The Wayward One (The De Montforte Brothers Book 5) (19 page)

“You’re a clever man, Captain O’ Devir,” she said, meeting his gaze and feeling an answering heat that centered itself between her thighs. “You managed to avoid a sea fight and bloodshed with a simple ruse, and nobody got hurt.”

“Aye, well, we’re not out of the woods, yet.”

“No, but for now…is it fair to say you’ve given us all a breather?”

“Aye, lass. ’Tis fair.”

They stood gazing at each other, and Nerissa felt the warmth between them, a current of like-mindedness, and she knew that he was thinking very much the same thing that she was.

They were at the stern of the ship, with nothing but the taffrail and ocean behind Nerissa’s back. And, the frigate. Still the frigate. Captain O’ Devir glanced over his shoulder to ensure they were unobserved by the crew and moved close to her, his body shielding her from anyone on deck who might happen to notice how close he stood to her. “Ye know,” he said, his eyes hot with challenge, “I never did get me kiss.”

She swallowed the sudden dry spot in her throat. “Given that you didn’t end up in battle, I guess you didn’t need the kiss after all.”

“A matter of opinion, Lady Nerissa.”

“A matter of fact, Captain O’ Devir.”

“A matter that needs rectification.”

“A matter best settled away from curious eyes,” she said as he reached out and gently tipped her chin up, grazing the soft skin there with his rough and callused thumb. She shuddered despite the warmth of the day and took a deep and steadying breath, hating her body for the way it so wantonly responded to this man who was wrong for in every single way she could possibly think of.

His head was lowering to hers, his powerful shoulders blotting out the mast and the great sails behind them. She tried, feebly, one last time to head off what she knew was coming.

“Careful, Captain. You wouldn’t want your men to see you kissing Midshipman Cranton, would you?”

“I’m past carin’ what anyone thinks,” he said and reaching out, took her into his arms.

* * *

“I am going to be ill,” Captain Lawrence Hadley choked out, watching the captain of the American ship sidling up to one of his midshipman. He dug the telescope into his eye, his voice strangled with rage and disbelief. “Abuse of a gently-bred young woman, mocking a king’s ship, treason against the Crown and now cavorting with his young lads. He’s a damned
sodomite
!”

“Poor Lady Nerissa…sir, what will we do?”

“Yes, Captain, we have to save her!”

Yes, he did indeed have to save her or there’d be no saving
him
from the Duke of Blackheath—if his superiors, starting with his own father, didn’t have his head, first. But what could he do? He could not fire on the American brig and risk injury to Lady Nerissa no matter how much he’d like to blast that Irishman into a thousand pieces. He would, too. Just as soon as the time was right, and there was no chance of the young lady being injured.

“Why don’t we just meet him as he proposes?” Lieutenant McPhee asked, reasonably. “Seems like it would be the best solution.”

“Because I have not been given the explosive,” Hadley muttered. “Because I’m not going to be given the explosive. Because Admiralty is not going to relinquish that explosive to an enemy, no matter who his hostage is or how important she may be. Deception, not negotiation, is the only weapon in my arsenal.”

“So…what now? Do we have another plan?”

“I thought the presence of a frigate of the king’s navy would be enough, and it damn well should have been!”

Obviously, it had
not
been.

McPhee appeared to chew on the inside of his lip, his brown eyes deep in thought.

“Maybe Admiralty won’t be putting the explosive on the bargaining table,” he said slowly, “but if we were to go back and fetch the inventor, Lord Andrew, maybe the Yanks will accept him instead.”

Hadley turned and looked at him, studying him for a long moment. Then, he shook his head. “The Duke of Blackheath will never permit that.”

“I’m sure Lord Andrew is free to make his own choices, and what manner of man wouldn’t trade himself for his own wee sister?”

Hadley nodded slowly, watching the brig that, were it not for the lady’s presence topside, would have been his an hour ago.

“Besides, sir…we’re near the coast of France. Plenty of places for O’ Devir to duck in and hide, and plenty of French ships to give him protection from us. We now know what his ship looks like, we know he has the young lady, all we have to do is make all haste back to London, convince Lord Andrew to return with us, and arrive at the meeting place on Saturday with him. O’ Devir would be a fool not to accept the inventor in the formula’s stead.” He grinned. “Why settle for the product when you can have the source?”

“Hmm. And of course, after the lady is safely in our hands, we do what is necessary to retrieve Lord Andrew as well, preferably before these rascals can even leave the rendezvous place with him.”

“Seems reasonable to me, sir.”

Hadley nodded once, pretending to consider his lieutenant’s plan. “You are a clever young officer, Mr. McPhee,” he said. “You will make a fine captain some day. Your idea has merit.”

“Shall I give the order to change tack, and make all possible haste, then, back to England, sir?”

“Yes, Mr. McPhee. Do it, and do it now.”

He raised the glass once more for a last look at the man he was determined to kill at all costs. Through summer haze, salt spray, and distance, he could just see the Irishman standing on his own deck. The slim young midshipman was in his arms, and the two were kissing.

Kissing.

Hadley made a noise of disgust and turned away.

At least Lady Nerissa de Montforte was safe as long as O’ Devir’s tastes ran to young boys.

Chapter 15

Nerissa drew back, eyes wide as Captain O’ Devir finally released her mouth, grinning at the expression in her eyes, his hand still alongside her jaw. She felt him pass his thumb across her lips as though to seal in the kiss that had just about robbed her of the ability to stand, to breathe, and certainly to think. She inhaled on a deep shudder of confusion and unconsciously, licked the taste of him from her lips with one slow swipe of her tongue. Salt spray. Coffee. She could still feel the imprint of his powerful arms around her, the press of his masculinity against her own hips. In her own nether regions, desire flared.

Her emotions were in turmoil.

