by Jade Lee
She swallowed and looked away. She didn’t like it when the laughing prince of her childhood turned dark and serious. And she didn’t like it that he knew what she was thinking even before she did.
“Very well then,” she said airily. “You shall tell me exactly what follies my brother Henry committed while at sea with you. Every single one, mind you, so that I can tease him when I next see him.”
“Oh my,” he drawled as he held out his arm. “We shall have to walk very slowly then. This might take a while.”
Good. And while he kept her laughing, perhaps the ache in her heart would ease, and she would indeed find a way free. But she doubted it. The dark and serious side of her personality knew she was caught, and it was that side that made her say her next words.
“And if there is murder in my future, Mr. Lyncott, then you needn’t fear I’ll involve you or my brother. I shall need someone with more experience.” And at that moment, her mind flashed to her younger brother, Bernard. It was true that he’d gotten her mixed up in this problem in the first place, and she’d long since suspected that there were hidden depths in him. And that they were hidden for a reason.
Meanwhile, Mr. Lyncott stopped walking and looked down hard at her. “What have I missed, Wind? What has happened since I have been away?”
She didn’t answer because he had hit on the problem exactly. He had missed too much. After all, he was the prince of the neighborhood, destined for great things that took him outside London to the world at large. She on the other hand was stuck here. That had always been true for them both. So no matter what had happened in the years since he’d been away, her path was set.
***
Radley didn’t like this silent Wendy. She walked beside him, her hand on his arm and her manner poised, behaving now nothing like the wild thing he remembered from his childhood—always dashing one way or the next, always with big ideas and detailed plans. How far had she gotten with those dreams? And at what cost?
When she didn’t answer his first question, he tried a different tack. “How is the dress shop doing? Have you made it into a success?”
“It’s better and better every day,” she answered with a smile. “Helaine is married now to Lord Redhill. She brings in the nobs like no one else. She frets, of course, given her past, but she’s a worrier.”
He nodded, not truly remembering who Helaine was beyond her relationship to Wendy. She was co-owner of the dress shop and the designer. But beyond that, he had no idea what Wendy alluded to about Helaine’s past.
“We’ve got a lady’s shoemaker too. A woman, who designs for women. Married just a week ago and…” Her voice trailed off on a shudder. She tried to suppress it, but he felt it nevertheless.
“What happened?”
“Someone tried to murder Irene. It happened…” She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Was the man caught?”
She nodded, but in slow motion, as if she wasn’t quite sure.
He narrowed his eyes, slowing their steps even further. “What aren’t you telling me?”
She shrugged, trying to be casual. “What if… well, what if the man apprehended wasn’t responsible?”
“I don’t understand what you mean. He attacked, didn’t he?”
“He did but… what if someone put him up to it? Someone made him—”
“Made him attempt murder?” He pressed her hand where it rested on his arm. “No one can be forced to kill. There’s a moment before you strike when the decision is all yours. Doesn’t matter the cause or the pain or the reason behind it. When it comes to striking that death blow, it’s a choice.”
She frowned as she looked at him, and he felt the shift in her thoughts in the air around him. She had ceased thinking about her problems and now looked at his.
“Wind—” he began, but she cut him off.
“You’ve killed more than fish,” she said. A statement not a question. But he answered it nonetheless.
“We were attacked by pirates on this last voyage. It’s happened before, but I was young the last time. Green and caught flat-footed. But this time, we saw them coming.” He looked away. This time he’d been in charge. Their captain was down with a fever, barely functional, though he tried. Gave a good accounting of himself given the circumstances, but the man could barely stand much less direct a defense.
Which meant as first mate, the command had been in Radley’s hands. He had given the orders to kill, to destroy their attackers without mercy.
“Battles on water are ugly things. Hours waiting, seeing them coming, and then it’s all a blur until it’s finished.”
“You survived though,” she said, her voice barely audible.
He nodded. “We won. Crippled the pirates, took their ship, and I sailed their vessel home as prize.” He’d also sliced a man’s throat open and barely noticed the warm spray of his blood. He’d watched dispassionately as five men plummeted to their deaths, a result of his order to fire. And worst of all, he’d judged their leader guilty and performed the execution with an icy calm. “I’ll likely gain a captaincy from it.”
“You don’t seem happy about that.”
“Oh, I am. I’ve wanted it all my life. My own ship, leading the men to profit, the freedom to choose the best course.” He turned to her. “But I’ve changed, Wind.”
“You’ve grown up. We all do.”
He shook his head. How did he explain how different the world was at sea? The deprivations, the unending wet, and the capricious, brutal nature of his life there. And yet, he loved it. There was beauty there. A call to his soul that he didn’t understand but couldn’t deny.
“What are you thinking?” she asked. “You look sad.”
“That I’m a sailor, Wind. And when I chose that life, I gave up the part that could live quietly here.”
“But do you want to live here?” she said. “You’re to be a captain, master of your own ship. That’s better than anyone from the old neighborhood. That’s like being a king.”
He smiled. “You own a dress shop that caters to the ton, Wind. That’s a miracle that puts me in awe.”
