Page 10 of Lyon on the Lam (The Lyon’s Den)

Behind them, at the table he and Tavie had occupied only this morning, sat Kate. Her hair was a tumble of pins and curls, and her dress was ripped at the shoulder. “They wanted to know where she was, Mr. Foster.” Tears raced down her bruised cheek. “But I didn’t tell them.”

The pressure in his chest eased. “Thank you, Kate.” He walked to her, his legs like jelly, and pulled a chair close. They were almost knee to knee. “I am sorry they hurt you.”

“The girl gave as good as she got,” Hildie said as she patted her granddaughter’s shoulder. “Made enough of a ruckus that the men came in from out front to help her.”

Matthew looked up at the giant closest to him. “Where are they now?”

“A few of the boys carted ’em back to London. You likely passed ’em on the bridge.” His eyes softened as he looked toward Kate. “They shouldn’t have put their hands on her.”

Matthew nodded his agreement and refocused on the girl. “Thank you for all your efforts, Kate.” Then he looked to Hildie. “Where is she? I’m getting her out of London.”

Hildie led him into the pantry. She pulled a hook that held a well-used feather duster, and a door swung open without a sound. Matthew ducked his head and walked in.

Light streaked through the slats and left yellow-orange lines on the floor. Burlap flour sacks muffled his steps. “Tavie?”

A shadow flew from the corner and barreled into him. They both crashed into the wall behind him. Matthew prepared to pry off his attacker until they curled against him and began to sob.

He cradled Tavie against his shoulder and let her weep as he whispered nonsense into her hair.

“They were horrible, Matthew,” she whispered. “And Kate—”

“She’s fine…mostly.” He backed away enough to use his handkerchief to dry her face. He’d done the same five years earlier when she had told him of her pending engagement. Now, as then, he had to fight the urge to kiss her. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Tavie put her hand in his and squeezed. Her fingers were cold, but her grip was strong. “Let me get my bag.”

Tavie stepped out of the captain’s cabin and shaded her eyes against the glare of the sun on the sea. The wind snatched her hair from its pins and whipped it first one way and then the other. Her skirts threatened to billow and snap like the sails overhead.

One group of sailors stood at their stations, neatly avoiding ropes and equipment as they kept the sails in place and the ship on course. However, they were all focused on one sail and its bottom quarter, which was flapping in the wind much like Tavie’s hair.

A line of men clung to a rope and fought to keep the sail from breaking free. Shouts and swears floating back to her on the wind.

Matthew was easy to find. He was in the middle of the fight, his sleeves rolled to his elbows and his black leather gloves protecting his hands and aiding his grip.

He’d always been a solid lad. Dancing with him had been a thrill, and she never worried about putting a foot wrong or being jostled in the crowd.

Much like last night, when he’d come into her hiding place to find her.

The moment his arms had closed around her, she’d known she was safe.

It didn’t matter that they’d fled Lambeth in the back of a hay cart, bouncing over cobblestones on their way to the docks.

Matthew had kept her in his arms and held her close so that he absorbed most of the punishment.

Tavie broadened her stance and grasped the rail to steady herself against the ship’s pitch and roll.

There was a difference in Matthew now. He was still strong and solid, but he’d grown into a leader.

It had been obvious last night in Hildie’s kitchen as he’d ensured that she and Kate were safe and well protected.

It was doubly obvious now as he worked alongside his men.

And they were his men. His ship, too. A clipper, he’d said.

The boy her mother claimed would never amount to much now hauled his product to and from London by sea using his own ship and his own crew.

He’d taken control of the business after his father’s death and grown it on his own by following the principles that had garnered them success in the first place.

He didn’t pander to a titled in-law who might—or might not—be of help.

The men lashed the sail, which billowed like its mates, and whooped in relief as they dropped the rope. Matthew clapped several on the shoulder before turning back toward her. He was halfway to the steps before he realized she was there.

“It’s about time you woke,” he teased as he joined her. “I was beginning to think I’d have to wave a tea cake under your nose.”

“It can’t possibly be teatime.” Tavie looked to the sun, which was higher than she’d thought. It might have tipped to the opposite side of the horizon—though that may have been the ship. “Is it?”

“More like luncheon.” Matthew motioned toward the cabin. “Cook should have it ready.”

Tavie walked in front of him and back into the cabin she had just left. “Back into hiding?” For the first few weeks after her engagement, she’d missed him until she ached from it. The twitch in her fingers now was a minor echo of that.

“I’m more worried about the men getting distracted and sailing us to Norway.” He held her chair for her without touching her.

Perhaps that would be better. Albert would never look for them in the north. “Are you certain we’re safe traveling this way?”

“The ship was already set to sail, and all the men are on my payroll. They won’t talk.”

The waiting plate was full of fish, potatoes, pole beans, and thick slices of bread. “Does your captain miss his cabin?”

Matthew shook his head. “Polk is known to spend most of the trip in the wheelhouse. It’s one of the reasons I hired him.”

