My Fair Lover

by Nicole Jordan

  “So you are adversaries?”

  “You might say that,” Brandon replied, recalling his clash with the pirate had been over a woman. “The last time we met, we exchanged sword blows.”

  Kate gazed at him in consternation. “Will your relationship affect our ability to find the Zephyr?”

  “Perhaps,” Brandon said honestly. “Kate, you chose me to accompany you to France because I was most likely to be on good terms with the pirates there. But that strategy is in jeopardy now. I will do better dealing with Louvel alone.”

  She frowned as realization dawned. “You mean to leave me behind?”

  “I don’t want to risk your safety. You should remain here in England and trust me to carry out your task.”

  Her expression turned earnest. “Of course I must accompany you.” Brandon could hear the quaver in her voice in addition to the rising concern. “You wouldn’t deny me the chance to bury my parents, would you?”

  He hesitated, then offered another argument against her involvement. “If I recall, you said you have a dread of sailing.”

  “I can’t allow that to stop me. Please, Deverill…I must go.”

  Brandon nodded slowly. If he refused to escort Kate, she would merely go on her own. And he was still the best person to protect her, notwithstanding his hostile former association with Louvel. Furthermore, his main objective was to convince Kate they were a good match, which could only happen if she accompanied him. “Very well, but as a precaution we should develop an alternate strategy to deal with Louvel should our first go awry. Trey, I may ask for your assistance.”

  “I’m happy to serve in any way I can,” his cousin said.

  Macky interjected a question. “Will you need someone to translate for you? Only some of the villagers there speak English.”

  Kate rallied enough to volunteer. “My French is fairly fluent. Aunt Angelique taught me from a young age, and later my governesses and teachers at boarding school drummed grammar and vocabulary into my head.”

  “I know a little French also,” Brandon added.

  For another half hour, they discussed more details about the enterprise—including the salvage calculations and equipment design recently made by Kate’s cousin Quinn—and finally made plans to meet with the captain of Brandon’s ship on the morrow.

  Later, when they went to the drawing room for tea, Trey said in an aside to Brandon, “I presume Lady Katharine knows nothing about the Guardians.”

  “No, and I don’t plan on telling her until we are wed.”

  Trey nodded. In accordance with the charter, members were sworn to secrecy, and only spouses could be told about the real purpose and history of the elite organization that was centuries old.

  Brandon was glad that if necessary he could call on support from the Guardians, since he now had an uneasy feeling about this mission. Given his bad blood with Louvel, successfully resolving the issues of the shipwreck was not only less likely, but walking into this particular pirates’ den could prove dangerous for Kate, and even put her life at risk along with his own.

  Yet as he had promised her brother, he would do everything in his power to keep her safe. And as he had promised himself, he would use the opportunity to convince Kate that her future was with him as his wife.

  —

  The final week before their departure was a whirlwind of activity for Kate. Planning the final details of the journey, preparing for Nell’s wedding to Mr. Horatio Underwood, wrapping up social engagements, and saying farewells while pretending to celebrate her own betrothal occupied her every waking moment.

  The biggest surprise, however, was the change she noticed in Deverill: He matched his circumspection in private with his circumspection in public. There was nothing risqué or untoward in any of his actions, and no physical contact whatsoever.

  Not that she trusted his apparent conversion. He might be making an attempt to behave, yet he couldn’t change his intrinsic nature. It was only prudent to question his motives. And regardless of his restraint, the attraction between them was still there in spades, sizzling beneath the surface. Merely a look from Deverill still made Kate’s stomach flutter and her pulse race. Indeed, now that she knew the sensual pleasure he could give her, she craved his touch even when she knew her desire drastically weakened her willpower.

  Ironically, she couldn’t quell her discontent at this softer, tamer, more gentlemanly version of Deverill.