She smiled, and her whole face brightened, even though her words seemed contradictory to her obvious pride with her achievement. “Constant worries, constant work.”
“But you love it?”
She nodded. “As you must love the sea.”
“Yes.”
They walked in silent accord then, skirting the trash and the people that clogged the streets. He didn’t like the crowd of buildings, hated the disorganization of London now, although he hadn’t as a boy. At least on the ship, there was a pattern and a rhythm. If there was anything like that here, he didn’t discern it.
But Wendy obviously did. Even though she was a woman, her fingertips light on his arm, it was she who led them through the streets. She knew the direction to her shop, but more than that, she understood the dance of people on land. And in this, he was content to follow. He wasn’t going to ignore, however, the protective instincts that Wendy’s plight had ignited in him.
“You have yet to tell me the real problem, Wind. Why have you been suddenly thrown out of your home?”
She sighed. “I’m not sure. That’s what I hope you can find out. You’re a man and can ask questions that won’t get answers coming from a woman. You’re to be a captain and can talk to solicitors so that they’ll answer.”
“I would not be too sure of that, but I can certainly try.”
“And…” She bit her lip, looking suddenly nervous for a second. He wouldn’t have caught the look if he hadn’t been watching her so closely. Then she lifted her chin and spoke her mind. “Perhaps you could meet with Lord Idston. He’s the one who will have the truth.”
“Do you know where I can meet him? I don’t have any connections to the world he frequents.”
She nodded. “I have a guess where he’ll be. There’s a gaming hell he likes.”
There was extra tension in her voice, and he wo
ndered what she knew of gaming hells. How close to that world had she wandered?
“I’m a sailor on leave,” he said quietly. “It would be the easiest thing to wander into a hell.”
She looked at him, gratitude in her green eyes. “I need to know. I need to know if it’s an unlucky thing or something more.”
“I’ll do what I can, Wind.” For her, he would do that much and more.
“Thank you,” she breathed. She stopped their steps then. It took a moment to realize that they stood in an alley beside a back door.
“Is this your shop?”
She pointed to the door. “The workroom is right there.”
They stood facing each other then. They were close. She was a small woman, almost tiny. But there was nothing small in her character or her bearing. So when he bent his head, it was as much a bow to her regal nature as it was as a man staking a claim to her lips.
She didn’t expect it, which was nearly laughable. He had thought of her as his wife for so long, he’d forgotten that she knew nothing of his intentions. His gifts these last years had been given under her brother’s name. Tokens of affection from Henry to his sister, or so the packages claimed.
So when he pressed his mouth to hers, she gasped in surprise. Her eyes widened, her lips parted, and though she might not have invited his advances, he was too far gone to stop. He had to kiss her. He’d been waiting nearly ten years to do so.
He took her lips, and before he could stop himself, he wrapped his arm around her back and pulled her close, plundering her mouth with his kiss, putting all his love and desire into it. In this way, he declared his intentions to marry the wind.
Three
Wendy realized his intention early, but she could not believe it was possible. The boy prince from her childhood standing before her now as a man? And with desire in his eyes? Such a thing wasn’t possible, and yet he was touching her face, his calloused thumb a fiery stroke across her cheek. Then his mouth descended, and she was shocked enough to gasp, but not so shocked that she refused him.
He was everything she’d ever wanted, and so she opened herself to him. And when his fingers trailed into her hair, she swayed toward him. Her hands pressed against his chest, and she felt the muscles underneath his clothing—banked power in a broad expanse. But most of all, she felt his mouth growing insistent, his tongue sweeping inside her lips, and the heat of him as he plundered her mouth.
She was submissive at first, enthralled by the sensations he gave her. But she soon grew bolder, twisting her tongue with his, clutching his shirt beneath his coat. And the closer she got, the more their mouths fused, the less she thought about Damon or moving or even the sewing she had to do. Her thoughts fled into the rhythm of his kiss, into the grip of his arm around her waist. And into the sweet, wonderful scent that had nothing to do with London and everything to do with fresh air and clean water.
Then he ended the kiss in a slow withdrawal that pained her. As his intensity lessened, her worries crowded back. Each second of his withdrawal added more to her burdens, and she whimpered at the weight. To be free for even a few moments made the return of her cares all the more burdensome.
“Wind,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly.
She didn’t respond, except to clutch his shirt harder. She was not ready to return to her list of tasks, and he had just shown her the perfect escape.
But he wrapped his hands around hers and stilled her frantic motions. “Wind,” he repeated, his voice growing clearer. “May I call on you tomorrow?”
She blinked, confused by his formality. He wanted to call on her? Like a high-born gentleman to the likes of her? She nearly laughed. In her jumbled thoughts, she wanted something a great deal more carnal than a gentlemanly visit.
She closed her eyes, trying to gather her wits. For all that she had little experience, her time in the hells had exposed her to a myriad intriguing words and ideas. Some of them burned in her memory and made her wonder. It was that curiosity that had her lifting her head to his.
