Tessa Dare

by Surrender of a Siren

  No, the Polaris was not the Aphrodite, nor even the Kestrel. And for this, perhaps Sophia ought to have been grateful. In an atmosphere of camaraderie and merriment, her melancholy might have drawn notice. But if anyone took note of her remote behavior or persistently moist eyes, it was only to suggest a remedy for cold.

  If only there were a cure for heartache.

  On fine afternoons like these, she spent long hours staring out over the sea. She had no more paper or canvas; even her little trunk of paint and brushes had been left behind. But it soothed her, blending pigments in her mind to capture the ever-shifting colors of the waves: today, a base of Prussian blue, tinted with cobalt green. The same shade would be reflected in his eyes, if Gray were there with her. She could almost imagine he was.

  Almost.

  Sophia shook her head, dismayed. It would seem she’d finally discovered the limits of her vivid imagination.

  Still, whenever a sail appeared on the horizon, a ridiculous hope bloomed in her heart. She peered out over the waves, anxious to glimpse the profile of the ship, the style of its rigging. Any square-rigged ship spurred an irrational acceleration of her pulse. When a closer view—or the ship’s disappearance over the curve of the earth—proved it was not the Aphrodite, she would chide herself for her foolish tears.

  He knows the truth now, she told herself. He understands everything. And he has let you go.

  When a sail appeared this afternoon, her ordeal was mercifully brief. The ship sighted at their stern quickly revealed itself to be a schooner, its large, triangular sails jutting up from the sea like a row of shark’s teeth. As the ship drew closer, unease spread through the crew like a contagion.

  “Don’t like it,” the first mate said. “The way she’s bearing down on us, as if she were in pursuit. If they want to speak, why don’t they fire a signal?”

  “What colors is she flying?” the captain asked. “That’s a Baltimore-built ship, to be sure. Could be privateers, though, sailing under a Venezuelan flag.”

  “Not flying any colors that I can see,” the officer reported, squinting into his spyglass. “She’s heavily armed, riding high on the waves. Can’t be much cargo to speak of in that hold.”

  “Pirates.” The captain let out a string of oaths. Not particularly imaginative ones, but uttered with conviction nonetheless. Sophia drifted toward the stern, drawn by the sight of the jagged sails slicing toward them.

  “She has the advantage of the wind, Captain. Gaining fast. Still no colors, but I can almost make out the name of the craft. Hold there … she’s tacking to the wind. Ah.” He lowered the spyglass. “Named the Sophia.”

  Her heart gave a queer flip. No. It couldn’t be. Surely it was merely one of life’s cruel coincidences.

  “Shall I send up the alarm, Captain? Ready the cannon?”

  “No!” Sophia cried.

  The captain and officer turned on their heels to face her.

  “I … I believe I may know this ship, sir.” She looked to the first mate. “Might I borrow your spyglass?”

  She took it from his hand without waiting for permission, then fitted it to her eye and looked sharp toward the horizon. There it was, the schooner. Through the narrow lens, she stared down the ship’s prow. Scanning the sails, the rigging, the deck. The jib blocked her view, drat it. There, they tacked the sails and the ship pivoted slightly. She could almost make out the figure of a man on the quarterdeck.

  Beside her, the first mate shifted his weight. “Beg pardon, miss, but—”

  “Levi!” A towering figure came into focus. It had to be Levi, so impossibly large. She directed the spyglass up to the rigging, searching … searching … Quinn. There was no doubt in her mind. The man had hams where his fists should be.

  A shot boomed across the waters, and Sophia jumped. “No,” she cried. “You mustn’t fire! They’re not pirates.” She swiveled to face the first mate. “That is … they may be pirates, of a sort. But I promise you, they’re no threat to this ship.”

  “That was only their signal shot, miss.” The first mate called over to the captain. “Do we wish to speak with them, sir?”

  The captain grumbled, “Whether we wish it or not, it appears they’re determined to speak with us. Square the yards and come about, then.”

  The whole ship began a slow, creaking pirouette, and Sophia went dizzy with anticipation. Had he truly come for her? She supposed Levi and Quinn could have taken employment with another ship. Perhaps Gray wasn’t even aboard. Despite her best efforts to remain calm, she could not help pinching a blush to her cheeks and smoothing back stray locks of hair. If only there were time to change her gown.

