Page 60 of Hooked

I glared, wanting to ignore him entirely and leave without a backward glance.

“Ignore him,” Falstone encouraged, echoing my own sentiments.

But I paused. They did belong to Huckley, no matter that he had supposedly gifted them to me. And the last thing I wanted was to give him a reason to accuse me of anything else, or to track me down, or manipulate the law in his favor. I wanted to be done with him. Utterly finished. So I stepped back to the deck and unlatched the necklace, throwing it at his feet. Then I reached to my back and pulled at the laces of the gown.

“Cecily,” Falstone said with uncertainty.

“Just help me! I don’t want his filthy clothing. I want nothing from him! Nothing!”

In a trice, Falstone had pulled out a knife and cut the laces. I pulled the gown away from my chemise and stays and let it fall to the deck, stepping out of it and kicking it away. Strangely enough, the men holding Huckley appeared impressed instead of scandalized and the magistrate gave me a nod. Falstone wrapped a coat around my shoulders, which I quickly realized was his own, and we turned back to the railing.

“You’ll get her home safely?” the magistrate asked.

“You have my word” was Falstone’s response as he assisted me over the side.

I had a much easier time climbing down than I’d had climbing up.

After stepping into the boat, I nearly collapsed onto the bench, wrapping the coat firmly around me as Falstone took the oars in hand and pushed us away from the ship.

Away from Captain Huckley.

Away from a forced marriage.

Away from a short life of incomprehensible misery.

18

I was away from him. The captain truly had no more claim on me. He could not force me to go back. He could not force me to marry him.

Sitting on the seat of the boat, I swayed, dizzy with relief, my head swimming and my heart hesitant to believe in my freedom. I felt a bone-deep need to cry—or maybe scream—and yet I didn’t have the energy for either. I sat there, shaking against the bite of the sea breeze and the turmoil of fear, relief, shock, joy, and horror that battled inside me.

“Cecily?” Falstone said after several minutes, his voice quiet and gentle even as he rowed hard and fast, his arm and chest muscles obvious as they contracted beneath his shirt.

Looking into his eyes was a comfort, but it brought up many questions. “How are you here?” My voice was weak.

His expression collapsed into compassion and fear. He swallowed. “I couldn’t leave you to your fate. Nor could the princess or Sir James. We set off for Norsing right away, and once the magistrate and I discovered the captain’s fraud and gathered evidence, I knew he had no right to keep you, so there was nothing preventing me from coming after you.”

“But…” I thought through the evening’s events. More questions. “What about the ship? How did you know I was there? Where did you get this boat?”

“There was a footman who told us all about the passages. Everything. He told us about the stairs in the cliff side, the ship. He knew the captain only kept one rowboat at the dock in the inlet. It was his assurance of escape. The rest were further down the coast. As soon as he told us where they were, I went to find it. I knew I didn’t have time to spare.”

A tear rolled down my cheek. It was probably the same footman who’d warned me. I lapsed back into silence, still shaking.

“Cecily?” He said again. “Are you hurt?”

I blinked, having to think about it. Was I? I did a mental assessment of my body. “I don’t think so.”

He kept giving me worried looks, which were understandable. I was in a bad way. Teetering on the edge of sanity. “He killed them,” I said into the silence as I stared out at the water. “He killed his wives.”

I could feel his gaze on my face. “He admitted it?”

I nodded, managing only the tiniest bobbing of my head. “He told me how…” My words were a haunted whisper. “The first was an accident, but the other two…” I turned to look at him. “He killed two of his wives.” My mouth quivered as my body began to shake more violently. “He would have killed me, Falstone.”

The helplessness and compassion in his eyes were at odds with the furious rowing he was doing. Then I felt the boat run aground, and suddenly his desperate rowing made sense. He’d been determined to get us to shore with as much speed as he could muster.

He jumped out and pulled the boat further onto shore before climbing back in to assist me.

I expected him to offer a hand or an arm. Instead he just lifted me from the seat and carried me onto land, cradled in his arms. I wrapped my arms around his neck, clutching desperately, praying that holding on to him would help me hold my composure.