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  “Is there anything criminal in his instructions, or have you gone completely mad? This is kidnapping.”

  “That’s what I intend to learn in Christchurch, Mr. West.” He reached into his pocket and found the sealed letter he himself had penned just hours ago. He then tossed it at the woman and it landed at her feet. “Give that to your master.”

  A coach pulled up, just as he had instructed. The driver’s price had been steep, but it had been worth it. The man descended from his seat to tie Phillip’s hands behind his back and then tossed him into the coach.

  “Mr. West!” the woman cried.

  “Send word to Ryder, Mrs. Johnson,” Phillip said.

  “I wouldn’t, if I were you.” Webb boarded and sat opposite his hostage with the pistol resting on his leg. “I’ve sent a man aboard the postal packet. Should Ryder learn of what has happened, he’ll kill him.”

  “You bastard.”

  The driver shut the door and ascended.

  “Calm yourself, Mr. West. We have quite a journey ahead of us.” He smiled at Phillip’s scowl and the horses set off.

  * * * * *

  Sam was no sailor. She wasn’t suffering seasickness but sleeping was too difficult when one’s bed rolled and pitched like a mechanical bull on a low setting. It also didn’t help that she couldn’t stop thinking about the locket’s demand that she choose. She slept maybe an hour on the trip to Le Havre and only a few hours while they waited for high tide in order to return to England. Rougher seas on the journey back meant zero sleep, and when they neared their landing site in the wee hours of the morning, she was never more grateful.

  That is, until Ryder spotted the deck lamps of a revenue cruiser. A great deal of cursing from both MacKenzie and Ryder was followed by a flurry of activity that turned their smuggling cutter back into open water. The cruiser gave chase for nearly an hour before losing sight of them amidst the dark waves, but it wasn’t for another hour that they turned around to circle back. An hour after that, Sam stopped shaking from the adrenaline.

  Ryder and MacKenzie had been in Ryder’s cabin for twenty minutes, arguing about how and when to try another landfall. A several-hour delay meant that they couldn’t be sure the scores of men and nearly a score of carts would still be waiting. The potential payment the farmers and laborers could expect for their assistance would be far greater than a day’s honest work and they would probably wait as long as they could. However, the sun would be over the horizon in almost an hour, meaning they would have to unload their contraband in broad daylight, and the revenue cruiser was still out there.

  Sam wondered what color the sunrise would be.

  When she couldn’t stand her thoughts anymore, she pulled out the ledger and went to the cargo hold to double-check the inventory. Finding and counting the many bales of tobacco, ankers of brandy and casks of various dried fruits wouldn’t be a pleasant or even necessary task—the cargo hold was a powerful-smelling place—but it was at least a distraction. She hooked her sturdy lantern to the ceiling and set the open ledger on a barrel piled with others like it.

  The ship creaked and the lantern moved with the tilt of the vessel, but it was quiet and solitary as she went back and forth from the ledger to the various goods efficiently packed, stacked and tied down. Halfway down the list of entries were the bales of Lyons silk for which she had haggled like a pro, and a portion of it had been repacked into the trunk that would ride back to London with her.

  The trunk was tied down around its sides, so she couldn’t resist a quick peek and lifted the lid. Gently pushing aside the paper that provided minimal protection, she ran her fingers across the light-blue brocade that sat on top. Her parents’ shop hadn’t dealt with historical clothes very much as they required extra care and were often difficult to acquire, but now that she was wise to his secret, Sam wondered if Brian had been against acquiring rare clothing because it wasn’t ideal for smuggling drugs.

  She heard footsteps behind her and shut the lid.

  “Do you like that one? We can keep it and substitute another.” Ryder stopped at the ledger and stared at the page. The single source of light cast deep shadows across his troubled expression. The revenue cruiser, according to snippets she heard from Ryder, MacKenzie and the crew, was better manned than some for how close it came to catching them.

