Earl Interrupted

by Amanda Forester

  Dare walked up to her, giving a nod to Tobias, who narrowed his eyes even at him. “Miss St. James. Please…please make me happy by becoming my wife.” And forgive me for these unfortunate circumstances.

  Emma’s smile lit his heart and radiated sunshine even amid the growing danger.

  “It would give me great pleasure, my lord, to do so.”

  Dare closed his eyes a moment and breathed deep in relief. She said yes. She said yes! If he had not had ample reason to defeat Harcourt before that time, he did now.

  “Fine, then. Let’s proceed with the wedding,” said Harcourt with a greedy grin. With control over the beneficiary of Dare’s will, if Harcourt killed Dare, he could gain more than just Dare’s ship—he could gain all of Dare’s fortune.

  Dare stood before the man he was about to kill with Emma St. James at his side. It was the happiest, worst moment of his life. Emma was presenting an admirably serene exterior, but at closer inspection, the vein in her neck pulsed rapidly, and fabric stretched over her bosom with every quick breath.

  Still, she presented such a pool of calm he wished nothing more than to remain by her side for the rest of his life. How many other society ladies could remain steadfast in such circumstances? He had admired her for some time, but now he had fresh cause to appreciate her. She was unique. And she was his. And he loved her more than he had thought possible.

  Love? Was he truly in love?

  He had heard the phrase “falling in love” but had thought it a far-fetched notion of romantic tales and opera plots. He had been certain it would never happen to him.

  He had been wrong.

  He stood next to the lady who made his cold heart skip a beat, the lady who made him lose his precious self-control, the lady who was about to become his wife. The lady he loved.

  * * *

  As a child, Emma had dreamed of her wedding. What little girl did not? Marriage was the object of her life—or at least, that was what most of the women of her acquaintance had taught her. Somehow the concept of marriage had become warped in her life. Initially, she was pressed to accept a match with her own stepbrother. Then she sought a marriage of convenience to some faraway American to protect herself. Clearly, her romanticized dream of weddings and marriage had gone by the wayside.

  And that was a good thing. For now the prospect of marrying the Earl of Darington on a disabled ship, moments before he was to engage in mortal combat, attended by the most disreputable wedding guests imaginable was still better than marrying Eustace.

  She was not sure why Darington wished to marry her at this moment, but she did know he would not bring her on deck without a very good purpose. If he wanted to marry her now, it could only be for her benefit.

  Did she trust him enough to marry him on a ship full of thieves and murderers?

  Yes, yes she did.

  She smiled, and much to her surprise, he slowly returned it. And she knew. She knew without the fleeting whisper of a doubt that he loved her. Even though he stood on the deck of his ruined ship before the man who had destroyed his life, he smiled. He smiled at her. Whatever happened next, it was worth it for this moment. She had not been sure she could claim Dare’s heart or even that he had one to claim. But he had. And it was hers.

  “Fine, now let’s get on with it. Who will perform the ceremony?” growled Harcourt.

  “As captain of your ship, I would ask that you observe the rights of captains to serve as the officiant,” declared Dare.

  The snarl on Harcourt’s lips twitched up. “You want me to preside over your wedding? Oh, by all means.”

  “Let us adjourn to your ship, where you hold domain,” said Dare.

  “Oh no, it is not necessary to inconvenience the lady. You have struck your colors and I claim this ship as mine.”

  Dare’s jaw tightened, but he gave a quick nod of assent. There was a moment of confusion as people searched for a Book of Common Prayer. Harcourt did not sail with one, but then, neither did Dare.

  “Here, please use mine,” said Emma, handing over her small copy from her reticule.

  Harcourt squinted at the words on the page and, after some deep growls, produced a monocle from his waistcoat pocket with which to read the tiny script. “We are gathered here today in the sight of God to join this man and this woman in the bonds of holy matrimony.”

  Harcourt clearly took no pleasure in the proceedings, other than a few mercurial glances at her. Emma was not sure why he would look at her so, but she had never before wished more ill to another human being. Her circumstances were so unusual it was surreal. If she suddenly woke, she would not have been surprised to learn it was all a dream.

  But no, only the real, live Earl of Darington could make her heart beat so or her breath catch in her throat. This was no dream; this was very real. And despite it all, despite the officiant being the worst traitor in all of Britain, despite standing on a crippled ship surrounded by men who at any moment might attack her, and despite the fact that Dare was about to fight this man to the death—yes, despite even that—her heart thrilled with a sudden burst of heedless joy.

  She was marrying Robert Ashton, the Earl of Darington, the captain of her heart. She was marrying the man she loved. She prayed she would not soon be made a widow, but for this moment, she was being united with the man she adored, and somehow, when she looked into his dark eyes and stoic face, she was happy.

  “I, Robert Ashton, take thee, Emma St. James, to be my wedded wife.” Dare spoke the words solemnly, but with a tremor of emotion that was real and true. “To have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance, and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

  She tried to restrain her smile. Truly, it was not appropriate, like a bird singing in the mouth of a fox, but somehow she could not squelch it. She spoke her vows to him with such a cheery smile she might have been in a London chapel, and even then, it would have been gauche, for marriage ceremonies were supposed to be solemn affairs. Dare, however, did not seem to care, for he gazed at her with a sort of awe-like wonder, as if surprised she would actually marry him.

