by Kresley Cole
Those crushing memories. She might deserve more than a “drunken wretch,” but she’d sensed the real man under all the pain. And loved him.
Now he’d given her pain of her own.
But she would survive. All she had to do was bluster and swagger her way through this. That’s what she’d done all her life.
Yet some part of her questioned whether she was strong enough to rebound from the last few months. The home she’d wanted so badly was at the bottom of the South Atlantic Ocean, along with the life it could provide. Thanks to losing the race, her father’s shipping line was dying. To cap it all, she’d been left behind like rubbish by the man she had loved. Still loved, fool that she was.
At night she would cry, her mouth open from the force of her silent weeping.
Every now and then, a man came across a woman he could look at for hours, Derek drunkenly mused. Less frequently, a woman he could listen to for hours. The odds of finding these qualities combined in a woman who also gave boundless pleasure in bed was so rare it was fabled.
He’d found this woman and left her, while wondering every day when his natural selfishness would surface and he could return for her.
Yet Chancey had made it clear that they were sailing on the morning’s tide after Derek left. When he’d asked where the man was taking her, he’d answered only, “Where ye won’t find her if ye change yer mind.” Oh, he’d changed it all right….
As he sat in his cabin, drinking as he hadn’t done in months, his eyes moved over the scenes on the walls, the scenes Nicole had altered and completed while in Sydney, which he’d long since memorized. He’d never thought he would admit it, but he missed her things surrounding his own. Missed a stocking thrown over his chair. Missed the scent of almond oil or paint. Absently he fingered the case of sapphires he’d bought for her in Sydney.
He’d never taken the chance to give them to her. He would never have another.
His surroundings grew unfocused, as his hollow feelings, his want of Nicole, dredged up memories. He recalled a time when, as a boy, he had walked in on a conversation among his mother, his aunt, and their friends. They were all a little tipsy, and he’d been amused.
“My firstborn,” his mother had grandly begun, “shall have trouble governing his passions. His marriage will probably be one where husband and wife love and hate with equal intensity.”
“Oh, dear,” Aunt Serena had responded. “Sadly, I can see it.”
His mother noticed Derek and smilingly beckoned him beside her. “I am talking about your and your brothers’ futures. Would you like to hear about Grant?”
He’d nodded. “Well, Grant shall marry a woman completely opposite from him. As much as he is a prankster and rapscallion, she shall be a picture of virtue—a good girl with manners and money.”
“Sounds stale, Amanda,” one of her friends had remarked over her raised glass.
“Possibly,” she hedged. “But they’ll find their love in the differences. And for this one”—she’d smoothed a lock from Derek’s forehead, embarrassing him—“you, son, will have a wife and family you treasure above all else. You shall love them, and they will be your strength.”
“Well, he’s not the heir,” someone had observed. “A love match is certainly possible.”
“Not just possible. Derek, you remember this. My middle boy shall be a family man.”
How utterly wrong she’d been.
He was married to a woman he hated. Shortly after their farcical marriage, his friends’ pity had humiliated and angered him. He’d cut them off first. Then his family, especially when they’d recognized what they had done to a man who’d always wanted a wife and children.
He’d stopped attending functions because always the bloody questions about Lydia, about when an heir would be forthcoming, surrounded him. Or, worse, the pitying looks that circulated with rumors about her latest lover.
His anger compounded itself with each adjustment he made in his life. He gambled and drank far too much. His businesses went to hell, as did his estates. He’d come to relish the freedom that attended one so far gone. No one expected anything from him. No one depended on him. For the first time in his life, he was absolutely free. And absolutely miserable, but too entrenched to bother to change.
On the rare occasions when he interacted with his family, he’d vaguely comprehended his mother’s regret. As well as the fact that the lower Derek sank, the more upright and responsible the fun-loving Grant grew.
He thought about his dead brother, William. He’d been like a weight around Derek’s neck for years. Then to be chained to a female version of his petty, malicious brother forever. No wonder those two had been so drawn to each other.
He remembered hearing the servants whispering about William being spoiled. But they didn’t mean overindulged or cosseted, though he certainly was that.
They meant ruined .
Derek couldn’t stand being in this room any longer. He snatched up the jewel case, shoved it in his pocket. The bottle slipped from his other hand as he slammed out the door.
Looking out over the sea, he took a shuddering breath. His knuckles were white on the railing.
“Captain?” came a voice behind him.
He turned to see Bigsby, waiting with a sour expression on his face. The man wasted no pleasantries and said only, “A word with you.” The doctor sounded surprised by his own tone, but he didn’t back down.
“What’s this? Is a member of my crew voluntarily speaking to me?” No one approached him any longer. Sometimes he thought Jeb called him a snob behind his back, and others might add “bastard” to the list.
“We want to know why you left her. Why we were ordered to steal away while she went to town. You just…abandoned her,” he added in a bewildered tone.
“You make it sound as if she was helpless when you know damn well she isn’t. And that Irisher was there to take her home, wherever that might be.”
“I know you are a peer, but she was good enough to be your wife even if her family didn’t have a title.”
