A sudden gust of laughter from a nearby group had her court looking behind them. He seized the opportunity, touching the back of Alathea's arm, fingers light on the soft skin bare above her glove.

Vivid awareness streaked through him-and her. It was there in her wide eyes as she looked up. "What?"

The word was breathless; she was as giddy as he.

"I'd better circulate. I'll be back for the first waltz."

Her gaze dropped to his lips. They were so close, they could sense each other's breaths. She moistened her lips. "Perhaps," she whispered, "that might be… wise."

She lifted her gaze to his. Gabriel nodded.

He managed to turn away without touching his lips to hers.

Alathea watched him go, then, with an inward sigh, she returned her attention to her court as, the nearby ruckus abating, they turned back to her. She was relieved Gabriel had taken himself off; she'd sensed his suppressed tension. The fact that she now knew what caused it-what it truly was-did not make being its subject any less unsettling. Nevertheless, she would much rather have gotten rid of all her court, slipped away on his arm, and done all she could to ease him.

Keeping her social smile in place, she encouraged her court to entertain her. Her heart, however, wasn't in it. When a footman pushed through to her side, a folded note on a salver, that unruly organ leaped. Her first thought was that her warrior had found some bolt hole and was summoning her to his side.

The truth proved more disturbing.

Dear Lady Alathea,

I have secured all the information I sought and more. I have evidence enough to discredit Crowley's scheme but have been summoned back to my ship and must up anchor and depart on the morning tide. You must come at once-I must explain some of the details of the maps and documents in person, and it will be vital to your cause for me to make a signed deposition before witnesses, and leave the whole in your hands.

I implore you do not dally-I must weigh anchor the instant the tide turns. Take heart, dear lady-the end is nigh. All the necessary documents will shortly be in your hands and you will be able to send Crowley to the devil.

I have taken the liberty of sending a carriage and escort for you. You may trust the men implicitly-they know where to bring you. But you must come at once or all may be lost!

Your respectful servant,

Aloysius Struthers, Captn.

Alathea looked up. Her court were chatting among themselves, giving her a moment of privacy in which to read her note. She turned to the footman. "Is there a carriage waiting?"

"Aye, my lady. A carriage and a number of… men."

They'd probably be sailors. Alathea nodded. "Please tell the men I'll be with them directly."

The footman was too well-trained to show any reaction. He bowed and withdrew to do her bidding. Alathea touched Falworth's arm and smiled at Lord Montgomery, Lord Coleburn, and Mr. Simpkins. "I'm afraid, gentlemen, that I'll have to leave you. An urgent summons from a sick relative."

They murmured sympathetically; she doubted they believed her. Alathea inclined her head and left them. Stepping into the crowd, she lifted her head, scanning the throng. She couldn't see Gabriel.

"Damn!" Muttering under her breath, she started to quarter the room. He'd been tripping over her skirts for weeks. Now, when she needed him, he was nowhere to be found. The crowd was so dense, she couldn't be certain she wasn't crossing paths with him. She saw Celia, and Serena, and the twins, but their cousin was not to be found. Nor was Lucifer. Stepping onto the bottom of the ballroom stairs, Alathea cast an exasperated glance around, but could see no one-not even any of the other Cynsters-who might be of use.

"My lady?" The footman materialized at her elbow. "The men are very insistent that you leave right away."

"Yes, very well." With one last disgusted glance about the packed room, Alathea picked up her skirts, turned-and spied Chillingworth talking with a group of other guests in the lee of the stairs. "One moment."

She left the footman and plunged into the crowd. With a laugh and a bow, Chillingworth turned away from his friends as she pushed nearer. He saw her instantly.

He started to smile, then he took in her expression. He searched her eyes. "What's wrong?"

Alathea caught the hand he held out to her and pressed the note she held into it. "Please-see this gets to Gabriel. It's important. I have to leave."

"Where are you going?" Chillingworth closed his hand about both the note and her fingers. He glanced at the footman on the stairs as another liveried servant hurried down to whisper in the first's ear.

Alathea followed his gaze. "I have to go with someone-that's a message. Gabriel will understand." With a skill honed through years of wrestling with Cynsters, she twisted free of Chillingworth's grasp. "Just make sure he gets it as soon as possible."

The first footman had pushed through to her side. "My lady, the sailors are growing restive."

"Sailors!" Chillingworth grabbed for her arm.

Alathea eluded him. Pushing past the footman, she hurried to the stairs. "I haven't time to explain." She threw the words back at Chillingworth, following as fast as he could in her wake. "Just get that note to Gabriel."

Reaching the less-crowded stairs, she lifted her skirts and hurried up.

"Alathea! Stop!"

She didn't. She kept doggedly on to the top, then rushed through the archway and on out of the house.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Chillingworth stared after her. An influx of guests swept down, making it impossible for him to follow her. Other guests who'd heard him bellow cast him odd looks. His lips setting grimly, he ignored them. "Damn!" He looked at the note crumpled in his fist, then he turned and surveyed the throng. "Serve Cynster bloody well right."

He found Gabriel in the card room, shoulders propped against the wall, idly watching a game of whist.

"This"-Chillingworth thrust the note at him-"is for you."

"Oh?" Gabriel straightened. His tickle of presentiment changed to a full-blown punch. He took the note. "From whom?"

"I don't know. Alathea Morwellan charged me to see it to you, but I doubt it's from her. She's left the house."

