The Duchess Quest (Jordinia Book 1)

by C. K. Brooke

  “That is beautiful,” remarked Dainy, and she meant it.

  Mac’s strumming came to a tidy end, and Bos delicately returned her back to her feet.

  “All right, enough of this watered-down, chaste little side-stepping,” came the bold voice that made Dainy tremble. “As dancing was my idea, I believe I deserve a turn with the lady.”

  The perfectly defined shape of Jon’s flawless face glowed against the wine-colored sunset as he strutted up to her. “Shall we?” He gripped her hips.

  “Oi!” objected Pascale.

  But Dainy huffed. “Last time I checked, Pascale, I am the duchess of Jordinia, and may dance with whomever I please.” She said this somewhat jestingly, with an exaggerated lift of her chin, but delivered her message all the same. She was a woman of age, and Pascale was not to tell her what to do.

  Defiantly, she pressed up against Jon, just to ensure she communicated her point, and threw her arms around his neck.

  Pascale grimaced, but Jon grinned devilishly. “It appears I’ve found you in my arms once again, darling,” he murmured so that only she could hear, and Dainy felt as though a current of lightning coursed through her.

  He snapped a finger at Mac. “Something lively, Macmillan.”

  “Like what?” asked Mac warily.

  “Make it staccato,” Jon told him. “With a snap.” He met Dainy’s eyes. “Like a firecracker.” He smirked.

  Dainy jumped as Mac plucked a pert stop-and-start beat, the notes jarring at first, until she caught the drift. Jon held her close, steering her with finesse, his rough cheek against her smooth one, his heart beating against hers.

  All too soon, Mac softened his strums. Dainy’s pulse raced as Jon stroked the small of her back. She gazed into his eyes, captivated, longing for nothing more than to bring her lips to his, regardless of the others watching.

  The music ended, and Jon lifted her hand to his mouth and slowly kissed it once, twice, three times—

  “That is enough, Cosmith,” grumbled a voice.

  It was not Uncle Pascale, but Bos who had spoken.

  “Indeed,” muttered Pascale. “Time to eat.” He turned with Bos, and the two headed to the galley.

  “Until we meet again, firecracker,” said Jon softly.

  Dainy smiled, then turned to congratulate Mac on his performance. But the young man had already gone, leaving Pascale’s strummer lying rather unceremoniously on the deck. She bent to pick it up, casting her gaze about in search of him, but Mac was nowhere to be seen. He did not join them for dinner.

  MACMILLAN COULDN’T SLEEP. THE MOVEMENT of the waves kept him awake, and he disliked the way the boat jerked with the wind, making his stomach turn over. Silently, he slipped from his hammock and climbed to the upper deck. There he stood for a time, searching for the cloud-covered moon over the rolling black waves.

  With a heavy heart, he contemplated the day. Pascale and Bos had agreed to help him. With Cosmith out of the way, Macmillan had spent a pleasant afternoon in the duchess’s company, sharing thoughts, watching the sea, exploring the boat like two children. Indeed, Dainy felt to him like an old childhood friend, as though he’d known her all his life.

  He was disgruntled, however, when Cosmith had danced with her. Pascale had tried to stop him, but it was, surprisingly, Dainy who’d insisted upon throwing herself against the wretch. Macmillan hoped she would appear at least somewhat disconcerted by the way the man was so familiarly handling her.

  But the contents of his stomach had soured when he witnessed her emerald eyes glowing agog over Cosmith. Why, she was swooning over the rogue! The entire day with Macmillan she’d passed, but Cosmith had enthralled her with a single dance.

  That explained why the man was always so pompous and assuming, thought Macmillan bitterly. Cosmith was accustomed to winning the world over with his natural good looks and charming bravado. Macmillan would never stand a chance against him.

  “Good game, Mac,” an even voice startled him.

  Macmillan turned to see none other than Cosmith in the flesh, standing behind him.

  “You,” he grunted. This was the last person he wanted to see. “Here to gloat?”

  Cosmith only stepped forward as a cloud shifted, revealing his calm countenance in the moonlight. He ignored Macmillan’s question, joining him at the rail. “You strummed well for us tonight, my friend. But we missed you at dinner.”