  “No, that’s all right.” She might not need any more dresses. “So are we heading back to France?”

  He took a few steps toward her. “I convinced MacKenzie to try for the shore again.”

  “I see. We’ll make it this time. I’m sure of it.” They’d see a red dawn too. She was also pretty sure of that.

  “Your vote of confidence is appreciated,” he said smugly.

  Her eyebrows went up. “Maybe my vote is for MacKenzie.” She even stuck out her tongue. His tight-lipped smile broke out into a laugh.

  “Yes, well…I helped.” More than just helped, she thought. MacKenzie had been given command of the ship for their illicit venture, but when the revenue cruiser appeared, he deferred to Ryder’s sudden stream of orders as though it were ingrained in him to obey.

  “You seem happier at sea,” she observed.

  “Only because it is familiar. I do not recall with fondness many aspects of life on the water, though London suits me ill as well. I rather find myself searching for something new and different.”

  She could relate. She had never felt so directionless. Did she want to go back to her old life just because it was familiar? Before her mother died, she had considered going back to school to finish her master’s and then maybe earn a doctorate, but those plans were put on hold. Then when her father passed away, she was reluctant to return to school, though she had little obligation to keep the shop open.

  “Do you not agree, Samantha?” Ryder closed the distance between them. His voice was softer. “We could escape together to find a new life.”

  “Maybe I’m frightened,” she whispered. The light was behind him and it was difficult to read his mood, but his hands were gentle as he drew her against him.

  “Frightened of change?”

  “Of regret. Not taking one path means you’ll never discover what’s at the end of it.”

  His hand went around her waist. “What does your heart tell you?”

  That very organ was swelling and beating loudly enough to hear. “I shouldn’t listen to my heart.” It clung to false hopes, desired more than what was possible and demanded she do what she wanted rather than what was right.

  “To deny one’s heart is to invite regret.” His other hand cupped the back of her head. His breath was on her cheek. “Samantha. Escape with me.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and clung to him. He sealed their lips together.

  This would haunt her dreams—memories of him coaxing a response from her body, whispering things that peeled away her defenses and plunged them into the endless depths of their desire for each other.

  They didn’t have to be mere memories.

  The kiss deepened. He held her closer. The ship moved endlessly beneath their feet but he kept them upright. She prayed for time to stand still, to slow the approach of dawn.

  She felt something through her skirt. One of her hands slipped between them and palmed his erection. His mouth broke away on a groan. She rubbed him through his breeches and summoned a lusty growl. She needed one more taste, to feel him between her legs and hear his climax.

  His voice was deep and strained as he spoke to the ceiling. “I…I’m afraid there is little time until we reach shore.”

  “Then we should hurry.”

  Ryder moaned and grasped her close. His strength still surprised her as he carried her to an obliging crate and set her on top. They spent no time on unnecessary buttons. She all but ripped open the fore-flap of his breeches. He bunched up the front of her skirt and greedily hooked his hands under her knees. She braced one hand behind her while the other pumped his cock. He jerked her to the edge of the crate. A heartbeat and he was
sinking into her.

  The room shrank to just the two of them. She could only see the outline of his broad shoulders, backlit by the lantern. They rolled as he gently stroked into her. She could only feel where he touched her. Her knees were draped over his elbows, his fingers were splayed wide around her thighs, and his cock slid deep. She could only hear their gasps and sighs. Ryder whispered deliciously lewd things, told her to touch herself. Her free hand went between her thighs. He grunted with approval and his hips thrust faster.

  The pressure was building so sweetly. Tingles and warmth that promised satisfaction were gathering where she was clamped around his cock. Her head went back. Her fingers swirled her clit. His gruff sighs were getting louder.

  Heat and pleasure suffused her. She gave a shaky cry. Ryder slowed and circled his hips against her. The arm bracing her gave out and she lay back on the crate. She tried to tell herself that the room was pitching because they were on a ship, but the ecstasy swimming through her veins was more likely to blame. She wanted to tell him how addicted she was to him, that her body ached for him at all times, that her heart wanted him and not her old life.

