The True One (One and Only Series Book 2)

by Samanthya Wyatt

  Would she accept him? Would she forgive him?

  A life with Jennifer. The idea was ludicrous, building castles in the clouds for sure.

  But, what if . . .?

  Jennifer meant more to him than anything else in the world. More than vengeance. More than any glad tidings he may gleam from taking the worthless life of the monster who’d caged him.

  Revenge would not bring back his crew. Retaliation would not heal the grief within his heart. No matter how much he tried to convince himself he did this for the men who sailed with him, the concept of triumph left a sour taste in his mouth. Victory? Success? What exactly would he accomplish? And horror of all horrors, what if he were captured again? What then?

  He refused to even consider that ghastly thought. For if the Rajput prince didn’t kill him, Jennifer would.

  A corner of his lip lifted in a smile.

  Jennifer.

  A small glimmer formed in the shadow of his black heart. Trust and caring were fragile between the two of them. Where his sweet Jenny was concerned, he’d ignored all logic, all reason, all sense. He cursed himself for the insensitive fool he was.

  Her tactic had been ineffective. His stubborn pride would not accept her demand. She’d cut him to the quick. His temper had flared. What else was he supposed to do?

  A curse escaped him.

  Why couldn’t she leave well enough alone? Why couldn’t she let a man make his own decisions? A man had his pride. He couldn’t give her what she wanted.

  Then.

  Mayhap he would have given in had she used other methods of persuasion.

  When hell froze over.

  An ultimatum issued was a challenge accepted.

  At what cost? The restlessness inside him fed his cold heart. He’d risked everything. He couldn’t think straight for wanting her. Her hair loose about her shoulders wearing nothing but the blanket she clutched to her naked breasts. His scars did not offend her. Closing his eyes, he groaned at the vision of her tongue tracing the marred flesh. That image shattered by the hurt in her eyes, the despair he’d put there . . . He slammed his fist against the rail.

  He’d exposed his heart to her. Bared his soul, spoke the words she wanted to hear. Yet she’d flayed him. Ripped his guts out with her ultimatum.

  His thoughts battered his brain. This teeter-totter motion of a pendulum twisted him into knots.

  Revenge had brought him to this? Did he dare risk the same thing happening again? Jeopardize the lives of these men? Was he taking them to their death?

  He’d begun to tire of this whole business.

  Had he not done this very thing, not so long ago? Stood, just like this, contemplating his fate? Swearing he’d never take his freedom for granted again? What the hell was wrong with him? Surely he’d lost his mind. A loving woman of his dreams—his for the taking—and he’d chosen revenge over her.

  He ached for her. He ached for what might have been. Could he make such an enormous change for her?

  Hope warred with wariness.

  He’d inherited an estate from his father. He had lands. True, Chelmouth was a far cry from English society, but she had run off with a second son, had she not? If he explained his wealth, if he did this for her, then maybe . . . just maybe . . . Was it too late?

  What if she didn’t want anything to do with him? If he gave up this counterblow, he’d have some chance of winning her. If he continued on his current path he’d have no chance at all. He could prove his love by returning to England without retribution. And if she accepted him, he would savor her love for the rest of his days.

  Giving up his revenge didn’t concern him nearly as much as his worry whether Jennifer would forgive him. Blasted woman.

  Yet . . .

  Even when she settled back into the bosom of her family, she stayed true to him. Genuine, authentic, firm in her allegiance. Unwavering in her love for him. She’d stood by him, taken care of him, loved him even when he least deserved her affection. Sincere in her dedication. Steadfast in her support of him.

  She’d been a constant in his mind, in his heart. She didn’t give a whit for his lack of title. During his pain and grief, she was the one true thing that remained in his heart.

  “Silas!” He charged up to the quarterdeck.

  “Come around. Hard starboard,” he bellowed.

  More shouts directed the crew. Men scurried about, hauling ropes, tautening whipping sails against the masts to change direction.

  The Lady Mistress lurched at the sudden turn of the wheel. Her side dipped low into the rampant water as she spun around heading back to England.

  Chapter 34

  On unsteady legs, Jennifer stepped away from the dressing table. Her body went through the motions—get up, sit down, dress, undress. Sleep? She’d been unable to sleep a wink since she’d carelessly thrown down a gauntlet. How did she expect Stephen to react? He was a man, after all. And men never used the head on their shoulders to think.

  Her behavior had been appalling. But he’d given her no choice. She’d panicked. Loneliness pressed down on her. Not like the isolation she felt when Johnny died, and she’d been left alone. Then, she’d grieved more for home than her husband. This was despair—ripping her heart out like nothing she’d ever known or could ever survive.

  He never even knew she stood on a hill watching his ship until the vessel was only a small dot in the distance. Without looking back, he’d sailed across the water and out of her life. If not for Kat’s arms around her, she would have crumpled, her harsh words echoing through her mind. Had she allowed Stephen to go to his death thinking she did not love him? Knowing he quite possibly sailed to his death sucked the life right out of her.

  Self-pity reared its ugly head. Would she ever see him again? If he did accomplish his vendetta, if he did survive, and if he sailed back to England, would he come back to her?

