The Moonstone and Miss Jones Read Online Free PDF Page A

being—well, feathered about—she had sat up straight and made up her mind. By her order the Topaz had set sail early that evening. She had chased the scoundrel halfway around the world, and she would have it out with him—this very night if possible.
    A patter of irregular heartbeats danced in her chest at just the thought of seeing him again. She could almost feel him now. They were that close—and yet, she also felt estranged. She wondered, frankly, whether she would kill him on first sight or make love to him. There was such appeal in both, a smile tugged at the ends of her mouth.
    “I suppose I’m ready if you are, Edvar.”
    A whiny snuffle answered from the depths of her luggage.
    Early in the voyage, Phaeton had taught her basic gargoyle speech, beginning with the little monster’s yuk-yuks and nuh-uhs . Apparently there was a whole range of nuanced whines and hissing noises that took years to interpret with any accuracy. “You have to understand.” Phaeton advised. “He is contrary by nature. There will always be a little bit of no in every yes from Edvar.”
    She leaned over the travel bag. “You’re looking forward to seeing Phaeton again—aren’t you?” Edvar’s rattle and hum sounded like a harrumph followed by a snort.
    “Ha! Thought so—you miss him as much as I do.” Golden eyes blinked at her. The gargoyle whimpered a soft nuh-uh. America grinned. It seemed there was also a bit of yes in every nuh-uh.
    A sparkle of light outside the porthole caught her eye. Rather bright for dockside torches. Perhaps it was just harbor light reflecting off raindrops on the glass. She leaned over her berth for a better look. Only blackness—no, wait. An oval face emerged from deep shadows. Luminous gray eyes, as small as pearls, gazed at her without blinking. Below flattened nostrils a gaping orifice opened. A thousand needle-sharp teeth, webbed with viscous threads of drool, glistened in the dark.
    America jumped back with a shriek.
    “Anything wrong Captain, Miss?” America ran to open the hatch door. Her chief mate stood in the passageway.
    She turned back to the porthole, but the face was gone. “Be right with you.”
    She shook off a tremble, closed the satchel and handed the bag to Ned.
    “Are you sure you want to be traveling at this late hour, Miss?”
    She had a bee in her bonnet to face and have it out with Phaeton Black—then perhaps a nice long session of making up. Where did that lusty thought come from? Mentally, she slapped herself. “I’ll just toss and turn all night—best get this over with.” She tugged on gloves as she stepped ahead of Ned.
    “And you’re sure Mr. Black will return to Shaftesbury Court, Miss?”
    She was on deck and across the gangway before she answered. “A house full of willing tarts? Where else would the blackguard go?”
    She took the shortest way out of Millwork docks, setting a blistering pace over the footbridge that crossed the boat basin. As they passed the cooperage, something slithered into the shadows of the barrel maker’s doorway. America turned onto West Ferry Road. Even at this late hour, the Isle of Dogs enjoyed a bustle of activity.
    “I’ll take care of the Port Authority, contact MacLeod—see if he’s got a captain for us. Then I’ll have a look about for shipment—” Nate rattled on, unaware of the wraith-like something that had scurried ahead of them—at least that was the impression in her head. Whatever it was had followed them from the ship to the cab stand.
    A solitary hansom waited at the cab stand—lucky break at this time of the night. London Docks were busy around the clock, but cabs were often a scarcity in the small hours. Ned opened the door of the hansom and placed her bag inside.
    A shiver ran down her spine just before she turned to her chief mate and boatswain. “Once you hire the rat catchers, wire me.”
    A sudden gust of evil wind knocked the chief down. America felt something tug at her innards just before