Brazen and the Beast (The Bareknuckle Bastards #2)(66)

Too brash. Too brazen. Too big. Too much.

Too much and still . . . somehow . . . not enough.

She looked down at the dock again, where her dirty boots stood stark against the wood, bleached from decades of London rain. She still held the packet of sweets, the lading papers for the ship beyond, clutched in her ink-stained fingers. When was the last time she’d seen them without stains?

How much had she worked for this? Dreamed of it?

So much for the Year of Hattie.

A single, fat tear fell to the dock.

Augie cursed softly and spoke, surprising everyone. “Why now?”

“Because I got an offer.”

“From where?” This, from Augie.

A pause as her father seemed to consider his answer. To consider answering. And in that pause, Hattie knew the truth. She answered for him, the wind whipping around her, pulling her hair from its moorings and sending her skirts into a wild dance. “Saviour Whittington.”

The earl looked down the dock, past the empty ships and the single empty berth on the far end. “You always were the smart one.”

“Not smart enough for you to give me a chance,” Hattie snapped.

“Who is Saviour Whittington?” Augie asked.

The earl leveled his son with a cold gaze. “You really should know the names of the men you try to fleece.”

Understanding dawned. “The Bastards.”

“Goddammit, Augie!” the earl thundered, drawing the attention of half a dozen men on the docks. “I ought to turn you over to them.”

He didn’t have to. They already knew Augie’s involvement. Whit already knew. He didn’t need Augie’s name, or Augie himself. He was to have been paid in Augie’s knowledge. That was the first of the two demands.

She reached for her father, setting an urgent hand on his coat sleeve. “Wait. He doesn’t want the business. He wants Augie to tell him where to find the man pulling the strings of the hijackings.” She looked to her brother. “Do you know where to find him?”

Augie shook his head. “But Russell—”

Hattie groaned. “Yes then. We need Russell. Though I rather hate the sound of that.”

“Too late,” the earl said. “The bastard says he doesn’t require the name anymore. And so he’s made me a generous offer, with the understanding that if I don’t take it and get out of the Docklands, he’ll pauper us.”

Confusion again. None of this was what they’d agreed. Whit was to have asked the earl to pass the business to Hattie. Hadn’t he praised her skill? Hadn’t he understood her desire? Hadn’t he told her he’d help her? “No,” she said. “He promised—”

Her father and brother cut her twin looks.

“You’re in bed with them, too?” She hated the disappointment in her father’s tone.

Augie was a bit kinder. “Hattie. What good is a promise from a Covent Garden smuggler?”

It had been good.

His faith. His promise.

It had been wonderful. And a lie.

Confusion faded into another bout of anger. A new sort of anger—one she felt more than comfortable acting upon.

They’d had a deal. And he’d reneged on every bit of it.

Her teeth clenched.

“Goddammit, I don’t know which of you is worse,” the earl said, looking to Hattie. “You, for trusting a Bareknuckle Bastard’s word, or Augie, for not knowing who they were in the first place.”

“I’ve heard of them,” Augie defended himself. “Of course I have.”

“Then what are you doing stealing from them, you dankwit?” The earl scowled. “The worst bit is that Whittington didn’t have to tell me. He didn’t have to. I might be old, but I’ve a brain in my head, and I know the cargo well enough to know the difference between a hold full of tulips and one full of booze.” He pointed a finger at Augie. “That’s when I realized you’d never be good enough to run it.”

“Maybe,” Augie allowed. “But Hattie was, and you know it.”

On another day, at another time, Hattie might have been surprised by and more than grateful for Augie’s support. But at that particular moment, she was too busy being furious at him. And her father. And Saviour Whittington. Or Beast, or whatever the hell his name was.

These men, members of the only sex that was thought qualified to run a business, and not one of them doing a damn thing to protect it. Fury surged, and she clenched her fist, crushing the lading papers and the packet of sweets, not sure that she could suffer another moment with these men. Let them sort it out. Let them worry. She didn’t want it.

Liar.

Of course she wanted it. It was all she’d ever wanted.

But she couldn’t have it. So she was leaving. She was done.

She looked down the docks at the line of empty boats. The boats.

She looked to her father. “He didn’t just buy the business.”

He turned a frustrated look on her. “What?”

“The boats are empty.” She waved a hand. “He bought the boats, too. To keep us from using them.”

The earl nodded. “Aye. Ships that should have been sailing up the coast, moving our cargo. And suddenly, not one of them available to Sedley Shipping.”

“We’ve contracts with those owners,” Augie argued.