  She yearned for his laughter. Yearned to see the corner of his mouth lift in that oh so endearing way. She yearned for his touch. Craved his body next to hers. Her last impression of her love had been his sneering tone. Not an image she wanted imprinted on her memory.

  There were no tears left. Her body had racked with sobs for hours. Even embarrassment had not kept her from curling into a ball upon the floor and having Marie find her. The gentle woman scooped her up, tucked her in her bed, and sat with her through the night. A duty beyond a maid’s obligation.

  Jennifer tied the bed hanging back to the heavy post. A light rap drew her attention to the door. Marie entered carrying a tray of tea. The woman had been with Jennifer’s family as long as she could remember. The sadness in the maid’s eyes matched her troubled movements.

  “Yer mum said you’d be wanting tea.”

  “Thank you,” Jennifer said in a low hoarse voice.

  Marie twisted her fingers in her apron. “Can I get you anything else, Miss Jennifer?”

  “No.”

  “Tis good to have you home.”

  “I’m glad to be home.” Where else did she have to go?

  “You’re mum and your family missed you something fierce. We all missed you.” She lifted the corner of her apron to dab at her eyes.

  Wallowing in her own self-pity, she’d not realized Marie was upset.

  “Marie, what is it?”

  “I know I shouldn’t say anything. I can’t help it. I can’t stand the black circles under your eyes. Forgive me, but I heard you and your sister talking about the Captain. Your heart’s breakin’, ain’t it?”

  Jennifer put her arms around the tearful woman. “Marie. There’s no need for you to worry. I’ll get over it.”

  “Do you forget I found you on the floor?”

  “And you comforted me. I’m better now.”

  Marie sniffed. “At least, you’re home.
Safe and sound as a bug in June. We all love you.”

  “I know you do. And I love you too.”

  “Your mum . . . didn’t send the tea.” She took a deep breath. “I brought it to you.”

  “Just like when I was young.” Her heart went out to this woman.

  “You shouldn’t stay cooped up in your room, like this. Why don’t I get your riding-habit and you go for a nice ride?”

  She seemed so enthusiastic for the idea, Jennifer hated to disappoint her.

  “Very well. Pick one for me.”

  Marie’s smile grew bigger. She scurried over to the wardrobe.

  Jennifer led her mare from the stall and the groom helped her to mount. No side saddle for her. Determined to have a vigorous ride, she’d specified her preference and the stable boy had eagerly granted her request. Hopefully the pounding of the horse’s hooves would pound the misery out of her soul.

  Fanny was her favorite. The spirited mare took off at a furious gallop. She raced across the open field and headed to the line of trees. Wind pulled at the pins in Jennifer’s riding hat and she gloried in the frantic pace. A delightful thrill spurred her on. Freedom. Excitement. Long denied pleasures began to surface. The faster Fanny flew the more Jennifer’s spirits lifted. Carefree and stimulating. Oh, the thrill of feeling alive. She’d repressed living for so long. The glorious sun brightened and cheered her.

  Time zoomed by as she soared over the ground without thought of consequence. She slowed Fanny to a walk before the mare ran out of steam. They ambled to a clearing with a stream close by. She dismounted. Loosening the reins, she led Fanny for a drink.

  Tinkling sounds of water trickled as the translucent liquid rushed over the rocks. Buds studding the tree limbs had burst open forming blooms. A plump robin sat on a limb, his chirping tweet a song. The cloudless blue sky encouraged a brand new day of life. Buoyancy took over her limbs, like the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders. A sense of elation filled her.

  Marie had her sincerest thanks. Getting out of the bedchamber had been the best thing for her. Moping around did a body no good. She should take a lesson from Kat. Pursue her wants. And she wanted Stephen. She had to make a plan. God willing, he would survive his foolish vendetta. And when he came back to England, she would seek him out. Demand he listen to her.

  Well, her last demand had not worked out so well.

  She chewed on the end of her finger and stared across the trickling stream. Entice. Yes, that’s it. Use her womanly wiles. Whatever it took . . .”

  “Jenny?”

  She whirled around with her hand on her throat. Her heart stopped.

  Stephen.

  When he opened his arms, her feet took wings. She hit him with a thud.

  Stephen laughed, his arms squeezing the breath from her.

  Tears ran down her cheeks in rivulets. He was here. This was real. Her hands roamed over his frame for assurance.

  “Jenny, my love.”

  She lifted tear filled eyes and tried to focus. “You’re real. It’s really you.”

  “Yes. I’m real.” He gave her a bone melting kiss to prove his words.

  When he finally allowed her to breathe again, she wobbled on shaky legs.

  Then she hauled off and slugged him.

  “You beast. You left me.”

  If she weren’t so mad, the shocked expression on his face could have been amusing. His mouth hung open. Then his eyes blazed, his jaw tightened, and she knew his quick temper had surfaced. Well, she wouldn’t stand for it.

  “How dare you! Do you think you can waltz back into my life as though you never tossed me aside?”

  “Jenny, I . . .”

  “And don’t Jenny me. You left me. For your blasted vengeance.”

  “You threw an ultimatum at me.”

  Blood heated her face. Her cheeks puffed out with indignation “And you chose vengeance!”