  The officers strode toward the bow of the ship now, and Sophia hurried after them. The forecastle was crowded with curious sailors, obstructing her view of the clipper as it drew near.

  “Ahoy!” a seaman called out. “The English frigate Polaris, ten days out from Antigua, bound for Portsmouth.”

  “Ahoy, yerself!” It was O’Shea’s rough brogue. She’d never heard sweeter music. “This be the clipper Sophia, of no particular country at the moment. Seven days out from Tortola, bound for … well, bound for here. Captain requests permission to board.”

  Gray. It had to be Gray.

  The officers of the Polaris exchanged wary looks.

  “Oh, for Heaven’s sake.” Sophia pushed forward to the ship’s rail and cupped her hands around her mouth, calling, “Permission to board granted!”

  A cheer rose up from the other ship’s deck. “It’s her, all right!” a voice called. Stubb’s, Sophia thought.

  Oh, but she hardly cared who was on the other deck. She cared only for the strong figure swinging across the watery divide as the two ships came abreast. Turning back toward the center of the ship, she pushed her way through the sweaty throng of sailors, desperate to get to him. Her foot caught on a rope, and she tripped—

  But it didn’t matter. Gray was there to catch her.

  And he was still wearing those sea-weathered, fire-scarred boots. No doubt for sentimental reasons.

  “Steady there,” he murmured, catching her by the elbows. She looked up to meet his beautiful blue-green eyes. “I have you.”

  “Oh, Gray.” She launched herself into his arms, clinging to his neck as he laughed and spun her around. “You’re here.”

  “I’m here.”

  And he was. Every strong, solid, handsome inch of him. Sophia buried her face in his throat, breathing in his scent. Lord, how she’d missed him.

  She pulled away, bracing her hands on his shoulders to study his face. “I can’t believe you came after me.”

  “I can’t believe you actually left.” He lowered her to the deck, and her hands slid to his arms. “I thought you were bluffing with that bit. I’d have never allowed you to go.”

  Sophia shook her head. “I didn’t say a word in that courtroom that wasn’t true. I didn’t want to lie to you anymore, Gray. Even if we can’t be together … I just couldn’t leave without telling you the truth.”

  “Who says we can’t be together?” His brow furrowed.

  “Surely you must understand. I’m ruined, most thoroughly. You’ve worked so hard to regain your family’s place, you have such hopes for your sister. If you marry me, all those plans will be ruined, too. I couldn’t ask it of you.” Her eyes fell to his lapel, and she lowered her voice. “Unless … I could stay on as your mistress, perhaps. If we kept the arrangement quiet, it would not reflect on Bel. It’s what the ton will expect of me, now that I’m a fallen woman.”

  He cupped her chin and lifted her face. “Don’t ever speak of yourself that way.” His voice was fierce; his gaze, intent. “And don’t ever refer to yourself as my mistress again. I will have you as my wife, or nothing.”

  She let her hands fall to her sides. “Then I suppose it will have to be nothing.”

  Gray swore. “Do you honestly believe I’ve chased you out to the middle of the ocean for nothing?”

  “But wha
t about your aunt, your connections? Your sister’s prospects—”

  He shook his head. “The only prospects Bel cares about are the prospects of ministering to flea-bitten orphans, of which I’ve assured her London has plenty. She’d only agree to come with me after I promised not to give her a debut. If she marries at all, she’ll likely marry some Quaker, or maybe a pitiful war invalid.”

  “She’s come with you?”

  “See for yourself.” Gray nodded toward the deck of his ship. Yes, there she was. The dark-haired young lady gave a friendly wave. Sophia suddenly became aware of how many people were watching them, on both ships.

  She cleared her throat. “And what of your brother?”

  “Joss? He’ll be bringing the Aphrodite to England, once he takes care of her cargo. After that, he’s thinking of studying law. I’ll manage the shipping business, Bel will have her charities. The family will be together; that’s the important thing.” He smiled. “Mr. Wilson’s agreed to manage your sugar cooperative, in case you’re wondering.”

