Page 38 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

“The naval officer who took me called himself Lieutenant Morris,” he began, his voice tight with controlled emotion. “Though I doubt that was his real name. Three men in total—Morris and two larger men who did the physical work.”

“Would you recognize them again?” Felix’s usual playfulness had vanished, replaced by sharp focus.

“Morris, certainly. The others wore scarves over their faces.” Rowan’s jaw clenched. “They were professionals. Quick, efficient. They knew exactly when to find me alone.”

“Which suggests inside information,” Felix noted. “Someone familiar with your household routines.”

“Precisely.” Rowan paced to the window, too restless to remain seated. “The ship, the Intrepid, was a third-rate, seventy-four guns. Captain named Richards—cold, efficient, uninterested in my claims.”

“Did he seem to know who you truly were?”

“The first mate recognized me, I’m certain. But he denied everything, said I was a common drunkard trying to escape service.” Rowan’s hand tightened around his glass. “Theystripped me of my clothes, even cut my hair. Assigned me to the gundeck crew under a bosun with a fondness for the lash.”

Felix’s expression darkened. “Names of officers? Anyone who might have been bribed?”

“Lieutenant William Scott, first mate. Bosun named Harris. Quarter Master Douglas.” Rowan recited the names with cold precision. “The ship’s surgeon, Pennington, treated me after my first flogging. He knew I was no common sailor—commented on my hands, my diction.”

“Flogging?” Felix frowned, his eyes filling with sadness. “You were flogged?”

Rowan’s jaw tensed. He hated the tone, hated the look in his friend’s eyes.

Pity. No, he would never have pity.

“Lieutenant William Scott, first mate. Bosun named Harris. Quarter Master Douglas. Pennington, the ship’s surgeon.” Rowan repeated the names. “Write these down, Felix.”

“But—”

“Felix.”

His friend’s brows furrowed deeper, but he knew better than to push him. So, Felix nodded and took out a pen and a small notebook from his coat.

“All right,” Felix murmured, jotting down the names Rowan gave him. “These men can be traced, interviewed. The Admiralty keeps records of all officers’ assignments.”

“They’ll deny everything,” Rowan warned. “If they were paid once, they can be paid again for silence.”

“Everyone has a price,” Felix agreed. “But also a breaking point.” His smile held no warmth. “Leave that to me.”

Rowan studied his friend with new appreciation. Behind Felix’s façade of frivolity lay a sharp mind and, apparently, a willingness to employ methods Rowan hadn’t suspected him capable of.

“What of your escape? Details there might prove useful as well.”

“Gibraltar, after an engagement with French privateers off Cadiz.” Rowan’s expression hardened at the memory. “Shore leave for repairs. They sent guards with the shore parties, but one took a bribe to look the other way. Four of us slipped away.”

“Names of your fellow escapees?”

“Thomas Jenkins, William Porter, and a Scotsman called McGregor. They didn’t make it.” Rowan’s voice turned grim.“I heard the shots as I swam for the merchant vessels in the harbor.”

“Christ.” Felix’s face paled slightly. “And this merchant vessel?”

“The Morning Star. Captain Jacob Barnes. Bound for Bristol with a cargo of wine and olives.” Rowan drained his glass. “He asked no questions, needed an extra hand.”

Felix added these names to his list. “This helps immensely. Each name is a thread we can pull. Each thread might lead us to whoever set this in motion. You should have come to me immediately,” Felix said, a hint of hurt in his voice.

“I needed time,” Rowan replied. “To recover. To plan.”

“To isolate yourself, you mean.” Felix’s tone grew pointed. “We’ve known each other since we were boys, Rowan. Did you think I wouldn’t help?”

“This wasn’t schoolyard fisticuffs or university scrapes,” Rowan snapped. “This was calculated. Professional. Whoever did this wouldn’t hesitate to target anyone helping me.”

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