  When it came time for rings to be exchanged, Dare frowned. “I would wish to give you a ring, but I have none to give.”

  “I have no need for a ring,” assured Emma.

  “Oh, but you do. Indeed, you must have a ring.” Harcourt gave her a malicious smile and produced from his waistcoat pocket a silver ring.

  Dare’s jaw tightened at the sight. “My signet ring.”

  “But of course. How else could I grant your crew the leave they were due?” He handed the ring to Dare with mock civility.

  Dare took the ring and held out his hand to her. Emma placed her hand in his.

  “Now you say—” began Harcourt.

  “I know the words,” growled Dare. He took a breath and focused on Emma. His features softened when he looked at her, and she felt herself melting into the dark pools of his eyes.

  “With this ring, I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship.” He paused and heat ran up her spine with the memory of their time in his cabin. “With all my worldly goods, I thee endow. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” He spoke the words slowly, deliberately, and she knew they were his true vow.

  The ring was too big for her finger, but she curled her fingers to ensure it did not fall off. He was supposed to drop her hand but continued to hold it as Harcourt read the service.

  “Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.” Harcourt paused and looked at them over the prayer book. “Actually I intend to do just that when we are finished here.”

  “You are welcome to try,” countered Dare. “Proceed.”

  “Forasmuch as Robert Ashton, Earl of Darington, and Emma St. James have co
nsented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” Harcourt scanned the page and snapped the book closed in disgust. “There proceeds a series of lengthy prayers and sermonizing, which I assume we can all skip, having done the essentials.”

  Dare lightly squeezed her hand and she squeezed it back. It was all they could not say.

  Harcourt handed Emma back her prayer book. “Keep the ring safe for me for a few minutes. I shall come to collect it from you directly.”

  “Forgive me for being disobliging, but I fear I shall be attending your funeral in short order,” said Emma boldly. “But do not fear. I have the page here for the order of the burial of the dead.”

  “Don’t bother to mark the page,” sneered Harcourt. “But stay and watch your new husband’s death. I will take great joy in seeing that pretty smile turn to tears.”

  “Enough!” Dare stepped between her and Harcourt. “You are naught but a dog, unworthy to lick her boots. You will not speak to her.”

  “Good, good. Now we do what needs to be done. Allow me to offer my ship as the location for our brief encounter. Yours seems to have something blocking the deck.” He gestured to the crippled mast.

  “As you wish,” replied Dare grimly.

  Harcourt sprang up lightly onto the rail and jumped nimbly to the deck of his ship.

  Dare turned to Emma. It might be their last moment together. He drew her close and pressed a kiss to her lips. This brought a cheer from his men, a sound that faded away as she became wholly captivated by the feel of his body pressed to hers, as if he could protect her from what was to come. For one shining moment, everything was right in her world.

  Dare broke the kiss and everything was wrong. “If he wins…” he whispered in her ear.

  “He will not.”

  “But if he does, things will become very difficult for you, but he will not kill you for he will need you to try to get my fortune. I hope somehow you can escape.”

  “Oh!” Emma suddenly understood why he had wished to marry her. He was protecting her just in case. “You have done so much for me.”

  “And you for me.”

  “I have not even given you a token. You are my knight and I must give you a token of my love.” Emma remembered the stories of the ladies and knights of old. If ever there was a chivalrous knight, it was Darington. She searched through her reticule. “Goodness, I was so surprised by your summons I have not even a handkerchief. Here, take this instead. God’s word is a much better token anyway.”

  Emma handed Dare her small Book of Prayer and he placed it in the breast pocket of his coat. “Thank you.”

  She clasped her hands on either side of his face, looking up to him. “I have no wish to be a widow,” she said earnestly.

  “I have no wish to be dead.”

  And with those parting words, he was gone.

  Forty-three

  Dare faced the traitor to the Crown. The man who killed his father. The man who would do worse to Emma if he let him live.

  Cold desperation snaked down his spine. Harcourt was renowned with the sword. Dare too was experienced with the weapon, but he had never gone up against a pirate legend. Unfortunately for Dare, his analytical, calculating mind knew the odds were not in his favor.

  Harcourt drew his sword with a flourish and held it in salute, with a mocking grin. Dare drew his, the ringing of steel echoing across the deck. The crews of both ships were silent, watching. Even if Dare managed to triumph over his foe, Harcourt’s crew outnumbered Dare’s by about a hundred. No matter what happened, it would be a miracle if Dare and Emma survived the day.

  Dare stood taller. Emma must survive. So Dare must win. There was no other option.

  “Say goodbye to your bride,” Harcourt said, mocking him.

  “For your crimes against the Crown and against my family, I demand justice.”

  “The only thing you’ll get from me is my steel through your heart!” Harcourt struck fast, forcing Dare to jump back and block the strike.

