“Your friends Button and Cabot insisted that you lack for nothing on our journey.”
Bliss suddenly felt the floor move beneath her. The ship was under way! Ever so slowly, understanding settled into Bliss’s mind, and hope filled her heart. She could actually feel it untwist itself within her ribs. “You’re taking me prisoner?”
He smiled. “It only seems fair.”
“But—”
“Quickly!” Morgan grabbed her hand and clutched it in both of his, his eyes wide with alarm. “Come with me!”
He hurried Bliss from the cabin and back onto the deck of his new ship. Though she did not understand why, Morgan was determined to get her to the port side of the vessel without delay. Whatever his reason, it caused her no worry. Bliss’s heart felt as if it were floating, flying high with the knowledge that her husband designed his ship with her in mind—his wife, his partner—and wherever he would go she would go with him.
That included being trundled across the deck, she supposed.
A brisk wind caught her bonnet, tugging it away from her face. By the time they reached the railing, Bliss’s hair was flying wildly about her.
Morgan wrapped a comforting arm about her waist and brushed the curls from her eyes. “I couldn’t allow you to leave home without a proper sendoff, now, could I?” He turned her so that she faced the dock.
A small windblown crowd had assembled, a fanciful collection of dancing dresses, askew bonnets, and ruddy faces.
It was the Worthingtons. It was her family.
“Bliss!” Attie jumped up and down in a cloud of yellow silk, her arms flying wildly overhead. “Don’t forget to bring me a present! A monkey would be lovely!”
Dear old Archie stood at the center of his clan, beaming proudly. He raised an upturned hand and began to orate, Shakespeare, no doubt, though most of his words faded in the wind.
“Give me thy hand; / Be pilot to me and thy places shall / Still neighbor mine. My ships are ready . . .”
Iris stood at her husband’s side, waving her hand in a wide arc, the fringe of her oversize lace handkerchief dancing overhead. “Bon voyage, ma chérie!”
Next to Iris was Cas. He stood with a protective arm around Miranda and their baby, and all of them waved enthusiastically. Dade was next to Cas. He smiled, and when his gaze met Bliss’s she saw a combination of pride, affection, and longing there. Her dear, sweet Dade—how he had fretted for her, watched over her, tried to keep her safe.
Bliss’s heart was full to bursting.
And even the usually dour Lysander bowed at her, and even seemed to smile, though perhaps it was an illusion.
Bliss suddenly stilled. Who was that there, in the shadows behind the Worthingtons? An elegantly dressed woman peered from behind a stack of barrels. Her already tall frame was topped off by a dramatic pleated bonnet as pink as the inside of a seashell, her light curls framing her face. The lady nodded toward Bliss in approval, daintily clapping as she mouthed the word “Bravo!” in Bliss’s direction.
Mama!
Never before had Bliss felt so beloved, so treasured. The girl who had feared being left behind was herself embarking on an adventure, with the blessings of those she cared for most.
“We shall miss you, dear!” That was Iris.
“Take care of her, Pryce, or else!”
Morgan laughed at Dade’s one last attempt at intimidation. “I shall, my friend!”
They remained at the port side rail for another moment or two, until the faces of her beloved family blurred with distance.
Then Morgan tugged her away from the railing and led her back to the captain’s cabin—their cabin!—with his large warm hand cradling hers.
“You truly thought of everything,” Bliss said in awe. “Usually, that’s my role.”
He pulled her close, tucking her head beneath his chin. “I would prefer to be the one taking the bullets from now on.”
She felt a shudder move through him.
“So close,” he whispered into her hair. “So close to losing you forever.”
She lifted her face to tell him that he would never lose her, but he stopped her words with a kiss. It didn’t matter. They had all the time in the world now.
They had the world, and a ship to sail her in.
As Morgan continued to move his lips upon hers, she could not be certain which kind of kiss she preferred, or even if she could make such a comparison. In fact, she did not truly know how many types of kisses there might be, though she looked forward to a lifetime of careful study.
