by Eva Devon
Derek smiled slowly, even as his heart began to beat like a wild drum. “Oh, she’s there,” he replied.
There on the horizon was a speck. A speck that only the best sailors could identify. It was a massive vessel. Not meant for fighting.
Typically, it was the sort of ship that was a fat purse and temptation to all privateers.
Thankfully, the Dolphin, unlike Derek’s ship, was not built for speed or easy maneuverability and so they’d caught up to her with remarkable ease.
They’d be with her by night’s fall.
Blackburn’s face darkened with resignation. “Tell me now. Do you wish to be buried at sea, Aston? Or on land?”
“I’ll be dead, laddie. Bury me wherever it pleases you.”
He relished Blackburn’s passion. Because. . . Well, if he could get the dukes to all turn on him, perhaps he could get Rosamund to rally to his cause. Yes. It was time to let his most devilish side free. Could it get him slaughtered? Certainly. But Rosamund was worth it. She was worth everything.
Chapter 22
With every hour that passed, Rosamund longed to kick herself. She knew that such a desire wouldn’t result in anything particularly valuable, but self-flagellation seemed the only option for her behavior.
She’d thought she needed to sail far away from Aston to discover her feelings and thoughts. One conversation with Mr. Basingstoke had proved she simply needed to converse with a sensible person.
Apparently, she wasn’t acquainted with many of these people. Because no one had been able to make her see as clearly as Mr. Basingstoke in a few short moments.
Whatever woman was fortunate enough to win Mr. B’s heart was going to be very lucky, indeed. For there would certainly be no drama or misunderstandings which seemed terribly refreshing to her at present.
Still, she had fallen in love with a man prone to drama. It was simple as that. Derek, the Duke of Aston, was a man who pretended at outrageousness to protect himself and, oh, how she wished she knew what he was protecting.
She opened her box and pulled out one of Tony’s books. She’d taken it with her to remind her of how happy she’d been for a short time.
She stroked the soft leather.
She couldn’t go back. One could never go back. But how was she to go forward?
A sudden commotion above deck pulled her attention away from her own inner battle.
Loud, male voices were shouting.
It had been her intention to try to sleep. Evening usually saw her exhausted beyond compare but the noise was impossible to ignore.
She staggered to her door then up the narrow, ladder-like stairs to the deck and star-pricked night.
The cool evening air hit her, whipping her hair about her cheeks.
There, just to port, was another ship.
A beautiful, sleek vessel.
And on deck of the Dolphin gathered a group of almost impossibly tall men.
A feeling of pure dread hit her but then that dread gave way to something else. Hope.
Could it be?
One of the men turned.
Her brother, the Duke of Blackburn, let out a cry of relief. “Thank God, lass!”
With that, he ran towards her and swept her into his arms. Her brother’s strong embrace surrounded her. “I could throttle you, you ken?”
“I ken.”
“But I shan’t. What with the babe.”
She stilled. How did he know?
Gemma! Oh, she was going to strangle her dear friend!
Tears stung her eyes. “You’re angry with me, are you not?”
“I was terrified once I learned you weren’t simply going abroad for the experience of it,” he said gently, his own Scot’s accent a little rougher than usual. “And I was sad you felt you could not trust me with your secret.”
“I could trust no one with it.”
“Except the father and Lady Gemma.”
“Lady Gemma came to her own conclusion.” She didn’t supply that Gemma’s mother did know. “It was difficult to hide whilst living under the same roof.”
“I grant it, but why that devil?”
“He’s not a devil,” she defended immediately.
“He’s the devil’s own familiar. And I’m going to kill him. After he marries you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Duncan nodded. “You heard me. Let’s get it done so I can throw him overboard.”
Immediately, she pulled back and looked towards the group of men silhouetted in the darkness by the silver glow of moonbeams. “He’s here?”
“Yes,” said her brother.
She immediately started towards the grouping of men, but Duncan stopped her.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Och, he’s a bad sort, Rosamund.”
“He’s the father of my child.”
“That is why you’ll be marrying him.”
“Oh will I?” she challenged loudly.
Tony’s voice carried towards her. “I told you all she wouldn’t have him.”
“Shut it, Tony,” replied the Duke of Aston.
A thrill raced down her spine at just the sound of his delicious voice.
And he was here.
The excitement that came to her died. He wasn’t here of his own accord. He hadn’t raced to collect her. Oh, no. He’d been forced.
“Marched to your own doom?” she asked as she yanked her arm free of Duncan’s hold.
Aston swaggered forward, the other dukes around him bristling.
“Well, dear girl,” Aston said cheekily. “Doom never looked so beguiling.”
“You’ve always had a flattering tongue.”
Aston waggled his brows. “I think my tongue has been many things to you, wouldn’t you agree?”
Her eyes flared at his shocking comment but before she could make a suitable reply, Duncan let out a bellow of rage. “You bastard.”
Aston tensed. “Yes.”
There was something about him as he said that simple word that struck her as odd. The word bastard evoked something powerful in him. She’d never noticed before but it clearly did.
And she didn’t think it was just to do with Tony.
