The Pirate's Duty (Regent's Revenge #3)(80)
Her eyes smoldered with unruly fire as she slapped him in the face again. “That is for lyin’ to me.”
He ignored the sting her hand left on his face. “You know why I couldn’t tell you my real name.”
“No excuses, Pierce.” She flushed crimson. “I won’t go another step farther until ye swear never to lie to me again.”
He took her face into his hands and kissed her gently. “I swear.”
“Make way. Make way.” Several of his men stepped forward to haul gunpowder up the ladder.
Walsingham motioned for Oriana to climb the companionway. “Come.”
He held her close as they emerged from the belly of the ship, shielding her face as he guided her to another ladder that led to the boarding port. Together, they scrambled down the battens to the waiting cutter below. The boat heaved beneath their added weight, and again when several more men joined them. The crewmen shoved off from the ship’s hull, then dipped their oars into the swells and troughs as they began their short journey to shore.
Sitting on the thwarts, Oriana gripped Walsingham tightly about his waist. A loud boom rent the air. Oriana startled as the six phantomlike hulls of the Seatons’ fleet and the Fury were illuminated in the night. Another blinding flash exploded on Carnage’s ship and more sparks ignited, vomiting an inferno of splintered wood into the choppy sea.
Oriana sank against Walsingham as if trying to absorb his strength. “Why do I pity him even now?”
He kissed her head. “He was your brother, Oriana. It’s only natural to mourn what could have been.”
“Did ye mean what ye said earlier?” she asked, drawing up her legs and folding in on herself like an inconsolable babe. “I feel as if I’ve lost everythin’. I don’t know how I would bear it if ye didn’t.”
Walsingham inhaled deeply. He’d spoken of his feelings in the heat of the moment, trying to convince Oriana not to be taken in by her brother’s promises, but it was anything but a ploy. “I did, Oriana. Every word.”
“I would hear ye say it again, Pierce,” she said quietly, straightening her body until her feet rested against the thwarts and her upturned face nearly reached his. “Tell me once more.”
The moonlight illuminated her alabaster skin, and he smiled. “I love your feisty spirit, you sassy wench. And your devotion to family, orphans, and justice.” A flood of emotion engulfed him, and his heart thudded wildly in his chest. What he felt for Oriana left him strangely vulnerable, yet strong enough to take on the world, a world he wanted to create with her. “I love you, Oriana.”
A shiver of desire pulsed through him as her warm breath brushed over his mouth. “And I love ye,” she whispered against his lips.
The intimate kiss they shared in the darkness was soul-stirring agony. He wanted to hold her for an eternity, make her his in every way, but he broke away lest he embarrass her in front of his men.
“Look.” He pointed to a light on the clifftop, which cut a hole in the darkness where the Roost overlooked the sea. “Like a siren, she’s luring us home.”
“Us?” Her thick, unsteady voice captivated him. “I like the sound of that . . . our home.”
Epilogue
CAPTAIN CARNAGE is DEAD! Captain W is ALIVE! To commemorate the return of our most ILLUSTRIOUS Board of Excise officer, Captain W urges CREDIT for Carnage’s CAPTURE be given to the INDEFATIGABLE crew of the FURY and Lord P’s FLEET, who surrounded BELZYBUB and VANQUISHED a leviathan, enabling Captain W’s NOBLE return to the LIVING. In celebration, KING GEORGE issued a PARDON for Cornwall and Devon’s INFAMOUS savior. Long live the BLACK REGENT!
~ Trewman’s Exeter Flying Post, 17 November 1809
Chloe, Marchioness of Underwood, glanced up from her book, The Monk, and smiled at her real-life hero, her husband, Basil, Marquess of Underwood, as he entered the library, a roguish expression lighting up his face.
“Have you brought something for me?” She set down her novel and impatiently waited for him to produce whatever he was clearly hiding behind his back. “You know how fond I am of Cook’s lemon tarts. The aroma has been a temptation all morning.”
“Indeed, I do.” His glinting silver-blue eyes and mischievous smile made her wonder if he was up to something. They were expecting their first child in the spring, and he’d doted on her ever since he heard the news. “I had the devil of a time snatching one from Cook’s collection before she put up a fuss.”
He withdrew his hand, revealing a delicate tart sitting in the middle of his palm, and held it before her.
Licking her lips, Chloe glanced up at him in wonder. “You do know there is no snatching to be had? Cook counts them, dearest.”
He shrugged. “Whatever for?”
“It just so happens, the children adore lemon tarts, too.” Sincerely amused, Chloe suppressed a giggle. Basil could grimace and show numerous signs of displeasure, but he treated all the orphans they’d accepted into their home with a measure of compassion and grace. She grabbed the tartlet and lifted it to her mouth. Sinking her teeth into its delectable filling, she gave a contented sigh.
“I have something else for you, as well, darling wife.” He sat down beside her and produced a letter. Its deep-crimson seal stood out against the parchment.