She took a deep, shuddering breath, making a visible effort to control herself. "Where will you even begin searching?"

"The docks. That is the most likely place he would go to look for a berth on a sailing ship. He never gave up his aspirations to sail to France."

Nick traded his shiny Hessian boots for a rougher pair and fished out a slouch hat. When he tucked a pair of pistols in his belt and a knife in his boot, Aurora's blue eyes filled with distress. He resembled the violent pirate she deplored, he knew. Yet she didn't protest. She simply watched him, her dread for Harry evident.

Nicholas could not blame her. In the past he had accused her of being overly fearful, but this time her fear was warranted. A youth of Harry's tender age and sheltered upbringing would be prey for all the miscreants and misfits in London. Nick didn't like to think of the danger the boy faced.

Grimly he slipped a heavy set of brass knuckles in his coat pocket and hefted a walking stick that doubled as a sword. He intended to be prepared for any kind of trouble. When he was ready, he took Aurora by the elbow and steered her toward the door.

"How did you come here?" he asked as he ushered her from the room.

"My carriage. Danby is waiting below for me."

"Have him take you home."

She halted, gazing up at Nicholas pleadingly. "But I want to come with you."

"No, sweetheart. I don't want to have to worry about your safety as well as Harry's."

Aurora clenched her hands into fists, obviously torn. Taking her lightly by the shoulders, Nicholas touched his lips briefly to her forehead in a gentle kiss meant to reassure her. "Go home, Aurora. I will find him, I promise you."

When still she hesitated, he reached up to stroke her cheek. "I am good at rescues, remember? Trust me a little."

She gave him a tremulous smile. "I do trust you, Nicholas," she whispered.

That brave smile tore at his heart.

As he turned her toward the stairs, Nicholas prayed silently that he would be able to keep his promise. For if real harm came to the boy, Nick knew instinctively he would forfeit any hope of prying Aurora from her fear of losing everyone she cared for.


Nicholas went first to the ship he had docked at the wharves. He kept a skeleton crew there on the schooner in the event he needed to make a swift getaway.

With a few of his roughest seamen, Nick combed the waterfront, looking for the runaway boy.

The night was teeming with humanity, sailors and bawds and cutpurses, while a din of drunken revelry issued from the taprooms and public houses. Nearest the docks, swirls of fog rose from the River Thames, bringing the damp odors of tar and rotting fish and half concealing the hundreds of bare-masted ships lying at anchor along the wharves.

The fog made the search more difficult, misting the cobblestones and making ghostly images of the crates and barrels and drays that occupied nearly every square inch of waterfront.

Yet the fog was the least of Nick's concerns. He was acquainted enough with London's underworld to have developed a healthy respect for it. The thieves' kitchens, the brothels, the opium dens here were some of the most dangerous in the world. Accordingly Nicholas adopted the low language of the waterfront, pretending to be a sailor in search of a runaway cabin boy for his master and even offering a small reward. But no one had seen a fugitive golden-haired boy.

The constricted feeling in his chest grew as the night wore on. Harry could be anywhere – abducted and forced into labor onboard a ship, or apprenticed as a pickpocket or a ragged chimney sweep, or taken into one of the sporting houses whose clientele craved the tender flesh of young boys, or lying in a dark alley, carved up for fishbait.

Or he might be miles away, having set out in a different direction entirely, Nicholas reminded himself. He'd only been relying on gut instinct when he began the search here. Although his gut was rarely wrong, he could have been mistaken. If so, then Harry could pay a costly price…

He set his jaw and continued the search. There was no way in hell he would return to face Aurora without finding the boy.

It was nearing the darkest hours of night when he met up with two of his men as they exited a tavern.

"No luck, guv'nor," one of them confided. "There's nary a sign of the young toff."

"Keep looking," Nick commanded. "When you reach the end of the quay, start boarding vessels and questioning the crews. We won't stop until we find him."

He had started to turn away when he heard a sound that raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

"Devil…"

The raw whisper came from behind a stack of crates, but it wasn't an oath or an invocation of Satan, Nicholas realized. It was a plea for "Deverill," his assumed name.

