Addicted to the Duke (Imperfect Lords #1)(38)

She looked at the lights of the town twinkling in the dimming light and finally admitted to herself there was nothing she could do to change the situation. Alex would hardly listen to her if, as David said, he tried to dissuade him too.

Her heart felt heavy in her chest because she didn’t know how to fall out of love with Alex. The Alex of her dreams was not real. Perhaps this is what she needed to hear. To open her eyes to the fact life was passing her by while she sat waiting, pining for a man who would never be hers.

She could stay here and wait for her father. Emilia would let her stay and the governor would keep her safe. She would not sail to Greece. Not for her father and not for Alex. There was no need. She would wait to see what her fate would be if they found her father. If they didn’t find him…she didn’t know what she would do. Fredrick would want her dead for the money. She would have to marry.

A tear slipped out of her eye no matter how hard she tried to stop it. She’d promised her mother she’d marry for love, but fate was not her friend. She would have to marry for protection. She had the money that Fredrick wanted. Only a husband would protect her.

She didn’t need a title or a rich man. She needed a good man. An honest man. A man like…David Foxhall. He was the son of a viscount. A man who helped people. A man who she thought liked her, perhaps even desired her. A man who was as handsome as sin.

But a man she didn’t love. Could she learn to love him? Could he learn to love her? Only one way to find out.

Decision made, she was about to go below and find David and challenge him to the game of chess he had offered earlier when a large hand covered her mouth and an arm snaked around her waist lifting her off her feet.

She fought like a madwoman, but another pair of hands grabbed her booted feet.

Hestia tried to scream but could barely breathe through the hand covering her mouth and nose. Soon a rope was wrapped around her, a gag was pushed into her mouth, and she was being lowered into a boat.

To her horror, Connor, the sailor from the poop deck, was the one lowering her. They were hauling her over the side of the ship like a bag of grain, and when she hit the rowboat, it was Scar Face, his repugnant companion, who pushed her to one side.

“Were you wanting to go ashore, Lady Hestia? Me and Patrick would be happy to oblige.” The laugh that followed was full of evil.

Hestia could do no more than try and scream through the cloth. Her arms were pinned to her side by the thick rope. Her legs were free and she kicked out as Connor stepped into the rowboat.

Her breath came faster and panic rose. She was in serious danger. Their behavior that day on the poop deck made her very aware they were not gentlemen. They couldn’t very well hurt her until they reached the shore. She looked toward the jetty and realized there were plenty of people milling around; perhaps she could alert someone to her predicament.

She glanced down her body. Dressed as a man? Who would step in to help a man?

“Patrick, quit staring. We need to move before Foxhall comes looking for her.”

Patrick took up the oars and began rowing.

It was several minutes before Hestia noticed they were in fact rowing away from the jetty toward the far-off shoreline, on the other side of the bay. Her blood turned to ice in her veins.

Keeping an outward display of calm, so as not to alert Connor that she’d noticed the change in their destination, Hestia furiously assessed her situation. What escape options did she have? With a shudder she told herself not to let them get her to the shore—away from people, all alone.

She had landed on her back across the edge of the seat. She used her legs and body to slide along the edge of the seat, loosening the rope wrapped around her. They had not tied it tight. If she could get it loose enough she could jump over the side and slip out of the bindings before sinking to the bottom. She was a strong swimmer.

Her heart was pounding and her palms were sweaty. She’d have only one chance at escaping. With a grimace, Hestia acknowledged jumping overboard and swimming seemed to be her only option.

However, she wouldn’t get far with her arms pinned. Chewing her bottom lip she pondered how quickly she could untangle herself once she hit the water. Her boots would have to go too; they’d fill with water.

She prayed the men were not good swimmers. In fact, they might not even be able to swim. She silently thanked her father for enforcing swimming lessons all those years ago. It was his one rule if she wanted to accompany him on his travels—she had to learn to swim. She had been a very apt pupil.

The idea of what could be lurking in the clear water unnerved her, but she’d rather take her chances in the sea than with the two men on shore. Even a shark would be preferable to what awaited her on land at the hands of a man like Connor.

The heavens must have answered her prayers. Connor moved back toward Patrick to whisper in his ear. Hestia snatched her opportunity and quickly pushed with her feet and literally rolled over the side of the boat.

She sank like a stone and soon panic set in as she tried to free herself from the unraveling rope. Suddenly she burst free and stroked underwater until her lungs were about to burst. Kicking strongly, she managed to surface some twenty feet from the rowboat, and while treading water she set about removing her boots.

Blast. Connor slipped off his jacket and was about to dive in. So much for him being unable to swim.

Adrenaline surged as she furiously kicked out for the long swim toward the jetty. Thankfully, her dive into the water was causing a stir on the dock. Hopefully a boat would stop to pick her up. In addition, she could make out David frantically trying to lower another rowboat from the deck of the Angelica. All she had to do was keep out of Connor’s clutches until they reached her.