They made love in the beautiful bed, with the doors open to the sea, to the rhythm of the waves.
Chapter 36
MORGAN must have fallen asleep, for when he opened his eyes the diffuse evening light filled the cabin, burnishing the wooden paneling and gilding the naked flesh of his remarkable wife. He felt his lips twitch at the memory of that conversation he’d had with Neville, just before Morgan had set off to the chapel. His inebriated brother had used his hands to trace Bliss’s shape in the air. Morgan had dismissed Neville’s generosity.
As he now knew, his brother had underestimated.
Morgan carefully lifted Bliss from his chest and settled her into the pillows. He propped himself up on an elbow to gaze upon his sleeping wife. To describe Bliss as beautiful and simply leave it at that would be a grave injustice.
Certainly, her obvious loveliness was impossible to miss. Those sky blue eyes, that golden hair, and those outrageous curves had made Morgan a true believer in the bounty of heaven. And yet it was the woman inside who had captured his heart. It had been her determination, her generosity, her willingness, and her unwavering loyalty that had won his devotion.
The fact that she was handy in a back-alley brawl didn’t hurt, either.
Morgan knew he was the luckiest bastard to ever walk the face of the earth.
She opened her eyes. Her gaze was guileless and clear, and he watched as a smile curled the edges of her mouth.
He lowered his lips near hers. “Hello, my captive.”
She chuckled throatily. Truly, it was the most glorious sound Morgan had ever heard. To make Bliss laugh—to keep her smiling—would be his most sacred duty.
“Hello, my captain.”
He lazily traced a finger down the middle of her breastbone, down the satin length of her belly and below. She shuddered with pleasure—another objective to add to his list of husbandly duties.
“I think perhaps this would be a good time to apologize to you, dear husband.”
Morgan’s fingers lifted from her silken skin. He looked up in surprise. “Apologize for what?”
“For tying you to the bedposts that night. That was wrong of me.”
She had no idea how wrong.
“However did you free yourself?”
Morgan looked up to the cabin ceiling and shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to forget that night. “Button and Cabot came by with a gift. They found me in a rather . . . vulnerable state.”
He watched his wife’s eyes pop wide. Next, the tendons in her neck flexed and her cheeks caught fire. And then she laughed—Bliss guffawed in a way he never had guessed she was capable of—and buried her face into his shaking chest.
“Noooo,” she moaned.
“Yes.”
“I am so sorry, Morgan.”
“You owe me.”
“Anything.” Bliss raised her face, tears gathered at the corners of her eyes from the force of her laughter.
“All right. I need an answer to a question.” He brushed a fingertip across her adorable chin. “Are you quite certain you don’t mind being wedded to a bastard?”
Bliss said nothing at first. She sat up, kneeling naked on the bed with an adorable lack of modesty, to address him with matter-of-fact earnestness. “Of course I don’t mind. After all, my parents
were never wed, at least—not to each other.”
Morgan’s eyes widened. “Ah. Well, that explains a few things.”
She reached over and patted his chest. “My mama never wanted any other man after she fell in love with my papa, but she chose to go on with her life as Mrs. Bly—” Bliss stopped herself and produced a coy smile. “Anyway, I think George loves her still. I think he always will.”
Mrs. Bly—?
George?
Morgan shot upright. He stared blankly, his mind buzzing with shock. It all made perfect sense now. The odd self-assurance, even in the face of scandal, the staggering wealth, the strange conversation Bliss had had at the ball with the Prince Regent.
“Wouldn’t you rather leave that oaf and come live at the palace with me?”
And Morgan’s exchange with Mrs. Blythe . . .
“Go home to your wife, Captain Pryce.”
And his conversation with Dade.
“She is from a different branch of the Worthington family tree . . . the one that grows the golden apples.”
Morgan blinked. “Oh my God.”