  “Yes, well,” muttered Macmillan. “No point sticking around when the duchess has so clearly made her choice.”

  Cosmith raised an eyebrow.

  “So, congratulations.” Macmillan glared out to sea, refusing to look at him. “How does it feel to have won Dainy’s affections? No different, I expect, than with the countless other girls you’ve seduced.”

  Cosmith remained silent.

  “Will you say nothing, then? Has the great Jon Cosmith finally gone speechless?”

  Cosmith frowned, examining his fingernails. “Curious,” he murmured. “But from what I observed, Eludaine seemed to rather enjoy spending her day with you.”

  Macmillan was not expecting this. He’d been anticipating one of Cosmith’s typical smirks, some patronizing slight…but not this.

  Saying no more, Cosmith departed the deck, leaving Macmillan alone to ponder.

  DAINY AWOKE NEXT MORNING TO the lull of the waves underfoot. Uncle Pascale had given her use of his tiny cabin, where she could slumber in shelter and privacy. Presently, the boat sailed northward still, and the sun was already up by the time she ascended to the upper deck.

  The men were breaking their fast on a sack of oranges and rolls. Dainy grabbed one of each as they greeted her, and sat down on the floor with them, folding her legs beneath her pine green skirts.

  “Good morning, Your Highness,” said Bos, making to rise to his feet, but she waved him down.

  “Don’t get up, Bos,” she insisted. “And you may call me by my name.”

  He bowed his great head. “As you wish, Eludaine.”

  Dainy frowned. That was not the name she’d meant, but she hadn’t the heart to correct him again. “So.” She began to peel her orange. “Where did you get the strummer, Uncle Pasc?”

  “Traded some catch for it once. Many years ago. I needed something for passing the time on long nights at sea.” He sighed, and Dainy became vaguely aware of how many years those golden eyes must have seen.

  “How did you learn to strum, Mac?” Pascale turned to the youngest man. “I don’t imagine instruments are easy to come by in the Knights’ Forest.”

  Mac glanced up and saw Dainy watching him. He gave her a small smile before answering, “My mother has one. It’s one of the few things we have, at least.”

  “A lady strummer?” asked Bos.

  “It is not so rare.” Jon took a swig of his canteen. “My mother had one, too.”

  Dainy looked to Jon with interest. This was the first she’d heard him speak of his family. She didn’t even know where he was from.

  She found herself aflame with curiosity. Where was Jon’s home? What was his work? Did he have brothers and sisters? She would have to ask him, whenever they could next steal a moment alone together.

  Uncle Pascale peered out to the horizon. “We’ll be sailing past the Hopestone Bay in a few hours. Is there anything you fellows need at port?”

  Mac glanced at Jon and Bos. Together, they shook their heads.

  “The sooner to Häffstrom, the better,” muttered Jon, eyes flickering surreptitiously over to Dainy. She blinked. What did he mean by that?

  When they’d finished eating, Dainy leapt up to follow Jon before her uncle could stop her. He was heading to the bow, his back to her. His cowhide vest hugged his waist, and her eyes trailed down where his blouse was snugly tucked beneath his belted trousers.

  She glanced up again to see him donning a cowman’s h
at. Dainy paused, admiring his silhouette, hat perched jauntily atop his head as he gazed out to sea.

  “Dainy.” A voice behind her startled her.

  “Hello, Mac.” She hoped he didn’t notice the twinge of dismay in her voice, but she was anxious to reach Jon.

  As though reading her thoughts, Mac glanced in Jon’s direction before asking, “Can we have a word?”

  Dainy stalled. “Can it wait?”

  “No,” said Mac flatly, “it cannot.” Before she knew it, he seized her hand and guided her down the companionway. He led her to the bottom stern, where Bos stood.

  “What is it, then?” said Dainy impatiently.

  “It’s about Cosmith.”

  Dainy’s heart missed a beat, and for one awkward moment, she wondered how much they knew. Surely, Jon hadn’t told them of their night together in Beili? “What about him?” she said, perhaps a bit too defensively.

