The black carriage was sparsely furnished, a stark contrast to the velvet coaches of Warwick. Inside, the rhythmic beat of the rain on the roof and the close proximity of their bodies created an intense, suffocating atmosphere. Elenora sat stiffly, her dark coat pulled tight, trying to ignore the heat radiating from Darius barely a foot away.
It was Elenora who broke the silence, choosing the cold neutrality of business.
"Your price has been met," she began, her gaze fixed on the rain-streaked window. "You are now legally entitled to a Duchess and, soon, her archives. I expect your full attention to this threat."
Darius's voice was low, echoing the steady rhythm of the horses' hooves. "The threat is my priority, Elenora. The marriage is the mechanism. We have less than twenty-four hours to secure the initial evidence and draft the final contract. We cannot fail either task."
He shifted, his knee brushing her skirt. "We will not trust anyone at the docks. The Elmsworth crest suggests a threat that may have already slipped into my ranks. Be prepared to move without warning."
The carriage rattled violently as it hit a pothole, throwing Elenora against him. She instantly straightened, but the brief contact, the sudden intrusion of his strong, male presence, was enough to send a sharp current between them.
"We are here," Darius announced, his voice suddenly taut.
The air was thick and heavy, smelling of brine, coal smoke, and unwashed desperation. The East End Docks were a sprawling maze of black iron and damp wood, swallowed by pre-dawn mist. This was a world of rough practicality, utterly alien to Elenora's gilded existence.
Darius quickly guided her out, his hand briefly firm on the small of her back before releasing her. "Stay close. Silent. The fog is thick, but eyes are everywhere."
He was in his element. He moved like a creature of the night, his dark clothes blending into the shadows cast by towering warehouses. Elenora, despite her plain attire, felt painfully exposed. She struggled to keep pace on the uneven, slippery planks.
They stopped at a deserted stretch of wharf. A single ship, aged and dark, was tied loosely to the berth. No lights shone from its portholes. It looked like a tomb.
"The 'Silent Swan'," Darius murmured, his breath forming a cloud. "Irony seems to follow you, Duchess."
He didn't waste time. He produced a set of lock-picking tools, handling them with the practiced ease of a skilled tradesman rather than a Minister of the Crown. The tiny click of the lock breaking was shockingly loud in the silence.
The air inside the ship was stagnant and cold. Darius moved immediately to the captain's cabin, using a small, shielded lantern to illuminate the space.
The cabin was bare. Someone had meticulously scrubbed the room clean.
"Professionals," Darius noted, running his glove along a shelf. "They didn't just abandon the ship; they erased it."
Elenora's eyes scanned the room, searching for anything the scrubbers might have missed. She ran her fingers under the built-in desk, seeking a loose plank or hidden compartment.
"Wait," she whispered, her voice barely audible. She tugged at the base of a small, bolted-down chest. It didn't budge, but the wall panel behind it felt slightly uneven.
Darius crouched, inspecting the panel. "Clever." He forced a thin blade into the seam, and a tiny, leather-bound book slid out into his palm. It was a ship's log, crudely hidden.
He flipped it open. The pages were filled not with sailing routes, but with cryptic entries: dates, times, and a single recurring phrase, scrawled repeatedly.
"What is it?" Elenora urged, leaning over his shoulder. The proximity, their shared focus in the darkness, was deeply unsettling.
"No manifest," Darius said, his voice flat. "Just a timeline... and this." He pointed to the phrase. "The Winter Garden."
Before they could decipher the meaning, a loud, heavy clomp echoed from the deck above. Boots. Not the light step of a nobleman, but the deliberate, harsh rhythm of men searching.
Darius extinguished the lantern instantly, plunging them into absolute blackness. He grabbed Elenora by the arm and shoved her under the captain's desk.
"Stay down. Don't breathe," he ordered, his mouth close to her ear.
Two figures entered the cabin, their lantern casting grotesque shadows on the walls.
"Heard the door pop," growled one voice, rough and common. "The boss said check for proof."
"They were here," the second voice hissed, kicking the empty chest. "Look at the dust marks. Too clean. They took something."
Darius pressed himself against Elenora, his body a solid barrier between her and the sound. She felt the heavy, contained tension in his muscles. He was protecting her, his iron hand a sudden, necessary source of security.
The men cursed and left the cabin, their heavy footsteps receding up the gangplank.
They remained frozen for another full minute. Only when the sounds completely faded did Darius move, pulling Elenora out from their cramped hiding place.
"We need to move. Now," he commanded.
They scrambled off the ship and raced back across the slick wooden planks of the dock, Darius leading the way, his movements quick and decisive. They reached the spot where the carriage should have been, near a pile of stacked crates.
Elenora slowed, catching her breath. "Your carriage—"
Darius stopped abruptly. He looked at the empty space, then scanned the dark, misty street. A cold, hard realization settled on his face.
"Gone," he stated, his voice dangerously quiet. "It's gone."
Elenora's eyes widened in fear. They were alone.
Darius looked at her, his eyes blazing in the faint light of a distant lamppost. "They weren't just searching the ship, Duchess. They were cutting off our escape."
He gripped her arm, his fingers tight and possessive. "We walk from here, Elenora. We have to make it to the city before the sun rises, or we lose more than just a carriage."