His wife was the daughter of London’s most notorious madam and the Prince Regent himself.
Bliss sighed.
“But . . . that means you’re a princess! How does the world not know of your existence?”
“Mama and Papa never agreed on much, once their grand passion flamed out, but they did agree that I should live my life as an ordinary child in the ordinary world. My mother placed me with family as soon as I was born. I lived with Aunt Iris and Uncle Archie until matters grew too difficult for Iris after Worthington Manor burned down. Mrs. Dalyrymple had been a royal nanny once, but she hated London and had retired to the country. Mama liked her practical sensibilities.” Bliss shrugged. “Thinking back, I enjoyed my life for the most part. I was lonely, yes, but Old Dally was very good to me and taught me to be a useful person instead of just an ornament.”
Morgan gazed at her in puzzlement. “You scrubbed things and milked things, when you could have lived the pampered life of a princess!”
She gave a demure shake of her head. “No, Morgan. The palace already has a princess in residence. I’m a bastard. Just like you.”
He remained in a silent stupor for several long moments. Not only had he been wrong about Bliss; he had been as spectacularly wrong as a man could get!
Morgan felt her soft touch on his shoulder, and when he glanced up he saw Bliss smiling. “You could not have known, my darling Morgan. You were merely protecting your brother.”
But something else tugged at his mind. One more thing that didn’t quite add up. And Morgan could not wait to hear the explanation for this one. “Then why . . . I don’t quite understand . . . how did you get the last name Worthington?”
Bliss’s fingers left his shoulder, brushed down the outside of his arm, dragged over his ribs, and snaked along the center of his belly. Then she slipped her warm and silky hand under the duvet and wrapped her fingers around him. “It’s really best not to dwell on little things like the facts, my captain. We Worthingtons never do.”
Epilogue
SIX MONTHS LATER . . .
SOMEWHERE IN THE CARIBBEAN SEA
THE night had been wild with rough seas, and once again the tossing had caused Bliss to wake from a deep sleep. Her first foggy thoughts were that they were in full sail, heading north and east, on a course for England. Weather permitting, they would return a full month before the wedding.
Bliss reached over to Morgan’s side of the bed. Her fingers encountered the cool surface of the bedclothes instead of the warmth of her husband’s body.
He was not there.
Bliss sat up, immediately feeling the wind in her hair. A quick glance informed her that the balcony doors were flung wide, and Morgan stood at the railing under the off-and-on moonlight, his fingers gripping the iron.
What a dashing figure he cut, with his too-long dark hair alive in the West Indies wind, the bare muscles of his back and arms, his knee breeches carelessly buttoned low on his hips.
Sometimes when Bliss looked at her husband, she could barely breathe. This was one of those times.
She silently slipped from the bed, reaching for a long shawl that would cover her nakedness from neck to knees. She tiptoed toward him, quietly as she was able, but he turned before she could surprise him.
His smile glowed white in the moonlight. Morgan tugged Bliss to his body and kissed her, hot and tender. This kiss, this man, was all she wanted. It had been ever so wonderful not to be alone anymore. She would never be alone again.
Bliss raised her arms around his neck, offering herself to him, deeper . . . wider . . . hungrier. She melted in the heat of her husband’s passion, so familiar to her now, so much a part of the woman she had become.
A gust of wind caught the edges of her shawl, but Bliss did not bother to adjust it. The fabric slipped from her bare shoulders, separated, and pulled open at her breasts. It fell away entirely then, and she felt the cashmere puddle at her feet.
When Morgan chuckled it tickled her lips. He pulled away and looked down at her. “See? Even the sea prefers you this way.”
Bliss smiled, so comfortable in the ebb and flow of their love, so certain that the winds had put her on the only course she would ever need. “Do you remember, Captain Pryce, when I claimed you would make a perfectly adequate husband for someone, just not for me?”
