Chapter Nine
The Mediterranean
Alex sat on the floor of their cabin, curled in on herself, her head resting against her knees as her body heaved with silent sobs. She hadn't moved in hours. She knew, because the sun was up, tormenting her that she could not start this day with Spencer.
The door creaked open without a knock.
She jolted upright.
A uniformed officer stepped inside, his expression impassive, voice clipped and cold. "Where are the man's things?"
Alex blinked at him, disoriented. She didn't answer.
"The man needs his things," he said again, glancing around the room.
She leaned back against the edge of the bed, refusing to speak, refusing to help them take anything more away from her.
With a small sigh of annoyance, the man scanned the room, spotted Spencer's bag, and picked it up without ceremony.
As he turned toward the door, Alex scrambled to her feet.
"Wait!" she cried.
But the door slammed shut behind him.
She lunged after it, twisting the knob—locked.
"What are you doing?!" she shouted, pounding the door with both fists. "Where are you taking him?!"
She pounded on the door with all her might, but he never came back.
Spencer was lying on the narrow bunk in the brig when the door swung open again.
"Let's go," said the man who stepped in.
Spencer rose slowly. "Where?"
"Captain's quarters. Turn around."
He did as told. The cold metal of the cuffs snapped around his wrists, and he was led silently through the lower decks, up narrow corridors, until the walls turned from rusted steel to polished wood and brass.
Jennifer was already seated when he entered the room. Her posture was upright, formal—but her eyes softened when they met his. She gave him a faint, reassuring smile.
He nodded once in return.
The Captain sat behind his desk, hands clasped neatly in front of him.
"It seems your claim of self-defense has merit," the Captain said without preamble.
"I didn't want to fight him," Spencer replied, voice low. "And I damn sure didn't want to kill him. He gave me no other choice."
"That has been made clear," the Captain agreed. "Accordingly, I will not be reporting this to the authorities at your port of call."
Spencer exhaled, a tension easing from his shoulders—but only slightly.
"However," the Captain went on, "this ship sails under a British flag. And I have received direct orders from His Royal Highness to remove you from the vessel."
Spencer scoffed quietly. "That's fine by me."
"We will lower you by dinghy once we approach the coast."
"I need my wife," he insisted immediately.
The Captain's brow arched. "Your wife? You mean the Countess of Sussex?"
Spencer's brow's drew, and he looked to Jennifer.
She gave a small, solemn nod. "Yes. That's who you mean."
He reeled, hoping his thoughts weren't revealed on his face, as he realized just who Alex had been. Why the hell hadn't she told him that?
The Captain leaned forward. "Do you have any proof of this marriage?"
Spencer shifted his stance, his hands cuffed behind him uncomfortable. "I have a ring. And I have my word."
"The Earl of Sussex has questioned the legality of the ceremony," the Captain informed him. "He claims you married under false pretenses."
Spencer's eyes narrowed. "We were married aboard a ship. In international waters. By a ship's captain. Do you question your own authority to marry?"
The Captain didn't flinch. "I do not," he said plainly. "But the limits of my authority are met when a member of the Royal family commands me to remove a man from one of the King's ships, and detain another. I suggest you send for her when you reach London."
That wasn't happening. "I'm not leaving without her."
"It's not your decision to make," the Captain retorted.
Jennifer rose to her feet, smoothing her skirt. "If you'll excuse me, Captain," she said gently.
"Of course," the Captain replied with a nod.
As Jennifer walked out of the room, Spencer remained still, his jaw clenched, the iron in his spine unyielding.
She suspected he would not go quietly.
Neither would Alex. And she intended to help her.
Jennifer raced down the corridor, her shoes slipping against the polished floor, one hand catching the wall for balance as she turned the final corner. She reached the stateroom door and began pounding on it with the flat of her palm.
"Alexandra!" Her voice rang out, sharp and urgent.
Inside, Alex startled, lifting her tearstained face from her knees. She scrambled upright and ran to the door, pressing her ear against it.
"Jennifer?"
"They're not pressing charges," came Jennifer's rushed voice from the hall, muffled through the heavy door. "But they're taking him off the ship."
Alex's heart stopped. "When?"
"Now."
A cry of anguish broke from her throat as she dragged her hands through her hair, spinning in place like she might tear the walls down. Then she leaned back against the door, breathing hard. "You must get me out of here."
Jennifer jiggled the handle from the outside, but it didn't budge. Locked. She glanced frantically up and down the corridor. Footsteps echoed from the far end. A porter.
Jennifer turned and straightened, schooling her features into the sweet smile of a woman with a minor inconvenience. "Sir! My husband—foolish man—he locked me out. Do you have a pass key?"
The porter hesitated, but her smile was dazzling—and her coin discreetly tucked into his palm helped.
"Of course, miss," he said with a bow. "Happy to be of service."
The moment the door clicked open, Jennifer stepped in and shut the door behind her.
Alex threw her arms around Jennifer, but didn't pause to speak. She darted inside and began throwing what she could find into a bag.