  Take, for example, his initial meeting with her uncle Cornelius and aunt Rachel when they arrived in London for the wedding. Deverill was the epitome of a perfect suitor, not only conducting an overt courtship for their benefit, Kate observed, but appealing to her scholarly uncle’s intellect and thoroughly charming Rachel, who had only become a member of the Wilde family last year, and who was wary of most noblemen because of her difficult past with her brute of a late husband. By week’s end, both her uncle and aunt were clearly enamored of Deverill.

  On the day of the wedding, the weather cooperated and sunlight filled the church. Plump, middle-aged Nell looked beautiful, dressed in a pale blue gown with an overskirt of ivory lace while beaming with joy. And Mr. Underwood was clearly besotted with his bride. Kate found herself weeping happy tears as she watched their vows being spoken.

  Sitting beside her, Deverill silently handed her his handkerchief. “Why the devil are you crying?” he murmured as the bride and groom walked together down the aisle, accepting felicitations from the guests.

  “I don’t really know,” Kate said, sniffing. “I suppose because Nell’s first marriage was arranged against her wishes, and during her widowhood, she struggled financially. She is truly a good person and deserves the best life has to offer.” Kate wiped her eyes. “I am wildly happy for her, even if I am sad for myself at losing her as my companion. I will miss her terribly.”

  “You should be pleased that you matched them. Even I can see how much in love they are.” Deverill gave a soft chuckle. “I confess, it has a charming appeal. I am not accustomed to weddings where the bridal couple is in love.”

  “A pity,” Kate replied before being struck by a sudden realization. Deverill was making an effort to share his feelings, just as she had asked of him. Perhaps she was being too quick to suspect him of insincerity, or worse, some sort of furtive calculation. Perhaps, after all, he was striving to be the suitor she wanted, without any hidden purpose in mind.

  The wedding breakfast after the ceremony was held at the Beaufort mansion in Grosvenor Square. When the guests had assembled in the drawing room, Kate had a moment to speak to Daphne, who shared a secret with Rachel, although few people besides the Wildes knew of it.

  “I wish to apologize, Daphne,” Kate said in a low voice. “You must think me a grasping dunce for trying to pair you with Lord Valmere, only to become engaged to him myself the same evening. It was unkind of me to raise your hopes.”

  Surprisingly, Daphne gave a laugh. “Not at all. My hopes were never raised. Valmere made it clear from the first that he had his sights set on you.”

  Kate glanced across the room at Deverill, who was conversing with her brother, Ash. “He did?”

  “Yes, indeed. I took his hints as a warning not to assume too much regarding his attentions. It is you he wants, Kate, not I.”

  Maura joined them just then, in time to overhear Daphne’s last remark. When Daphne left, Maura gave Kate a sober look. “If he wants you that keenly, I hope it is for the right reasons. I know you said this betrothal was temporary, Kate, but I worry that you might lose your heart to him irrevocably this time and invite an even worse case of unrequited love.”

  Kate took a deep breath. “I promise I won’t,” she vowed. “I well know the dangers.”

  Yet Kate knew Maura was right. She couldn’t let her longing for love with Deverill make her blind to reality or expose her to fresh pain.

  The trouble was that barely two hours later, directly after the company had partaken of a grand wedding feast, Deverill approached her with a
small velvet box.

  “I have a betrothal gift for you,” he said, opening the box to display a pendant on a delicate gold chain. “St. Nicholas is the patron saint of sailors. This medallion is supposed to keep you safe at sea. You can wear it on our voyage.”

  Kate felt her heart melting. “It is lovely,” she murmured, accepting the box with delight and awe. Deverill had remembered her morbid fear of sailing and wanted to reassure her and buck up her confidence.

  “Turn around. I will help you put it on.”

  When she complied, he draped the necklace around her neck and fastened the clasp.

  The light brush of his fingers against her nape sent a jolt of sensation through Kate, yet for once she didn’t think it was a deliberate ploy on his part to gain physical mastery over her. Deverill had not tried to get her alone. On the contrary, they were standing in a crowded, noisy room filled with wedding guests and servants.