  “I chose you.”

  “You said you loved me. You filled my heart near to bursting. And then you ripped . . .”

  “Jenny.” He grabbed her shoulders. “Did you hear me? I chose you.”

  Now it was her turn for her mouth to hang open. “What?”

  “You are more important.” His eyes claimed her soul. “You, Jenny, are more vital than life itself. My blasted temper would not allow me to back down. I realized before I reached Indian waters . . . we were still in the North Sea when my temper cooled enough for me to think rationally. For me to realize that you were more crucial than any misplaced vengeance.”

  “Then . . . you chose me?”

  “I chose you.”

  Her knees wobbled and she grabbed at his open neck shirt.

  He lifted her as though she weighed nothing and strode to a tree. She refused to relinquish her hold around his neck. He sat on the grass and settled her on his lap. Then, smoothed her wild hair from her face.

  “I was afraid you would not forgive me.” He searched her eyes. “You do forgive me, don’t you?”

  “I was afraid I’d never see you again,” she hiccupped on a sob. Her palm caressed his bewhiskered cheek. “You chose me.”

  He clasped her palm, turning it to his lips for an open mouth kiss. A thrill raced up her arm and straight to her belly.

  “Let me enjoy the feel of you in my arms.” He buried his nose in her hair and kissed the skin just below her ear. “I never thought about love and the desperate emotions caused by love. Until, you. You’ve been steady in your allegiance. True to your heart. And you’ve forced me to accept what is in mine. I love you.”

  “And I love you, you stubborn . . . adoring man.” She cuddled in his embrace. He was alive and he was here. Holding her. Caressing her. He loved her.

  “You are my life, Angel. You’re in my bones, my blood. You never gave up on me.”

  “You were worth the wait.”

  “Sweet Jenney. You are the true one for me. And I will always be true to you.”

  A tear slipped from her eye as he sealed his vow with a hard passionate kiss.

  Epilogue

  London, 1826

  The church erupted with cheers startling Jedediah from his sedate surroundings. Most weddings were a quiet affair with decorum followed to the letter. In London, he’d found propriety must be above reproach. The ton demanded good behavior and respectability. Any taint upon one’s name resulted in the cut’ direct. The English upper class lived by a certain code. One did not dare cross the line. Scandals were simply not forgotten, or forgiven.

  Although he’d heard stories of a noble Lord or two who’d dared to flaunt propriety. And one of those just happened to be the captain’s brother-in-law, Lord Whetherford. Evidently he’d kidnapped his lovely wife, then had to rescue her from his ex-mistress. But that was neither here nor there.

  This happy occasion evidently overlooked bad manners. For the noise within sounded more like a rowdy celebration resembling one of the pubs he’d visited while looking for Captain Radbourn. Several men from the back row, directly across from Jedediah, yelled, whistled, and threw their hats into the air. At least they’d removed them from their heads upon entering a house of worship.

  Jedediah stared as the captain grabbed his bride and took a long time in letting her go. He smiled. Ah, to be young and in love. Jedediah recalled the image of when the captain had returned to England. If not for the flowing red mane, he may not have recognized the man it took months to find. Captain Radbourn had regained his size. A man with his strength and determination was to be admired. He wished the couple a long happy life together.

  Jedediah slipped out of the church without being seen. With the commotion inside, no one would notice a stranger that had not been invited in the first place. He had the information he needed. Once he reported that Captain Ra
dbourn was indeed back to normal—back to his mammoth size and content of heart—Jedediah could embark on the next step in his employer’s plan.

  Overcome with guilt, his employer blamed himself for Captain Radbourn’s capture. His reasoning—he’d contracted his ship and crew and sent them to Indian waters. His intention—information.

  Nonetheless, Jedediah would begin a new quest. Find another captain. And hope the next voyage would not turn out like the last. For now, he must return to the country and report to his employer.

  My Prince.

  Also from Samanthya Wyatt and Soul Mate Publishing:

  See how it all started with Book One of

  The One and Only Series:

  THE RIGHT ONE — Book 1, Morgan’s Story

  A Man Without A Heart.

  Morgan Bartholomew Langston, Earl of Whetherford, has finally decided to accept his fate. Tired of dangerous assignments and putting his neck on the line, he has returned to his ancestral home to accept the title of his birthright and produce the required heir. But, when he arrives, he finds his home has been invaded and a female has taken off with his mother’s jewels. Morgan decides the traitorous jade will not get away, so he sets into motion a plan to bring her back. When he abducts the wrong woman, his reaction to her brings him dangerously close to breaking his vow of forbidden emotions.

  A Woman Without A Love.

  Katherine Elizabeth Radbourn is a strong, independent woman and at the age of twenty three, is still unwed. In a desperate attempt to find her brother, she is abducted which leads her on a journey to love and mistaken identity. Once she meets her captor, fear and indignation dissipates to an overwhelming awareness. Even though he tells her she is the wrong one, Kat realizes she has finally met a man that—not only she is attracted to—but has awakened her woman’s body. Does he really care for her, or does he secretly yearn for the woman she is supposed to be? Uncertainty makes her risk the very man she has given her soul.