“No, he most certainly isn’t,” Bridget said, clearly exasperated with her sister-in-law and what was obviously an unfavorable comparison. “Declan might have been a bit vague, but he means what he says and says what he means. Unlike some I know… and as for you, my dear, you’ve no worries on that score. I understand how my son works. I can see he’s quite happy with you and well he should be.”
Kitty felt herself blushing at such a compliment. She hoped that Bridget would like her, that they would be close. Not having a mother of her own, it was important to her, especially since she was fairly certain she was with child. But there was time to discuss that later, when she was more certain and when it wasn’t nearly three in the morning.
With the two women shown to their respective bedchambers, she returned to her own and found Declan standing at the window. “Where is your uncle?” she asked.
Declan pointed to the road which was just visible in the pale sliver of moonlight. “He’s gone, heading for the coast to catch a boat back to Ireland. From there, he’ll likely get a ship, amass a crew, and start plundering his way to the West Indies.”
Kitty frowned at that. “Does he love pirating so much, then? Or does he love his wife so little?”
“He loves her… and she loves him. But they mix like oil and water. Always have. One clash after another. A bit like us in the beginning,” he offered with a grin.
“But not now,” she said. “Now we are of one heart and one mind.”
“And if you’ll get your sweet arse back in that bed,” he said with a wicked grin, “we’ll be of one body as well.”
He didn’t have to ask twice.
THE END
About the Author
Chasity Bowlin lives in central Kentucky with her husband and their menagerie of animals. She loves writing, loves traveling and enjoys incorporating tidbits of her actual vacations into her books. She is an avid Anglophile, loving all things British, but specifically all things Regency.
Growing up in Tennessee, spending as much time as possible with her doting grandparents, soap operas were a part of her daily existence, followed by back to back episodes of Scooby Doo. Her path to becoming a romance novelist was set when, rather than simply have her Barbie dolls cruise around in a pink convertible, they time traveled, hosted lavish dinner parties and one even had an evil twin locked in the attic.
Website:
www.chasitybowlin.com
The Pirate’s Bluestocking Page 10