  “He is not an honorable man,” rumbled Bos. “And you would do best not to associate with him.”

  “Jon?” Dainy furrowed her brow. “I know he’s a bit brazen, but I’m sure he means no harm.”

  “He is not just a bit brazen,” insisted Mac.

  “He is a playboy and a thief.”

  Dainy’s muscles clenched. “Honestly,” she muttered, turning away.

  But Mac called her back. “You must listen to us,” he implored her. “We’ve been in his company longer than you have. We suspect he plans only to use you.”

  “Use me?” Dainy laughed at the accusation. “What for?”

  The two men glanced at one another.

  “For the gold, of course,” said Mac.

  “What gold?” snapped Dainy.

  Mac gaped. “You mean, you do not know?”

  “Know what?”

  Bos groaned, lifting an enormous hand to his brow.

  “Hessian Gatspierre—your uncle—promised to award your rescuer fifty pounds of gold, along with your hand in marriage,” Mac informed her.

  Dainy felt as though she’d been slapped. Hot, resentful tears pressed behind her eyes, her mind assembling the clues and arranging them together. “So that is why you three have come all this way for me?” Her jaw slackened in disbelief. “That is why you’ve become my friends, laughing and singing, strumming and dancing?”

  “Dainy,” Mac cut in, looking unsettled. “We thought you knew.”

  Her heart hammered. They thought she knew? Well, whose job had it been to tell her?

  Her eyes narrowed. “Pascale!”

  A gull that had been perched atop the rail squawked off in alarm. Dainy didn’t care about the noise she was making as she stomped up the deck at full speed. “We are turning this boat around right now!”

  Pascale emerged from the bow, carefully resting his fishing line. “Dainy? What is all this?”

  “Mac has just informed me,” she declared, her voice high, “that my uncle in Häffstrom has promised them gold for this journey, as well as my hand in marriage.” She placed her hands on her hips.

  Uncle Pascale’s face remained even. “Aye, those are his terms.”

  “You knew?” Shocked, Dainy dropped her arms to her sides. “And you didn’t tell me? And you helped them exploit me, as though I’m some prize to be won? How could you do this, Pascale?” she cried. “Did my real uncle promise you gold, too?”

  “That is enough, Dainy.” Pascale sounded severe. “All I’ve ever cared about is your welfare.”

  “You lied to me!”

  “We tried to tell you!” Pascale barked. “You would not listen! Stubborn girl, you had set your mind and would hear nothing more!” He had never raised his voice to her before.

  But she would not be rebuked. She was no longer a child.

  “If you cared for me, then why did you bring them to Beili?” She pointed angrily to Mac and Bos. “Why are you sailing us now?” Her voice shook. “I never would’ve agreed to this, had I known!”

  “So you would rather have remained in Heppestoni? Where no man will have you? To be a maiden forever, working and slaving and struggling to make ends meet, day after backbreaking day, like my sister and Priya? Is that the sort of life you’d prefer?”

  Dainy said nothing as a single, hot tear streamed down her cheek.

  “Well? Is it?”

  “No,” she choked, wiping her eyes furiously. “But my hand is no one’s to give.”

  “Perhaps when you were a fatherless orphan. But so long as you’ve a living, male blood relation—which, we now know, you do—tradition mandates you wed whom he chooses!”

  He indicated the men beside her. “Now, Mac here is a decent fellow. As long as your uncle has men searching, he’s the sort of man I’d wish to find you.”

  Dainy flushed.

  “As for Bos, he’s only here to help. He doesn’t seek any prize. But Jon Cosmith….” Pascale’s expression darkened. “We suspect he’s only digging for gold.”

  “Among other things,” muttered Bos.

  “Which is why I’ve been trying to keep him from you,” concluded Pascale, confirming Dainy’s suspicions.

  “The man earns his living by stealing, Dainy.” Mac spoke earnestly. “Not to mention, he’s wanted by the New Republic of Jordinia for treason.”

