by Lenora Bell
“This need for vengeance has driven my life for so long, I can’t conceive of living for anything else.”
She shuddered against his chest and he quieted her, stroking her hair. “I’m not going to Ireland to find a wife. I’m going to find my brother’s murderer. There’s a man named O’Roarke . . . he could be the one.”
She stilled.
His chest ached with emotion. “I’m sorry I lied to you. Thea, I’m so sorry.”
Silence.
The muffled sound of a sniffle.
“Thea, say something. You’re not . . . are you crying?”
She lifted her head and wiped her eyes with her hands. “I’m crying for ten-year-old Dalton. What a cross to bear all these years. Thinking it was your fault, and then learning your brother was murdered. It’s too much for a young child to endure.”
“I’m not asking for sympathy.”
“Of course not. You would never need sympathy, or understanding, or . . . love.” She whispered the word and his chest ached.
“Revenge is my life’s companion, Thea. When I wake in the morning it’s the first thing I think about and when I go to sleep at night it’s the last.”
“Revenge won’t bring your brother back.”
“I know that. But it could help my mother. If she knew retribution had been served, maybe she’d feel brave enough to leave the house.”
“I understand now, Dalton,” she whispered. “I know why you push me away.”
“Being here with me puts you in danger. As Con is in constant peril as well. If my secret came to light he would be implicated. He could hang. And I will never let that happen.”
He fisted his hand in her satiny curls. “And I will never let anyone hurt you because of your association with me, Thea.”
“I know you would never do that.”
“Those men outside the Anchor were searching for me tonight. And they could have harmed you. I’m a danger to you.”
Empathy surged in Thea’s heart. She’d heard the words he didn’t say. That finding his brother’s killer was a chance to make his mother love him. He’d had no love. Not from his mother or his father and he’d borne the heavy weight of guilt.
With her ear pressed against his chest, and his arm forming a cocoon for her other ear, she felt that there was no other world but the warm, silent one that was only his heartbeat, her breathing, and the perfectness of that moment.
It was an intimacy she’d never experienced.
Her cheeks burned from the scratch of his whiskers, and that rawness translated to her heart as well. There were still tremors running through her body. She felt satisfied and mellow and there was sadness for him but also gratitude for this new awareness.
“What if I told you that you’ve given me a rare gift, Dalton?” she asked.
“I’ve compromised you. How is that a gift?” he said bluntly, twisting away from her.
“I’m not speaking of what we’ve done tonight, although it was amazing, and . . . I want to do it again.”
“You do?”
She lifted her head and smiled. “Oh, yes,” she purred. “But I’m not talking about pleasure. I’m talking about trust. In the tavern you trusted my instincts and it was a wonderful, soaring feeling. I honestly don’t think anyone’s believed in me like that before.”
“You should trust your instincts, Thea. You’re brilliant. Your instincts are excellent.”
She buried her face in his neck. “All my life I’ve second-guessed myself.” She searched for the right way to make him understand what being with him meant to her. “We females are taught to doubt our worth, to apologize for our strengths. My mother taught me that skill. I was never good enough for her and so I thought I’d never be good enough for anything.” She touched his cheek. “So . . . thank you.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Thea, after what we’ve done, there should be an arrangement.”
She stilled. “I don’t want anything from you except tonight.”
Liar. You know you want more.
She brought his head down to her lips and kissed him. He moaned into her mouth and deepened the kiss, using his hand on the back of her neck to pull her closer.
He drove her to distraction. That was a phrase she’d never understood until now. He drove her, as waves bore a ship against cliffs, shattering her calm.
He broke the embrace and trailed kisses down her body until his head was buried between her legs, until she moaned her pleasure.
All she had was right here and right now.
This moment.
She reached for him and brought him back up her body.
Her head fell off the side of the bed and her hair brushed the floor.
One of his strong arms wound around her waist.
“On second thought”—Thea raised her head—“I will make a demand.”
The solid muscles of his abdomen clenched above her.
He closed his eyes.
“I demand”—she reached between them, guiding his shaft where she needed him to be—“satisfaction.”
Chapter 21
Slumbering on the featherbed with Dalton while the ship gently rocked on the calm waters wasn’t exactly as pleasurable as she’d imagined.
His leg pinned her thighs to the bed and one of his large arms rested on her chest, weighing her down like an anchor.
His other arm hung off the edge of the bed. He managed to occupy every inch of a more than adequately sized bed for two.
What had last night meant to him? Would she ever know? He wasn’t adept at expressing his emotions, or admitting to weakness. And he seemed to view his connection with her as a weakness.
She knew what their union had meant to her. An unraveling of fear, a reckless leap into a new life, free from familial and societal expectations and strictures.
A welling of love in her heart, flooding her chest and threatening to bring tears to her eyes.
Maybe she could have separated her emotions from her body’s response to a callous, careless rake. But knowing his true nature had overpowered her defenses and left her raw and filled with yearning as inevitable as the tide and as sturdy as stone cliffs rising from the sea.
She didn’t want sunshine to warm her face, because that meant they’d arrived in Ireland and their journey would end.