“Yes,” she said. Or she thought she had. Instead, the word sounded more like, “Why?”
His lips curved into a smile. “You kiss me like that and then ask me why?” He touched her jaw, another fiery caress across her skin. “Wind, I have thought about you often over the years.”
She looked at him, trying to understand. She had thought of him relatively little, except as a half-forgotten wish. Her life was too full, too busy to spend time on what might have been. But on a ship, she supposed there were long hours of doing nothing but staring at water. Of course he would reminisce about the days of his youth.
When she didn’t answer, a flash of worry crossed his face. “Wind? May I?”
So compelling was his gaze that she nodded before she thought deeply about it. The hows and the whys were impossible. “I will be working.” She was not someone who sat around waiting for afternoon callers.
“We could walk through the park.”
She bit her lip. She did love to walk through Hyde Park at the fashionable hour. She wore something gray and ugly, then sat on a bench watching as fashionable ladies paraded by wearing the dresses she’d sewn.
“I would like that,” she said, a smile curving her lips. She could show him her creations on a countess or a baroness. Would he like them? Would he be proud of her? She had no need for his approval, but she’d like it nonetheless.
He grinned. “I’ll come here tomorrow afternoon to take you to the park. We’ll sit and watch the peacocks strut by.”
She nodded, feeling awkward and excited all at once. It had been years since she felt this giddy uncertainty, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. But she was powerless to stop the simmering heat that built in her chest and slowly climbed to her cheeks.
Then she heard a noise from the workroom. Someone was coming to the back door. “I need to go,” she said.
“Of course.” Then he took her hand and kissed it, bowing as he did, as if he were greeting a duchess. It made the sizzle in her blood pop faster and hotter. “Until tomorrow then, Wind.”
“Good day, Mr. Lyncott,” she said as her apprentice Tabitha pulled open the back door with an armful of trash. Wendy gave a sharp look to the girl, but said nothing as she walked inside. Her thoughts were on Radley Lyncott the rest of her day.
It made her stitches uneven at times, her work slower than usual, but she couldn’t make herself stop—the prince of the neighborhood coming to call on her. But of course, she was a successful shop owner now, she reminded herself. Not a dirty girl running wild in the London streets. She was a proper woman, and it was not so far a stretch to think of such a man.
Or at least it wasn’t until that evening, when she was an hour into dealing vingt-et-un. She had a full table, as usual. The men liked her because she smiled. They called her the Green Lady of Mystery because of her green eyes. It had become a game to discover her name or get her to say something tart. Her witty tongue brought them to her table, and she had to admit she enjoyed the freedom to say something cutting. And the sharper her wit, the higher her tips, so she worked at being clever.
She also worked hard at listening. Half the value of the gaming hell to Damon was not in the money, but in the information. Deep play and a steady flow of alcohol loosened many a tongue, and the Demon paid his dealers well for juicy gossip. And since she cared not who was having an affair with whom, or which lord was embezzling from what fund, she had no difficulty telling such things to Damon if he took money off her brother’s debt.
Until tonight.
Tonight’s topic was about a lowly sailor now become a duke. The story was simple. The man was descended from a disgraced third son of the Duke of Bucklynde. The rift had occurred three generations back, but the old man had never disowned the son, although he made well known his disapproval of the boy’s choice of wife. Everyone in the current generation was waiting until the crotchety nob died to reunite with the disgraced branch.
Then disaster struck. Smallp
ox went rampant through the ducal seat, wiping out nearly the entire family, the associated village, and a good deal of the neighboring hamlets. It was called a plague, and the area had been isolated simply because no one would risk venturing near.
The sickness had run its course, and it was time to take stock, bring comfort to the grieving, and rebuild the dukedom. But all the men had died.
All except the grandson of the disgraced third son. The man was a sailor, only recently come to port. Imagine, they said, going to bed one night as a poor sailor and waking up the next as a duke.
Wendy smiled at that, as did everyone else. It was the dream of every poor laborer: the wish to suddenly wake up as a wealthy nob. A beautiful dream, until she heard the man’s name.
Radley Lyncott, now the Duke of Bucklynde.
“What?” she gasped, unable to stop herself. “What was his name?”
Everyone’s attention abruptly riveted on her. “Do you know him? What’s he like? Have you danced with him, Green Lady?”
The questions came thick and fast, but only one man answered her question. It was the Demon, sauntering up behind her.
“Radley Lyncott, my dear. Imagine that.”
The men turned to the Demon. “So you know him then?” they asked.
Demon nodded. “Indeed, I do. We were once the best of friends.”
That was a stretch perhaps, but not a large one. Meanwhile, Wendy’s hands had gone numb. Radley was a duke? Her Radley?
But of course he wasn’t her Radley. And likely never would be now, if the rumors were true. An aspiring ship’s captain could court a dressmaker, but a duke was meant for someone a great deal finer than she. She’d only had an afternoon to linger in sweet dreams of herself and Radley, but in those few hours, the longing had become precious. To have it ripped away so bizarrely—like a random throw of the dice—cut her deeply.