  Turning back around, Kate gazed up at him. “Thank you. It was extremely thoughtful of you.”

  Deverill smiled. “You wanted a romantic gesture. This small token of affection is something a proper suitor would give the lady he is courting.”

  Trying to keep the moment light, she gave him a smile in return. “There might be hope for you yet.”

  And yet…she was conscious of a distinct need to remain on guard with the new Deverill. Chances were, this was his more devious way of winning her over—with tender, intimate displays of kindness. He might have left off trying to seduce her body, but now he was intent on seducing her heart, which could be even more dangerous, Kate thought, recalling Maura’s warning.

  She wished he could have meant the gesture as a token of his love, but she would be wiser to count his gift as just another step in his plan to compel her surrender.

  And unlike six years ago, this time she was determined to be wise.

  Gray skies threatening rain seemed a poor omen for a voyage when Kate arrived at the bustling London docks with her uncle and aunt the next morning. The din of activity did nothing to soothe her anxiety at the prospect of boarding a ship, either.

  With her stomach in knots, she searched the throng for any sign of Deverill. The quay teemed with drays and wagons transporting merchandise and produce to and from the numerous boats and seafaring craft anchored on the River Thames, while odors of tar and fish accompanied the raucous cries of seagulls.

  Miraculously, though, Deverill somehow found them in the crowd and ordered their luggage transferred to his ship by two strapping sailors. Then, taking Kate’s arm, he escorted her toward a sleek, schooner-rigged vessel. Negotiating the gangway, she wanted to turn and flee, but Deverill swung her down the last step, onto the polished wooden deck, before assisting Rachel and Cornelius.

  “Welcome aboard the Galene,” Deverill said.

  Her scholarly uncle’s ears pricked up. “Named for one of the Greek sea nymphs, the Nereides, I presume?”

  “Exactly.”

  Deverill then introduced them to the ship’s captain, Benjamin Halsey, a weathered but jovial-looking fellow.

  “You couldn’t be in better hands,” Deverill claimed, no doubt to reassure Kate.

  Kate felt slightly comforted. She had to remember that Captain Halsey was an expert seaman, as was Deverill himself. The crew also looked supremely efficient as they scurried over the ship, checking lines and raising sails for the three tall masts.

  Shortly, Deverill led them down a ladder to a lower deck and along a companionway to the cabins assigned to them.

  “You are in luck. The Galene is a passenger vessel rather than a merchantman, built by my shipping company for speed, not cargo. You will have your own quarters, albeit small and spartan.”

  He opened a door for her uncle and aunt, then indicated the next door for Kate.

  Preceding Deverill into her cabin, she saw that it was sparsely equipped with a narrow bunk, a washstand with commode and basin, a rack of pegs for hanging clothing, and a cabinet for storage.

  Kate went directly to the porthole window, however, and bent to look out.

  “Not luxurious,” Deverill added, “but adequate enough I trust.”

  “Yes, thank you. It is more than adequate.”

  “Our voyage to France will only last two days and nights, three at most,” he reminded her as if he understood her phobia about being trapped on a sinking ship.

  That is two days too many. Scolding herself, she took a breath, trying to steady her nerves.

  “Would you care to remain here and settle in?” Deverill asked.

  Kate turned back to him. “I would rather go above deck with you. It feels a bit oppressive here, as if the walls are closing in on me—although I suppose they are properly called bulkheads.”

  He flashed her an encouraging smile. “I commend you on knowing the correct terminology.”

  “Quinn spent the last year designing a sailing ship powered by steam, so I took it upon myself to learn about his passion. He hopes to launch it this summer.”

  “Your brother told me about your cousin’s venture. I certainly would like to see it.” Putting a hand at her back to guide her from the cabin, Deverill suggested lightly, “Feel free to indulge in a fit of hysterics if you wish.”

  “I am sorry,” Kate said, flushing. “I am not usually the hysterical sort.”

  “You needn’t apologize. And I know very well what sort you are.”