With his arm pinning her to the bed and his chest pressed against her breasts, just for the space of a few heartbeats, Thea allowed herself to picture not an end . . . but a beginning.
She saw them descending the stone steps to the terraced Italian gardens of Balfry House. Saw Dalton help her remove the linen from gilt painting frames.
They’d sneeze in the dust as they wiped away years of grime and cobwebs.
There’d be an awed hush when they discovered Artemisia’s self-portrait—so much buried beauty and uncompromising truth.
And if she imagined him there with her at Balfry House, she could also imagine him confronting O’Roarke, his brother’s murderer, dredging words from the depths of his soul to vanquish the anger and hurt he’d borne for so long.
Impossible to shoulder his burden for him, or absorb his anguish.
But perhaps she could accompany him to a deeper understanding. He’d escorted her on this journey reluctantly at first, witnessing her transformation, allowing her to safely experiment with new identities, and then, when she needed him most, he’d simply been there—rock solid and sharpened to a single purpose—the relentless warrior and the consummate lover.
She wanted to be there for him, by his side, to protect him when he tested the boundaries of his new existence. When he was freed from the stranglehold of this fixation with revenge.
She turned and rested her forehead against his. Brushed a finger lightly against the cleft in his chin.
He’d have to allow her to be there.
And he’d have to be the one to pry open his rusted heart and believe himself worthy of love and understanding.
Gently, she lifted his arm and slid out from under
him. He rolled over but didn’t wake.
She drew on her stockings and her petticoats, and threw her dress over her head, wrestling with the hooks up the back. Twisting her hair into a simple knot and securing it with pins, she slapped her one bedraggled bonnet on her head.
Donning her satin pelisse for warmth, she opened the door from the master’s cabin and walked out onto the deck, the sea air bringing a salt sting to her eyes.
The helmsman standing above her on the deck caught her eye and tipped his cap. “Morning, madam.”
Thea waved before continuing toward the bow.
The Truth and Daylight had a high-railed forecastle deck that she had noted earlier while boarding the vessel. Thea carefully made her way up the ladder to the forecastle. Molly stood at the prow of the ship, leaning out over the railing.
Thea joined her, soaking in the shimmer of the sun as it danced over silver waves and dipped into lines of white, frothing wake.
After a time, Molly tilted her head toward Thea. “I’m a bit scared to go home,” she admitted, her brown eyes vulnerable.
Thea looped an arm around Molly’s thin shoulders, holding on to the railing with her free hand. “That’s understandable.”
“My mam will be so angry with me for stealing her savings. And then I went and cast my pearl to a swine, as Mam would say. Bollocks. What’s wrong with me?” Molly lifted her head, blinking her eyes to stave off tears. “Da always said I had the devil in me.”
Thea gave her shoulders a squeeze. “And you won that money back with interest, taught that swine a lesson he won’t soon forget, and you’re bringing an uncle home with you. That ought to soften the blow, don’t you think?”
“Could help, at that.” Molly wiped a sleeve across her eyes. “Though she’ll be angry with him, too. The both of us. It’ll be stale bread and scalded milk for supper tonight.”
Thea smiled. “Give her time. Con’s a good man.”
At first she’d thought him rough and rude, but now she knew he was just as soft inside as Dalton. Strong and stoic. Honorable and kind.
“You’ll always land on your feet,” Thea continued. “You’re meant for great things, Molly Barton. Mark my words.”
Molly grinned. “Will you allow me to raid the library when you live at Balfry House?”
“Pardon?”
“When you’re married to the duke and live at Balfry. Or maybe you two will live in London?”
Thea dropped her hand from Molly’s shoulders. “That will never happen.”
“Dunno ’bout that. You smile so much more than when I first met you, and your eyes get all shiny like when you look at him. And the way he stares at you . . .” She gave a low whistle and scrunched up her freckled nose. “It’s kind of disgusting.”
Thea smiled.
“See?” Molly said, poking her arm. “You’re smiling.”
She couldn’t help smiling. It was all that lingering bliss still humming through her body. The bracing breeze on her cheeks. Her heart couldn’t help but lift with the wind.
The day was gray and the fog thick, but somewhere the sky was blue.
The deck teemed with activity. Sailors in dark flannel and wool trousers, peacoats and caps, seemed to be conducting a strange dance, one-two-three, coil this rope, pull on that rope, climb this mast, one-two-three.
“Stand by to set sail,” a booming voice called out from the stern of the ship.
“Fore manned and ready,” yelled back a sailor standing near the foremast.
“Lay aloft and loose haul sail!”
At the command, four sailors leapt onto the shrouds that secured the foremast to the sides of the vessel and began racing up toward the rigging.
“Oh, look.” Molly pointed. “They’re going to set the sails!”
The sailors went hand over hand up the rope latticework at an unbelievably fast pace. More sailors jumped onto the shrouds and began climbing up after the first group, swarming up and out like ants, they were so high.
Thea caught her breath as the first sailor released his hold on the mast and began sidling out sideways on a precarious perch.
In a matter of minutes the men had spread out and released the ropes that had held the sails up in bunches. The sails dropped down halfway, staying partially furled at the bottom, and instantly filled with the strong wind that had blown in overnight.
