Isabelle plowed through the crowd, not paying attention to whether Lily’s footman followed. Marshall was close. She had to find him, had to see him. The thought looped through her mind like a mantra, driving her forward.
Two guards stood at the foot of the gangplank. One of them put his arm across her path as she tried to step onto the ramp. “Stop there, miss.”
She huffed with impatience. “I’d like to board the ship, please.”
The great brute merely smacked his lips and shook his head. “Yer got papers to show me?”
Isabelle sniffed. “Papers? Why on earth do I need papers? I’m here to see the Duke of Monthwaite.”
“If yer ain’t got papers,” the guard replied, “then you got no bidness on this ’ere ship. Off you go, then.”
Isabelle gave first one guard, and then the other, her most dazzling smile. “Surely it’s nothing to you if I just step aboard for a moment. His Grace would not want you to bar my way.”
The other guard spat on the ground near her feet. “His Grace don’t want no thieves or whores on ’is ship. On your way.”
Isabelle’s mouth dropped open. “Why you despicable … ” She set her jaw and lifted her chin. She had not come all this way to be insulted into defeat by two unwashed ruffians. “You seem to have mistaken my identity. I am neither thief nor whore, and I’m done discussing the matter.” She took a step forward.
“Right, then,” said one of the guards. Each man roughly grabbed hold of one of her arms and began dragging her away from the ship.
“Let me go!”
Lily’s footman argued with the men, to no effect.
Marshall and another man emerged on the Adamanthea’s deck. “Marshall!” she called. Her voice was swallowed in the bustling din; he did not look her way. He and his companion began walking across the deck with their backs to Isabelle.
She desperately twisted in the grasp of the large guards.
“Gawd, she’s a wild one,” one of the men said. “Where’s a charley when we need one?”
Marshall was about to round the prow of the ship. If Isabelle lost sight of him now, she might never see him again. She gathered her breath and screamed his name. He turned. His brows snapped together when he spotted the ruckus taking place near his ship. Then he saw her, and his lips parted.
She nearly cried in relief. He’d seen her. It would be all right now.
Marshall strode the length of the deck and paused at the top of the gangway. The breeze tousled his hair. He wore no jacket over his ivory shirt and camel waistcoat, in spite of the cold morning. His brown breeches fit like a second skin. He was the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen.
“Hold,” he called. A single word in his commanding baritone was all it took to get the guards’ attention. “She can come up.”
Isabelle schooled her features into regal composure and arched a brow at her captors. They released her arms.
Her eyes were locked onto Marshall as she climbed the ramp to Adamanthea’s deck. Butterflies buffeted her stomach. She wanted so much to smile or laugh, but his fierce expression kept her on tenterhooks.
Marshall’s lips were drawn into a tight line, his guarded features betraying nothing. Was he not pleased to see her?
Maybe she shouldn’t have come. He didn’t want her anymore — she could see that now. She’d hurt him too badly. Too much time had passed.
Despite her uncertainty, her feet carried her forward. She stopped in front of him. Her hands twisted in the cord of her reticule, two white knuckled fists.
“Isabelle.” He nodded once. His pulse flicked beneath the skin of his throat. She longed to cover that place with her mouth.
She swallowed. “Hello, Marshall.” Whatever happened, she had to try. If he told her to leave, she would. But she could never live with herself if she didn’t try.
Without a word, he took her elbow and guided her across the deck. Sailors stepped out of the way as they passed.
They descended narrow steps into the belly of the ship. He opened a door and gestured. She stepped past him into a neat, small cabin. A bunk was built into one wall. A desk was nailed to the floor against the opposite wall, with a single wooden chair in front of it. His trunk stood open near the bunk. She glimpsed his shaving articles nestled atop a stack of snowy nightshirts.
“What do you want?” he asked, closing the door. He stood with his feet planted wide, his arms crossed across his chest.
She took a deep breath. It was now or never. “You.”