“That had nothing to do with it!”
Bigsby looked confused. “Then what did?”
Derek shrugged, attempting nonchalance. “She can do better. Nicole doesn’t need a drunk who’s a decade older.”
“So stop drinking, Captain. And nine, maybe ten years is hardly a notable span between you,” he said reasonably. Then, as if counting down a list, he asked, “What’s the next reason you left her?”
Derek couldn’t believe the temerity of this man. Bigsby had chosen the wrong time to demonstrate his new spine. “You want to know?” he seethed. “I’ll tell you—I am already married!”
The man’s lips parted, but no words emerged.
“I can see I’ve shocked you. Yes, I have a wife in England. A wife I despise whom I’ve never touched, but a wife all the same.”
Bigsby’s eyebrows rose as he digested that information. Then he responded, “I’m sorry to hear that. It will be difficult for you and Miss Lassiter while you’re getting divorced from your current wife, but it will pass.” He looked about to say more, thought better of it. “Good night, Captain,” he said, and departed.
How easy Bigsby made it sound. But he didn’t know about deathbed promises and family secrets better left buried. Derek had done Nicole a favor.
Because he loved her.
A sharp, agonized roar burst from his chest as he flung the jewels into the sea.
Their ship hadn’t even docked at the Cape when Nicole spotted her father and his crew among the waiting crowds at the docks. The first line was barely secure before she ran across the gangway, pushing around people in her haste.
“Father, I’m so sorry about the ship,” she whispered as he drew her into a hug. “I never meant for this to happen.” Tears trailed down her face.
“Hush, Nicole,” he said, his voice thick. “I don’t care about anything as long as you’re safe.”
“You weren’t supposed to come after
me,” she admonished, then added in a derisive voice, “I’d planned to save the day for everyone.”
“It’s past, now. We’re going to be fine.” He gave her another crushing hug before he turned her to his crew. “They worried about you.”
When she saw them all fit and safe, she broke into a watery smile. “Everybody’s well?” Several nodded smiles in return, some as watery as her own. Then her father turned her again. Maria! She stood beside her father with her arms open. Nicole’s face crumpled despite all her best efforts, but it didn’t matter as she ran to her.
Inside her motherly embrace, Nicole shook in what felt like a great unburdening. Maria understood unrequited love. Hadn’t Maria loved her unwitting father for so long, even now loved him? She’d been through this hurt before, too.
Nicole could feel Maria sharply waving away the crew, a couple of whom patted Nicole’s head as they departed. Nicole was glad. She didn’t know if she could stop crying.
But even over the sound of Maria’s soft Portuguese endearments, she heard her father mutter to Chancey, “He’s a dead man.”
“No, Father!” Nicole said, turning from Maria. “If you go after him, then I’m not finished with him. I want this finished! I want him out of my life forever.” Her tears stopped as anger drummed through her. “I’ve decided to claim my birthright and keep my promise to Grandmother to find a husband.”
Father shook his head. “You don’t have to do that. Not anymore.”
“I want to,” Nicole said, more certain of her future than she’d been in months. “I’m going to wed. I’m going to bask in security and never be cold or scared.” She gently pushed away from Maria and ran a sleeve over her eyes. “I refuse to be weak or vulnerable again.”
“Well, Captain?” Bigsby asked when they’d docked in London and finished unloading the cargo. “What will you do?” The doctor didn’t need to specify about what. Nicole was the only subject they’d talked about the entire voyage back.
Activity on the deck stopped. Everything fell silent. The entire crew—sailors in the rigging, men sweeping the decks—paused, waiting for his answer. Their animosity had dimmed throughout the voyage. Probably because they saw he was wearing down. He looked around at all of them, saw Jeb nodding….
The last three months had introduced Derek to a new level of loathing his life. He was never without the regret that ate at him. As soon as he’d left, he’d doubted his decision. But for once, he’d wanted to do the right thing, the best thing for Nicole. Chancey was right about him. She could do better.
Then, halfway back to London, Bigsby had brought up the killing blow to his resistance: “She could do better, but could any man love her more than you do?”
No. It wasn’t possible.
He resented everything that kept him and Nicole apart. That resentment had grown into a poisonous rancor so strong, it could no longer be contained.
He would divorce his wife.
And break his deathbed promise to his father. A divorce would devastate his mother and embarrass the family even more, but that couldn’t be helped. He refused to imagine a life without Nicole, and she deserved to be married.
“I’m going…to find her.” He walked away to the sound of cheers and clinking coins as bets were paid.
During the hackney ride to his London home, he wondered if she would even have him. Then the memory of their last night together flashed into his mind. He’d loved her, holding nothing back because he’d known it would be their last time together. And she’d given him everything….
He looked up when the cab stopped in front of his town house and ran a hand down his face to pull himself together. As soon as he stepped down, his mother and brother greeted him from the front door with welcoming smiles.
“Derek, you’re finally home!” Amanda called in surprise, then added, “You look like hell.” He smiled wryly before looking up to see his brother jogging over.