She glanced around his shoulder. The crew was busy about their duties; nobody had noticed the stolen kiss.

And she had enjoyed it. Welcomed it—though everything about her breeding, her upbringing, and her situation dictated that he was entirely unsuitable. But none of that mattered. None of it mattered, because she was drawn to him like a bee to a flower, a mare to a stallion, and she wanted him to kiss her again despite the fact she should never, ever have let him kiss her in the first place.

“Well,” he murmured, watching her with a clever, knowing smile, “Given that ye didn’t hit me this time, I’m thinkin’ ye must have liked that.”

“I’d be a liar if I claimed otherwise.” She moved away to put distance between them. “Some things make no sense, Captain.”

“Maybe they’re not meant to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Suitability and desire don’t always go hand in hand. We’re not suited, t’ be sure. But our bodies don’t know that, do they? Unsuitability doesn’t dampen the fact that everythin’ in my body and blood and brain that makes me a man, is desperate to have ye…to claim more than a kiss.” His voice grew husky, and his eyes intent. “
To take ye to me bed.
”

She flushed at his brazen words, images rearing up in her mind of what it would be like to be in bed with him, his body dwarfing and all but crushing her own, his powerful arms lowering himself to her to complete
the act
. Oh, how was she to react to such a declaration? How, when her brain told her that he could never be for her but her body—oh, her treacherous, willful body!—found him hopelessly, devastatingly attractive despite all the reasons logic told her it shouldn’t? Flustered, she smoothed Mr. Cranton’s coat down over her hips, suddenly far too aware of the indecency of her legs so clearly defined by the breeches and too late, realizing that the simple movement of smoothing the fabric over her hips drew Captain O’ Devir’s eye and made the purple in his irises darken even more beneath their absurdly long fringe of lashes.

“And why would you want me, Captain O’ Devir?”

“I’d have to be a feckin’ dead man not to want ye. I admire yer pluck, lass. Yer courage. Yer resilience. Aside from an initial fuss, ye’ve accepted your lot here with little complaint and plenty of fortitude. There’s a lot to be said for that.”

“Well, going into histrionics and railing about my fate aren’t going to change it or save my reputation.”

“But ye didn’t count on wantin’ to kiss me, now, did you?”

“I have nothing to lose at this point, do I?”

“No, but ye’ve got everythin’ to gain.”

“How so?”

He laughed, and it wasn’t just humor, but something dark just beneath the surface, something restless and dangerous and riding a narrow edge. Something full of challenge. “What’re ye goin’ to do when ye get back to England, lass?”

“Do?”

“Aye, do.”

“Why, I suppose I will…rest for a few days…perhaps accept the calls of my closest friends…write in my diary of this awful experience—”

“Awful?” He raised a black eyebrow.

“I’ve been abducted, nearly seen a man drown, almost been in a sea fight, and been kissed by a man who is altogether…
unsuitable
.”

“Ye needed to be kissed, and still do. Ye need to be kissed until yer lips are bruised and yer head is swimmin’ and ye can’t think of anythin’ but the feel of a man’s arms around ye and the anticipation of what comes next. Ye’ve never
had
a proper kiss in your life, have ye?”

“Of course I have!”

“No, ye haven’t.”

Her chin came up. “I’ll remind you, Captain O’ Devir, that I was affianced once. I can assure you I’ve been kissed.”

“Well now, that both answers and poses a question, it does. Ye’re young, probably heavily dowered, as lovely as Ireland is green and probably have men fallin’ at your feet like flies. Affianced once but no more, and still not spoken for. Why not?”

She felt the inevitable shame. The anger. The freefall of her heart as the events of the last months washed over her. “I would rather not talk about…my affairs.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s none of your business!”

“Aye, ’tis right you are. None of me business.” He smiled that hard, razor’s edge smile, sighed, and appeared to relent.

Nerissa turned her face away to look over the waves.

“Why not?” he persisted, purposely bumping her with his elbow.

Frustrated, she turned to deliver a rebuke but he was grinning, and she realized he was intentionally baiting her and that getting her hot and flustered was, in some way, a victory for him.

“If you really must know, Captain, I… I have been holding out. Hoping that Perry would change his mind. Come to his senses. I loved him, and I don’t want to talk about him or any other potential suitors.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t you have any other words in your vocabulary besides those two?”

“Can’t think of any at the moment.”

He was still looking at her, one brow raised, waiting. “We could talk about you and me, if ye like.”

“There is no ‘you and me.’”

“There could be, if ye wanted it as much as I do.”

“We are ill-suited. You said it yourself. I’m English. My father was a duke. What was yours, Captain?”

“A fisherman.”

“I was raised by nannies and dance masters and French tutors and music instructors and an overly controlling brother. Who were you raised by?”

“Me lovin’ mam and a pack of village lads who taught me how to speak with me fists.”

“Are you even literate?”

“I’m a self-made man, Lady Nerissa. I may not’ve had yer fancy schoolin’, but I can assure you I can read a book, write a poem, plot a course and carve a ship out of a piece of wood.”

She sighed and her shoulders dropped. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to be hurtful. I am just… I am just so confused, and when I’m confused I get frustrated and when I’m frustrated my temper gets short and when my temper gets short I say things I regret.”

He cast a glance at their distant pursuer, then back at her. “What are ye confused by?”

“You.”

“Ye shouldn’t be. I’m a simple man.”

“The feelings I’m developing for you are not…simple.”

“What feelin’s?”

She just shot him a quelling look, unwilling to give him yet another victory.

“I suppose you’ve never been in love, have you, Captain? Never had your heart broken?”

He looked back again at their pursuer and for the briefest of moments, a shadow crossed his face. “Ah, well, there might’ve been a time or two. But I’m over it, I am. No sense lookin’ back.”