Daughter of the God-King(113)

“Do I need my safe passage?” she reminded Dimitry as he placed a boot against their boat to push them away.

“It was never intended for you,” he admitted.

She nodded. Apparently, the capture of the associate had been his object all the while, and securing the treasure only a means to that end. That he had also secured a wife was an unexpected boon that had caused only slight complications—he was indeed an excellent chess player. She wondered where they would deliver the associate and decided that the less she knew about it, the better.

“Clements will see to you,” he said softly as his figure faded away in the darkness, and then he was gone.

Masking her sadness, Hattie turned to face her impassive companion. “Hallo, again, sir. I believe we shall become fast friends, after all is said and done.”

Wooden-faced, the innkeeper began to pole the boat. His only reaction was to indicate with a gesture that she was to lie down.

With a sigh, she complied, wondering whence she was to be shuttled now. Hopefully it was somewhere that featured a hip bath, as she had never been such a mess in her life—not that Dimitry had offered any objection when he had joined his body with hers on the floorboards. She decided she didn’t want to think about him just now, and concentrated instead on the passing sky. After perhaps a half hour she could spy lanterns coming into view overhead, and propping on her elbows, she peered out and saw that they approached a small schooner, anchored in the river. As they slid quietly alongside in the shadows of the hull, a cabin porthole opened and Captain Clements’s head appeared, wordlessly indicating she was to stand and lift her arms. Hattie carefully stood, holding her arms out to keep her balance, then lifted them toward him, hoping she wasn’t to suffer the final indignity of the evening by falling into the Nile. The big man grasped her wrists and pulled her up so that she kicked off the hull and scrambled head first through the small opening, sustaining a few more bruises and scrapes in the process.

“Welcome aboard.” With an easy movement, he set her upright on the floor within.

“I am dying for a bath,” she responded without preamble.

He took her arm and steered her toward the interior of the cabin, indicating she was to sit on the low berth in the cramped quarters. “Not just now, I’m afraid. You must stay below decks and away from the windows.” At her look, he offered in apology. “I can feed you, instead—will that do?”

She brushed at her filthy skirts, then gave it up as hopeless. “Do we leave immediately?”

“I await one more passenger, but we leave within the hour, regardless.”

Eyeing him, she asked, “Where do we go?”

He shook his head. “I am not at liberty to say—not as yet, I’m afraid.”

She gave in with good grace. “Very well then—I will cooperate if you teach me a few words in Russian.”

The captain raised his bushy brows in surprise. “What makes you think I would know how to speak in Russian?”

With a shrug, Hattie offered a benign smile. “Just a thought.”

He was amused. “I’m afraid you will have to take your lessons elsewhere.”

She made a moue of disappointment. “I so wanted to surprise him.”

“Instead, you have surprised me.” He closed the door behind him.

After taking in her surroundings, she contemplated the undeniable fact that once again, she was uncomfortably enclosed in a small space. At least there was the porthole, such as it was. As she lifted an arm to examine a scrape on her elbow, the door opened to reveal Eugenie, looking very much put upon. “You look terrible,” the Frenchwoman pronounced with satisfaction.

“If you bring a hairbrush, you may insult me all you wish.”

“I am instructed to be of assistance,” explained her reluctant handmaiden, pulling a hairbrush from the storage cabinet. “Votre dragon being absent.”

Dimpling, Hattie had the pleasure of informing her, “My dragon is betrothed to Mr. Smithson.”

“Zut alors.” Amazed, Eugenie shook her head in wonderment. “Who would think she could attract the men, that one? She is like a stick with eyeballs.”

Unpinning the few pins left in her hair, Hattie noted, “I think they admire her for her mind, Eugenie.”

“Bah.” The woman made a gesture of repulsion. “Then they are not real men.”

“Not like the captain.” Hattie gave her a knowing glance as she started the long process of untangling her hair from the ends up.

But Eugenie was not to be discomfited. “Or Daniel.”

“Or Daniel,” Hattie agreed, thinking of the heated session on the fishing boat.