“Welcome home, Derek. We read about the win. Congratulations.” He offered him a hearty handshake.
“I never thought I’d say this, but it’s good to be home.”
When his mother had them settled in the sitting room with tea and a light repast, Derek recounted the highlights of the race, purposely omitting Nicole from the story. But throughout the telling, his mother looked edgy, as if she couldn’t stay still in her seat. He could swear Grant cast her quelling glances.
When he cut short his tale, she said in a rush, “We, um, have something to tell you.”
“Mother, don’t you think we can discuss this later?” Grant interrupted warningly. “As you said, Derek looks as though he’s had a hell of a journey. We can wait until he’s settled.”
Amanda pressed her lips together. “Well, I’ve waited weeks to see this thing resolved, and I’m sure he’ll want to know what we’re talking about.”
“Indeed,” Derek said with a sigh as he leaned back in his seat. “What’s happened now?”
With one last look at Grant, his mother grasped Derek’s hand and turned a sympathetic face to him. “Your wife’s pregnant,” she revealed abruptly. “I see I don’t have to tell you that you can by no stretch of the imagination be the father.”
Chapter 25
No, you quite do not,” Derek answered, running his palm across the back of his neck.
“She’s three months along,” his mother explained.
“Are you certain?” he asked, not wanting to get his hopes up prematurely. They’d been through this before. If she was indeed carrying another man’s child, in his family’s eyes he would have no choice but to divorce her. “How do you know this?”
“She’s showing,” she said, then added in a confessional tone, “and not prettily.”
“Mother, please!” Grant interjected. “I’m sure this information is overwhelming enough as it is. Let’s keep to the facts.” He turned back to Derek. “She wants to dissolve the marriage to wed some foreign count. Apparently, it’s his child.”
His mother nodded, agreeing happily with what Grant had said. She appeared to be struggling not to clap her hands.
“He has even more money than you do,” she said, as if that explained everything. In Lydia’s case, he supposed it did. Now her unprecedented visit to his ship made sense. She’d been shrieking for money, probably because she wanted to impress and snare the rich count. Poor, misbegotten bastard. But better him than Derek.
His mother sighed, “I can’t wait for this nightmare to be over. You’ll be able to remarry—”
“You wanted me to remarry?” he demanded sharply. In all remonstrances, she’d never said such a thing.
She paused to consider his question. “No. Not necessarily. If you’ll remember, I’ve been ranting about your doing something . Anything but simply taking the disappointment and anger you’ve struggled with for five years. Finally, you’ll be able to have those children we know you’ve wanted.”
Had he always been so transparent? Had they known that it was what bothered him most about marrying Lydia—not having children? He’d always thought they believed it was because she was unfaithful to him. When in fact, he couldn’t bring himself to care about that, since he’d never liked his wife, much less loved her.
Now children were no longer important—he wanted them, but he couldn’t live his life without Nicole.
He acted calm, but the news made his head pound in time with his heart. He would end this charade so that when he found Nicole, nothing would stand in his way.
Resolved, he patted his mother’s hand and slapped his brother on the back. “If you’ll excuse me. This can’t wait another day.”
Minutes later, facing the elaborate facade of his wife’s town home, he was reminded anew of the extreme lavishness of the place. Shortly after they were married, she’d purchased and furnished it using his money, sparing no expense; yet he’d been glad to provide it because he could eliminate one place he might ever run into her. If he did happen to be home from a trip, he avoided the country estates,
as well as any of the ton’s gilded yet facile amusements. In their five years of marriage, he’d seen his wife on only a handful of occasions.
“Good morning, Lydia,” he said civilly as he was shown to her sitting room. As usual, she looked beautiful, with her blue-black hair and glittering green eyes. As usual, she reminded him of a snake.
“What do you want?” she snapped. The only thing that could mar her perfect face was the expression of hate that continually suffused it. He wondered how others couldn’t see the malignity from inside that manifested itself in her eyes, but then, he’d been fooled as well.
In the beginning, he’d wanted to ask what had filled her with such bitterness. Though it wouldn’t be a simple answer with her. Was it her family’s overweening greed? Or the death of the man she’d really wanted to marry? But he was long past even a token interest in his wife by now.
“No small talk? Good. We’ll get right down to it. You’re pregnant,” he said with a nod toward her scarcely rounding belly. “I want a divorce.”
She laughed then, a false sound. “You can’t divorce me.”
“I can and I will.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” she said in an amused tone, shifting her rich brocade morning robe. He’d most likely paid a fortune for it.
Derek forced himself to be calm. He was doing this for his and Nicole’s future, and any anger on his part could backfire. “I thought you desired this. You want to marry someone else,” he offered reasonably.
“Actually,” she began, taking a casual sip of tea, “we’ll be getting an annulment.”
He kept his face expressionless. With Lydia, any sign of emotion would be seen as a weakness to be exploited. He raised his eyebrows and assumed a disinterested pose. “On what grounds?”
“You are unable to perform your…marital duties.” She looked down at her long nails. “You aren’t a man to me.”
