Ryker froze with the drink halfway to his mouth.
“I’m marrying her,” Niall repeated. If she’d have him. “I love her.”
The other man, this friend who’d rescued him from inevitable death and further darkness, set aside his glass, saying nothing. Meeting him with a heavy silence.
Then: “You love her.”
Filled with a restive energy, Niall jumped up and began to pace. “I wasn’t supposed to want, need, or love anyone.” Even with his brothers and sister, he’d built up walls to keep them out. Diana had kicked every single flimsy defense down. “She makes me laugh and makes me want to be a better man.”
“You are a good man, Niall,” Ryker somberly put in. “Only you failed to see it.”
He jerked to a stop and looked at his brother with keen eyes. “You knew.”
The ghost of a smile hovered on Ryker’s lips. “Initially I believed you were too damned stubborn to concede the post to Calum, but after Maxwell’s visit?” He chuckled. “Yes, well, I gathered you cared.” His smile faded. “I just didn’t know if you would be able to see that in time.”
In time? Niall furrowed his brow.
“Her ship departs today.” Ryker picked up a folded missive stamped with the duke’s seal and tossed it across the desk. It landed noiselessly on the edge. “This arrived from Wilkinson. Apparently Stone was forced to sail this afternoon.”
All the air lodged in Niall’s lungs, and he grabbed that offending note. No. That ship she’d been planning on boarding wasn’t to leave until—
“The duke thought you should know and sent around word. Asked me to see that you know. Should it matter.”
The earth resumed spiraling in a frantic whir. “Should it matter?” he bellowed. He stalked over to the desk and, leaning over it, dragged his brother to his feet. “Why did you wait to tell me?” he rasped, panic knocking away in his chest. Why did you wait to go to her?
“Would you rather remain and argue me on my timing of sharing the important information?” Ryker glanced over at the longcase clock. “Or would you rather get to the docks before she boards her ship?”
Letting loose a volley of curses, Niall abruptly released him. What in blazes did a man need to travel? He’d never stepped foot outside the London city limits. One hour. He had sixty minutes before her ship sailed off. Nothing. He’d no time to gather anything. Not if he wanted to board that ship with her. His pulse racing, Niall sprinted over to the door and wrenched it open.
He crashed into his sister-in-law, who grunted and stumbled back, catching herself against the wall. The burden in her hands toppled to the floor. “Niall,” she said with her effervescent, always-present smile.
“Penny,” he mumbled and raced around her.
“I believe you’ll need this,” she called when he reached the end of the hall.
He spun back.
Penelope held a valise aloft. “Most people travel with trunks and valises, but this will have to do.” She beamed.
Emotion balled in his throat, momentarily choking him as he rushed back to collect the—he squinted—floral valise?
“It is floral,” she confirmed. “But no one other than me has traveled,” she prattled. Calum and Adair stood at the opposite end of the hall behind Penny. Niall took in this ragtag group of people he called family. People who’d apparently known him better than he knew himself. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “I—”
Penelope leaned up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “This isn’t forever. After your grand travels, you’ll of course return with Diana.” He blinked, as befuddled as he’d always been by her ramblings. “I don’t expect to be the only lady inside this club, forever.”
“Penelope,” Ryker said firmly.
She widened her eyes. “Yes, right. Right.” Gathering his spare hand between her palms, she squeezed. “Go to her. Quite unromantic if you miss her and she sails off without you.”
Oh, God. The reality of time reared its head.
“Your mount is readied,” Calum called. “I’ll follow and collect Chance. You haven’t much time if you intend to board the same ship as the lady.”
Board the ship with his lady.
If she’d have him.
Grinning, Niall bolted down the hall.
“Marry her,” Penelope yelled after him. “You have to marry her first.”
He intended to.
Moments later Niall was guiding Chance through the busy streets of St. Giles, with Calum riding close behind. What if he was late? Why in blazes had they waited to tell him?
It’s your damned fault, you fool. He’d been busy putting everything to rights, when he should have gone to her first and given her the words of love she deserved.
He steeled his jaw. Nothing would stop him from getting to her now. Nothing—
Chance let loose a violent whinny and came up hard on his right hoof.
Christ.
The loyal beast snorted, and, heart sinking, Niall swung his leg over and dismounted. He led the stallion over to the edge of the busied roads. This horse had been with him from the moment he’d purchased the Hell and Sin. Sinking to his haunches, he ran his palm over the leg.
Chance tossed his head violently, and Niall stood. “Shh,” Niall urged. He took Chance’s midnight-black face between his hands and stroked his palm down the middle of his eyes, scratching that place he loved.
“I’ll take care of him,” Calum promised, trading the reins of his mount for Niall’s. “I’ll have someone come and collect him,” he promised. “Find someone at the wharf, but you need to go,” he said quietly. “Now.”
That curt reminder snapped Niall into movement. Climbing astride Calum’s horse, he leaned over his shoulders and raced on. He wound his way through the throngs of carriages and people. Ignoring the furious calls he left in his wake. The summer wind slapped at his face, a soothing balm against the terror in his chest. Be there . . . be there . . .