"The Earl's already spoken to the captain. He's insisting you remain on board. Says your marriage isn't valid."
Alex didn't stop moving. "He can't keep me here if I want off."
Jennifer's voice faltered. "He can. And he did."
Alex turned, her smile bitter
"We'll see about that at port."
Jennifer looked down. "Alex… we're not going to port. They're taking him by dinghy."
The room seemed to tilt sideways.
"Oh," Alex breathed, color draining from her face.
Then she ran.
Still in her dinner gown, bare feet flying over cold steel, she bolted from the room, the bag clutched in one hand. Her hair was tumbling loose from its pins as she tore through the ship, startling sailors and guests alike. The hem of her dress snagged once, but she ripped it free and kept going, heedless of the stares or gasps that followed in her wake.
She burst through the outer doors and sprinted across the deck, wind whipping her gown around her legs. She reached the railing just in time to see Spencer—hands still shackled behind his back—being lowered into the water in a small wooden dinghy.
"Spencer!" she screamed, leaning over the rail. "Spencer!"
He looked up at the sound of her voice, craning his neck to see her. "Alex?" The boat dipped, the rope creaking as it descended.
"Spencer!" Her voice cracked, raw with desperation. She turned and sprinted again, flying toward the lower deck stairs.
He saw her.
"Alex!" Spencer shouted, half-rising in the rocking dinghy, his bound hands straining against the rope at his back.
She leaned over the rail, hair wild in the wind, eyes locked on him, "Spencer!"
He turned on the men seated beside him, fury igniting in his chest. "You have to take me back!" he roared. "That's my wife!"
One of the sailors pushed him roughly back down. "Sit. Down."
"You have no right!" he shouted, twisting against their hands. "You have no right!"
On deck, Alex reached the edge, breath heaving, tears streaming down her face. She searched the open air between ship and boat and cried out in anguish. She didn't even know where they were. "Where do I go?"
Spencer's voice cracked as he bellowed up to her, "I love you, Alex!"
Her body shook with a sob that wracked her to her knees.
Then she rose slowly, sudden fury filling her.
She turned to find the Earl, standing like a statue near the captain. She stormed toward him.
She slammed both fists into his chest. "Why did you do this to me!?" she growled, striking him again while yelling. "Why!? Why!?"
The Earl flinched but did not defend himself, his face ashen as the girl broke into sobs at his feet. Alex collapsed onto the deck in a heap, shoulders trembling, hands clenched in the folds of her gown.
Spencer saw her fall.
"No!" he yelled, struggling again to rise. "No!" He tried to stand, but the men shoved his shoulders back, forcing him down with hard hands. "Take me back!"
"Stay down!" one barked.
"Alex!" he cried, his voice raw now, terrified he'd never see her again. "I love you!"
Up on the ship, Alex dragged herself to her feet and climbed the railing, barefoot and breathless. "I love you!" she shouted.
Spencer's eyes burned, brimmed with unshed tears. He could hardly see her through the shimmer of them.
The captain stepped forward beside the Earl, watching the scene unfold, the hush across the deck deep as reverence.
"You may question the marriage, sir," the captain said quietly, his voice measured but resolute. "But it is difficult to question their sincerity."
Alex's breath was a ragged, heart pounding in her chest, as she leaned over the rail of the lowest deck, her mind a swirl of desperation. The ship, once her refuge, now her steel prison, trapping her in a nightmare she couldn't escape.
She had to get to Spencer. She had to make sure he was okay, or die trying. He would do the same for her.
The Mediterranean stretched out before her, dark and vast, a void between her and Spencer. She watched his dinghy row further away, increasing the void.
An idea formed, one she knew was insanity, but the only thing that mattered was getting to him.
With one desperate, fluid motion, Alex ripped the life float from the wall, the bright yellow of it a stark contrast against the black of the night.
She didn't hesitate, didn't falter. She flung herself up and over the rail- and jumped.
She briefly heard yelling from the deck by the men who had tried to reach her and now watched her descent with horror.
The shock of the cold water hit her like a slap, but the buoyancy of the float helped her stay afloat. The sea was a churning abyss, the waves merciless as they tossed her about. She fought to control her breath, the panic clawing at her chest, but she kept her eyes trained on Spencer's retreating form.
Above her, the captain's shout to the sailors was drowned by the rush of the water in her ears, but she knew help was on the way. Yet none of that mattered. Spencer was still out there.
She couldn't let him be alone. She couldn't lose him.
The sound of her name, barely audible over the tumult of the waves, reached her ears, and for a split second, hope flared in her chest. She turned her head, her heart almost stopping in her chest when she saw Spencer's dinghy heading back toward her, the men rowing furiously.
"Alex!" His voice was hoarse, frantic. "What the hell are you doing?!"
She couldn't answer—couldn't find the words to explain why she'd done this, why she'd thrown herself into the sea to follow him. She only knew that he was her world. And she wasn't about to let him leave it.
"Uncuff me!" She heard Spencer yelling.