Giving a low shout to alert his men, he threaded his way through the maze of crates. His heart went cold when he saw the pale shape huddled on the ground.

"Harry?" Nicholas said urgently, kneeling beside him.

The boy groaned and lifted his head. In the darkness, Nicholas could just make out his gold hair.

Nearly naked, he was clutching his stomach and shivering in the damp night air. Stripped of his clothing, he wore only his underdrawers, which stank of urine, no doubt because he had wet himself out of fear.

"Where are you hurt?" Nicholas asked, gently probing the boy's face and limbs.

"My… belly. They hit me…"

Nicholas could feel no blood, but Harry's ribs were tender, as evidenced by his sharp winces. Nick suspected, however, that they were only bruised, not broken.

"You'll live," he said tersely, hiding his sympathy. "Tell me what happened."

Haltingly Harry's story came tumbling out: how he had made his way here shortly before dark, how he'd been chased off a brigantine he tried to board, then set upon by a gang of young pickpockets. He seemed most ashamed of his fear.

"I was so afraid," he mumbled, his voice ending in a whisper.

Nicholas didn't mince words. "You damn well should have been afraid. You're fortunate you were only bruised and battered. You could have been gutted and left to die."

"I prayed you would come."

"Count yourself lucky that I don't wring your neck. You frightened Lady Aurora witless."

"I… I am sorry. Will you tell her for me?"

"You'll tell her yourself – in the morning. For now, let's see what we can do to get you cleaned up."

Bending, he lifted the boy carefully in his arms. "I'll take you to my ship first," Nicholas added, rising. "I don't dare present you to her looking like this."


When he had Harry safely on board the Talon, however, Nicholas changed his mind about taking the boy home to Aurora. Harry was exhausted, as well as bruised and battered, but even more than rest, he needed a lesson about the harsh realities of life to underscore the one he'd learned tonight about the dangers.

When the boy was cleaned up and sound asleep in the first mate's bunk, Nicholas retreated to his own cabin, where he composed a message for Aurora. The note was brief, saying simply that Harry was safe and essentially unharmed, but that he would remain on the schooner for a time, to be taught a lesson.

That would undoubtedly rouse her protective instincts, Nick knew, and bring her running. Yet for what he wished to say to her, he needed privacy, which her house with its loyal staff of servants couldn't offer. He sent the message by three of his roughest crew members, trusting that they could protect her when she journeyed to the docks.

His plan worked as expected. In less than an hour, before dawn had even begun to appear, Nicholas heard the clatter of carriage wheels on cobblestone.

Standing at the foredeck railing, he watched as Aurora swiftly descended from the carriage and hurried toward the ship's gangway. He could feel the powerful thudding of his heart, knowing the next few moments could change his life forever.

When she reached the top of the gangway, he moved to help her step onto the deck, grasping her elbow for support.

"What have you done with Harry?" she demanded even before she was on board, her voice hoarse with strain. "Did you hurt him?"

"No, of course I didn't hurt him. He's sound asleep."

Abruptly she pulled away from Nick's grasp. Her gaze riveted on his face, fear and anger evident on her beautiful features in the lantern light. "What did you mean, you want to teach him a lesson?" she said in a fierce undertone. "He should be safe at home in bed."

"He is safe, Aurora."

"You said you intend to keep him on board your ship – "

"Let's not argue here," Nicholas replied warningly, gesturing with his head toward his crewmen, who were climbing the ladder after her.

With a visible effort to control her agitation, she allowed him to lead her. Taking up a lantern, he escorted her belowdeck to the mate's cabin. Quietly opening the door, he stepped aside to allow her entrance.

Harry was curled up in the bunk, fast asleep. Aurora approached him cautiously, afraid of what she would find. The pitiful sight was even more shocking than she anticipated. In the dim glow of lantern light, she could see his battered face – the bruise forming under one eye, the split lip…

A sob caught in her throat, while a surge of nausea rose up to choke her; she had to press her hand to her mouth to stifle it.

This was what violence had done to him, she thought despairingly, fighting the storm of fury and helplessness that raged inside her. Yet Harry was alive, that was what mattered most. She had not been able to protect him, but he was alive.