After an interminable ride, Niall jerked on the reins of his mount, bringing him to an abrupt stop. The creature pawed and scratched at the air and then settled its hooves on the ground. He searched frantically and found a small street urchin. “You,” he called, as he jumped down. The boy rushed forward. “There is a man coming to claim this mount. See that you care for him.” He handed him a sack of coin that rounded out the boy’s eyes.
Abandoning his valise, Niall sprinted through the wharves, searching his gaze about at the ships. With their white sails whipping in the summer wind, they stood out majestic. Frantic, he continued running. He grabbed the arm of a nearby sailor, startling a gasp from the man. “His Lady’s Honor,” he demanded, panting from his exertions.
The man shook his head and wrenched free.
Niall continued his frantic search, grabbing the arms of other passing strangers.
“His Lady’s Honor?” a young, golden-curled street tough repeated. “She’s there . . .” Niall followed his gesture, and his heart sank. No. Relinquishing the other man so quickly he fell back, yelling. Panting from his exertions, Niall bolted to the end of the dock. “Diana,” he bellowed. “Diana.” It was all he could manage. One word. Her name. He reached the end as her ship continued its slow pull away from the Thames. “Diana,” he cried, and merchants and sailors bustling about took a wide berth around him.
Breathless, he collapsed with his hands atop his knees. He sucked in great, heaving gasps of air, drawing it into his burning lungs. He welcomed the agony, embraced it. She was gone. He’d been too late. You fool. You goddamned fool . . .
“Diana,” he cried out once more.
“Yes, Niall.”
He spun around as all the sounds of the wharves faded to a distant hum in his ears. He’d imagined those two words and yet . . . he stared unblinking at the small cloaked figure ten paces away. “Diana,” he whispered.
She drifted over, her soft green cloak catching in the breeze as she walked. She stopped before him.
“You didn’t go,” he whispered.
“No,”
she said softly, as another gentle gust yanked several curls from her neat chignon.
With fingers that shook, he brushed those strands back. “What I said . . . it wasn’t . . .” He tried again. “What I said to Amelie, I didn’t mean . . . ,” he said hoarsely. “It was . . . I was trying—”
Diana pressed her fingertips to his lips, silencing him. “I know, Niall.”
“Oi was putting things in order so Oi could come with you.” His words spilled over one another. “And then your damned ship changed its departure date and my horse came up lame and . . .” His throat worked spasmodically. “Oi thought ya left,” he said raggedly, pressing his eyes closed, still not sure he’d not merely conjured her of his own yearnings. He tossed a look back at that ship, sailing off into the distance, becoming a smaller and smaller fleck upon the horizon. “Oi thought Oi’d missed ya.”
Diana palmed his cheek, forcing his eyes to hers. “I was going,” she said softly. “But then I realized.”
Emotion balled in his throat. “Realized?”
“I wanted to see the cerulean blue water and the pink sand and the world outside London.” She lifted an aching gaze to his. So much love poured from their depths, his chest tightened. “But I want you at my side when I do. I was coming back for you. To try and convince you. To try and—” He covered her mouth with his, claiming her lips in a tender meeting, willing her to feel all the love he had for her.
“I want to be with you,” he said hoarsely, dropping his brow to hers. “I want to go and travel and not be afraid anymore. And when I’m with you, you make me not afraid.” Once he would have been ashamed and horrified to think those words, let alone breathe them aloud. “You showed me that love is stronger than hate and . . . I love you, Diana. My heart is and always will belong to you.”
Her lips quivered in a smile. “I love you, Niall Marksman.” She threaded her fingers through his. “Let us go explore the world together.”
A lightness suffused his chest and spread slowly through his being.
I am home.
Acknowledgments
Back when I wrote my first book, Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride, the Hell and Sin Club spoke to me. I imagined heroes and heroines living on the fringe of society and their lives colliding with the nobility. Over the years, the Sinful Brides series continued to speak to me.
Last March, Alison Dasho and the entire team at Montlake Romance allowed me to bring that series to life. To my editors, cover designer, and marketing team, thank you for making the Sinful Brides possible. And more, thank you for all your wonderful support! I’m so very honored to be part of the Montlake family!
About the Author
Photo © 2016 Kimberly Rocha
USA Today bestselling author Christi Caldwell blames Julie Garwood and Judith McNaught for luring her into the world of historical romance. When Christi was sitting in her graduate school apartment at the University of Connecticut, she began writing her own tales of love. Christi believes even the most perfect heroes and heroines have imperfections. Besides, she rather enjoys torturing them—before the couple earn their well-deserved happily ever after. Christi makes her home in southern Connecticut, where she spends her time writing, chasing after her courageous son, and caring for her twin princesses-in-training. For free bonus material and the latest information about Christi’s releases and future books, sign up for her newsletter at www.ChristiCaldwell.com.
The Lady's Guard (Sinful Brides Book 3) Page 30