The dinghy's crew, seeing the woman in the water, broke into action. One of the men tossed a rope toward her, the lifeline hitting the water with a sharp slap.
"Grab it!" one of the sailors shouted.
Coughing out the sea water she'd swallowed, she slapped the surface of the water until she felt a rope and held tight.
The men in the dinghy worked quickly, pulling her in and, but Spencer's focus remained on her, his eyes never leaving her face.
The second she was in the boat, she launched herself at her husband, clinging to him with all the strength she had left, not caring that she soaked him.
He couldn't hold her back in handcuffs, so she sat next to him instead, pressing up close against him.
Her entire body shook, whether from cold or adrenaline, she didn't know. A sailor wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.
"God, you're insane," Spencer's voice shook with emotion. "You could have killed yourself!" he spat, looking like he wanted to strangle her dead hisself.
"I-I told you, I will follow you w-wherever you go," she spoke through chattering teeth.
Spencer wished like hell he could wrap her up in his arms. He turned to glare at the man in charge again, "Uncuff me."
He shook his head, repeating, "My orders are to wait until we are ashore, and I will not disobey that."
As the dinghy glided away from the ship, the cries of the crew and the captain faded behind them. Spencer's gaze was fixed on the horizon, and Alex could feel the weight of the silence between them, the tension in the air as they floated, suspended in time.
She wasn't sure what came next. But whatever it was, they would face it together.
The Earl stood on the deck, the wind whipping at his coat, his gaze fixed on the small dinghy that held Spencer and what should be his daughter-in-law.
The satisfaction of watching the man leave the ship had been fleeting. As he watched Alex reunite with the murderer, rage churned within him. His son—his only son—was dead. And those two had caused it.
"You're just letting them go?" The Earl's voice cracked with fury, the words tearing through the air like daggers. "They'll head for America the first chance they get! He needs to pay for what he did to my boy!"
The captain, standing nearby, remained a picture of stoic professionalism. "Your son tried to shoot an unarmed man, sir. There was a witness. My hands are tied."
The Earl clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening. It was true, the captain's words, but they didn't satisfy him. They never would.
The man that murdered his son was getting away. But worse- much worse- was the fact that Alexandra, that damned woman, had dared to jump after him.
That stupid, reckless chit… The utter audacity! She was making a spectacle of him!
Worse- his family name. A name that had been revered for generations.
The Earl gripped the rail so tightly, he couldn't feel his hands any longer.
He had ordered Spencer off the ship because he wanted to hurt Alexandra and keep her separated from the man she claimed to love- a scenario that brought about his only son's demise.
She should be mourning, broken by the loss of her future husband. His son.
Instead, she had swum after her hunter as if she were a creature of the sea herself. It was almost beyond belief.
The Earl's face twisted into a sneer as he watched the dinghy disappear into the distance.
She had chosen this Spencer, this… Yankee over his son.
This slight would not go unaccounted for.
Out of his reach on this ship, but once he set foot on land? The Earl
The captain stood unmoved by the Earl's fury. "He's gone, sir. There's nothing more to be done."
The Earl turned sharply, his voice cold as ice. "That's where you're wrong."
He could see the captain's hesitation, but the man had no real authority here. Not in this matter. The Earl might not hold power on the water, but land was another matter entirely. And Spencer would not get away with this. The Earl would see to it himself.
He would have them hunted down.
The captain's gaze flickered with some unspoken warning, but he said nothing. His role had always been to manage the ship, not the politics of revenge. The Earl's mind was already turning, calculating, needing to ensure that his son's murderer did not slip through his fingers.
Without another word, the Earl walked away and signaled to one of his trusted men. He followed him, silently, until he closed the door to his quarters behind them.
"Get another dinghy ready and follow them. Now. We cannot afford to wait, not when they're running off to start a new life in America. If Spencer thinks he's going to escape, he's wrong. I'll see him dead before he ever makes it to that filthy continent."
The man nodded without question. He knew he'd take the Earl's orders seriously. The Earl didn't trust just anyone. This man, however, would be discreet and efficient.
He even waited, not moving an inch, knowing there was more.
"Your task is simple," the Earl continued, his voice clipped and controlled. "Find out where they're headed and intercept them. I assume it's still Gibraltar."
He gave detailed instructions on crafting a telegram to send to a team of his men, ordering them to wait at the Port for them.
If Spencer and Alex made it to America, he lost all the influence he had in Britain.
He would not allow that to happen.
As the man began to prepare, the Earl allowed himself a moment of dark satisfaction. The chase had begun. Spencer would never make it far, and neither would Alexandra.
"Make it look accidental," the Earl didn't need his name sullied with murder.
"And the girl?"
The Earl's eyes narrowed., She had destroyed his family, and if he couldn't control her, he would destroy her.
"If possible… bring her to me. If not… an unfortunate casualty."
When the man left his quarters, the Earl felt an unmistakable surge of control. Th
Alex and her hunter might think they were escaping, but he had a way of ensuring their "freedom" would be nothing but a fleeting illusion.