The Pirate's Duty (Regent's Revenge #3)(21)

“Is everything all right, Miss?” he asked for the second time that night.

Oriana nearly leaned back against him. “I’m . . . concerned”—for my soul and the toll I’ll have to pay while you’re here—“for the welfare of my customers, Mr. Hunt.”

“Is that all?” The bewildering sensuality in his voice lured her like a wrecker’s beacon to dangerous rocks.

Oh God, ships were wrecked on rocks, and like the Thorpes’ hapless victims, she might never emerge from the surf. Who would care for the widows? Where would Mrs. Pickering’s orphans be then?

And yet, with Mr. Hunt so enticingly near, she wanted to drown, to experience an endless sea of desire, to have her senses awakened, her body and mind sheathed in love that defied all heartbreak and pain. She wanted to live, to truly be alive.

She’d watched her mother suffer a cruel and sadistic fate. Heard her pitiful cries for mercy in the night. Picked up the pieces and doctored her mother back to health.

No. Oriana would not let that happen to her.





Six




The CUSTOMS OFFICE and BOARD OF EXCISE, united in the FIGHT against PIRACY, have come to the ADMIRALTY’S aid in locating and CAPTURING the BLIGHT upon CORNWALL’S and DEVON’S shores. Combined efforts to bring the PIRATE of the notorious BLACK SHIP to JUSTICE include a reward for ￡750 of MERCHANDISE that disappeared between CORNWALL and FRANCE.

~ Trewman’s Exeter Flying Post, 29 September 1809


Miss Thorpe’s stillness gave Walsingham pause. She didn’t trust him, as well she shouldn’t.

I am going to betray her.

Those six words ate away at his gut as he gazed down at her glorious hair, fisting his hands to keep from touching her, spinning her around to face him, and taking her into his arms.

Oriana Thorpe was a desirable woman. He was uncertain what else she truly was, however. Girard and O’Malley claimed she was trustworthy, and the threatening letters she had received proved Carnage had a vendetta against her. And yet, if she was innocent, why hadn’t she turned in her brother’s gold? Girard and O’Malley didn’t know where it was, though they suspected it was in the cellar. If Miss Thorpe wasn’t involved, she’d be the only member of the family who hadn’t joined free trade. What were the odds? Or was she simply a brilliant actress? Marauders were content to wait out their enemies in order to succeed. Was it possible she was luring them all into a trap?

Therein lay the challenge. Miss Thorpe’s beauty had become an ensnaring temptation he was finding hard to resist. Her stubbornness matched his, and in her eyes, there were instances where unbridled passion leaped from their depths, yearning—no, begging—to be satisfied.

She had a habit of reining in her emotions, except when she spoke of saving young orphans from a life of misery. That wasn’t the kind of woman who’d lure men to their deaths.

“What are ye doing, Mr. Hunt?” she asked.

Jolted from his musings, Walsingham decided to tell the truth. “I’m looking at you, Miss.”

She dropped the curtain, her hand shaking slightly. “Why?”

He couldn’t be sure if anyone in her family, aside from Charles, had ever dealt with Captain Pierce Walsingham, or for that matter, anyone who frequented the tavern. If they had, he couldn’t trust her too soon.

“Do you really want to know?” He was playing a dangerous game, and he knew it. But he couldn’t seem to help himself when he was near her.

“Aye.”

The longcase clock sounded in the hall. Ding. Ding.

She tilted her face upward to look at him, her gaze locking with his.

“You’re a vision, Miss.”

He would count himself lucky to claim such a woman, but not as long as Miss Thorpe or Carnage had the power to commit an unspeakable act that would seal the Regent’s fate . . . He didn’t intend to be the Regent forever. He already had an idea of who his successor might be, should the man agree. But he couldn’t retire the mask until he prevented Carnage from coming for Chloe. She ran an orphanage of her own. He couldn’t risk innocent lives, not even at the detriment of his own happiness.

The world thought Captain Pierce Walsingham was dead, but in the candlelight, in Miss Thorpe’s eyes, he saw the man he wanted to be, a man who was blessedly alive.

He narrowed the space between them, and she splayed her hand over his heart. “Don’t come any closer,” she said softly.

“I won’t. Unless you ask me to.” He laid his left hand over hers, pressing ever so slightly to ensure she knew his heart beat as rapidly as hers did.

She glanced down at his hand before raising her gaze to his. “You’re as solid as stone.”

Pleased with her praise, he chuckled. “I’m not made of granite, Miss. I’m flesh and blood, a man with needs and desires. Do not doubt it.”

She focused on his chin, avoiding his gaze.

He stroked her cheek and then lowered his finger to her chin, tilting her head back, forcing her to look into his eyes. “And you’re a beautiful, desirable woman. Why aren’t you married?”

Her green eyes sparked, boring into him. “I am well aware of what men desire and I do not need a man to survive.”

“But what do you desire?”

“I . . .” Her breath hitched. “I’m not in the habit of touching men who come to my inn.” She tried to remove her hand from his chest, but he held it steady.