“Be careful, Simon,” she whispered when finally, he released her. Her lips looked red and swollen, and something primitive inside him reveled in the knowledge that he had marked her.
“I will, and I promise to return to you soon.”
Simon spoke to his drivers before he made for the Anchor. “Miss Belmont is not to leave the carriage until I return, Merlin, no matter how persuasive she becomes. Is that understood?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Nodding, he made his way down the street towards the Anchor. The port was busy. There were noises and people everywhere. Rigging clanged, vendors hawked their wares, and children darted across the street between rolling barrels, carts and adults. It did not take him long to reach the Anchor. Once there he pushed open the door and walked inside.
The scent of ale and dried sweat greeted him as he entered the dark interior. The walls were covered with various items from ships, and the men inside were mostly sailors. Several ladies who were offering more than ale to the patrons walked among the men, displaying as much of their bodies as they could without removing their clothing. Simon made his way to the bar, where he bought an ale and looked around the room. He discounted most of the men he saw as people just biding their time before ships left the port, and then his eyes fell on a man sitting upright at the rear of the room. Taking a sip of his ale, Simon watched the man motion the woman who approached him away. He had no drink in front of him, and to Simon’s eye, he looked as if he was waiting for someone.
Removing a handful of coins from inside his pocket, he motioned the bartender closer.
“Looks like you’ve run into a handful of trouble by that face.”
Simon’s smile was feral. “Indeed, but the other man looks worse than me, it pleases me to say.”
The man ran his eyes over Simon, taking in the fine clothes, but said nothing further.
“The man sitting at the table in the rear–has he been here before?” Simon questioned, placing the coins on the bar.
“Every day at the same time for a week. Tight-fisted French sod, never orders a bleeding drink–just keeps his eyes on the door for a while, then leaves.” Pocketing the coins, the man left to serve another customer.
Drink in hand, Simon made his way towards the man. Once there, he pulled out the chair opposite and sat.
“I am waiting for someone, sir. Please leave.”
He wasn’t tall. However, his shoulders were muscled and his forearms beefy. His English was broken, so Simon answered him in French. “I would never have allowed my sister to travel here alone, sir, so you will deal with me or not at all.”
“Lord Belmont?” The man’s eyes gave Simon a calculating look.
“And you are?”
“Never mind who I am, only that I have something your family wants.”
Simon sat back in his chair and took a sip from his drink, trying not to wince. He would have preferred tea or coffee at this hour, and the glass had a salty taste to the lip that was not pleasant. “Why did you lure my sister into that lane?”
“We had the boy in London and had hoped to hand him to her before coming here to catch our ship.”
He was telling the truth, Simon thought. Still, he had to take precautions. “And how do I know you are not just trying to extort money from me? After all, there is obviously no child nearby.”
The man’s eyes darted around the room and then back to Simon. “My sister gave this to me on her deathbed. It’s a note from your brother, stating that if he did not return for her, then something must have happened, and if she ever needed help, she was to contact your sister.”
Simon took the note and read the contents. He had no idea if this was Anthony’s handwriting or not. Claire would know, however. Handing it back, Simon said, “So you are selling your sister’s child, now she has died? It warms my heart, sir, to see such family loyalty.”
The man’s fists clenched on the table at Simon’s taunt. “My brother and I have no place in our lives for a child!”
“So you are prepared to abandon it?”
The man had the grace to lower his head, but he said nothing further.
Simon heard the voices around them grow quiet and knew with a sinking feeling that Claire had entered the tavern.
“Your sister has arrived, my lord.”
“So it would seem,” Simon said, standing. “And I’m going to kill her,” he added softly as he caught her eyes. “Excuse me. I shall return shortly.”
She was standing beside Merlin, who, in turn, was looking at Simon with a desperate expression on his face. Men were closing in on her, but whatever expression was on his face was sending them away without a word. “You promised me, Claire.”