  Hope fluttered in her chest. “Are you sure you want to marry me? I’m quite destitute now, you realize.”

  Gray laughed. “Look at that ship. That clipper cost me a queen’s ransom, even with the Kestrel thrown in the bargain. But it was the fastest ship to be had.” He took her hands in his. “Forget money. Forget society. Forget expectations. We’ve no talent for following rules, remember? We have to follow our hearts. You taught me that.”

  He gathered her to him, drawing her hands to his chest. “God, sweet, don’t you know? You’ve had my heart in your pocket since the day we met. Following my heart means following you. I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth if I have to.” He shot an amused glance at the captain. “Though I’d expect your good captain would prefer I didn’t. In fact, I think he’d gladly marry us today, just to be rid of me.”

  “Today? But we couldn’t.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “Oh, but we could.” He pulled her to the other side of the ship, slightly away from the gaping crowd. Wrapping his arms around her, he leaned close to whisper in her ear, “Happy birthday, love.”

  Sophia melted in his embrace. It was her birthday, wasn’t it? The day she’d been anticipating for months, and here she’d forgotten it completely. Until Gray had appeared on the horizon, she hadn’t been looking forward to anything.

  But now she did. She looked forward to marriage, and children, and love and grand adventure. Real life and true passion. All of it with this man. “Oh, Gray.”

  “Please say yes,” he whispered. “Sophia.” The name was a caress against her ear. “I love you.”

  He kissed her cheek and pulled away. “I’ve been remiss in not telling you. You can’t know how I’ve regretted it. But I love you, Sophia Jane Hathaway. I love you as no man ever loved a woman. I love you so much, I fear I’ll burst with it. In fact, I think I shall burst if I go another minute without kissing you, so if you’ve any mind to say yes, I’d thank you to—”

  Sophia flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. Hard at first, to quiet the fool man; then gently, to savor him. Oh, how she loved the taste of him, like freshly-baked bread and rum. Warm and wholesome and comforting, with just a hint of spice and danger. “Yes,” she sighed against his lips. She pulled back and looked into his eyes. “Yes, I will marry you.”

  His arms tightened about her waist. “Today?”

  “Today. But you must let me change my gown first.” Smiling, she stroked his smooth cheek. “You even shaved.”

  “Every day since we left Tortola.” He gave her a rueful smile. “I’ve a few new scars to show for it.”

  “Good.” She kissed him. “I’m glad. And I don’t care if society casts us out for the pirates we are, just as long as I’m with you.”

  “Oh, I don’t know that we’ll be cast out, exactly. We’re definitely not pirates. After your stirring testimony”—he chucked her under the chin—“Fitzhugh decided to make the best of an untenable situation. Or an unhangable pirate, as it were. If he couldn’t advance his career by convicting me, he figured he’d advance it by commending me. Awarded me the Kestrel as salvage and recommended me to the governor for a special citation of valor. There’s talk of knighthood.” He grinned. “Can you believe it? Me, a hero.”

  “Of course I believe it.” She laced her fingers at the back of his neck. “I’ve always known it, although I should curse that judge and his ‘citation of valor.’ As if you needed a fresh supply of arrogance. Just remember, what ever they deem you—gentleman or scoundrel, hero or pirate—you are mine.”

  “So I am.” He kissed her soundly, passionately. “And which would you prefer tonight?” At the seductive growl in his voice, shivers of arousal swept down to her toes. “Your gentleman? Your scoundrel? Your hero or your pirate?”

  She laughed. “I imagine I’ll enjoy all four on occasion. But tonight, I believe I shall find tremendous joy in simply calling you my husband.”

  He rested his forehead against hers. “My love.”

  “That, too.”

  EPILOGUE

  LONDON, FIVE WEEKS LATER

  Sophia did not expect anyone to come calling today. They’d made their quiet arrival at Gray’s town house just a few days ago, and the only two letters she’d posted—one to her mother, the other to her sister—had thus far gone unanswered. It was too soon to hope for a reply.

  Yet there Hurst stood in the doorway, a card on his salver. “A caller for you, ma’am. Lady Lucinda Trescott, the Countess of Kendall.”