Gabriel was busy scanning the note; reaching the end, he swore. He looked at Chillingworth. "She's gone?"

Chillingworth nodded. "And yes, I did try to stop her, but you haven't trained her very well. She doesn't respond to voice commands."

"She doesn't respond to any commands." Gabriel's attention was on the note. "Damn! This doesn't look good." His expression hardened. He hesitated, then handed the note to Chillingworth. "What's your reading of it?"

Chillingworth read the letter, then grimaced. "He's effectively told her to 'come immediately' three times. Not good."

"My feelings exactly." Retaking the note, Gabriel stuffed it into his pocket and pushed past Chillingworth. "Now all I have to do is figure out where the hell she's gone."

"Sailors." Chillingworth followed in Gabriel's wake. "The footman said the men waiting for her were sailors."

"The docks. Wonderful."

They were nearing the stairs when Chillingworth, still behind Gabriel, said, "I'll come with you-we can take my carriage."

Gabriel threw him a look over his shoulder. "I'm not going to feel that grateful, you know."

"My only interest in this," Chillingworth replied as they went quickly up the stairs, "is in getting the damned woman back so she can plague you for the rest of your life."

Reaching the top of the stairs, they made their way through the gallery, then descended the grand staircase and strode across the front foyer. They swept up to the main door, shoulder to shoulder-

Looking back over his shoulder, down the steps to the forecourt, Charlie Morwellan collided with them on the threshold. He fell back. "Sorry." He started to bow then recognized Gabriel. "I say-do you know where Alathea's gone?" He looked toward the road leading to the City. "I can't understand why she had to go with that rough lot-"

Gabriel grabbed him by the shoulders. "Where did they go? Did you get any idea?"

Charlie blinked at him. "Pool of London, Execution Dock, as a matter fact."

Gabriel released him. "You're sure?"

Charlie nodded. "I was getting some air-terribly stuffy in there-and struck up a conversation with the sailor by the carriage." He was talking to two departing backs; Charlie started down the steps in their wake. "Here-where are you going?"

"After your sister," Gabriel ground out He shot a glance at Chillingworth. "Which carriage?"

"The small one." Chillingworth was striding along, scanning the ranks of carriages drawn up along the road.

"I might have known," Gabriel muttered.

"Indeed you might," Chillingworth retorted. "I, at least, had plans for the night."

Gabriel had had plans, too, but-

"There it is!"

Together with a score of other coachmen, Chillingworth's coachman had left his master's unmarked carriage in the care of two of their number while the rest adjourned to a nearby tavern.

"I can run like the wind and 'ave your man here in a jiffy, guv'nor," one of the watchers offered.

"No-we haven't time. Tell Billings to make his own way home."

"Aye, sir."

The carriage was wedged between two others; it took the combined efforts of Gabriel, Charlie, and the two coachmen to clear the way sufficiently for Chillingworth to ease his carriage free. He waited only until Gabriel swung up to the box seat alongside him and Charlie leaped on the back before giving his blacks the office.

"Billings is going to have a heart attack." Chillingworth glanced at Gabriel. "But never mind that. What's going on?"

Gabriel told them, omitting only the extreme extent to which the Morwellans were at financial risk.

"So she thinks she's going to meet this captain?"

"Yes, but it's all too pat. Why tonight, the last night before the petition is lodged? I spoke with his shipping line only last Friday and they had no expectation of the captain sailing so soon. Struthers himself didn't expect to sail for weeks."

"This Crowley character. What's his caliber?"

"Dangerous, unprincipled-a gutter rat grown fat. One with no known scruples."

Chillingworth glanced at Gabriel, taking in the cast of his features, the granite-hard expression thrown into harsh relief by the street lamps. "I see." His own expression hardening, Chillingworth looked back at his horses.

"Alathea'll be all right," Charlie assured them. "No need to worry about her. She's more than a match for any rogue."

Unslayable confidence rang in his tone; Gabriel and Chillingworth exchanged a glance, but neither made any move to explain that Crowley was no mere rogue.

He was a villain.

"Pool of London," Chillingworth mused, reaching for his whip. "Vessels can leave directly from there."

With a flick of his wrist, he urged his horses on, clattering down along the Strand.

Chapter 20

The coach carrying Alathea rocked and swayed as it rumbled along the dock. Clutching the window frame, she peered out on a world of dark shadows, of looming hulks rocking on the wash of the tide. Ropes creaked, timbers groaned. The soft slap of black water against the dock's pylons was as inexorable as a heartbeat.

Alathea's own heart was beating a touch faster, anticipation high but in this setting, tempered by caution and a primitive fear. She shrugged the latter off as the product of a too-vivid imagination. For centuries, convicted pirates had been hung off Execution Dock, but if ghosts walked, surely they wouldn't haunt a site so steeped in justice? Surely it was a good omen that it was to this place in all the dingy sprawl of the London docks that the captain had summoned her. She, too, sought justice.

The coach jerked to a halt. She looked out, but all she could see was the black denseness of a ship's side.

The carriage door was hauled open. A head swathed in a sailor's kerchief was outlined against the night. "If you'll be giving me your hand, ma'am, I'll be a-helping you up the gangplank."

While undeniably rough, the sailors had been as courteous as they knew how; Alathea surrendered her hand and allowed the sailor to help her from the carriage.