  Dainy’s insides plummeted to the seafloor. Could this be true of Jon, her Jon? The man who’d held her in the warm shallows, who’d doubled over laughing with her behind the moonlit crags, whose blouse she’d worn home, bare beneath, who danced with her so intimately the previous night, against the backdrop of the setting sun?

  A singular memory of their shared evening resurfaced. Jon had been coaxing her to pass the night with him, his voice rising with excitement as he planned their escape aboard Pascale’s vessel: “We’ll set sail to Häffstrom, just you and me. Forget the others.”

  Why, he had schemed to spirit her away right then, steal Pascale’s boat and set sail with the dawn! It wasn’t merely so that he could be alone with her for the voyage—although, she thought, seething, that was surely part of it—but so that he would be the first to bring her to her uncle, and become exorbitantly wealthy as a result. Had Jon truly the sole intention of abandoning her after taking the prize money…and her virtue?

  She swiveled around, eyes aflame. “Out of my way.” She pushed past the men. “I’ve a word to say to Jon Cosmith.”

  She stomped up the companionway, two steps at a time, and pounded her way to the upper bow. Jon remained there, relaxing against the rail.

  “Jon!”

  At the sound of his name, the man turned. With a jerk of her wrist, she snatched the ostentatious hat from his head and flung it out to sea. Jon glanced overboard at it, now floating upon the waves, before looking back to her bewilderedly.

  His smooth cheek plain before her, Dainy raised her hand and smacked him.

  JON COSMITH CLUTCHED HIS SEARING cheek. He could only watch, with some alarm, as the young woman in his presence stormed down over him.

  “You lying, smooth-talking degenerate!” She proceeded to pummel him with her fists, and Cosmith reflexively ducked, shielding his head from the rigorous shower of blows. “Call me your darling? Call me your sweet?”

  Her flashing eyes met his. “Sail up to Häffstrom together, you say? Just us two? Say that you only have eyes for me? What a fool I was to believe your miserable lies.” She held up a delicate finger. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t throw you overboard this instant!”

  Cosmith couldn’t help himself. He knew it was precisely the wrong thing to do, and the wrong time to do it, but he laughed. She? Throw him overboard? As if the little sparrow could manage that.

  At his laughter, Eludaine Ducelle’s eyes widened. Angrily, she shoved him. Surprised by her strength, he stumbled, and had to steady himself against the rail.

  Cosmith could no
t contain the sudden current fusing through his veins as he watched the heated swell of her breast, the disheveled set of her cropped black hair, her porcelain face reddened with emotion, and all for him. He could dream of nothing other than this height of her passion directed upon him in other ways….

  “Darling,” he gasped, grinning even as his cheek smarted. “I daresay, if you’re trying to arouse me, it’s working.”

  “Oh, enough of that! For I know what you’re truly after.” She crossed her arms. “You’ve no interest in me.” Her voice caught. “You’ve merely been toying with my affections in your pursuit of gold.”

  Why, the poor thing’s lips were aquiver.

  “My dear.” He held up his hands in gentle surrender. “But listen to yourself. What nonsense.” He took a careful step forward, his eyes not leaving hers. “Except, of course, for the part about your affections. Why, my sweet, are you admitting you feel something for me?”

  Dainy glared at him. “I don’t any longer, Mr. Cosmith.”

  He would not be so easily deterred. Cosmith reached out to trace a fingertip down her cheek. Warily, she watched him, but remained rigid.

  “There, there, little firecracker.” He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. He grinned as she lowered her eyes, a blush creeping up her neck. “Now,” he tutted, “what did those jealous, slanderous fools say to you?”

  Dainy watched her feet. “That you are a thief, a wanted man, and a traitor to your country.”

  “Ah.” He sighed. “And am I such a thief for wishing to steal your heart, Dainy? Am I such a traitor for refusing to serve any longer the Republic who murdered your dear family?”

  She said nothing, although barely, just barely, had she begun to lean into him.

  “Mac seeks the prize, same as I. And yet he would have you believe his intentions are somehow nobler than my own.” He scoffed. “As for Bos, well, he is now a fugitive, too. For competing in this very quest, we’ve been banished from our homeland of Jordinia.”