  “I love you,” was all she could say.

  Ryder groaned. His cock throbbed inside her.

  The world opened up again and it wasn’t just them anymore. They were quiet as they cleaned up and straightened their clothes. Ryder mentioned feeling hungry and they contemplated a quick snack.

  Before they reached his cabin, however, MacKenzie shouted from above deck, “Ryder, you had better see this.”

  Ryder closed his eyes and dropped his head. “Damn it. I do not relish the idea of outrunning that cruiser again.”

  They went to the steps leading above deck, and Sam’s heart sank at the rusty light cast on the stairs by the rising sun. Ryder went up first. She heard him curse and worried the cruiser had found them. She followed him up.

  Her prayer for time to slow down was answered. She froze at the top of the stairs and was filled with panic.

  “Oh God,” she whispered.

  The air was thick with dry fog that veiled the horizon. The world spun in slow motion as she looked to the sunrise. It wasn’t the red that sailors feared. It was apocalyptic. The glowering sun was like a drop of luminescent blood, its brightness dimmed. One of the crewmen crossed himself.

  It was the persistent haze she had warned would cover all of Europe for the entire summer, the fallout from a major volcanic eruption far away in Iceland. Would Ryder remember that moment of idiocy when she had predicted it? Would he remember her claiming she was born in the 1980s?

  She prayed he didn’t. They had polished off an entire bottle of champagne when she said it, and he had laughed as if it was all just a joke. Then so much happened later that night when he was ejected from the brothel and had to search the nearest watch-houses for her.

  But as she anxiously watched the play of emotions across his face, she could see the puzzle pieces coming together, nice and snug.

  He looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. His eyes went from head to toe and back. His head subtly shook as though it should’ve been obvious from the start.

  “That’s why you couldn’t tell me.”

  “Ryder, I…didn’t know how to tell you.”

  It all seemed to hit him at once and he took a step back from her. His emotions were a mix of fear and hurt, the exact expression she hoped never to see.

  “Tell him what, exactly?” MacKenzie cut in. The sailor looked at her with more than an ounce of superstition. She had heard him balk at the notion of a woman on the ship.

  “We’ll be right back,” she blurted. She grabbed the front of Ryder’s vest and hauled him below deck.

  “That night in the brothel…” He talked dazedly. “All those things you said. You knew. You…” His mind was blown and it was no wonder. If he weren’t in shock, she would’ve been more concerned.

  “I can explain…sort of.”

  “Is this even possible? How are you here?”

  “That’s the ‘sort of’ part. I don’t know how I got here. I can tell you what happened, but not how.”

  “I see.”

  She watched him carefully as she recounted the evening when Brian shot her and the scary moments when she woke up in someone’s dusty attic. Dubious was a tame word to describe his reaction, especially when she got to the bizarre and mutable nature of her locket.

  “Wait, it told you about me? And Webb?”

  She nodded. “And Mrs. Hayes as well as Phillip. You’re represented by a hawk.”

  “A hawk?” His eyes dropped to the locket. “May I see it?”

  She walked to the hanging lantern and Ryder followed. He leaned in and carefully picked it up. He first examined the cage etched onto the front with its diamond lock.

  “Why do you always wear it?”

  “It’s some kind of anchor. Without it…”

  He looked up with concern. “You’ll drift away?”

  “The bullet that hit me will finish the job.” He didn’t like hearing that. His mouth flattened and his eyebrows came down. A second later, they shot back up.

  “The blood on the towels—”

  “Exactly.”

  Ryder ground his jaw and flipped the locket over. His forehead almost touched her face as he leaned even closer to better read the inscription. “Choose. What does that mean?”

  Her heart was choking her. “Open the locket.” She almost hoped the locket pulled a Houdini and hid the note from him.