  They collected Rachel and Cornelius on the way topside, and Deverill deposited them at the railing on the foredeck, out of the way of the crew, who were preparing to weigh anchor.

  “Excuse me, I shall return shortly,” he said with a polite bow.

  Kate regretted his departure at once, even though her relatives were standing right beside her.

  For a while they said little as they watched the crew at work and listened to the unfamiliar sounds: Captain Halsey’s firm commands, the creak of timber and mooring cables, and finally the snapping of sails overhead as the canvas caught the wind.

  Feeling the ship begin to move, Kate clenched her fingers. In response, Cornelius put one arm about her shoulders, and the other around his wife.

  Kate sent him a grateful smile. Her middle-aged uncle boasted a tall, refined build and aristocratic features, but his thinning silver hair and spectacles gave him the vague air of a bookworm. Rachel was shorter but slender, elegant, and still a beauty, despite her pale complexion and the ample gray streaking her dark hair.

  Kate noticed that Rachel didn’t appear much more at ease than she did.

  “I am no better a sailor than you are,” Rachel confessed. “I am too susceptible to seasickness.”

  “At least you have a valid excuse.” Kate glanced at her own white knuckles where she gripped the rail. “Aren’t we a pair?” she asked with a weak attempt at humor. “I regret putting you both through this. If not for chaperoning me, you would not have to take this journey.”

  Cornelius shook his head. “No, no, this was my decision as well. I want to find my brother’s resting place as much as you do.”

  Some time passed before the Galene had threaded a path between other ships and was sailing down the Thames toward the English Channel. Gulls swooped in low circles about the bow while the breeze that blew in Kate’s face carried the scent of brine. As the canvas spread, she felt the schooner leap forward.

  Almost immediately, Rachel professed queasiness from the rising and falling motion of the ship. “I think I should lie down,” she murmured, looking a bit pale.

  “Shall I go below with you?” Kate asked with concern.

  Instantly Cornelius grew worried also. “No, I will escort her below.”

  Kate watched as, with great care, he guided his wife toward the hatch. His love for Rachel was blindingly obvious, in no small part because they had been separated for decades before being reunited by Skye.

  Kate disliked being alone and so counted herself fortunate when Deverill appeared at her side. “I have made a hundred voyages and I am still in o
ne piece,” he remarked as if he could read her thoughts.

  “That is gratifying to know,” she said with little enthusiasm.

  “You should look upon this as an adventure.”

  She fingered her medallion of St. Nicholas that he’d given her. Normally she craved adventure, but the possibility of drowning scrambled her rational mind. “I have been abroad only once. Our family accompanied Jack to France when he went to meet his royal father for the first time. If not for my dislike of sailing, I would be eager to see other parts of the world, yet I cannot help imagining what my parents went through in their final hours….”

  Realizing she was close to babbling, Kate bit her tongue.

  “It is understandable,” Deverill said, “that you are not comfortable sailing when you’ve had so little experience on board a ship. The first time I climbed the rigging, I was terrified.”

  She couldn’t picture him being terrified of anything. He looked in his natural element, with his easy stance on the swaying deck and his raven locks ruffled by the wind.

  When she didn’t respond, he tried another tack. “What is this? The intrepid Princess Katharine admitting to weakness? I must say your fragility is unexpected. You are usually quite fearless.” He gave her a teasing smile. “The Kate I know would never let a little apprehension stop her. Remember the ruins when you risked your life to save an injured lad?”

  “That was different. That was dry land.”

  “Not so very different,” he countered. “You resolved then not to let fear rule you because there were larger goals at stake. Just think of the end results of this voyage. You will give your mother a proper memorial and perhaps your father and other kin as well.”

  “I suppose you are right.”

  “Of course I am right. I always am.”

  When that didn’t elicit a rise from her, he arched an eyebrow at her. “This is a twist I relish. You require me to coddle you.”

  With that charge, Kate bestirred herself to retort. “You are mocking me.”

  “Never,” he replied with a straight face.