He tilted her chin until he could look into her eyes. ‘You’re absolutely sure about this?’ Anxiety roughened his voice.
She didn’t try to hide the tears of joy blurring her sight. She nodded.
His hand came up and freed her hair from its pins. It swirled around them, a shimmering veil of gold. ‘I love you.’ His mouth covered hers with infinite tenderness.
A boom thundered overhead and they looked up.
A red flare streaked above them. ‘What the devil…?’ Christopher muttered.
‘Sea Witch on the port bow, sir,’ the captain called.
Sylvia laughed at the ludicrous expression of surprise on Christopher’s face when they went to the rail.
‘How the hell did Garth get my mother on that ship?’
Sylvia felt the heat rise in her cheeks and looked down at the deck. Now he would know they were all in the plot.
‘Bloody hell. And your father and brother. They’re all on the Witch.’
Sylvia peeped over the rail at the madly waving crowd on the deck of Garth’s yacht and waved back. A string of coloured flags climbed the mast.
‘Message from the Sea Witch, sir.’
‘Well?’ Christopher said, his mouth quirking at the corners.
‘It says “marry the girl”, sir.’
Christopher fumbled at his neck, pulling at his neckcloth.
Braced against the ship’s rail, Sylvia held her breath, suddenly unsure. He pulled free a chain and opened the clasp. A gold circle encrusted with diamonds and sapphires lay on his palm. Christopher took her hand and went down on one knee.
‘My lady, would you do me the very great honour of becoming my wife?’
A huge burning lump blocked her throat and made her eyes water.
He gripped her hand. ‘Sylvia,’ he said. ‘For God’s sake. Will you?’
‘Yes.’ She laughed through her tears. ‘Oh, yes. I will.’
He leaped up, slipped the ring on her finger and crushed her to his chest.
‘Sir,’ the captain said. They turned to face him. He wore a huge grin and beside him stood a parson with a bible in his hand.
‘Garth managed to find a cleric who wanted to travel to America,’ Sylvia explained at his look of amazement.
More rockets burst overhead. Christopher glanced over the rail at the upturned faces of the expectant, but distant, bridal party and raised a questioning brow.
‘Shall I begin, sir?’ the parson asked.
Christopher encircled Sylvia in the warmth of his strong arms and his chuckle reverberated through her body.
‘What the hell are you waiting for, man? Begin. Time is wasting and we’ve some catching up to do.’
ISBN: 978-1-4268-3146-1
THE RAKE’S INHERITED COURTESAN
Copyright © 2009 by Michèle Ann Young
First North American Publication 2009
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