  Harcourt lunged again and Dare blocked and parried in quick succession, keeping close to prevent Harcourt from striking true. Harcourt was fast and nimble, and Dare worked furiously to defend the onslaught. Frustrated by Dare’s defense, Harcourt pressed hard. Dare ducked to avoid the deadly attack, and Harcourt’s blade sliced his cheek.

  “First blood to me,” Harcourt gloated.

  Harcourt lunged again, but this time Dare was more prepared for the speed and ferocity of the attack. The rumors of his skill as a swordsman were in no way embellished. The man was a master. Sick. Cruel. But a master with a blade.

  Dare pressed on, trying to find a weakness. Harcourt lunged and Dare backed up the stairs of the quarterdeck to gain the advantage of higher ground, the clash of the swords ringing in the early morning light.

  The men began to cheer, urging on their man as if Dare’s fight for his life was nothing more than common entertainment. He was a gladiator of old, fighting in the arena for the amusement of the masses.

  “I fear your intent with the gig from the Mercedes will come to nothing. I have already been here.” Dare tried to distract Harcourt to gain the advantage.

  Harcourt snarled. “Your log states differently.”

  “I do not put everything in the log.”

  Doubt flickered across Harcourt’s face and Dare used his momentary distraction to attack. Harcourt parried, blocking the attack with a grimace.

  “You hypocrite! You come after me, but you also have been stealing treasure from the Crown. So you didn’t want to go through the admiralty courts after you found the treasure from the Mercedes and kept it for yourself.”

  The gig from the Mercedes had treasure in it? This was news to Dare. If he survived the duel, he would certainly inspect this for himself. Harcourt slashed at him with malice. Dare had gotten to him, and he hoped that would mean the man would make a mistake.

  “It was quite a prize,” Dare drawled.

  Harcourt attacked again, his eyes blazing. “How did you know? I killed the man who told me the captain hid treasure in the gig.”

  “Because everything you ever had or ever wanted is now mine,” Dare taunted.

  Harcourt roared in fury, a guttural, primal yell. If Dare wanted to aggravate Harcourt, he certainly had gotten his wish. Harcourt surged in attack, his movements quick and sure. Instead of getting sloppy, Harcourt got even better when angered.

  Dare had made a terrible mistake.

  “You are outclassed, boy,” sneered Harcourt and Dare knew it to be true. “So sad your lovely bride will have to watch you die.”

  Dare wanted to glance at Emma once more but feared if he took his eyes off Harcourt for a second, it would be the last thing he ever did. “You will not speak of her.” He lunged, and Harcourt quickly parried, slicing the coat of his forearm and stinging his flesh.

  Dare cried out and struck again, but Harcourt was too quick.

  “Oh, I’ll do more than speak to her. She is a young widow, ripe and ready for the plucking. She will need company on the long voyage home.”

  “Do not speak of her!” Dare’s pulse pounded in his ears. He attacked, but Harcourt blocked it and nearly struck home before Dare parried the thrust.

  “I shall do more than speak,” panted Harcourt. “You may have married her, but I’ll be the one enjoying the wedding night.”

  Even in his rage, Dare knew he could not beat him. Dare stepped back, and in the second he had before Harcourt attacked again, he knew what he had to do. He would do it. His only regret was that Emma would watch him fall.

  Dare lunged with determinati
on, leaving himself open. Harcourt seized the opportunity and struck true at his heart. Dare did not pull back but crashed into him, Harcourt’s rapier burning as it plunged into him. Dare grabbed the hilt of Harcourt’s sword with one hand, preventing the man from withdrawing it, and plunged his own sword into Harcourt’s chest.

  Harcourt screamed in surprise and fury. His eyes bulged, staring at Dare with shock and loathing. Locked together, both swords pierced through, they both fell to the deck.

  Dare collapsed to his side and struggled against the sword stuck deep in his chest. He gasped for breath.

  “Dare!” Emma skidded down to her knees before him. “Oh, no. Oh, no, no.”

  “Harcourt?” asked Dare.

  “Dead. Very dead. Now let me look at you. Stay still!”

  Dare complied, willing to do anything she asked. Her eyes were brimming with tears. She blinked and her expression turned to confusion. “Does it hurt to breathe?”

  Dare took a deep breath. “No.”

  “Well then.” Emma stood, placed a foot on his chest, and pulled the sword out with a grunt.

  Dare clenched his teeth to prevent from crying out in pain as the sword burned its way out of his flesh. It would not do to act the coward in his last moments on earth. The men of both crews, who had been creeping forward, gasped at her bold move in callously removing the blade.

  Emma kneeled beside him once more. “Can you sit up?”

  To his surprise, Dare found that he could. Emma opened his jacket and inspected the wound, which was spreading a bright-red stain on his waistcoat and linens, yet the puncture was far more to the side than he had thought.

  “As I thought, he caught you through the skin under your right arm.” Emma’s countenance brightened into a smile. “I don’t think it struck anything vital.”

  “He missed?” How was that possible?

  Emma felt in the breast pocket of his coat and removed her prayer book, which had a deep gash across the leather cover. “He struck true, but the book diverted his blade.”

  Dare and Emma looked at each other in wonder. Slowly, Dare regained his feet, Emma rising with him.