  A pop and then Ryder was pulling something out. She looked away. Ryder released her now-empty locket and unfolded the note. He read the stanza under his breath. Then he read it again.

  And again.

  He made a noise and she swung her head back. His stare was consuming. Tears swam in his eyes.

  “Ryder, I…” God, she didn’t know what to say. He blinked hard and then broke eye contact. He took slow, steady breaths.

  “Is this what you want? To go home?”

  His question twisted some vital part of her and she fought to breathe. A tear slipped past her control. Her voice was shaky. “I don’t know.”

  He inhaled through clenched teeth. Not the answer he wanted.

  “And I wouldn’t even remember you? How could this—this thing rip out my heart so easily?”

  Sam didn’t have an answer for that.

  MacKenzie shouted from above deck. “What should we do?” Ryder threw a glare at the empty stairs.

  “You know what a volcano is, right?” she asked him. Ryder’s instant confusion was her answer. Well then. “I can give you a layman’s explanation of geology later, but it’s enough for now to know that this obviously isn’t normal fog. If MacKenzie can’t navigate in this…”

  He nodded slowly. “Then we can’t land.”

  “Everyone should cover their mouths if they can and take breaks below deck. The air isn’t safe to breathe.”

  “I see.” He studied his boots as he handed back the note. He then stiffly turned away and marched up to the deck. He didn’t look back when she didn’t follow.

  “What devilry is this?” MacKenzie ground out when Ryder emerged from below deck. “I told you we shouldn’t have brought a woman aboard—”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Ryder barked. “If such a fog were conjured up every time a woman was on a ship, we’d have heard about the phenomenon by now.”

  “I spy a cloven foot in all this, sir. It’s not right.”

  “You said to me you could find our beach in the darkest of nights. Was that true?”

  MacKenzie gaped. “You cannot be serious.”

  “I am.” Ryder raised a pointed hand. “The fog will hinder the cruiser just as it hinders us, and we’re not looking for a moving target. The riding officers will have to be quite lucky to spot us, assuming they are out in this fog at all. If we have visibility at even a mile, we’ll find the beach, weight what cargo we can offshore and bury the rest. We can return once we gather the me
n for land transport.”

  MacKenzie opened and closed his mouth as he tried to object. “Damn it.” He sighed in resignation.

  Ryder slapped MacKenzie’s shoulder. “Good man. Have these men cover their mouths. The fog has a foul odor and they should not breathe it long. No man should be above deck more than an hour.”

  He turned at MacKenzie’s nod and spotted Samantha at the stairs leading below deck. One of her hands was wrapped around the locket while the other held a kerchief to her mouth. Her sad eyes held his gaze only a brief moment before she returned below.

  It was too difficult to fathom.

  The things she knew, the way she had lived, and her presence in his life were all beyond his most fantastical notions. He had always been a practical man, not prone to daydreams, but that odd awareness in her manner and the sense of otherness that clung to her, which no other person he had ever met possessed…

  She didn’t belong in this age.

  Was his love not enough? Did she suffer here as though in exile? If so, he knew he should let her go, but his heart broke at the thought of her walking through some otherworldly gate, never to return. Her brilliance, her open laugh and her mischievous eyes would be gone forever.

  He could not let that happen.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was seven in the morning when they neared their landing spot. No other spotsman would have succeeded but MacKenzie, who recognized vague outlines along the shore and had been absolutely certain of their position. To hope they could discern all-clear signals from their other potential landing spots was vain, so MacKenzie brought the ship closer to the beach.

  From the corner of his eye, Ryder spied Samantha emerge from below deck. She held a kerchief against her mouth and for a moment observed their approach to the beach. Her eyes then swept the deck and stopped on him.

  He hid nothing of what he felt, the love and need. He willed her to know the fulfillment and contentment she gave him, and that she would never regret remaining by his side. He would do anything to make her happy.