The Pirate's Duty (Regent's Revenge #3)(36)

A growl escaped him. “You should go upstairs.”

“No.” She sobered, planting her hand over his heart. “Kiss me.”

Christ, everything between them was built on a lie. His name wasn’t John, and she hated liars. She’d been mistreated and humiliated, making it clearer to him that going on with this pretense, continuing to deceive her, would only break her heart. He’d made a vow to Blackmoor, Underwood, and his crew. He couldn’t lose sight of the promises he’d made to Chloe, either. No matter what it cost him, including his own happiness, he couldn’t drag Oriana down with him.

“I’m a wanderer, Oriana.”

“And I’m wonderin’ what it will feel like to have your lips on mine. How long are ye goin’ to make me wait, John?”

He wanted to hear her call him by his true given name—Pierce—but that was beyond wise. She could never know he was Chloe’s brother or that Chloe had taken part in his deception. Oriana had few people to rely on in her life—Chloe, Mrs. Pickering, Girard, and O’Malley. It would be selfish of him to allow his thirst for revenge and his desire for her to rob her of what she did have left to give—her innocence.

He threaded his fingers through her unbound hair, then grabbed a handful, gently hauling her forward and slowly molding her to him so their lips would soon touch. Her breath hitched and she shivered slightly, but still he extended the wait. Prolonging the meeting of their flesh was sheer agony, but he didn’t want her to flit away like a frightened butterfly. He wanted her to trust him, to soothe her doubts and fears, to show her at least one man promised safety in his arms.

“I will never harm you,” he said. She was a whispered breath away now, so temptingly close that he knew kissing her would damn him for eternity. “You have my word.”

She placed a finger over his lips, focusing on them before meeting his eyes. “Don’t speak. I’ve already borne a lifetime of lies.”

Guilt stabbed him afresh, robbing his breath.

She smiled brazenly, pulling him toward her waiting mouth, offering a temptation he couldn’t resist. Drugged by her nearness, Walsingham drank her in, relishing the feel of her in his arms, the taste of her on his mouth.

But she was innocent. Not in the ways of her family’s smuggling business, or where her brother was concerned, but in matters of the flesh certainly. It was evident in her shy exploration of his mouth.

A low growl escaped him as he broke away from her in frustration. It was his duty to honor this woman, protect her at all costs, even if it meant descending the cliff this very night and taking a dip in the cold, crashing surf below. Even if it meant sacrificing every lie, every shameful deception he’d enlisted so that she would be free of her brother.

“Forgive me. I can’t do this.” He took her by the hand and led her across the kitchen.

“Where are ye takin’ me?” she asked, stumbling to catch up with his lengthy strides.

“Upstairs. To your room.”

She stopped cold. “No. I want . . . I need to . . .”

“Not in the middle of the kitchen where anyone could walk in on us.” He yanked on her arm, but she wouldn’t budge. Undeterred, he grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder.

“Put me down,” she snapped.

“Shh. Unless you want to wake everyone.” He made his way up the stairs, calmed by the fact that she’d stopped arguing with him. At the top of the staircase, he carried her to her bedchamber, opened the door, and stepped inside.



“How dare ye!” She spun around to slap his face when he set her feet on the bedchamber floor.

John caught her wrist before she could do any damage. “Did you expect me to take advantage of you where anyone could witness it?” His voice was low, steady, and calm.

Frustrated and ashamed, tears burned the backs of her eyes. “Why don’t ye just say it? I’m not good enough for the likes of ye.”

“I never said—”

“I’ll have ye know my body is mine to do with as I please. I may be just an innkeeper to ye, but I am a woman with feelin’s and longin’s and desires, true enough. I do not throw myself at any man.”

He raised his hands in surrender. The lone candle burning on the bedside table reflected a menacing shadow behind him on the wall. “I am an honorable man. I will not hurt you.”

Before she knew what he was about, he reached out and pulled her toward him.

“Oomph.” She collided with his firm, broad chest. “Is this supposed to ease my shame?”

“Nay.” He slid his hands up her arms until he was cupping her face. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.” He angled her face upward until their eyes met. He searched hers for what seemed like an eternity as she waited for him to speak again. “I merely want to keep it that way, Oriana. What I intend to do to you is not for anyone else’s eyes or ears.”

“What do ye intend to—”

“This.” In an instant, his lips descended on hers. Their tongues met, clashed, and a spark of desire shot to her core at the contact, making her legs weaken. She clung to him and molded her length to his, removing the space between them.

Swept away, Oriana gave John access to her mouth. His velvety tongue created a fascinating, addictive tempo she sought to match as tendrils of delight streamed through her veins like quicksilver. He walked her backward to the bed and lowered her over the edge until his weight pinioned her to the mattress.