  “It is you!” Lucy angled around the manservant, pushing her way into the salon. “I heard you were back, but I couldn’t believe it until I saw for myself.”

  “Lady Kendall.” Astonished, Sophia rose to her feet, as did Bel. “Allow me to introduce my sister-in-law, Miss Grayson. However did you know I was here?”

  “Are we to be so formal then? Must I call you Lady Grayson?” With a polite nod to Bel, Lucy crossed the room and caught Sophia in an exuberant hug. “Jeremy heard word of your husband’s commendation. That’s how I knew you were here.” She surveyed Sophia from head to toe. “Now tell me, wherever have you been?”

  “To visit your cousins, actually.” Sophia’s attention shifted to the strange bump obstructing their embrace. “Lucy, you’re with child!”

  Smiling, Lucy pulled Sophia’s hand against her rounded belly, placing her own hand on Sophia’s flat stomach. “And you’re not. At least, not discernibly.”

  No, not discernibly. Sophia smiled, keeping her suspicions to herself.

  “Well,” Lucy said, “that will disappoint the gossips.”

  At the mention of gossip, Sophia cringed. “Lucy, you shouldn’t even be here. A countess can’t be associated with such scandal.”

  “Scandal? Your husband’s to be knighted. They’re making him out to be Lancelot, Robin Hood, and Lord Nelson all rolled into one. You’ll be guests of honor at every table in London.” Lucy craned her neck to peek into the corridor. “Where is this living legend, anyway?”

  “Gray? He’s at his shipping office.” Sophia directed her friend to a chair. “But even if he is to receive a commendation, surely I will not be welcome at those dinner tables. I’m ruined, most thoroughly.”

  “Because you broke your engagement?”

  “Because I eloped with a fictional Frenchman!”

  “You mean Gervais?” Lucy laughed. “Oh, no one knows about that. Your parents told everyone you’d taken ill and been sent to the seaside to recover. There may have been a few rumors to the contrary, but the fact that you fell into mad, passionate love with a heroic sea captain corroborates the tale quite nicely. You did fall into mad, passionate love with him, didn’t you?”

  Sophia nodded, numb with disbelief. Could it be true? Her parents, her sister, her jilted betrothed, her friends … they had all kept her escape secret?

  “Oh, I knew it!” Lucy clapped her hands. “You must tell me everything.”

  “Perhaps another day.” Sop
hia cast a glance at Bel.

  “I see,” Lucy whispered, following her gaze. “The story is that good, is it? Well, I suppose it will keep for another visit.” She gave Sophia an appraising look. “If you’ve been ruined, I must say it suits you. You look very well.”

  “And breeding suits you. You are radiant.”

  Lucy made a dismissive wave, but the assessment was true. While Sophia would never have called her friend a great beauty before, she merited the term now. The pregnancy rounded off Lucy’s sharp angles, and her dark-brown hair positively gleamed.

  The maid entered, bearing a tray laden with tea service and refreshments.

  “Isabel, would you be so good as to pour?” Sophia asked.

  “Certainly.”

  While the young lady busied herself with teacups, Sophia drew her chair closer to Lucy’s. “How is Toby?” she whispered. “I can’t believe he never said a word about Gervais, when he had every motive to humiliate me publicly and demand restitution. Was he horribly hurt when I left?”

  “Which answer are you hoping to hear? That he has endured great agony for love of you, or that he has forgotten you already?” Lucy laid a hand over Sophia’s. “He has suffered, but I believe his pride incurred a deeper wound than his heart. Regardless, he is too good to humiliate anyone or make demands. He and Felix searched all England for you. You had us quite anxious, you know.”

  Guilt pinched in Sophia’s chest. “How you all must hate me.”

  Lucy squeezed her hand. “How grateful we all are to have you safely home. I’m certain your family will feel the same. How could they complain? They’ll have a title in the family now, just as they always wanted.”

  Bel interrupted their conference, a teacup and saucer balanced in either hand.

  “Miss Grayson,” Lucy asked, accepting her teacup, “are you to have a debut this Season?”

  “Oh, no.” Bel handed the other cup to Sophia.