Page 65 of Daring the Forbidden Earl
Mark had reignited the flame of hope within his heart, but he knew he would not feel nearly so optimistic if it were growing dark outside. Even with the sun’s help, most of these warehouses looked alike, and many more were chained shut. If Hugh had placed a lock on the warehouse where he was keeping Johanna, Mark suspected they might have to resort to their pistols once more.
Walking along the docks, with the Thames glimmering off to his left, where ships sailed in the distance, voyaging to far flung shores, Mark kept his ears primed for any unusual sounds coming from the warehouses. Up ahead, he could see the infamous Execution Dock, where pirates and maritime criminals met their demise at the end of a hangman’s rope. There was something unmistakably eerie about the structure, though the same could be said for all the buildings that lined this section of the riverbank.
Why would anyone choose such a livelihood?
He had never understood the desire to sail away across an expanse of water, where storms and temperamental tides could wreck a ship in minutes. He supposed it made sense that a degenerate such as his uncle would fall into that line of work.
Shuddering at the gloomy sight of the hulking warehouses, with their rickety wooden walls and gaping, windowless eyes, he tried to feel for Johanna. He knew it was somewhat foolish, but he hoped their connection of deep and unwavering love might somehow lead him to her.
Kenneth put up his hand and brought Mark and Liam to a standstill.
“What is it?” Mark whispered.
“Over there.” Kenneth pointed to a smaller warehouse, set among the wooden giants. “I hear a man laughing.”
Mark furrowed his brow. “I cannot hear anything.”
“Nor can I,” Liam agreed.
“Trust me,” Kenneth replied. “And if you cannot hear with your ears, then you ought to look closer with your eyes. Do you see that tall wooden thing just outside the warehouse door?”
Mark squinted and saw what appeared to be an upright log with several wooden arms jutting out of it. Indeed, from this distance, it looked rather like a curious scarecrow, perhaps intended to frighten away seagulls.
“I see it,” Liam said.
Kenneth smiled triumphantly. “That, my dear friends, is a training post. Used primarily by boxers.” He removed his pistol from inside his waistcoat and checked the flintlock. “If we do not find Hugh Snow and Johanna in there, I shall eat my hat.”
No sooner had Kenneth given his rousing statement than Mark heard a peal of masculine laughter rolling out of the open warehouse door. In that moment, he knew his friend was right, for he remembered that laugh. When he had last heard it, it had been aimed, most mockingly, at him.
I am here, Sweeting. I am coming for you.
Taking his own pistol out of his waistcoat, he took a steadying breath, for if shots ended up being fired, he knew one would find him.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Entering the stuffy, suffocating interior of the warehouse, Mark and his two friends decided the best course of action would be to divide and conquer. As such, Mark found himself alone, clutching onto the handle of his pistol as he crept around towers of crates draped in canvas, old barrels that he kept narrowly avoiding bumping into, and debris on the floor that he was careful to pick his way across, lest the slightest sound alert Hugh to his presence.
Where are you, Sweeting?
He sent the question out into the ether, trying to feel her location in his mind. Thus far, he had received no divine reply. All he could do was listen for the bursts of laughter and the hum of muffled chatter, and hope it led him to the right place.
He had just rounded an oddly shaped, canvas-covered mound, when he heard the crisp, clear sound of Hugh’s voice. Clearly, the various discarded items that crowded the warehouse had been distorting the prizefighter’s voice, but that no longer seemed to be the case. It gave Mark hope that he was almost upon the wretch.
“Must I really explain it to you?” Hugh said, in a peculiar accent that sounded both common and of high society. “I don’t suppose my father married you for your mind, then? No older gentleman weds a young bride for that, do they?”
Mark felt as though someone had plunged a dagger of ice through his heart, for there was no mistaking what he had just heard. As they sank into his mind, everything became clear. All this time, he had thought the threats and warnings were aimed at him, but he realized he might have been wrong. Perhaps, Hugh held some vendetta against Johanna for marrying his father and ousting his mother… whoever she might be.
Can that be right?
If he had gone to Hyde Park alone last night, would Hugh have killed him as some kind of revenge against Johanna? It seemed outlandish, but he did not know Hugh enough to understand what he might be capable of.
“He never loved you, you know,” Hugh continued, as Mark edged closer to the sound of the man’s voice. “My father only ever loved one woman, and though I have no real quarrel with you, I suppose you are partially to blame for the death of my mother.”
Mark frowned, for those words entirely undid his theory about Johanna being the true focus of Hugh’s threats.
“And why is that?” he heard Johanna reply curtly. “Peter was unmarried, so I cannot have taken the place of your mother. As for him loving me—I am well aware that he did not, and I am glad he did not, for he was an evil man.”
“Pardon?” Hugh hissed the word.
