Surrender of a Siren (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #2)(96)

“And took the money with you.”

“He’ll thank me eventually. Mara’s death made my brother too cautious, that’s all. Once he’s been out on the sea long enough, he’ll come around.”

He sat up in bed. “And I don’t care if my sister claims she’s happy dressing in rags and playing ministering Quaker. She is going to London for the most extravagant debut the ton has ever seen, and she will wear silk in every damned color of the rainbow. I didn’t spend the past ten years lying, cheating, and stealing just so my brother and sister could continue on in the same miserable exile our father gave us. Damn it, I sold my soul for this.”

“Shhh.” She sat up behind him, draping her arms around his shoulders. “It

’s all right.”

“It’s not. Nothing’s right. I’ve never done a right thing in my life, it seems.”

“That makes a pair of us then.” Her lips pressed against the spot under his ear. “But I believe we are right together, don’t you? People like us … we have no talent for following rules. We can only follow our hearts. I’ve wronged people as well, but is it horribly wicked that I can’t bring myself to regret it? It brought me to you.”

He took one of her hands and kissed it. “You’re so young, you can’t know the meaning of true regret. It’s never what you’ve done, love, it’s what you’ve left undone.”

He leaned against her, sighing into the comforting heat of her br**sts. “I’ll take you to Italy, sweetheart, I promise it. To Egypt and India, too, if you like. But it will have to wait until after Bel’s season. I’ve put aside a dowry for her, enough to offset our provenance. We do come from gentry, and her mother was my father’s second wife, so Bel isn’t illegitimate. My aunt’s agreed to help bring her out. And if being the well-dowered niece of a duchess isn’t enough to turn heads, there is the fact that she’s the second-most beautiful lady in the world.”

Sliding from her embrace, Gray turned to face her. His compliment seemed to have bounced off her puzzled expression.

“Your aunt is a duchess?” she asked, her brow creasing. “Which one?”

“Oh, not a royal one. Camille Marie Augusta Glaston D’Hiver, Her Grace, the Duchess of Aldonbury. You’re forgiven for never having heard of her.”

He leaned forward to kiss her neck. “Talent or no, it’s time for me to follow the rules. I’ll go to London and play their little game, attend their balls and parties, host a few of my own. Dress head to toe in the latest fashions, whether they suit me or not.”

“What about me?”

“Oh, I’ll be unfashionably faithful to you.” He brushed her elegantly sloped nose with one fingertip. “Don’t vex yourself, sweet. We’ll tell everyone you’re the daughter of a West Indian planter. I don’t suppose you’ll have much difficulty adopting the role.”

She did not return his smile. “But Gray … what if I told you I don’t want to go to London, don’t want to play their little game?”

“Then I’d convince you otherwise.” Giving her his best devilish grin, he leaned in to kiss her.

She put a hand to his chest, stopping him. “What if I told you I can’t?”

“Of course you can.” He pressed a firm kiss to her lips, shushing her objections. “And you will, for me. I must ask it of you. After Bel’s settled and Joss assumes the partnership, then the world is ours to explore. But I have to see this through first, or …” He stroked her cheek. “Or I’ve done it all for nothing.”

She stared at him for a long moment. “Not for nothing, Gray. You did it for them. And no matter what occurs, I’m certain they know it.”

“I wish I had that certainty.”

“You may borrow mine.” She laid a hand on his cheek, her eyes dewy. “I’m certain they know how much you love them.”

For a moment, he feared she would cry. For a moment, he was mortally terrified that if she did, he would join her.

Then she cocked her head, and a knowing smile balanced out her poignant gaze. With a cheerful sniff, she straddled his lap and pushed back on his shoulders.

“Now.” The word was a promising murmur as she pushed him back against the bed. “Let me show you how much I love you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The dawn was cruel.

Sophia watched daylight creep across her beloved, stealing him from her with rosy fingers, one inch at a time. Sitting in the captain’s chair, legs folded under her shift, she regarded Gray as he slept. He lay prostrate on the bed, the linens twisted about his body, one forearm draped over his eyes. It was the same position he’d lain in all night, since their lovemaking sent him into sleep.

When his seed had filled her, she’d sent up a silent prayer that it would take root. If she conceived, all choice would be taken from her. She couldn’t leave him if she carried his child; she knew he wouldn’t leave her. He would be forced to reconsider his plans in London, but the joy of a child might mitigate his disappointment. Life would write a different ending for them than either had imagined, but it might have been a happy one. If only she’d conceived.

She’d held him inside her until she felt his gentle snores lifting his chest under hers. Then, leaving him to his well-earned rest, she rose quietly to perform her ablutions. And that was when she’d begun to bleed. An hour’s worth of silent, racking sobs later, Sophia curled into the chair and attempted to think.