“That’s it. You’re marrying my sister and then you shall be food for the fish, Aston.”
“I shan’t do it,” Aston replied.
“You will,” put in the Duke of Hunt.
“How will you make me?” Aston challenged.
“Da, you want to marry her. Recall?”
“Shh, puppy. You keep putting your foot in it.”
“I don’t wish to marry him,” she shouted above the growing fray. “You can’t make us.”
“We can,” put in the Duke of Darkwell. “You only know of our recently pleasant personas, elicited by our magnificent wives. But all of us have quite the dangerous reputation.”
“Don’t brag,” Aston said dryly. “Makes one look like one is compensating for something. And I won’t marry her if she doesn’t agree.”
“That’s managed easily enough,” Blackburn replied. “Rosamund, you’ll marry him.”
“I’ll what?” she gasped.
“For your child,” Blackburn replied. “You’ll marry him.”
“No,” Aston cut in. “She’ll marry me for me or nothing.”
“How would you like to lose all your beautiful teeth?” Roth asked.
“Not at all,” replied Aston.
Charles, who’d been remarkably silent, suddenly said, “The problem seems to be the lady.”
“The lady wants a good time, not a wedding,” Aston said loudly.
“That’s it,” Duncan roared. And then her brother, who was as big as Aston and as broad, charged across the deck and punched him.
She let out a cry of dismay.
Derek didn’t try to avoid the attack but as soon as he regained his balance from the hammer-like blow, he grinned. “Beat me to a pulp. It doesn’t change a thing. Your sister was my lover. She loved being my lov
er and she doesn’t want to wed. That’s why she’s running off to Naples.”
That wasn’t true and he knew it. So why say it?
A sinking feeling hit her as her brother pulled back his fist.
Tony started to dart in but Roth grabbed him.
And suddenly, the group of men flew at each other.
Her brother landed another punch.
Charles threw himself into the melee, letting blows hit where they may.
Tony was still being clutched by the Duke of Roth and the Dukes of Hunt and Darkwell came in swinging on her brother’s side.
Derek didn’t seem to be putting up much of a fight.
And as another blow hit him square on the jaw, he met her gaze for one moment.
For her.
He was doing this for her.
Of all the mad things he’d ever done, this had to be the maddest. He was backing her into a corner. The only way to get her brother and the other dukes to stop was if she intervened with a promise of marriage.
And somehow, Derek had known that all along, which was why he’d said absolutely asinine things.
He gave her a cheeky grin then let out a groan as her brother leveled a vicious jab to his belly.
He sank to the ground and she rushed forward.
“Stop!” she screamed. “Stop! I’ll marry him. I will! I’ll marry him!”
And she darted into the mauling group of men.
Duncan spotted her despite his rage, perhaps due to her shrewish, desperate tones. The moment she was within a foot of the brawling men, Duncan dropped Aston and started shoving at the other dukes.
“Cease!” Duncan commanded, his accent exceedingly thick. “Don’t you dare harm my sister.”
She raced to Derek, who’d sunk like a great colossus to the ground.
Cradling his head, she sat right on the deck and crooned to him, “You fool.”
He gazed up at her. “Better a fool than without you.”
She felt her heart swell as she laced her fingers into his hair. “You’re not very sporting in your methods.”
“If you want to win, playing by the rules is never a good idea,” he mumbled.
“What the devil is going on?” Roth demanded.
The Duke of Hunt groaned. “It’s obvious.”
“What’s obvious,” demanded Duncan.
“Why, that she loves him,” Charles replied sardonically.
“And he loves her,” put in Tony with the outrage and passion of a zealot.
She stared down at the madman she loved. “Why did you do that?” she whispered.
“Had to be sure.”
“Sure of what?”
He smiled then winced and said, “That you would marry me.”
“I could still refuse.”
“You won’t. Because I just needed to be able to tell you the truth and I didn’t think this group of idiots would allow me access to you until they’d had their way.”
“The truth?” she echoed.
“I’m a bastard,” he said softly.
“We all know that,” Charles said cheerfully. “Glad you can admit it.”
“No,” Derek said. “A bastard.”
“You hit him too hard, Blackburn,” mused Roth. “He’s repeating himself.”
Tony let out a groan of frustration. “No you group of addled, inbred dukes. He is a bastard. In the purest definition of the word. Not as a metaphor to behavior.”
She snapped her gaze up to Tony then felt all the eyes of the dukes and Charles swing around and fall on to Derek.
A bastard?
Derek gazed up at her, eyes wide, searching. . . Afraid.
This was the secret. What he’d been so terrified to tell her. And she’d pushed and pushed. No wonder he’d been so determine not to tell her.
Such a thing could ruin him and his entire family’s reputation. It would destroy his mother’s legacy.
His secret might be out of self-preservation. . . But knowing him, she doubted that’s why he had kept it.
“Always wondered why your old man hated you so much,” Roth whispered.
“Now you know,” Derek replied without looking away from her.
Her throat tightened. “Was he very cruel?”
