When asked what word might replace the original, she’d studied him for a moment, then decided “adore.”
They’d been true to their word. They loved, cherished, honored and most assuredly adored each other.
She nestled in a pool of thin white skirts; her bare leg draped over the side of her hammock. In her hand was The Affair of the Benighted Bride, the latest adventure of Detective Eddard Sharpe. The gentle ocean breeze teased locks of her unbound hair, only shades darker than the sand she kicked at with her toe, encouraging a gentle sway.
She glanced up as the Duchesse—Amelie—filled her dainty glass with a juice made from the local guava fruit she’d mixed with champagne.
The women toasted each other, and Amelie must have said something witty because Mercy tossed her curls back, exposing her elegant throat as she laughed with unrestricted abandon.
A wave of joy threatened to drown him.
Christ, he worshiped her with such uninhibited devotion, he became jealous of the sun’s own caress on her skin.
Raphael disrupted a school of tiny, colorful fish as he displaced the water with powerful strokes. He swam until he could use his feet against the sand to propel him through a tide that tried its utmost to hinder his advance.
By the time he’d reached the beach upon which the women reclined, the two were locked in an animated discussion, gesturing wildly.
“... And that is why women belong on the bench and in juries.” She waved her book. “J. Francis Morgan is plainly saying that surely such a gross miscarriage of justice would not have occurred should a woman have had ought to do with the case. She would have seen through the ruse right away. Why must it be a man’s world when they do a right proper job of cocking it up?”
Raphael kept wisely silent on the subject as he made his approach.
Amelie wrapped her arms around her bent legs and rested her chin on her knees. “Women know that it isn’t a man’s world. Not completely. We simply have a more subtle influence. We change things when men are not looking, thinking they are important to play at war and conquest.”
“But they do more damage than we can repair,” Mercy said with vicious passion. “I don’t want my influence to be subtle. I want to change things while they watch. While they weep.”
“I’ve no doubt you will.” Raphael retrieved a towel from the small stand he’d driven into the sand, upon which his clothing hung.
“You, my love, are merciless.”
“And you are not the first person to tell me that.”
As he applied the towel to his skin, Amelie finished her drink in two impressive swallows and pushed to her feet. “If you will excuse me, those of us with red in our hair are wise to get out of the sun after noonday,” she said with a languorous stretch. “Besides, I need to pack if we are to leave for the States, where we will no longer be allowed to lounge about in the half-nude, more is the pity.”
She flashed them both a cheeky wink before lifting a hem that had been cut like a riding kit. Flowing and feminine, but certainly more trouser than skirt.
Raphael bid her adieu before draping the towel over his head and scrubbing as much of the ocean water from his scalp as he could.
“For a life on the lam, I say we’re surviving rather well,” he remarked before drying his face and neck.
“I dare say I’m enjoying my time as an exile,” his wife replied blithely. “And I certainly have no complaints regarding the view.”
He surfaced from beneath the towel to find her eyes making a lazy, appreciative journey up his torso.
His body responded to the heat in her gaze, though he decided to allow her a respite as she’d declined to join him in the water due to the arrival of her monthly courses and complaints of fatigue.
Still, he joined her on the hammock, his weight forcing her to roll toward him, allowing him to gather her close and fuse their mouths for a deep kiss that tasted of passion, guava, and a hint of brine.
“Tell me, wife, about what sparked your indignance at your novel?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it with a befuddled expression. “I’ll have to reread the passage now. You’ve made it quite impossible to pay attention.”
He drew a finger down the line of her nose. “I’m learning your attention is often difficult to pin down.”
She turned her head to the side, playfully avoiding his next kiss. “That’s ridiculous. You don’t know the first thing about—” She seized his bicep. “Raphael. Look. There’s a dolphin!” Pointing in her excitement, she leaned so far forward, the hammock would have been unsettled had he not been there to steady it. “An entire family of them. Oh! I’ve never seen such a thing.”
He draped her across his chest, his amusement at her overwrought delight spilling over as laughter.
He decided to forgo taunting her with an I told you so.
They settled back to sway, and watched gleaming grey sea creatures frolic and leap, seeming to mimic their joy.
Lingering long after the dolphins disappeared, Raphael coiled one of her curls around his finger, enjoying the waves, the breeze, and the closeness between them.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than this moment,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her temple. “I wish I could bottle this feeling like a scent. That I could wear it on my skin always. Escape back here whenever life is bleak.”
She pushed up, bracing her hands on his chest as she leveled him a sober look. “You know, the more I love you, the angrier I am with you. To think that you almost missed this. That you might have died...”
“I concocted that scheme before I met you because I’d never truly felt alive.” He dropped his forehead against hers. “You changed all that.”
Her lip quirked. “I suppose I’ll have to forgive you eventually.”
“You could punish me first, if you like,” he suggested with a naughty wink. “A hundred tongue lashings. Or real lashings, if that’s what you prefer.”
She gave him a half-hearted shove before settling down against him once more. “I’m excited for the life we’re going to live together, and I’m happy to see America, though I’m not looking forward to donning my corset again.”
He chuffed, before a familiar anxiety lanced through him. “Do you ever get homesick for England?”
Staring into the distance, she replied, “I miss my sisters. I worry for Felicity. But I know we’ll go back, eventually. I’m in no great hurry.”
He caught her hand. “We’ll go back. We’ll go anywhere you are happy,” he vowed.
She caught both of his wrists and pulled them around her. “I’m happy right here. In your arms. I can miss England sometimes, but I’m incapable of being homesick.”
“Oh?” His lips found the shell of her ear and stopped for a nibble. “Why is that?”
“Because, husband, my home is wherever you are.”
Also by Kerrigan Byrne
A Goode Girls Romance
Seducing a Stranger
Courting Trouble
Dancing With Danger
Tempting Fate
The Earl of Christmas Past
The Business of Blood Series
The Business of Blood
A Treacherous Trade
A Vocation of Violence
Victorian Rebels
The Highwayman
The Hunter
The Highlander
The Duke
The Scot Beds His Wife
The Duke With the Dragon Tattoo
The MacLauchlan Berserkers
Highland Secret
Highland Shadow
Highland Stranger
To Seduce a Highlander
The MacKay Banshees
Highland Darkness
Highland Devil
Highland Destiny
To Desire a Highlander
The de Moray Druids
Highland Warlord
Highland Witch
Highland Warrior
To Wed a Highlander
Contemporary Suspense
A Righteous Kill
Also by Kerrigan
The Highwayman
The Hunter
The Highlander
The Duke
The Scot Beds His Wife
The Duke With the Dragon Tattoo
How to Love a Duke in Ten Days
All Scot And Bothered
About the Author
Kerrigan Byrne is the USA Today Bestselling and award winning author of THE DUKE WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO. She has authored a dozen novels in both the romance and mystery genre. Her newest mystery release THE BUSINESS OF BLOOD is available October 24th, 2019
She lives on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington with her dream boat husband. When she's not writing and researching, you'll find her on the water sailing and kayaking, or on land eating, drinking, shopping, and taking the dogs to play on the beach.
Kerrigan loves to hear from her readers! To contact her or learn more about her books, please visit her site: www.kerriganbyrne.com
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