He frowned quite dramatically. “Can’t say that I recall. Of course, I was traumatized by the dagger at my throat.”
Bliss laughed. “Yes, well, that was quite necessary, I’m afraid. I had to wrest my virtue from your greedy hands.”
Morgan nodded, pursing his lips. “Of course. And were you successful?”
“I failed miserably, thank goodness. But what I said about you not being adequate . . .”
“Yes?”
“I was correct. You’re not adequate.”
His dark eyebrows slanted.
“You are perfect, Morgan Pryce. You are the perfect husband for me.”
Morgan lowered his mouth to his luscious, loving wife, aware of the irony. He had lived his life believing that all he ever needed was a ship and the sea.
When what he truly needed was Bliss.
How very unexpected.
• • •
MEANWHILE, AT CAMBERTON HOUSE . . .
MRS. PAULETTE BECKHAM was born for this. The woman Neville now addressed as “Mummy Beckham” took to planning a Christmas Society wedding the way a shark took to feeding on a school of Dicentrarchus punctatus.
The guest list had swelled to more than two hundred, which was fine with Neville. He required only one person at his wedding in order to be deliriously happy, and that was the woman he now fondled with his left hand, Miss Katarina Beckham, soon to be the Duchess of Camberton.
And, of course, his dear brother and sister-in-law, who would be returning home in time for the festivities.
“Have you looked at the seating chart, Katarina? Do you have any changes?”
“It is perfect just the way it is, Mummy. Genius, in fact.”
Paulette walked just feet in front of Neville and Katarina through the halls of Camberton. As usual, she was so preoccupied with wedding details that she paid no mind to anything else. Neville began chuckling.
Katarina’s eyes shone with mischief when she glanced his way. “Don’t you care about the seating arrangements, Neville?”
He shook his head and tightened his grip on her bottom. “This is the only seating I give a fig about,” he whispered.
They tried not to laugh, but it was difficult.
Katarina raised her delicious mouth to him and whispered, “Kiss me again, you appalling beast!” Neville obliged, and yanked her against the side of his body, even as they continued their stroll.
“Yo
u drive me positively wild,” he murmured in her ear.
“I don’t think I can wait until the wedding,” she gasped.
Neville feared he was on the brink of sporting an obvious erection. He heard the sound of Mummy Beckham’s voice, and the concern vanished.
“Well, at least we needn’t concern ourselves with where to seat Lord Oliver!” Mummy Beckham tittered, as she often did when mentioning his name. “For he shall be dining with the dockworkers on your wedding day and every day after that for the rest of time!”
Once the duel had ended and Bliss was being cared for by the physician, Morgan and Neville sat down to untangle their so-called uncle’s web of lies and manipulations. The brothers decided to give Oliver Danton a choice—life in prison or life as a dockside laborer in Barbados. He chose the latter. Oliver now spent his days in the employ of Sunbury Plantation, loading and stacking sugar barrels onto White Rose Line ships bound for the four corners of the British Empire.
Morgan had written to Neville recently, saying he had spotted Oliver on a run to Barbados. He said their former uncle possessed robust health and the foulest of tempers.
It had been excellent news.
In other excellent news, Mummy Beckham had put Sunbury in Katarina’s name, which had always been her intention, and the plantation was to become part of the Camberton holdings after the wedding. Mummy would continue to monitor operations from England, a job for which she would be handsomely rewarded. Though Neville greatly admired Paulette, he was pleased that she had decided to restore a spacious country house in her home county of Buckinghamshire, where she would reside when not in London.
Neville looked forward to some privacy.
A great deal of privacy.
He nuzzled his nose into the curve of Katrina’s neck and inhaled the warm, sweet aroma of her skin. Then he cupped one of her perfectly pert breasts in his palm. “If we were wed, I would beg you to meet me in the stables tonight.”
She sighed longingly. “Where I should ride you like the stallion you are.”
“Whatever are you talking about back there?”
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