“Considering that he’d arranged the whole affair?” Derek swallowed, his face suddenly pained in a way that no physical blow could produce. “Yes.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “So sorry that you’ve lived with this.”
“You don’t—You don’t hate me?” It was the question of a small boy waiting to be rejected.
“Why on earth would I hate you?” she asked, her heart breaking for him.
“Because I’m disgusting. My mother died giving birth to a bast—”
“Derek,” she broke in, her own heart so full of pain for him she could scare gather breath to speak. “You, of all people, know that a baby is a beautiful gift, no matter if it is born in wedlock or no. Look at Tony. Look at you. From the moment I saw you in the loch, I knew you were the man for me. Not the duke. Not the privileged, titled, legitimate son of some powerful peer. You were the man I wanted. The man who saw into my soul and I saw yours.”
A tear slipped from Derek’s eye. With a groan, he pulled himself into a sitting position. “Then you’ll have me?”
She smiled. A smile so wide and true it almost hurt. “Today. Tomorrow. Every day. Until we are old and wrinkled.”
“I think I shall quite like you all soft and wrinkled. . . Holding my hand.”
“Oh dear God, the sentimentality,” Charles groaned.
“The loch?” Duncan echoed. “What do you mean when you met at the loch?”
Rosamund laughed.
“Just when did you two actually meet?” Duncan demanded.
“I fell in love with your sister at about the same time you fell in love with your wife.”
“Bloody hell,” Duncan said.
“So are we having a wedding or no?” the Duke of Hunt demanded.
“Yes,” Rosamund replied gleefully.
“When?” asked Darkwell.
“Right now,” Aston declared, so full of joy that one could almost ignore the swelling of his face. “Though perhaps Ros wishes for a few more guests than you ruddy lot.”
“I love you, Derek. I love you with every bit of my heart and soul. And I don’t want to wait another moment to have you as mine for the rest of my life,” she declared.
He stroked back a lock of her hair. “I love you, too. I always have. I just never thought I was worthy.”
“Fool,” she teased softly.
“Yes.”
She glanced around then furrowed her brow. “Who shall marry us?”
“The Captain of the Dolphin, I should imagine,” said Tony.
Rosamund laughed. And it was easy to do now that her heart felt so light.
“How perfect,” she chimed. “You’ll never guess his name.”
“What is it?” asked Derek.
Her lips twitched with amusement. “Mr. Duke.”
“We are surrounded,” Charles lamented.
“Indeed,” supported Tony.
“Must be a bloody American with an impertinent name like that,” sighed the Duke of Hunt.
“Perhaps we should wait until we return to London and have a wedding at St. Paul’s. . . Since we aren’t going to kill you today, Aston,” suggested Duncan.
“No,” Derek said softly. “No more waiting.”
“No more waiting,” she agreed before she took his bruised face gently in her hands and sealed their love with a perfect kiss.
Epilogue
Venice
All her life, she’d longed for adventure, for companionship, and for love. Remarkably, she’d gotten all three at once and from the same man.
Now, she listened to deep baritones and pure tenors of gondoliers slipping in through her open, arched window as they rowed past in the canals.
Once, she’d known gray skies and cold air. Now, she felt sun
-kissed and warm.
Oh, she couldn’t wait until they returned to Scotland in time for the babe to born.
But now?
She was happy to spend her first few months enceinte and with her husband in foreign lands where she felt surrounded by the magic of the ages. In all her life, she’d never seen anything like the winding, cobbled streets, canals, and bridges of Venice.
More importantly, she’d never known the kind of love given to her recently until Derek.
His fear had vanished and he seemed an almost entirely different man. Oh, he was still mischievous and loved large hats, but there was nothing forced about his cheer. There was no calculation to his smile.
Derek entered the massive bedroom, painted with gold and appointed with perfectly polished mirrors, with an easy smile on his sensual lips and a tray of blood orange juice, bread, butter and jam balanced on his hand.
They’d had a long, splendid night and worked up quite a hunger, after all.
As he set the tray down, she couldn’t resist beaming at him.
She couldn’t imagine such a bedroom in London. Most Londoners would have been terrified at the pure, sensual prospect of being faced with their reflections everywhere they turned. . . Seeing everything they were doing.
Frankly, she quite enjoyed it because Derek was exceptionally imaginative and watching him as he made love to her was the most exotic and provocative thing she’d ever experienced.
He came to her and circled his arms about her naked waist. “I adore that you’ve embraced nakedness.”
“Well, you will just take my clothes off if I put them on.”
“Your body is irresistible,” he pointed out, then he pulled her against him. “No regrets, my love?”
She caressed his cheek. “How could I have regrets?”
“I still fear it is too much, to ask you to accept—”
Tracing her forefinger to his lips, she shook her head. “You must never doubt. I love you. I love you as you are and I am so proud of you and all that you have overcome. You could have become cruel and angry with the world. Instead, you chose laughter as your medicine. And you’ve made me laugh and grow and given me a chance at a life I never would have known, even as a wealthy, unattached lady. What doors will close to me now?”
“If one does, I’ll know why,” he growled lightly before leaning forward and nibbling her neck.