“Imagine doing that in the pitch dark during a storm!” Molly said excitedly. “I’m going to go get a closer look.” She strode away, hat in hand.
Thea smiled as she watched her hurry away. The seamen didn’t seem to mind Molly wore the same trousers as they did. They’d surely seen stranger sights on their travels.
Compared to the shackles of the poverty Molly had been born into, the restraints of Thea’s strict upbringing and the weight of her family’s expectations seemed trivial.
But words and rules sometimes formed barriers as strong as the thickest dungeon walls.
She was free now.
She’d study Dalton’s art collection and write to the governors of the British Institution when she’d finished the catalogue.
Perhaps she could even hire Molly as her assistant.
The ship flew across the ocean, white sails billowing over her head.
Endless waves stretched before her and seagulls swooped overhead.
“It’s a pleasing sight, isn’t it, my lady?” Con joined her at the railing. “Soon we’ll be seeing the green, green shores of Ireland.”
He doffed his cap and placed it across his chest. “‘When Erin first rose from the dark-swelling flood, God blessed the green island, He saw it was good. The Emerald of Europe, it sparkled, it shone, in the ring of this world the most precious stone.’”
He set his cap back on his head. “Dr. Drennan captured it, don’t you think?”
Thea nodded. “Will you stay in Ireland, Con?”
Con gripped the railing with rough and worn fingers. “My home’s in London now. I’m set in my ways. I’ve steady employment and other . . . activities.”
“I know.”
Con nodded absently.
“No. Con.” Thea held his gaze. “I know.”
He blinked, searching her face. “Well now. Sure and you’ve truly cracked him, my lady. Never thought I’d see the day. Maybe there’s hope for that sinner after all.”
“I know about your past with Molly’s mother. Is there hope for . . . ?” Thea didn’t want to say something to scare Con away from the idea of reconciling with Mrs. Barton, but surely he had to be thinking along those lines?
He squinted his eyes. “Probably no chance of rekindling something that died nearly twenty years ago.”
Thea fingered the raised embroidery on her cuff. “There’s always hope. Even for you. Even for the duke.”
The ship plowed through the waves too quickly. Drawing them to Ireland. She planned to stay there forever. Aunt Emma needed someone to help her with the beekeeping. And Thea would be free there. “The duke will go back to London after . . . after he seeks answers.”
“He may find more than he bargained for in Ireland. I believe he . . .” He raised his voice. “Well, speak of the devil.”
Thea’s heart wheeled like the seagulls above her as Dalton rose from the stairwell and walked toward them.
Really, a girl didn’t stand a chance. He was only a fraction duke and mostly rogue this morning. The curving brim of his black hat cocked at a rakish angle over deep blue eyes that matched his coat. He wasn’t wearing a cravat, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone, displaying a tantalizing hint of flesh.
What did he wear when he stalked the streets of London by moonlight, searching for evil?
A shiver chased between her shoulder blades.
“Speaking of me, were you?” Dalton asked, a secret, teasing smile that was just for her playing across his lips. “Only praise, I trust.”
Con raised both of his eyebrows and gave him a scathing look. “What do you think now?”
Molly
came barreling across the deck. “Have you a ship?” she asked Dalton, remembering her instructions not to address him by his title.
He gave her an amused smile. “I’ve several docked in London.”
“Do you need a ship’s boy? I want to see a volcano erupt on the Sandwich Islands!”
Dalton’s lips quirked. “Ship’s boy?”
“That’s right.” Molly gave a determined nod. “I’m not for staying in boggy old Cork and marrying some sod of a farmer.”
Thea’s heart flip-flopped when Dalton didn’t laugh at Molly’s outrageous ideas. He merely nodded with admirable gravity. “I’ll make some enquiries, shall I?”
“Oh yes, please do,” Molly said eagerly.
“Want to see how the ship’s wheel works?” Con asked, giving Thea a quick wink that clearly communicated he plotted to leave her alone with Dalton.
Her heartbeat sped even faster at the prospect.
“Do I!” Molly grabbed his hand and they set off across the deck, stepping over coiled ropes and stopping to speak with the crewmen.
Dalton stood beside Thea, nearly touching her. The heat and strength of his nearness had the same effect on her every time, turning her knees wobbly and setting her cheeks aflame.
“Slept well, my lady?” The suggestiveness of the simple words and the knowing glint in his eyes made her hands tighten around the railing.
“Not enough, I’m afraid.” She gave him an arch smile.
“And whose fault was that?” He reached over on the pretext of tucking a curl into her bonnet and murmured in her ear. “Someone demanded satisfying.”
She tilted her cheek into his hand. “And someone stood and delivered.”
His laughter rumbled low and delicious along her spine. “And someone stole my breath away.”
And your heart? she wanted to ask. Was it stolen as well? Because mine’s lost forever.
He rubbed his thumb across her cheek and over her lower lip.
Her skin was still sensitive from the roughness of the stubble along his jaw where he’d pressed against her as they kissed. Her cheeks had been ruddy and scrubbed-looking in the glass this morning.
Her heart sensitive and scrubbed raw as well.
