying low, Bridges pushed his legs over the side of the boat and slipped into the water, still holding onto the side. He glanced up at her. “Come on,” he ordered.

  Geneviève did as he had and a chill shook her body as she slid into the frigid water. February was not the time of year to take a swim in the Thames.