“So the room sits empty unless you’re sailing?” The fish would have made a Society hostess weep with envy. It made Tavie eager to try the rest of the meal.

“I suppose so.” Matthew raised an eyebrow. “And before you fret over taking my room, I only use it when it rains.”

“So you sleep on deck?”

“Most of the men do when it’s nice. The stars here look close enough to touch.” He poured her a cup of tea from a china pot that could have come from her grandmother’s cupboard.

“The bed is very comfortable. You should use it more often.” Her cheeks heated as she met his eyes. He might have blushed as well. “I only mean it’s got to be uncomfortable sleeping in a fishing net.”

His teacup did little to hide his wicked, teasing smile. “It’s more comfortable than you think. You should try it.” His ears turned red and he plucked his napkin from his lap. “Er, I just mean…it’s like rocking a baby.”

Baby . Tavie’s lungs squeezed tight for a moment.

“Are you all right?” Matthew asked. “Has the trip been too taxing?”

“I’m fine.” She moved her arm from her waist and reached for the bread on her plate. In truth, she had a new selection of aches. She’d scraped her arm on the door in her rush to hide. Then, despite Matthew’s attempts to protect her, the run to the docks had jarred all her joints at once.

But it didn’t matter. She would have bounced beside him until her teeth rattled from her gums.

She should have never left him.

“Ipswich ahead, sir.” A burly man came into the room. He blinked at Tavie. “Miss. Are you finished with lunch?”

“We are, John.” Matthew pushed away from the table. “Thank you, it was delicious.”

“Are you the cook, then?” Tavie asked. She smiled when the man nodded. “It was the best meal I’ve eaten in quite a while. Thank you.”

“Y-you’re welcome, miss. I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He cleared the plates, taking care with each one, and left the room.

“I’ll go below to clean up and gather my things,” Matthew said. “Meet me on the deck.”

Tavie watched him leave and forced herself not to go after him. Again.

It wouldn’t do any good to linger on what could have been and what would never be.

They weren’t on a wedding trip. They were running from her husband until Mrs. Dove-Lyon could find someone in Parliament to help them.

So instead, she gathered her few things, slid on her gloves, and tied her only bonnet with the new ribbon Kate had added.

Matthew was waiting at the top of the gangplank. “Take my hand and don’t let go,” he said. “I don’t want us to get separated.”

Tavie risked one last glance over her shoulder at Matthew’s crew, all of whom had removed their hats as they watched her leave.

The docks were a hive of activity. Empty carts arrived, men and boys lugged heavy cargo from ships to trolleys, and full carts left. People shouted and heavy, powerful horses stamped their large hooves. No one gave her a second glance. Not one man stepped aside and removed his hat.

It was glorious.

Matthew led her to the nearest stable and entered the office. Only then did he release her hand. “Stay here, but away from the windows just to be certain you aren’t seen.”

She followed his rules and stayed back enough to be in the shadows, but close enough to watch the people hurry past.

“I’ve hired a coach,” Matthew said as he rejoined her. “We should get started.”

The coach included a driver and another young man who took their bags and helped Tavie up the stairs. As she settled, Matthew gave them a few last instructions. The coach was clean, and the upholstery was both tasteful and comfortable.

Matthew entered the coach and dithered for a moment before sitting across from her. He sat close enough to talk to her, but far enough that he could stretch his legs to their full length.

Soon they were winding through the crowded streets, searching for the quickest way out of town.

“We’ll be safe with them?” she asked. She’d hired carriages before, but only for short trips back to Mayfair if she’d been caught in the rain. It seemed dangerous to take off for days with men who already knew you had money.

“I’ve worked with Jacob and his son, Samuel, several times before.” Matthew shifted enough to remove his coat. “If they take turns driving, we can travel longer before we have to stop.”

And if one of them were driving, the other could watch for hazards. Or highwaymen.

“We’ll likely reach Hadleigh tomorrow,” Matthew continued.

That would mean a night together somewhere along the way. “What is in Hadleigh?”

“A wheat farm that’s for sale. I wrote to the widow yesterday. If we’re lucky, the letter will arrive before we do.”

A widow was selling her family home. It was a familiar circumstance, but Tavie always had the same question: did they want to do it? If so, why? “Does she have children?”

“A daughter,” Matthew said as he settled against the squabs.

Chances were the woman thought London would fix everything, because no one thought happiness lay in Ipswich and its crowds of sailors who never stayed on land for long. Mothers wanted to believe that a pretty girl with a good dowry could make the leap that they could not.

It was a beautiful lie.

The city faded to trees, cobbles changed to dirt, and chatter was replaced by birdsong. Green leaves, blue sky, and wildflowers ensured the scenery changed regularly. Sheep dotted fields. Streams sparkled in the sunshine.

It had been years since her world had been quiet. The last time she remembered, it was when they had lived in Suffolk—before Father grew wealthy and decided that London befitted a man of his new station.

“Tavie?” Matthew asked. “You’re miles away.”

She felt exactly the opposite of that. “I’m glad to be home.”